She paused. “Something wrong?” Ashton asked. Her heart was pounding hard. “I…Nothing. Probably just a deer. I have to say this whole case has got my nerves shaken.” “I don’t see anything.” “It’s gone,” she said. But was it? She couldn’t tell. Yet she didn’t want to alarm their guest. Besides, all the windows and doors were locked. They arrived at her husband’s office and stepped inside. “Honey,” she said. “It’s Greg.” “Ah, right on time.” The men shook hands. Patrizia said, “Greg said he doesn’t care for anything. How ’bout you, honey?” “No, I’m fine. Any more tea and I’ll be in the bathroom for the whole meeting.” “Well, I’ll leave you two boys to do your work and get back to packing.” Her heart sank again at the thought of moving into a hotel. She hated being driven from her home. At least the boys would consider it an adventure. “Actually,” Ashton said, “hold on a minute, Pat. I’m going to do a video of Jim’s operation to post on my site. I want to include you too.” He set his briefcase on the table and opened it up. “Me?” Patrizia gasped. “Oh, no. I haven’t done my hair. And my makeup.” Ashton said, “First of all, you look fantastic. But most important, blogging isn’t about hair and makeup. It’s about authenticity. I’ve shot dozens of these and I’ve never let anybody so much as put on lipstick.” “Well, I guess.” Patrizia was distracted, thinking about the motion she’d seen behind the house. She should tell the deputy out front about it. Ashton laughed. “It’s only a webcam anyway, medium resolution.” He held up the small video camera. “You’re not going to ask me questions, are you?” She was growing panicky at the thought. Jim’s blog alone had hundreds of thousands of viewers. Greg Ashton’s probably had many more. “I wouldn’t know what to say.” “It’ll be sound bites. Just talk about what it’s like to be married to a blogger.” Her husband laughed. “I’ll bet she has plenty to say.” “We can do as many takes as you want.” Ashton set a tripod up in the corner of the room and mounted the camera. Jim straightened his desktop, organizing the dozens of stacks of journals and papers. Ashton laughed and shook a finger. “We want it authentic, Jim.” Another laugh. “Okay. Fair enough.” Jim replaced the papers and magazines. Patrizia looked at herself in a small decorative mirror up on the wall, and ran her fingers through her hair. No, she decided defiantly. She was going to get fixed up, no matter what he said. She turned to tell Ashton this. She had only a moment to blink, and no time to protect herself, when Ashton’s fist swung directly into her cheek and collided hard with bone, breaking skin and knocking her to the floor. Eyes wide in horror and bewilderment, Jim leapt toward him. And froze as Ashton thrust a gun into his face. “No!” Patrizia cried, scrabbling to her feet. “Don’t hurt him!” Ashton tossed Patrizia a roll of duct tape and ordered her to bind her husband’s hands behind him. She hesitated. “Do it!” Hands shaking, tears streaming, confused, she did as she’d been told. “Honey,” she whispered as she wrapped his hand behind the chair. “I’m scared.” “Do what he says,” her husband told her. Then he glared at Ashton. “What the hell is this?” Ashton ignored him and dragged Patrizia by the hair to the corner. She squealed, tears falling. “No…no. It hurts. No!” Ashton taped her hands as well. “Who are you?” Jim whispered. But Patrizia Chilton could answer that one herself. Greg Ashton was the Roadside Cross Killer. Ashton noticed Jim looking outside. He muttered, “The deputy? He’s dead. There’s nobody to help you.” Ashton pointed the video camera at Jim’s pale, horrified face, tears welling in his eyes. “You want more hits on your precious Report, Chilton? Well, you’re going to get ’em. I’ll bet it’ll be a record. I don’t think we’ve ever seen a blogger killed on webcam before.”