“They golf with knives now?” Mendez asked. “That might make it interesting enough to try.”

Bordain pushed his chair back and got up. “I’m done now. That’s it. I don’t have to talk to you. I’m free to go.”

He went to the door and turned the knob, but it didn’t open.

“It’s like I told you yesterday, Darren,” Mendez said. “Some of our guests are not as free to go as others.”

Chapter 80

80

“Dennis. What are you doing here?” Anne asked.

How the hell had he gotten her address? Their phone number was unlisted. She had a P.O. box for an address on her business cards.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

“I asked your dad.”

“You went to my father’s house.”

Dennis nodded. “Uh-huh. He’s really old.”

“And he gave you my address?”

“Uh-huh.”

Oh my God. That man will be the death of me yet.

Anne’s gaze skated past Dennis to the sheriff’s radio car sitting parked at the sidewalk. The deputy was eating a sandwich, paying no attention. Why would he pay attention to a little boy in a baseball cap? His assignment here was to keep Anne and Haley safe from a murderer.

“I set the hospital on fire,” Dennis announced.

“I know. I heard about that,” Anne said calmly.

“It was really cool,” he said, his eyes lighting up in that glassy, unnatural way they did when he talked about killers and crimes. “This one guy came running out of his room and his arms were on fire! And he was screaming and shit. It was so cool! And then this oxygen tank exploded and BAM!! It went right through a wall and killed a lady!”

Anne’s blood ran cold at his obvious delight—not just in his attempt to shock her but in the actual details of what he had done. The burned man and the dead woman meant absolutely nothing to him except in terms of his own amusement.

“Why did you do that, Dennis?”

He shrugged, his hands tucked into the big pouch on the front of his too-big hooded sweatshirt. “’Cause I wanted to. ’Cause I was mad. You said you were gonna come yesterday, and you didn’t. You said you would bring me something cool, and you didn’t.”

“I called to say I couldn’t make it, Dennis.”

“No, you didn’t,” he said, getting angry. “You never called. You don’t care about me. You’re such a liar!”

“Dennis—”

“Shut up!” he shouted, his temper about to erupt. “You’re just a lying, fucking cunt and I hate you!”