The same technology that was so integral to the two men’s perverse career had betrayed him.

March sat back, a clink of chain.

She was struck again by how handsome he was, resembling an actor whose name she couldn’t summon. He had no physical appeal to her but objectively he was striking—dipping lids, careful lips that weren’t too thick or too thin, noble cheekbones. And a cut, muscular physique. Even the shaved head worked.

“I want your cooperation, Andy. I want the names of your clients. Those in America, at least. And any of your—what would you call them?—competitors.”

The cases would be tough to put together, though she and Michael O’Neil and the FBI’s Amy Grabe would try. But, in fact, what Dance wanted the most was to understand this man’s workings. He was unlike any other criminal she’d ever come up against; and, her experience taught, if there was one human being with his proclivities toward the dark edge there’d be others.

“Before you answer, let me say one thing.”

“Yes?” One of March’s brows arched.

“Texas.”

His face gave a minuscule twitch. He knew what was coming.

“If you agree, I’ve spoken to the prosecutor here in California, and he’ll accept a death penalty waiver.” She gazed at him steadily. “And will guarantee no extradition to Texas. We subpoenaed your credit card statements, Andy. You were in Fort Worth six months ago, finding clients for your website. The same time of the stampede at the Prairie Valley Club. You used that homeless man for your fall guy there. But there’ll be some forensics tying you to that incident, I’m sure. They’ll go for capital murder. And they’ll get it. The daughter of a state politician was killed in the stampede there.”

The tip of his tongue eased against a lip and retreated. “And here? I’ll get life.”

“Maybe a little shorter. Depends.”

He said nothing.

“Or call your lawyer.”

March’s eyes scanned her from the top of her head to her waist, leaving a chill repulsion in the wake of his gaze.

“You’ll guarantee that? Personally.” He dragged the word out, almost seductively.

“Yes.”

“I have one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“I can call you ‘Kathryn.’”

“That’s fine. Now, what’s the condition?”

“That’s it. You let me use your first name.”

He could call me whatever he wants. But he’s asking my permission to use the name? The sensation of ice brushed the back of her neck.

She forced herself not to react. “You can use my name, yes.”

“Thank you, Kathryn.”

She opened her notebook and uncapped a pen. “Now. Tell me, Andy. How did you meet Chris Jenkins?”

Chapter 84

The two men had become acquainted in one of the snuff forums online.

Dance recalled the websites that Jon Boling had found featured not only pictures that could be downloaded but also forums where members could post messages and chat in real time.

Jenkins was former military. While on tour, he’d taken a lot of pictures overseas of battlefields, bodies, torture victims. He himself had no interest in the images themselves but learned he could make good money selling them to news media or, even more lucrative, private collectors.