Yellow light floods the room when the heater is lit. Straightening, he crosses to me and rips the remaining tape from my mouth. I spit out the wad of fabric and for several seconds all I can do is gulp air and choke back sobs. I spot the knife in his hand. A scream pours from my throat when he leans close, but he only cuts the rope binding my wrists to my ankles.

My hands and feet are still bound, but at least I’m no longer hog-tied. Straightening, I roll onto my side and look up at him. “You can’t possibly get away with this.”

Setting his left hand on my shoulder, he pats me down with his right. “You packin’ heat tonight, Kate?”

“No.”

He finds the Kimber in my coat pocket and pulls it out. “Nice piece.” Holding up the gun by its grip, he grins at me. “Expensive, too.” Assuming a shooter’s stance, he aims it at my forehead. “How does she shoot? Accurate? Much recoil?”

“Tomasetti knows everything,” I say.

“That drunk doesn’t know shit.”

“I told him everything. He’s on his way. It’s over.”

“What exactly do you think you know?”

“I know about the murders in Alaska. In Kentucky and Indiana. The four murders here in Painters Mill sixteen years ago.”

“Figured all that out by yourself, huh?”

“The people at BCI know, too. It’s over, Detrick. You can either give it up, or you can run. You could be in Canada by morning if you go now.”

“And what? Spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder? Not my style.”

“You’ll go to prison if you stay.”

I see arrogance in his eyes. He doesn’t believe me. He’s not taking me seriously. “There’s only one problem with your assertions, Kate.”

My throat is so tight I can’t speak.

“You don’t have any proof. No DNA. No fingerprints.” He shrugs with the nonchalance of a man dismissing a mildly annoying child.

“The circumstantial evidence is enough to get them looking. They look hard enough and they’ll find proof. It’s just a matter of time and you know it.”

A grin spreads across his face. “You’re forgetting I already have a suspect in jail. Do you have any idea how much physical evidence I have against Jonas Hershberger?”

“You mean the evidence you planted?”

“I have blood. Fibers. Hair. We’re talking DNA, Kate. Personal effects from the vics. Clothes belonging to the victims are buried out by the barn. Your officers just haven’t found the right place yet, but they will. Hershberger’s gonna fuckin’ fry.”

“Tomasetti’s got a search warrant. He’s probably at your house right now.” The lie flies off my tongue with the vehemence of brimstone and fire from a preacher.

His smile falters. The look that emerges chills me to the bone. “You’re a lying cunt.”

“You kill me and every cop in the state is going to be all over you.”

His lips peel back. The transformation from charming to psychopath happens so quickly I’m not prepared. He lunges at me, yanks me to my feet with so much force that my head snaps back. “You think you can rattle me with your lies? You think I’m stupid?”