Timothy screamed—in spite of the duct tape.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” the man said. “But I get the gist.”

The man pointed with a bloody glove at the collage.

“I understand. You think you did your time after being tried and convicted in criminal court.”

His captor turned back to look directly at Timothy.

“But now you’re in mine .”

The man reached in to his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. Then he punched a couple of buttons with a gloved finger and placed the cell on a table behind him.

He gave a slight nod of satisfaction. Then turned his attention back to Timothy.

“So, do you want to begin praying—or should I?”

Chapter 9

9

Grant couldn’t get Ferguson off the phone quickly enough.

Unfortunately, the man from the Mail wasn’t interested in ending the call so fast. A barrage of questions followed, and as much as Grant wanted to hang up, he knew Ferguson could drip enough poison from his pen to worsen the situation.

“You’re thinking this bloke Leeds will be victim number five?”

Grant considered his options. Leeds was all over the news and, having already given Monte his name, it wouldn’t take long for him to learn everything about the released convict. Grant realized a denial would only come back to haunt him, especially if Leeds ended up with a Roman numeral V etched in his forehead.

“It’s looking that way,” Grant admitted. He begged Ferguson not to go public with the information. By letting the killer know the authorities were casting their net over him, they risked the man fleeing. As for Leeds, if he saw his name listed as an intended victim, there was an equal chance he might head for parts unknown instead of coming directly to the cops for protection.

Monte agreed to keep quiet for the moment but Grant knew the reporter would try to find Leeds himself, so he asked Ferguson to contact him or Frankel if he got a line on the man.

“If Leeds is in the killer’s sights, you might be putting yourself at risk, Monte.”

“Duly noted, Commander.”

The call ended with a click. Grant put the odds at fifty-fifty that Ferguson would honor any of his requests. He turned to find Frankel on his cell as well.

The NYPD detective looked impatient. “On hold,” he murmured.

Grant brought Frankel up to speed on his conversation with Ferguson.

Frankel shook his head. “Doesn’t matter where they’re from. Here, England, wherever. Reporters hide behind that freedom of the press crap and tell you they’re only interested in the truth but all they want to do is promote themselves.”

Grant didn’t disagree.

“So, if Ferguson wasn’t the one who contacted Leeds, how likely is it a second British reporter called wanting an interview with the guy?” asked Frankel.