Ten minutes later he was parked in front of his building, staring at his brand-new Glock 19 in the glove compartment.

He picked it up, tucked it into the back of his jeans, and stepped out of the car.

In a rush to the front doors, he left the driver door open. The same guard from the day before sat behind the desk. "Evening, Mr. Savage."

Martin blew past him. He heard the guy mutter something but he didn't care. He'd apologize later. He stopped halfway to the elevators and returned to the desk.

"Did you see a guy in a black cowboy shirt walk out of here in the last few minutes?"

"Cowboy shirt?"

"Like he was dressed for a rodeo," he said impatiently, white knuckling the edge of the desk. "Black dress shirt with fancy white embroidering."

"Can't say that I have. I've been on the door all afternoon."

Martin turned and headed for the elevators.

"If I see him, you want me to call up?"

Martin mashed his thumb on the up button. "If you see him, you better have that Taser handy."

The guard gave him a quizzical look.

The elevator doors opened and Martin stepped inside without further explanation. He kept thumbing the close button even after they already started to close.

When he finally caught his reflection in the elevator's mirrored walls, he couldn't deny the guilt on his face.

This was his fault. The girl was dead and he was to blame. He never should have let her get close to him, not with Barclay on the loose. He should have been more careful with his keycard. He never should have lost Officer Tanaka. What was he thinking, buying a gun?

It's my fault, I didn't mean it, Ma, I swear I won't be bad no more—

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open on the Lower Penthouse level. Right foot holding the door, he stuck his head out briefly. Checked both ways like he'd been warned to do as a child before crossing the road.

All clear toward the Bannermans' door. All clear toward his own. He drew the weapon from the back of his jeans and stepped out. Padded down the carpeted corridor toward his unit.

Either Barclay was waiting for him inside, or he'd escaped through the parking garage. Martin wasn't sure how he'd gotten into his unit in the first place. He supposed the killer could have followed Tish, slipped into the condo and hid while she "redded up" for Martin's arrival.

Not that it mattered. He'd been there, hiding in the closet, waiting to spring his trap. Now Tish was dead and Martin would be his next victim.

It was impossible to enter the unit quietly. A good thing if you weren't expecting visitors. Bad if you were trying to get the jump on a serial killer.

He used his temp keycard. The mechanism beeped and the lock unlatched with a loud click. He twisted the handle with agonizing slowness. Drew the door open cautiously and stepped in with the weapon held out in front of him.