Calling it quits early, are you?

He frowned. He saw Deputy Chief Brian Maddox’s car in the parking lot. Were they all having a meeting? Why would they be meeting here, at the hotel? That seemed rather odd.

He had to take the risk. He had to know what they were doing. No one would recognize him, but he was always careful during his killing week not to do anything that would draw attention to himself. People were generally stupid, but some people weren’t.

Some people might remember a face if they saw it twice.

He needed to wait for a count of ten before he followed Costa.

His palms itched to open the car door. He wondered if the federal agent would know him if he saw him. Would he know that he was looking into the eyes of a man who had killed?

Had Costa killed? He was a cop. How many cops had pulled the trigger in the line of duty? How many had pulled the trigger just because they felt like it? Had Costa been in the military? Had he fought in a war?

Ten.

His subconscious told him it was time. He opened the door, casually closed it. Didn’t lock it. He left nothing of import in his car. He’d only had it for two months. He always bought a different car before he started hunting. Then when he left Spokane, he would sell it and get something else. Another nondescript, five-year-old reliable sedan that looked like half the cars on the road.

He didn’t want to stand out.

He entered the lobby. It was a nice lobby, but not crowded. He would definitely stand out if he stood here for too long.

Look like you have a purpose.

There was a lounge to the right. Only a dozen or so people were in the bar, probably all guests. He walked in purposefully. Sat at the bar. Ordered a beer. He hated drinking—his father had made sure of that—but he could tolerate a beer.

The bartender said, “Charge to your room?”

“No, cash.”

The bartender rang up the receipt and slapped it down on the bar. He examined it. Six fucking dollars for a bottle of beer. No wonder they had no money while he was growing up. His dad spent it all on liquor.

He paid and sat there, sipped his beer, discreetly looking around.

A couple other people drank alone, watching the muted news behind the bar, the words scrolling up; a few of the guests sat together at tables.

He almost did a double take.

In the corner of the bar was Deputy Chief Brian Maddox and a blonde. A young blonde who was not his wife. She was very pretty, but she was a cop. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did. Maybe it was because of how she seemed to know he was looking at her and glanced in his direction. He pretended to be watching the news.