He sat back down at the kitchen table and balanced the knife on the back of his hand. Three fingers. Two fingers. One finger. It teetered, then slowed, then stopped. It was a perfect knife. Simple, inexpensive, but balanced and sharp.

His father tossed the knife in the air. It spun around and he caught the wood grip midair. He smiled at his son.

“Will you teach me to do that, Dad?”

“You shouldn’t be playing with knives, sweetheart,” his mother said from the kitchen, where she was baking cookies. “They’re not toys. They’re tools with a purpose.”

Tools with a purpose.

He tossed the knife in the air and caught it, just like his father had done so many times when he was a child. When his father was sober, he could catch it perfectly each and every time.

When he was drunk, he failed. His father had the scars to prove it.

Rage filled his veins, memories of the past, the light and the dark, the good and the very, very bad. He tossed the knife in the air, caught it. Over and over, until his calm returned. Until he could breathe easier.

He would stick to the plan. The plan, the pattern, had never failed him. It wouldn’t fail him now.

He couldn’t risk leaving the house to track his next pawn. He’d followed that victim regularly since February 1, but he’d been researching him for far longer. The victim had no planned vacations until June. No girlfriend. The only standing activity was Sunday brunch with his family.

He would be dead long before brunch.

The killer could scarcely wait. After this death, he had only one more. The most important, most deserving victim on his list.

He needed to finish the cycle, and feel the warm, guilty blood coating his hands. To watch the bastard’s life end. Then justice would be done.

10

Liberty Lake
3:45 p.m.

Kara answered her cell phone and said, “You told me I was persona non grata for two weeks, and yet you call after only four days? I miss you, too.”

“I told you to take a vacation. A real vacation. It was an order, Kara. And now I hear you’re a witness to murder? Can’t you just take a break for once?”

He was angry—as if she’d hunted down a dead body for fun and games.

“You make it sound as if I killed someone.”

“Dammit, Kara, this was meant as a compromise. You take two weeks with your grandmother, and I don’t send you back to the department shrink.”

She bristled, but kept her voice light and airy. “Lex, do you know how many murders are committed in Liberty Lake, Washington? Less than one a decade. It’s a sleepy little town outside Spokane. I wasn’t looking for trouble. I was running and found a body. Should I have jogged on by? Ignored her?”

“Don’t be a bitch.”

“I was being sarcastic. But I’ll take bitch, if you prefer.”