When they had arrived at the last crime scene, much of the water had all but drained from the tub. Now they had a chance to see this killer’s ritualistic room setup firsthand.

Both Ramsey and Melina pulled on latex gloves and stood at the threshold of the bathroom. A large claw-foot tub that appeared original dominated the room. Black and white tiled floor, a small pedestal sink, and a mirror that covered a medicine chest set into the wall.

The space was fairly large considering the house could not be more than twelve hundred square feet. There was a window that opened onto a small backyard ringed with trees.

There was no way Sonny would have known about the tub and the room’s setup unless he had done some kind of reconnaissance.

“He went out the window,” the tech said. “I looked outside and there’s a print below. Looks like a men’s size ten sports shoe. But other than the shoe impression, there doesn’t appear to be much evidence. The shears are old and may give us something. After I’ve made impressions of the blades, I will pull them apart and see if there’s traces of blood.”

“Thank you,” Ramsey said.

He left the techs to their data collection and walked through the house. It was not a cozy setup. The furniture was threadbare and covered in stains. There were discarded wrappers and used plates on the coffee table and in the kitchen sink. And by the back and front doors, piles of shoes lay haphazardly about. However, the bathroom was relatively clean and organized.

Melina came up behind and the two walked silently out the front door and around the back of the house. Both moved toward the yellow-tented markers indicating a trail of footprints that led toward the woods.

“He was here. He preplanned his escape route,” he said.

“A one-level house was a smart play for him. Multiple exit opportunities, especially if in a rush.”

“He wasn’t expecting Sandra to have company,” he said, looking back toward the window. “But his preplanning saved him.”

“If Sandra is remembering the right guy, then Sonny made contact with her,” Melina said. “But is it unusual for serial killers to have such a short downtime between murders?” she asked.

“Sometimes. Some killers cluster their murders. A trigger sets them off and they kill until whatever is driving them is exorcised or they are caught. This killer’s confirmed murders were spaced years apart. Now he may have one confirmed murder with another attempted murder within two weeks.”

“If we’re dealing with Sonny, and he does have a relationship with Bonnie, her arrival would be a serious stressor,” she said. “She’s doing her best to turn me inside out.”

“Has she managed it?” Ramsey asked.

She tilted her chin up. “Not quite.”

“Good.” He drew in a breath, glad to hear the brittleness softening in her tone. He needed Melina focused. “If you’re a little off your game . . .”

“I’m not.”

“If you were, how would you react to Bonnie’s arrival?”

“Anger, fear, and frustration are powerful motivators. If I were a little less controlled, I might have shot Bonnie an hour ago while she stood on my parents’ lawn with that shit-eating grin on her face.”

Bonnie had the same effect on Sonny, only he followed through on his impulses. “Stress could have pushed him to kill again, and maybe this time he was rushed and wasn’t as deliberate as he is normally.”

“There was no sign of sexual intercourse with Jennifer Brown,” she said.

“Yet the scene we saw at Jennifer Brown’s had a sexual component to it.”

“We have a killer who’s under more stress, and the cooling-off period between kills is shortening,” she said.

“This failed attempt cannot be sitting well with him.”

“He’ll strike again?”

“He may already have,” he said.

“Why not just kill Bonnie? Why all the surrogates?” she asked.

“You know the answer. She holds power over him. He kills her and he really is alone.”

“Mommy dearest.”

“I’d say so,” he said.

“What’re the chances that he’ll leave Nashville?” she asked. “Why not pull up stakes and leave?”

“It’s like the Key Killer. The area is familiar. Creature of habit. Like us, they, too, want to keep the stress in check.”

“We need to locate the bail bondsman who put up bail for Bonnie. He should have some record of who reached out to him.”

Sonny stood across the street from the small house, standing behind a privacy fence in a neighbor’s yard. He watched as the cops escorted Sandra to her car. An officer placed a suitcase in her trunk.

He should not have delayed taking Sandra. That extra night he had been distracted by Bonnie had nearly gotten him caught.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Bonnie had taught him planning was the difference between the pros and amateurs. Prison was full of lazy cons doing it on the fly.

He closed his eyes, pushing down a primal urge to kill. Bonnie had hammered the rules over and over.

And then she had done the unforgiveable. She had gotten sloppy and decided just like that to take a credit card from a regular customer at a bar where she worked. The guy had been too drunk to notice the missing card, until he had sobered up.

She had not even used the card for stuff they needed. Instead, she had gone on a shopping spree that included designer shoes, handbags, and dresses. She’d left such an obvious trail that even the dumbest cop could have found her. She had been taken away in handcuffs five days after she’d purchased $8,000 worth of useless shit.

Only sixteen, he had been so damn scared. Sonny knew she was going to do serious jail time when he arrived at the San Diego Central Jail. As he waded through the people, he tried to crush down the waves of panic crashing over him. When he saw her in the booth waiting to talk to him, he nearly cried.

“How did this happen?” His voice was a ragged whisper.

“Sorry, baby,” she said.

“Sorry!” he said.

She frowned, doing her best imitation of contrition. “I didn’t think about you. I know that. Did you talk to the bail bondsman?”

“The judge found out about your priors. There are also outstanding arrest warrants out for you.”

“I’ll beat this.”

“You didn’t get bail,” he said. “The cops mean business this time. No slap on the wrist.”

“That’s okay. I’ll get out. All you have to do is keep that key safe. And when I’m free, we’ll get the cash I put aside and go on a real vacation. You can even pick where we go.”

“Did you do this on purpose?” he demanded.

“Why would I want to be here?”

“You said yourself you were tired of bartending and going legit.”

“I was doing that for you, so you could go to school.”

He sat back, staring at her, wishing he could hug her even as he wanted to curse her out. “This is your way to check out of my life, isn’t it?”

“That’s not true.”

The buzz of conversation in the visiting room was drowned out by his pulse thrumming in his temple. His vision narrowed and his palms sweat. Fuck. She was doing her version of leaving him on the side of the road.

It had been a long time since he had felt that raw kind of fear. And shame on him, it was not the last time Bonnie would sweep into his life and make a fool out of him.

Fuck her.

She would not use him again. He would use her and all the others like her. He deserved to be fucking loved.

He inched back from the fence, feeling as if the noose were tightening around his neck. It was not the cops he was worried about, but Melina. She was smart, cunning like him, and no one could possibly understand him better than she. They were cut from the same cloth.

He jogged to the back fence, slipped through the gate, and carefully relocked it before getting into his car.

How many times had he sworn he would never ask Bonnie for help? How many vows had he made to never, ever trust any of her “deals”? And yet here he was, wanting what she was offering.

But this time, it would be different. He was different.

Maybe he could have his clean slate with Bonnie. He was sorry that fresh start would not include Melina. That dream had sustained him for years. But dreams had to change. Life went on.

Getting back with Bonnie and Elena was all that mattered now.

They were his future.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Friday, August 28, 1:00 a.m.

Melina’s eyes stung from fatigue when she opened the front door of her town house.

The surveillance footage from Sandra’s bar had arrived at her office shortly after nine, so she and Ramsey had ordered Chinese food and spent the evening eating stir-fried beef with mixed vegetables, shrimp fried rice, and egg rolls as they watched the footage.

After an hour, she began to recognize the regulars at Red’s. Mr. Handlebar Mustache, Mr. Urban Cowboy, and Mr. Baseball Cap, as she now called them. They always entered the establishment around ten or eleven, and all had paid extra close attention to Sandra. Melina was able to grab a clean screenshot of the first two, but Mr. Baseball Cap kept his face turned from the camera.