Everything was slow and sweet after that. Everything was right.

Delsey fell asleep, her head on his shoulder, her palm on his belly. They’d talk, but later, much later.

43

* * *

MISSY’S COTTAGE

MALIBU

WEDNESDAY NIGHT

Cam was scrolling through page after page of auditions from hundreds of film companies on a purple laptop. Some were highlighted in red and dozens were redacted, marked through in black so she couldn’t read them. She heard her mother’s voice telling her she needed those entries covered in black ink, otherwise how could she find the killer? Some of the red letters started to bleed, covering the screen, then fountaining down, sending ribbons of blood dripping over the purple keyboard. She knew that was the key audition, the one that would give her the big clue, but she couldn’t read it now, there was so much blood. Her mother was talking behind her, telling her she’d ruined it now. The bloody page must have flown free because she heard it striking softly against the glass in the window, but then she knew it wasn’t the paper, it was something else. Someone was outside, trying to get in.

She jerked awake, her heart pounding, her breathing too fast, too hard. She started to fling off the sheet and jump to her feet when her training kicked in. She lay still and listened. She heard it again, something brushing up against the bedroom window. She’d left it cracked open to let in the warm night air and someone was looking in. He could easily push the window up and climb in. To kill her? No, not me. Missy. He was here.

The Serial was outside.

Slowly, quietly, she reached over and pulled the knob on the bedside table drawer, eased it open. She slipped her hand in, felt the comforting steel of her Glock. Easy, easy—she lifted it out of the drawer. She didn’t need to rack the slide, she kept a bullet in the chamber.

She breathed low and quiet, completely focused, and eased off the side of the bed. There was a quarter moon tonight, its light streaming in through the window. She’d see him clearly if he crawled in. She listened for the sound of the window coming up higher.

She heard him breathing, heard his sneakers thunk lightly outside the window. He thought the room was empty. Did he have his knife in his hand, his goggles already on so when he sliced Missy’s throat he wouldn’t be blinded by her blood?

If Missy were alone in the cottage, sleeping in the master bedroom, she’d never have heard a thing. Until it was too late and she was about to die.

The bastard. She was ready.

Come on, come on.

But he didn’t climb in. He stood at the window for several minutes, looking into the room, and then he turned away.

Cam came smoothly up, aimed her Glock through the window at the man’s chest. “FBI. You move and you’re dead.”

His eyes flew to her face. “What, who are you? You’re not Missy. FBI?” He jerked around and started to run, tripped and landed headfirst into the thick bougainvillea bushes. He cried out as he rolled away onto the ground. She didn’t fire because she knew she could catch him. She was out the window on the ground as he pulled himself to his knees to take off again.

She kicked him in the back before he got to the street, sending him onto his belly against the ground, not two inches from a cactus. She dropped down on top of him, laid her Glock against his neck. “Don’t you even think of moving. It’s over.”

He wasn’t wearing goggles and she didn’t find a knife when she patted him down. He twisted, managed to kick his legs against her back, knocking her sideways, and slammed his elbow against her jaw. She saw bursts of white but she held tight to her Glock, no way would she let it go.

She caught his arm, jerked him around and chopped her hand against his throat. He lurched back, gagging, his hands clutching his throat, wheezing for breath.

She kicked his legs out from under him, slammed down on top of him, and stuck her Glock into his ear. She leaned close. “That’s enough. Feel that? You want me to shoot you in the ear, splat your brains all over the ground? Calm down now, there’s a lot you and I have to talk about.”

He tried again to throw her off, but Cam grabbed him around his neck in the crook of her elbow and jerked back so he was looking up at her. “Listen, you moron, if you move again, you’re dead, you got that? I can shoot you or I can break your neck. Where’s your knife? Where are your goggles?”

“Knife? I don’t have a knife. Why would I wear any fricking goggles?”

She smacked the back of his head, slammed him down on his stomach. “So you were coming into my room to serenade me?”

“Cam! You’ve got him?” And there Missy was, leaning out the window, in boxers and a short filmy top, a Ka-Bar in her hand.

“Yes. It’s okay, Missy.”

He froze at the sound of Missy’s voice. Cam dug her Glock into his ear. “Don’t you think about moving. There’s your seventh victim, but she doesn’t look all that helpless, does she? She would have carved you up. You’re lucky I got you first.” She thrummed with rage, felt it burning deep in her throat. She felt her fingers tighten around the trigger. She could kill the monster right now, in this very second, and it would all be over. She felt Missy’s hand on her shoulder. “Cam? Are you okay?”

Missy’s voice drew her back from the chasm.

“Yes, I’m okay, Missy. Here’s our Serial. We got him. It’s over.”

He heaved and twisted, but Cam kept him down. “No,” he yelled, trying to turn his face to look up at Missy. “I’m not the Starlet Slasher, I’m not.”

Cam slowly rose. “Stay flat on your face or you’re a dead man.”

He was stammering, panting. “Y-you have to listen to me. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wasn’t here to kill you, I wanted to see Missy, ask her to go to the movies with me, I—”

“Shut up!”

Missy stood over him, her gorgeous hair blowing in the breeze. “He looks so skinny, Cam. Without his knife, he looks like nothing at all. I want to see his face. I want to see what a serial killer looks like.”

She kicked his leg with her bare foot. “Turn over or I’ll stick my Ka-Bar in your eye.” Slowly, he turned over onto his back, his hands still rubbing his throat, and stared up at her.

Missy’s brain went blank. “Oh no.”

“Missy, what’s wrong?”