On a gurney a few feet away, Olivia pulled off her mask. “For the record, I really didn’t need to hear that.”

“I’m sure you’ll both be fine,” the doctor said. “It’s just a precaution.”

Olivia sat up and leaned toward Kendra. “What about Don?”

“I’ll check on him again. They told me he’d be in surgery at least another hour and a half.”

Olivia frowned. “That sounds like big-time surgery. Can you check now? Please?”

“Sure.” Kendra shrugged. Her current duties here at the hospital appeared to be everything from trying to keep her mother in line to aid and comfort to the lovelorn. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Olivia said. “After all, Don could have been killed protecting us.”

“I’m not arguing.” Kendra smiled as she moved toward the exit. “I’m grateful to him, too. You’ll have your report.”

FBI San Diego Field Office

“MR. DILLINGHAM…” SPECIAL AGENT Saffron Reade stepped off the elevator and smiled as she greeted Bill Dillingham in the lobby. “I’m Agent Reade. I’ve heard so much about you. I’m very happy to meet you.”

Dillingham struggled to stand up from the long wooden bench near the reception desk. He wore high-waisted knit slacks and a short-sleeve white dress shirt and carried a large sketch pad.

Reade had heard that the freelance sketch artist was in his mideighties, but he appeared to be an even older man.

“Hello, young lady.” He frowned. “I was hoping to see Kendra Michaels. I know it’s late, but I thought she might still be around.”

Reade smiled. “She and the rest of the team are out in the field tonight. I got stuck heading up things here. Good thing, or I would have missed you.”

“Yeah.”

Her brows rose. “Won’t I do?”

“I guess so. It’s just that Kendra and me sort of … bonded. We’re kinda on the same wavelength.”

“Try me. Can’t hurt, can it?”

“No.” He shrugged. “But don’t be too sure it was a good thing that you stayed around to see me. I might be just wasting your time.” Dillingham held up his large sketch pad. “Kendra asked me to draw up some alternate sketches of that psychopath she saw last week. She wanted me to research all the different ways someone might disguise themselves without its looking like a disguise, you know? Fake teeth, nostril inserts, cheek and jaw liners … Based on what she gave me, I made up a few dozen alternates.”

Reade took the pad and flipped through the pages. “Amazing. You do great work, Mr. Dillingham. I’ve seen some of your sketches before, but it’s wonderful to finally meet the man behind—”

She froze.

This had to be some kind of sick joke.

Dillingham touched her arm. “Agent Reade?”

“I don’t believe it,” she whispered. She stared at the sketch for a good fifteen seconds longer before looking up.

This was no joke. Dillingham seemed completely mystified by her reaction.

“I need you to come upstairs with me. I want you to tell me exactly how you came to draw this.”

“Uh, sure.”

She looked at the sketch again. A sickening sense of dread was rising within her. “But first I have some phone calls to make.”

Sharp Grossmont Hospital

La Mesa

KENDRA STEPPED OUTSIDE THE HOSPITAL with her phone pressed against her ear after passing two nurses who had testily pointed to the NO CELL PHONES signs in the corridors. She had been trying without success to connect with Lynch when a call came for her. She hit the talk switch.

“Dr. Michaels?” It was a British-accented voice that she didn’t recognize.

“Yes?”

“We haven’t met yet, but my name is Bobby Chatsworth. How are you this evening?”

Ugh. “Mr. Chatsworth, this really isn’t a good time.”

“Please don’t hang up, Dr. Michaels. I know what’s happened. We’re in San Diego, and we’ve been monitoring the police bands.”

“Why would you be doing that?”

“Frankly, to get some footage of you in action. In lieu of an actual interview with you. There’s the very real possibility your killer may strike again, and if you arrive on the scene, we’d like very much to be here on the spot.”

“My mother and friend are in the hospital, Mr. Chatsworth. Your show is the furthest thing from my mind right now.”

“Naturally. But I wonder if you might grant us just a few minutes of your time. A few quick sound bites, and we’ll be off to England and out of your hair forever.”

“Mr. Chatsworth, I don’t—”

“You have to admit, it’s tempting.” His voice now came not from the phone, but behind her.

She whirled around. Bobby Chatsworth, all beard and glasses, smiled as he walked across the nearly empty parking lot. He lowered the phone from his ear. “What do you say, Dr. Michaels?”

Kendra put down her phone. “Unbelievable. You’re persistent, I’ll say that for you. Did you bring your crew here, too?”

“They’re five minutes away, getting rooms at the Old Country Lodge down the highway. You can join me down there, or I can bring them here. Either way, after the next half hour, you’ll never have to see any of us ever again.”

She didn’t need this, Kendra thought impatiently. She opened her lips to refuse him once again.

She suddenly went still.

Oh, God. Of course.

She felt icy fingers run up her spine to her neck.

Don’t let it show. Don’t let it show.

Stay cool.

“Have your crew here in twenty minutes, Mr. Chatsworth. I’ll give you five minutes in front of the camera.” Kendra turned and headed up the walkway to the hospital side entrance.

“Very gracious of you,” Chatsworth said. “But before we do that…”

A cloth snapped in front of her nose and mouth.

She tried to wrestle free.

But Chatsworth was strong. Too strong.

Not Chatsworth, she thought, panicked.

Myatt.

He whispered into her ear. “Nice try, Kendra. But you have a terrible poker face.”

Darkness.

*   *   *

PAIN. HORRIBLE, skull-shattering pain.

Kendra snapped awake. She couldn’t breathe.

She’d just vomited, she realized, and she was helpless to move and clear her air passages with anything but her throat muscles. She coughed and gasped until she could finally suck back some oxygen.

Darkness. Darkness everywhere. Where in the hell was she?

There was movement beneath her body. Then it hit her. She was spread out in the back of what must be Chatsworth’s SUV. The backseats were folded down, and a tarp covered her entire body. Her feet were tied together, and her arms were tied behind her back. The vehicle was moving, and its tires met the road with an airy two-tone hum that she identified as highway blacktop. Was he taking her into the desert?

“I would have been so disappointed if you’d choked to death, Kendra.” Chatsworth said from the driver’s seat. “Vomiting is an unfortunate side effect of the anesthetic.”

Kendra tried to speak, which caused her to gag for a few moments. Finally, she got the words out. “Where … are we going?”

“I’m surprised. After all we’ve been together … After all the questions I must have provoked in your mind and imagination during these past few days, that’s what you ask me?”

“Sorry … to disappoint you.”

“For instance, I took a real risk letting you see me the other night. But I wanted to see you, talk to you, touch you. You should be flattered. It was only because I had the highest respect for you, Kendra.”

“What … a lucky woman I am.”

“It was worth the risk. I was thrilled that my disguise was able to fool Kendra Michaels.”

“How did you—do it?”

“I had to shave the beard. This particular woolly beard is a fake, but only for the past few weeks. I had to perfect it. I figured if my broadcast audience couldn’t detect it through the magic of high definition, you couldn’t. And you had no way of knowing that Bobby Chatsworth uses dermal tape to pull back the skin above the temple hairline to remove the forehead lines. And my erstwhile police-officer image wore a set of dental appliances and cheek fillers that further altered the face. Of course, Chatsworth’s glasses also helped. You know … I don’t even wear glasses. It’s all part of Bobby Chatsworth’s costume. He’s a character I created. But I guess we all create characters for ourselves as we move through life.”