“Yeah, she told me she’d asked him to try to do a mock-up of Myatt without disguise.”

“He did it.” Griffin handed him his laptop computer. “Take a look.”

“Holy shit.” Lynch’s hands tightened on the computer. “This is Bobby Chatsworth.”

“Clearly,” Griffin said.

“Incredible,” Lynch said.

Metcalf took another look at the sketch. “According to Reade, the sketch artist has never seen Chatsworth before. This was just a concept sketch based on disguises Myatt might have used.”

“Brilliant,” Lynch murmured.

“Reade got hold of Chatsworth’s producer. The team left for England this morning. Everyone except Chatsworth. He’s still here.”

Lynch tensed. “Have you called Kendra?”

Griffin and Metcalf exchanged glances. “That’s why I wanted you to drop everything and get over here. She’s not answering her phone.”

“What?”

“And she’s not at the hospital, either,” Metcalf said.

Lynch asked slowly and carefully, “Then where the hell is she?”

“No one knows.”

“Don’t tell me that. Chatsworth has her. You know it and I know it.” Saying the words made that truth more stark and terrible. “Now tell me how we’re going to get her back. Chatsworth has to have his own phone. He won’t get rid of it if he doesn’t know that we’ve zeroed in on him. Have you started the trace?”

“Reade started that trace before she sent me the sketch. We’ll have it very soon.”

“Soon?” Lynch started cursing as he started walking toward the burning embers of the house.

“Where are you going?” Griffin called after him.

“I’m taking Nelson’s car.”

“Where?”

“I’ll start with the hospital, unless you can find me a more productive place to go.” He stared at him over his shoulder, and said with icy softness, “And you’d better find me that phone location in a damn big hurry. Or I just might be more angry with you than I am with Chatsworth. You don’t want that, Griffin.”

Jurupa Mountain

Riverside County, California

STILL, DEATHLY SILENCE.

There was nothing else to hear after Chatsworth cut the engine. They had left the paved roads fifteen minutes before, and Kendra had been aware of a slight incline ever since. A slight odor of pines had found its way into the passenger compartment, destroying her previous belief that they were heading for the desert.

Chatsworth climbed out of the vehicle and opened the rear door. He yanked the tarp off and dragged her out of the car by her jacket collar. It was still nighttime, but the full moon bathed the area in a bluish glow.

Chatsworth cut the ropes around her ankles. “Do you know where you are?”

Kendra looked around while she tried to steady herself. They were on a hilltop, at the end of a forest. “Should I?”

“I believe it will come back to you. It’s one of your best efforts.” He motioned with a long knife. “But it didn’t happen quite here. It’s up ahead. Come along. I can’t wait to show you.”

*   *   *

“BAD NEWS,” GRIFFIN SAID when Lynch answered. “Chatsworth has dropped off the network.”

Keep cool. “Entirely?”

“He hasn’t pinged a cell tower in over thirty minutes. Either his phone died, or he decided to yank the battery. Maybe he doesn’t want to leave tracks.”

Lynch pulled off the road and stared at the map on his tablet computer. “It looks like he was heading toward Riverside County, or maybe San Bernadino.”

“That’s a lot of territory.”

“Unless…” Lynch’s mind was racing. “Think about your bulletin boards of Kendra’s old cases.”

“What are you getting at?”

Lynch stared at the map for another long moment. “I have an idea where he’s taking her. Griffin, get your helicopter in the air. Quick.” He muttered a curse. “I’m close, but I may not be close enough.”

*   *   *

“YOU’RE NOT MOVING FAST ENOUGH.” Chatsworth pushed her down the path. Kendra stumbled, her hands still bound behind her. She’d managed to whittle at the ropes while in the SUV, but it had been slow going, and she’d only managed a partial cut. She was tempted to try to break the ropes now and make a move, but the timing had to be right, or it could be disaster. If the ropes didn’t break, she might not have a second chance.

“Tell me something, Kendra. Back there at the hospital … Something tipped you off to me. It was like a light went on. You suddenly knew with whom you were dealing. What was it?”

“Your fingers.”

Chatsworth held up his hand. “My fingers?”

“Yes. You have small, dark bruises on the fingers of your right hand. I knew that your victim at the club, Danica Beale, bit her attacker on his right, gloved hand. There were brown leather slivers between some of her front teeth. Not many men wear any kind of gloves around here, nor have them readily available if needed. Much less brown leather ones. But I guess they’re more common where you’re from. I saw part of a brown leather glove poking up from your jacket pocket.”

He smiled. “Very good.”

“Also, there were only four cars in the hospital lot. Three had condensation on the windows, meaning they had been there for a while. The one that didn’t was obviously yours. It was an Infiniti SUV. That’s the engine I heard starting and driving away the other night at Corrine Harvey’s house.”

“You never disappoint, Kendra.” He stopped and grabbed her arm. “Here we are.” He gestured to the bottom of the hill at an abandoned, water-filled quarry, its sides cut in straight, vertical sheaths. “Now do you remember?”

She inhaled sharply. “Jurupa Quarry. Mary Delgado.” She turned. “And those trees…”

“It’s where Burton McNair tried to hang his final victim. He murdered and hung three others in the forests around here: equidistant north, south, and east of the spot where the sheriff’s deputies killed his father a year before. Here, due west, you kept him from completing his work and killing Mary Delgado.” He smiled. “Tonight, you’re going to help me complete it for him in a much more satisfying way.”

“You’re going to kill me and hang me from one of those trees.”

“By George, I believe she’s got it.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve definitely got it.” Keep him talking; she had the ropes frayed and was pulling gently on them.

“As you saw each of your cases re-created, you had to know this was how it would end. My final re-creation must feature you as the victim. It’s the final movement of my symphony.”

And he was getting ready for that symphony to end with a giant crescendo.

Time was running out for her. She had to make her move.

He took a step closer, his knife ready. “I’m almost sorry, Kendra. I know there will be others, but none I’ll enjoy as much as you. You are unique.”

She looked down, and her shoulders tensed as she prepared to jerk with all her strength on the ropes.

He nodded. “Unfortunately for you, sometimes history can be rewritten.”

“And sometimes it can be repeated.”

The ropes flew from her wrists!

She leaped forward and jabbed her carved-bone blade into Chatsworth’s stomach.

He swung with his own knife. Kendra ducked, and jammed her blade into the middle of his back. But he was moving, and it was a glancing blow.

Not deep enough. Not deep enough.

But it was deep enough for agony. He howled in pain and tried in vain to reach the protruding blade.

Kendra ran a few yards away before turning. “Not a large blade but sufficiently lethal.”

Chatsworth felt his stomach and stared incredulously at his bloody hand in the moonlight. He glared at Kendra. “You think you’ve won?”

She backed away. “It’s not a game.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a handgun.

Shit.

She dashed into the forest as he fired two shots at her.

She ran deep into the dense foliage, trying to avoid anything that resembled an actual path. His footsteps pounded behind her, crunching leaves and snapping branches.