He stood in the middle of his life’s work, an installation that filled the entire top floor of one of the nicest buildings in Broslin. His soundproofed workshop was down in the basement. The downstairs he left as it had been when he’d bought the abandoned building. If anyone somehow peeked in through a boarded-up window, let them see nothing.But the top floor, here he spent money. The space could have been part of a wing in the Louvre. Not that he ever wanted his art to be moved there. This was his hometown. His museum should be here, maybe with the town named after him eventually. Let the French come here if they wanted to see his work. He was proud to be an American.The canvases that hung on the walls had been painted in living blood. They’d been his first true creations, the very thing that eventually led him onto the right path.He’d been in North Carolina to pick up a car he’d bought online. He met a young woman at the hotel bar. She came back to his room with him.And then she

Everybody was at the police station. Since the FBI still had most of their things set up there, they were bringing Blackwell to Broslin, and nobody wanted to miss that. Even Leila came in, and Harper too, his arm in a sling. At first Jack had thought they’d come to see the monster. But as they clapped him on the back, one by one, Leila actually getting close enough for a hug, he realized they were here to support him.“There. It’s over now,” Bing said gruffly. “They have him.”Jack stood by the front desk, one eye always on the front door as he tried to figure out how the hell this happened. Apparently, he had friends.He’d come to Broslin for Blackwell, and Blackwell alone. He didn’t socialize; he didn’t hang out; he didn’t do the buddy thing. In his spare time, he either drove around town, trying to figure out where Blackwell might live, or sat at home going through the case files.The FBI bursting through the door with their suspect in cuffs refocused him.Right age, right body typ

Her feet were frozen, her bedroom slippers little protection against the snow. Ashley wrapped her arms around her daughter as best she could, trying to keep Maddie warm. Her own body shook, and not only because of the cold. Dark panic gripped her as she shuffled forward on the ice.For the past year, she had barely been able to look at the reservoir. And now here she was, the place where Dylan had died, where she’d lost her life, then gained it back, thanks to the paramedics. Where she had nearly lost Maddie.So much grief and guilt was tied up in this expanse of rough ice. She couldn’t think here. All the fear of the past was getting mixed up with the panic of the present.She forced her brain to focus. “Why are you doing this, Graham?”The man shoved her toward a dark hole hacked into the ice. Another kind of grave. She recognized her axe next to it, the handle painted pink. He must have taken it from her garage. Next to the axe, a large cement brick waited with a ropetied to it. H