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Chapter 595

They rode  in Malomond's car, a two-year old gold Cadillac that fit his personality perfectly and gave the burly ex-cop plenty of room behind the wheel. Malomond drove in a relaxed manner, steering the car through the city streets with the fingers of his left hand, his elbow resting on the open window frame like he was out for a simple pleasure cruise. A peppy Sinatra tune floated gaily from the CD player, adding to the illusion.

Conner was anything but relaxed. Malomond had refused to share the killer’s address—insurance against Conner changing his mind, he said—so Conner had no idea how close they were to their destination. He could feel the adrenaline seeping into his system, quickening his pulse and shortening his breathing as he thought about taking the killer down in his own home, always a dangerous proposition, and more dangerous still with this guy. His recent brush with the killer was fresh in his mind—the man’s quick reactions and

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