Hunt’s pulse spiked. On screen was a map of the city, littered with red dots. An image flashed up in a new window.
It showed a man, more shadow than anything else. He was on a darkened street near the De Winter. His shoulders were hunched, he was wearing a hoodie, and his face was obscured by a bright blur of light.
“These glasses are actually making it easier to spot him,” Hunt said.
“Yes, there aren’t many people walking around with anti-facial-recognition glasses on.” Killian leaned forward. “There’s a pattern to the sightings. They’re clustered around Nob Hill.”
“He’s staying there, somewhere,” Hunt said.
Killian smiled. “I believe so.”
Another window popped open on the screen, and a woman appeared. “Hey, boss man.”
“Hex,” Killian said.
The woman was fine-boned, with short, black hair tipped with pale pink. She grinned and waved. Brynn waved back, and Hunt nodded.
“Detective Hunter Morgan, Detective Brynn Sullivan, this is Jet “Hex” Adler.”
Hex winked at Hunt. “They make detectives mighty fine on the West Coast.”
“He’s taken,” Killian said.
“The good ones always are. I’ve got something on your perp.” Hex pulled a face. “Now, I’m just saying, this guy you’re after is a dirtbag loser. I look forward to you nailing his ass to the wall.”
“Hex,” Killian prompted.
“Right. We just got a ping on Walkson from that sexy, hunkalicious Norcross hacker, and yes, I know he’s taken, too.”
Hunt straightened in his chair. “Where?”
“In the Nob Hill area. Mason Street. There are several hotels in the vicinity. Boss, I’ve emailed you the list.”
Hunt rose. “I’ll round up a couple of uniforms and start searching.”
Brynn smiled. “This could be it. We could arrest him today.”
Hunt sure as hell hoped so. “Let’s move.”
The sunshine was lovely.
Savannah was out on the penthouse terrace, enjoying the light breeze. She had her easel set up. With a palette knife, she was daubing colors on the canvas, bringing her picture to life.
Camden was sprawled on the outdoor couch nearby. He didn’t say much, but the silences weren’t awkward.
They’d eaten a simple lunch together, and realized they had a shared love of mustard on everything. She eyed him out of the corner of her eye. There was an edginess to him. Like he was waiting for a bear to burst out of the nicely manicured plants and attack.
“I can feel you watching me,” he said.
“I’m an artist, I watch everyone.”
He made a purely masculine sound. “This face isn’t pretty enough for you to paint.”
Savannah lowered her knife. “Cam, you have to know that you are plenty easy on the eyes. You and your brothers have that good-looking, all-American-man-thing going on. I bet you were a quarterback in high school and all the cheerleaders chased you.”
“I was a running back.”
“That still makes my point.”
He shrugged one broad shoulder. “They wouldn’t be chasing anymore.” He waved at his scarred cheek.
It wasn’t nearly as bad as he probably thought.
“To the right woman, that makes you more attractive. It shows you’ve lived, survived, all while serving your country.” She dabbed her knife in the paint.
Cam cocked his head. “I see why my brother likes you. You sure have him tied up in knots.”
“And I can see you’re changing the subject.” She bit her lip. “Any word from Hunt?”
Cam shook his head. “I wasn’t expecting to hear anything, so just chill, Savannah.”
She tried to relax her shoulders. “Sure.”
He eyed her canvas. It was an embracing couple, the darker-skinned man was much taller than the slim woman he held, who wore a flowing dress the same color as her strawberry-blonde hair.
“Rome and Sofie,” Cam said.
Savannah nodded. The Norcross gang gave her plenty of inspiration. She was planning to do Easton and Harlow next.
A cell phone rang from inside.
“That’s mine.” She set her knife down.
She followed the sound to the coffee table. It was a number she didn’t recognize. Frowning, she answered. “Hello?”
“Hello, Susannah.”
That pleasant, normal voice shouldn’t strike terror in her. Her hand clenched on the phone.
She turned away from the terrace doors. “Fuck you, asshole. You’re going down, and it’s just a matter of time. I look forward to sitting in court, listening as they sentence you to die in prison. It’s not so comfy there, Andrew.”
“Hmm, I see that big thug of a cop that you’re fucking has made you overconfident.”
Time to tell Cam about the call. She took one step toward the terrace doors—
“I have someone here with me. A friend of yours.”
Savannah froze.
“If you tell anyone that I’m on the phone with you, I’ll slit her throat. You can listen to her scream.”
Savannah couldn’t breathe. Cam appeared in the open door.
She forced a smile. “It’s Harlow. Girl talk.”
With a grunt, he disappeared back onto the terrace.
“You’re just tormenting me,” she whispered furiously. “Your photo is all over the news. Hunt’s tracking you down.”
Walkson made an unhappy sound. “Yes, I figured I had your lover to thank for that. I will kill him, Susannah. You should never have let him touch what is mine.”
“I’m not yours!” she whisper-yelled. “I never was, and I never will be.”
“I saw it in your art. We’re meant to be. Destined.”
“You need help, and you need to be punished for the women you murdered.”
“They didn’t mean anything. And this sweet thing with me, she’s just a stand-in for you. I’ll send you a picture.”
“I don’t want anything from you—”
The phone dinged in her hand. An incoming message. Mouth dry, she thumbed the screen and then her throat closed.
The image on the screen sent Savannah’s world tumbling to her feet.
A terrified Ella-Mae was in the shot with a smiling Walkson beside her.
The teenager’s mouth was gagged, her eyes pleading and afraid.
No. No. This couldn’t be happening. Nausea slammed into Savannah. She swallowed, fighting the urge to vomit.
“Ella-Mae,” Savannah whispered brokenly.
“She’s a sweet, sweet young thing. Now, you come to me, and I’ll let her go.”
Savannah’s stomach contracted to a hard, sharp point. Her skin flushed hot.
“If you don’t come to me, Susannah, she dies. Her blood spills while she screams and cries your name.”
Muffled whimpers came across the line.
Savannah squeezed her eyes closed. She remembered Ella-Mae’s smile, all the girl’s questions about art, her shyly telling Savannah about a boy she liked, running to get Hunt to help Savannah deal with John Garoppolo.
Ella-Mae was innocent.
“Come to me, Susannah. And this sweet thing can go home.”