Born To Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

“No wonder the state’s in trouble.”

“Yeah, right.” They talked a little more; then Riza promised to get her the information she needed, if she could.

“Step one,” she told Bonzi, then leaned back in her desk chair, stretching her spine and neck. “Maybe we should go for a walk in the park,” she said. “Go get your leash.”

He had been lying on his dog bed, but at hearing the word walk, he was instantly on all four feet and trotting to the back door.

He sat glued to his desk chair, his earphones firmly over his head, his heart starting to beat out of control. Already Acacia was becoming suspicious, checking birth and death certificates. Though he could monitor her at home and at her clinic, he couldn’t anticipate all her moves or what she might be thinking. It was only a matter of time before she had an idea of what he was doing.

She could ruin everything!

And there was still so much to do!

He’d heard that she’d gotten herself a dog, and that bothered him. Sneaking in and out of her place, though he’d done it only a couple of times, would now be much more difficult.

Just one more problem to be worked out. Nothing serious.

He could handle it.

He could, he reminded himself, handle anything.

But this ... her linking the deaths. He couldn’t allow it.

He ripped off the headset and stared at the death wall, the large area where he’d recently carefully pinned all those shots of the Unknowings. Some of them showed their surprise when they realized they’d been duped. Others displayed horror and fear as they caught on that they were taking their last breaths, and a few, like Elle Alexander, where the death had been from a distance, were only a blurry photo. He’d taken time to snap a quick shot on his cell phone before driving away and over the bridge, catching the minivan sinking into the water.

So many years of work.

So much time invested.

Almost finished ... and now she was going to ruin it? No fucking way!

Furious, he kicked a trash can and sent it reeling, the plastic buckling as it bounced off a wall and spilled its contents of papers that he had intended to burn, empty cartons, and a burned-out lightbulb onto the slick tile floor.

He had to do something.

He had to stop her.

His cell phone jangled, and he gnashed his teeth, seeing on the screen that it was his damned sister. She called at the most inopportune moments. It was almost as if she could see him, read his frustration, and had to let him know it.

She’s only trying to help you fit in. You should be thankful.

He wasn’t. Because every single person in his family realized he would never be like the rest of them. He couldn’t. From the beginning he was different, and they all knew it.

In the mirror he caught his reflection, handsome, but no longer calm, his face flushed, the white scar at his temple seeming to pulse with his frenzy.

So like the rest of them, but so different.

How could he have let this happen?

The phone rang again.

Calm down. Take the call. . . . Sister is an ally, though she may not know it.

He tried to force his blood pressure into the normal range.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi.” She was breathless as usual, probably dealing with “that moron of a contractor,” which was her usual excuse for being in a bad mood.