Her mother sighed. “I didn’t think you’d go for it, but I thought I’d try.” She added slyly, “Well, at least call Dean back so that I can see a safe future for you on the horizon.”

“Mom, you’re incorrigible.” She couldn’t help but chuckle. “You remind me of Lynch. Pure manipulation.”

“Lynch is a very dangerous man. I’m not dangerous to you. I’m only a mother trying to pave your way to a better life. Will you do it?”

She made a face. “Yes, I’ll call Dean. But that’s all I’ll promise.”

“That’s enough … for now.” She grinned. “I couldn’t leave here without some vestige of victory.”

“And you have it.” Kendra added gravely, “But I do have some bad news.”

“What?”

Kendra sniffed the air. “You really can’t cook. You just burned the waffles.”

CHAPTER

5

AT NOON, KENDRA MET with the FBI team and three police officers who were visibly seething from the murder of their colleague. She had seen this kind of desperation in investigators before, usually reserved for killers of fellow officers and children. Unfortunately, such raw emotion occasionally led to sloppy police work and false arrests. She had assisted in more than one case in which her most valuable contribution had been clearing innocent suspects who had been targeted by overzealous detectives.

Once again, she recounted the events of the previous evening, making sure they took note of the observations of the killer she had made, even down to the type of shaver he used.

After almost two hours of debriefing, she finally stood up to excuse herself. But Special Agent Saffron Reade still had one significant insight to share.

“I believe I know what Myatt means, Dr. Michaels,” Reade said. “Remember? That was the name he signed on your mobile phone message.”

Kendra stopped. “I could hardly forget. You definitely have my full attention.”

“John Myatt is the name of a forger. A painter. Scotland Yard called him the biggest art fraud of the twentieth century. He’s said to have sold his fakes to art galleries and auction houses all over the world. He could create uncanny copies of a wide variety of artists.”

Kendra was silent, trying to put together the connection. “Our murderer must see himself in the same way. He’s copying the work of people he thinks of as artists.”

“Exactly,” Reade said. “That’s something to keep in mind. He doesn’t see himself as a butcher. He thinks he’s an artist, and he wants his work to be admired.” She paused. “Very often, that desire can lead to a criminal’s downfall.”

Kendra nodded. “I can see that. Good work, Reade. Thank you.” She turned to go.

“And thank you, Kendra,” Griffin said as he held the door open for her. “You’ve been very cooperative.” He added softly, “Surprisingly cooperative. I’ll only keep you for a little while longer. Will you come down the hall with me for just a moment?”

“I’m done,” she said bluntly. “You’re not getting anything else out of me.”

“No third degree.” Griffin was ushering her down the hall and into a small conference room. “This won’t take you more than—”

“What’s this?” Kendra stopped just inside the door as she saw a gray-haired man waiting for her in the conference room. He had a large, brown leather satchel on the floor beside him.

The man smiled. “Hello, Kendra. I’m delighted to meet you.”

She turned back toward Griffin. “Who is this?”

“He’s your doctor. Whether you want him to be or not.”

“No way. Seriously? You called a doctor here to examine me?”

“No.”

“Then how in the hell—?”

The doctor opened his satchel. “I’m Dr. Paul Thompson, Dr. Michaels. I work out of the Scripps Medical Center. I’m here at the behest of Adam Lynch. He phoned me at about four this morning. He was most insistent that I examine you. I was prepared to open my office early for you, but he said you’d never go for that.”

“So he found the one doctor in San Diego who makes house calls.”

“Actually, I don’t. Mr. Lynch is a very persuasive man.”

“No one would argue that point.” Kendra nodded toward his satchel. “That explains the strange doctor’s bag, which isn’t really a doctor’s bag at all. You usually carry that to work with a laptop and ham sandwich inside. Am I right?”

Dr. Thompson smiled as he pulled a stethoscope from his bag. “Sometimes tuna.”

Kendra turned toward Griffin in disbelief.

“We checked him out,” Griffin said. “He’s who he says he is.”

Dr. Thompson pulled a folded paper examination gown from his bag. “Now, if I can have you change into this…”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Mr. Lynch wanted me to be very thorough. I can wait outside while you—”

“Go away. That isn’t going to happen.”

“My instructions are to follow you wherever you go and stand by until you consent to a full examination.”

“You have nothing better to do?”

He didn’t answer directly. “Mr. Lynch is compensating me exceptionally well for my time.”

Kendra shook her head. Lynch was probably laughing his ass off at that very moment. Okay, she could fight and waste her time and energy, or she could submit and get through the exam in record time.

And get back at Lynch at the earliest opportunity.

She finally snatched the gown from the doctor’s hand. “Fine. Both of you get out of here while I change. Only the doctor comes back in. I want to get this over with.”

She looked at Griffin, whose broad smile was turning into a gleeful chuckle. “Griffin, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you laugh before.”

He shrugged. “It’s just nice to see that Adam Lynch can piss off other people as much as he does me. I’m looking forward to watching you get your revenge.” He turned and walked out the door. “Enjoy your exam.”

*   *   *

HEARD YOU’RE IN FINE SHAPE. GREAT NEWS.

Kendra’s grip tightened on her phone as she stared at the text message from Lynch. She hadn’t even reached the elevator when her phone vibrated with the alert. Dr. Thompson had obviously phoned Lynch the second she had left the room.

She texted in reply: ALL GOOD, EXCEPT FOR OCCASIONAL NAUSEA CAUSED BY ONE ADAM LYNCH. NO KNOWN CURE.

His response came seconds later: CONDITION MISDIAGNOSED. OBVIOUSLY NOT GETTING ENOUGH ADAM LYNCH. WILL WORK TO RECTIFY SITUATION SOON.

She typed her reply: NO RUSH, CONDITION RAPIDLY IMPROVING WITH EACH LYNCH-LESS DAY.

He fired back: PATIENT HAS OBVIOUSLY SUSTAINED MASSIVE BRAIN TRAUMA. ONLY EXPLANATION FOR LACK OF APPRECIATION FOR AMAZING ADAM LYNCH.

She replied: HAVE ARRANGED INVASIVE AND INCREDIBLY PAINFUL RECTAL EXAM FOR YOU. COULD COME AT ANY TIME, WITHOUT WARNING. WATCH YOUR BACK.

He answered: PROMISES, PROMISES. SEE YOU SOON.

Kendra pocketed her phone.

In spite of her annoyance with Lynch’s arbitrary action, she found her anger was beginning to fade. She had left the doctor thinking what a colossal waste of time the exam had been, but she couldn’t help feeling a bit moved. Although several people had urged her to see a doctor, only Lynch had taken the time and trouble to actually bring one to her. Who does that?

Only Adam Lynch.

She entered the elevator, and Special Agent Roland Metcalf wedged his shoulder in just as the doors were about to close. He quickly stepped into the elevator with her. “You forgot something.”

“What’s that?”

“Me. I’m your guard today.”

“Really? I thought that was below your pay grade.”

“Actually, I’m also sort of partnering with you, assisting you, providing whatever support you may need.”

“And providing your boss with updates on my progress?”

He grinned. “That was implied, yes. But if there’s anything you’d rather keep confidential…”

She shrugged. “Tell him whatever you want.”

“Good, so what’s on the agenda today?”