“Are you sure?”

“Sure as I could be without seeing him here in this room in front of me. I had an uneasy feeling he might have changed his appearance to fool me, but this is the man I saw that night. What details do you have?”

Reade glanced down at her laptop screen. “This was sent by a Kensington resident named Tom Keating. He says he thought the police sketch looked like this UPS driver who has been delivering in his neighborhood during the last six months or so. According to the time stamp on the photo, it was taken at 5:46 P.M. yesterday.”

“We need to follow up on him.”

Reade’s fingers flew across her keyboard. “I’m forwarding this to the team right now. I guarantee that a UPS area supervisor will be getting a visit very soon.”

“Good.” Kendra gazed at the screen as the PowerPoint slideshow automatically resumed. She suddenly stiffened.

What in the hell?

“Stop.”

There was another photo of who appeared to be the same man, this time wearing a striped vest and train engineer’s hat. He was holding two dozen helium balloons, which he was passing out to children at a park.

Kendra quickly studied his physique and facial features. “This is the same man.”

Reade’s gaze narrowed on this screen. “It certainly looks like him.”

“It is, I’m positive. It’s taken from a distance, but look at his forehead and jawline.”

“So he’s a UPS driver and a balloon peddler?”

Kendra stepped closer and examined the blue time stamp imprinted on the photo’s lower right corner. “I don’t know what he is. But we’re meant to believe this picture was taken at the exact same moment as the other one—5:46 P.M. yesterday.”

“What?” Reade checked her PowerPoint notes. “This came from a man named Eric Hebborn. No other information.”

“Show me some more.”

Reade flashed more photos on the screen in front of her until Kendra spotted the man again, this time wearing dirty coveralls at what appeared to be an automotive garage. “Don’t tell me—5:46 P.M. yesterday.”

Reade checked the photo’s digital time stamp. “Bingo.”

“He’s screwing with us. Screwing with me. He posed for these with his own camera and set the camera clock time himself. He knew I’d be looking at these. Who sent this one in?”

“Someone named Tony Tetro.”

Kendra pulled out her phone and furiously thumb-typed her way through the Google search screen. “And the other photos came from Eric Hebborn and Tom Keating?”

“Yes.”

After a moment, Kendra raised her phone and showed Reade the search-screen results page. “Look. Those are the names of three of art history’s most notorious forgers.”

“More forgers … So this is all bullshit.”

“Except these photos really are of him.”

Reade leaned back in her chair and shook her head. “Kinda ballsy, a serial killer sending us photos of himself.”

“Except none of these are all that clear and don’t approach the level of detail in that police sketch. If the news outlets start running these instead, we’ll only be taking a step backward.”

“Maybe that’s what he wants.”

“What he really wants is to show that he’s not afraid of us, that everything that we’re doing doesn’t matter to him.”

She could feel a chill as she stared at his face on the screen. It was as if she could taste the mockery he was displaying toward her.

“Kendra? Is something wrong?”

She moved her shoulders in an effort to shrug off the uneasiness that was close to fear. She told Reade, “No, it’s okay. Go ahead and show me the rest. Right now I just want to be done with him and get the hell out of here.”

CHAPTER

7

HOURS LATER, KENDRA WAS STILL staring at the three photos on her dining-room table. She had requested the printouts from Reade, but they hadn’t told her anything more than she’d known back at the FBI conference room.

The Bureau, no doubt, was racing to track down the IP addresses from which they had come and had perhaps even identified one or more of the locations in the photos.

Just as Myatt knew they would.

Her cell phone rang. Lynch.

Warmth and eagerness flowed through her. She was tired of staring at these photos of that monster who was sure that he could block her at every pass. She wanted contact with Lynch, who was every bit as dangerous as Myatt, but not to her.

At least, not in the same way.

She answered the call. “Why do you keep phoning me? I told you to tend to your business, and I’d tend to mine. I think you must be bored with all those Washington types. Not that I blame—”

“I’m outside your condo, Kendra,” Lynch broke in impatiently. His voice was tense. “One of your neighbors was careless enough to hold open the building’s front door for me, but your FBI bodyguard won’t let me within ten feet of your condo without an okay from you.”

“That’s because he’s good at his job. Maybe you can learn a thing or two from him.”

“I don’t have time to convince him that I’m harmless, so I’m left with the option of either taking him out or having you call him off. I don’t give a damn which one. Choose.”

There was no question he meant it.

“Don’t touch him.” Kendra walked to her door and opened it wide. She nodded to Agent Nelson. “Thanks for being so efficient. My friend tends to be a little rude.”

He smiled. “My job. You’re sure he’s no threat?”

“It depends on who you ask. But not to me.” She stepped aside for Lynch to enter. “I’ll call if he proves a problem.”

“Do that,” Lynch said as he walked into the condo and slammed the door behind him. “I’m feeling edgy, and I’d welcome a confrontation.”

“Not with Agent Nelson. Olivia would never forgive you.”

“What?” Then he dismissed the subject as unimportant. “I heard about your photo lineup today.”

“Unproductive as it was. When did you get back in town?”

“Just now. I came straight from the airport.”

Her brows rose. “All finished in D.C.?”

“Not really, but I got some news that made me think that I was needed back here.”

“We’ve discussed that before. I’m handling this—” She stopped. Lynch had mentioned being on edge and she could see that was an understatement. Definitely not his usual self. “What news?”

“I heard from the FBI lab manager. I’ve guaranteed that he gets in touch with me with any information directly after he tells Griffin.”

She stiffened. “I haven’t heard anything from Griffin.”

“I think they’re still trying to figure out what it means.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s about the clothing you recovered from Corrine Harvey’s house. They recovered fresh skin cells from the sweater. They were able to extract DNA they thought might be from the killer.”

“That’s great.”

“And what’s more, they got a match off the CODIS DNA database.”

“Even better. So why do you look like you’ve just come from a funeral?”

Lynch shook his head, then looked her in the eye. “The DNA is from Eric Colby.”

Her eyes widened with shock. “What? Impossible.”

“Eric Colby,” he repeated. “The first killer you ever put away.”

Kendra’s brow wrinkled. “That doesn’t make sense. How in the hell could—”

“You tell me. He’s been on death row in San Quentin State Penitentiary for the past four years.” He paused. “He’s scheduled to be executed by lethal injection Monday night.”

Eric Colby.

Kendra felt a little light-headed. She moved toward the sofa and slowly sat down. “This is a nightmare. I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it.” His gaze narrowed on her face. “You look damn shaky. Can I get you something? Glass of water? Shot of brandy? Handful of barbiturates?”

“I feel as if I could use all three.” She looked up at Lynch. “I’ve spent four years trying to forget Eric Colby. When we were walking through the maze of my old cases at the field office Sunday, I did everything I could to avoid looking at his photo. I’ve never felt such darkness, such total evil, in anyone before or since.”