“Spoken like the master of manipulation you are. They don’t call you ‘the Puppetmaster’ for nothing.”

“Have I ever told you how uncomfortable I am with that nickname?”

“Only because it reveals an ability you’d prefer to keep hidden. And at this moment, your comfort really isn’t all that important to me, Puppetmaster.” Kendra grabbed a stack of notebooks and shoved them into her leather satchel.

“What now?”

“I’m going to talk to Sheila Hunter.”

“Like hell you are.”

“Just try to stop me.”

“I will.” He grabbed her wrist as she tried to push past him. “I’m telling you, it’s a bad idea. You can’t win.”

“You think I should just shrink away without a word of protest?”

“I’m not saying that at all. But you don’t want to give her fodder for a follow-up story. Trust me, you’ve given her too much already.”

“Well, what I’m about to give her, no news organization could ever print.”

“Wanna bet? If you go at her like a lunatic, not only will she pick out some choice quotes, she’ll record the whole thing. Just as I’m sure she did yesterday. And if you sound sufficiently deranged, that audio file will be all over the Web by the end of the afternoon.”

“I can’t let it go, Lynch.”

“At least let me go with you.”

“No, this is between me and her.”

“And possibly hundreds of thousands of readers. You’re not used to dealing with the media.”

“I usually just ignore them.”

“Excellent strategy. That’s exactly what you should be doing right now.”

She thought for a moment. He was probably right. She knew all wisdom dictated he was right. But what about justice, dammit? Didn’t that count for anything?

She turned toward the door. “Sorry, I just can’t do that. I’m talking to her alone. Lock up behind you, won’t you. You obviously won’t need a key.”

She left the studio.

*   *   *

“SHEILA … SHEILA HUNTER!”

Kendra ran across the plaza that fronted the Imperial Avenue headquarters of Hobart News, the media conglomerate that owned The Kinsley Chronicle. Two phone calls from her car was all she needed to know where to find Sheila, and the reporter was now practically sprinting from the building.

Sheila pretended not to hear her, but Kendra cut her off. “It was all a big lie,” Kendra said fiercely. “That picture that you showed me yesterday.”

“Dr. Michaels, I have a meeting I need to—”

“Tough. You have a meeting with me right here, right now.”

Sheila pulled her phone from her pocket and tapped it. “Look, I’m running late, so whatever you want to say to me—”

Kendra grabbed her hand and turned it around to look at the phone’s front screen. A recording app was working away, with two graphic spools slowly spinning. Kendra pushed the apps red STOP button. “You do not have permission to record this conversation. Just as you didn’t yesterday.”

“I stand by my story,” Sheila said.

“Stand by it, don’t stand by it, I really don’t give a damn. The core of your story is correct. I believe Eric Colby is still alive. But until your piece appeared, he didn’t know I knew. That was a major advantage I had over him. He didn’t know I was looking for him, and now there’s a strong possibility he does.”

Sheila’s lips curled in a disbelieving grin. “Dr. Michaels, everyone but you seems to know that Eric Colby is dead. I really did watch him die.”

“And yet you mocked up those photos to offer me proof that suggested otherwise.”

She shrugged. “I knew it was the only way I could get an interview with you. It was a gaping hole in my story.”

“How did you even do those pictures?”

“A friend of mine is a real-estate agent, and she got me into an identical unit in that building.”

“Almost identical,” Kendra said.

“Close enough. A bit of Photoshop helped out, too.”

“That’s why you wouldn’t let me have copies. You didn’t want me to be able to study them for too long.”

“Well, they did their job.”

“Your ‘story’ doesn’t even qualify as news. It’s gossip mongering.”

“I beg to differ. The woman who captured one of the most notorious serial killers in our state’s history now insists that his execution didn’t really happen? If that’s not news, what is?”

“It will be news when I find him. And your half-baked story is only going to make it more difficult. Does your employer know that you lied and manufactured evidence to get me to talk to you?”

“The Kinsley Chronicle doesn’t want to know. Do you really think they care what their reporters do to get stories? In this case, they handed me the story and told me the slant they wanted on it. They want buzz, page hits, and advertising dollars, not necessarily in that order. Your story will give them all those things.”

“My story? Don’t you even care that—” Kendra stopped, then said, “I can’t believe you. What if I’m right about Colby, and if he kills again before I can find him? How will they feel then? How will you feel?”

“Didn’t you read the story? Didn’t you see that every law-enforcement official I interviewed is positive that Eric Colby was put to death?”

“I read it.” She took a step closer and got into Sheila’s face. “You made me believe you were into a much bigger, much more horrible story that I really didn’t want to be true. I actually thought you were helping me to save lives.”

Sheila lowered her voice to a hiss. “But you do want it to be true, Kendra. You’re not fooling me or anyone else. You want it to be true so that you can prove you’re right and the rest of the world is wrong. Even if it means that people have to die.”

Kendra was stunned at the sheer malevolence of the woman. “You’re so wrong. You couldn’t be more wrong.”

“Couldn’t I? Well, it doesn’t matter. Do you think I care? I have the power of the press, and everyone will believe me anyway.”

Sheila whirled and strode away.

*   *   *

EVEN IF IT MEANS THAT people have to die.

The words were still pounding in Kendra’s head as she drove back to the condo. It wasn’t true, but that’s exactly what those cops thought, she realized. They thought she only wanted to prove herself.

Lynch was right. It had been a mistake to talk to Sheila.

But she’d probably do it again.

Shake it off. Nothing that horrible woman wrote or said made a damned bit of difference.

If only that was true.

Even if it means that people have to die …

As Kendra entered her parking garage, a text message appeared on her phone from Beth. THE PARTY’S AT OLIVIA’S.

This made her smile. Beth was making friends. Her years in virtual isolation certainly hadn’t impeded her abilities on that count.

She went to the third floor and immediately heard the pulsing music coming from the condo at the end of the hall.

Kendra rapped on the door and let herself in. Beth and Olivia Moore were seated at the dining-room table with half a dozen shot glasses lined up in front of them.

“Wow,” Kendra said. “It is a party.”

Beth raised a glass in her direction. “Why didn’t you tell me your friend was so cool?”

“I knew you’d find out soon enough.”

Olivia smiled. “How are you, Kendra?”

They knew about the story, Kendra realized. Olivia’s stunning, olive-toned face gave it away immediately. She had known Olivia since they were children together at the Woodward School for the Vision Impaired in Oceanside. They had been close since the day they’d met, and when Kendra had been granted the miraculous gift of sight, her only regret was leaving her friend behind in the darkness. Olivia was never anything but supportive of her friend, but Kendra knew that her deepest wish was to find a way to regain her own sight someday. Sadly, the stem-cell technique that had worked for Kendra wasn’t an option for Olivia.

“You know about The Kinsley Chronicle story,” Kendra said. “Don’t try to pretend you don’t.”