Page 69 of Girl, Reformed

Silence in the wake of her words. Harlandand Luca staring like she'd just grown a second head. Or maybe like they werereally seeing her for the first time - the jagged edges, the hairlinefractures. The parts of her that understood the unsub, that could slip into hisskin and feel the warp of that freakshow he called a mind.

But there wasn't time to plumb thosepitch-black depths. They were on the scent now, the unsub's scent hot in theirnoses. And they had to move, strike while the trail was fresh.

‘I’ll get his address,’ Harland called andrushed out of the room.

‘We got him,’ Luca said. ‘God dammit, wegot him.’

Ella pushed to her feet, already reachingfor her pistol, checking the chamber. Ready to roll, to turn this city upsidedown until their unsub fell out like a rotten tooth. She rolled her neck,cracked a few joints, let old aches fade to background noise.

She was alive and crackling like a livewire with the thrill of the hunt. The quarry was in sight, the game afoot.

And damned if she'd let this ghoul slipthrough her fingers.

Harland scurried back in. ‘335 ReedswoodGrove,’ he said.

‘Good work, Chief,’ Ella said. ‘That’swhere we’re headed.’

‘You need backup?’

‘No. I need you to stay here.’ Ellapointed to her laptop. ‘Get your tech guys to identify any potential victims.Any hecklers, any raised voices. They’re all possible targets. Identify themand keep them safe.’

The chief nodded in understanding.‘Alright. You two stay safe.’

Game on. Showtime. The big finish, andElla was ready for her turn in the center ring. Step right up and come one,come all to the greatest show on earth.

‘Let’s do this, Hawkins.’

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

Midafternoon sun stabbed through the carwindows as Ella screeched up to Sebastian Doyle's house. The place was ashoebox, squat and faded, hunkered down between carbon copy neighbors. Justanother cookie cutter dump in this nowhere burg.

As soon as she killed the engine, Luca wasout and moving before she could blink, the spring-loaded pretty boy jonesingfor action. Ella hauled herself after him, ignoring the creak in her joints,the twinge in her back. Too little rest, too many unhealed injuries.

They hit the porch together, Luca poundingon the door like it owed him money. Three strikes, sharp and loud as gunshotsin the drowsy afternoon hush. They waited, listened. Not a damn thing. Noshuffle of feet, no startled curses. Just a big fat goose egg.

Ella's molars ground together, frustrationbubbling in her guts like a shook-up soda can. No way was she letting thistwisted son of a bitch slip through her fingers. Not when they were so closeshe could practically smell the sociopathy leaking out of the walls.

Ella pounded on the door, three short,sharp raps. ‘Sebastian Doyle, FBI. Open up.’

Silence. Nothing but the distant yap of adog and the creak of a screen door two houses down. Ella scowled, fist risingto knock again.

Then the shades twitched.

Just a flutter, there and gone. But it wasenough. Ella's hand dropped to her holster, fingers curling round cool steel.Beside her, Luca tensed, a quivering arrow ready to fly.

‘Doyle, we just want to talk,’ she called.

More silence. Another shiver of theshades, a glimpse of movement in the gloom beyond. Then, quick as a magic trick– nothing. Stillness settled like a shroud.

‘God damn,’ she spat. Then she was moving,prowling around the side of the house like a hungry alley cat. Looking for away in, an angle to play. Luca scrambled after her, protest hot on his heels.

‘Whoa, hey! Are you sure about this? Feelsa little off-book for’

‘Can it.’ Ella shot him a look that couldcurdle milk. ‘If the director kicks up a fuss, just blame me. I'm not lettingthis freak ghost us, not when we're breathing down his damn neck.’

She hugged the side of the house, slinkingthrough knee-high grass gone to seed. Dandelions clawed at her ankles, ragweeddusting her trousers. Ahead, a small window winked at her from beneath arusted-out AC unit.

The glass was filthy, caked with the grimeof years. But it was open a crack, just enough for clever fingers to pry itwider. Ella jimmied the sash, grunting as the warped wood resisted. But she wasa determined cuss, and splinters were a small price for entry.

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