Chuckling to himself, he shook his head and then hunkered down to wait for Devereaux to exit the building. He was a patient man and patience was always rewarded. Always. Patience was a virtue according to the Bible.
“I’m coming for you, Ramie,” he said in a singsong, soft voice.
His mind was flooded with images of Ramie St. Claire being punished for interfering in his quests. It was his duty to rid the world of the weak and the sinners. But then Ramie had turned the investigators loose on him. She’d cost him valuable time. He’d had to fall back and regroup, lying low and lulling everyone into a false sense of security. They’d thought he’d stopped the cleansing, but in truth he only took a sabbatical.
He laughed again. A sabbatical from sin. It had a certain ring to it.
Ramie St. Claire didn’t have his entire focus. He was capable of splitting his attention, especially when it came to new blood. Another waited for him. He licked his lips in anticipation and rubbed his hands back and forth together.
As soon as his job was done here, he’d take care of his latest conquest. Ramie would be pleased, no doubt, that he had another victim because it meant she wasn’t his yet. But soon. Very soon all the pieces would fall into place and Ramie would be punished for her sins.
He came to attention, his nostrils flaring and eyes narrowing as he focused on Caleb Devereaux leaving the office building. He started forward, his stride hobbled, his clothing dirty and torn. There was nothing about his current appearance to hint at his identity. He was very careful and he knew he was smarter than the others. They wouldn’t find him.
His pulse accelerated and a giddy thrill coursed through his veins as Caleb Devereaux approached. Caleb didn’t see him. Men like Caleb never saw the less fortunate. He looked past others as though they didn’t exist in his privileged world. His shortsightedness would cost him dearly.
On cue, he stumbled, falling forward directly into Devereaux’s path. His arm flailed upward as if he were trying to catch himself. His fingers curled tightly around Devereaux’s arm as he went to one knee.
“Sir, are you all right?” Devereaux asked in a concerned voice.
Surprise prickled down his spine at Devereaux’s reaction. He blinked and forced his attention back to the task at hand.
Devereaux helped him to his feet while he had his hand clamped around Devereaux’s wrist.
“Do you need medical attention?” Devereaux asked, his brow furrowing.
He shook his head and rasped out, “No. Thank you, sir. You’ve been kind. But I’m all right. I just tripped. Sorry to have bothered you.”
“You weren’t a bother,” Devereaux said kindly.
Then to his surprise, Devereaux reached into his billfold and pulled out several twenties. He held the money out to him, urging him to take it.
Even better. He now had something that had been in Devereaux’s possession, which had his imprint all over it.
“Have a blessed day,” he said to Devereaux in a gravelly voice that sounded as aged as he currently looked. And then he turned and shuffled away, careful to keep the guise of an old, homeless man. A smile hovered on his lips and adrenaline pumped through his veins, giving him a euphoric high that could only be topped when he had Ramie St. Claire at his mercy.
TWENTY-THREE
“THE eyes aren’t right,” Ramie said, frustration beating at her temples.
She scrubbed a hand over her face and closed her own eyes momentarily. She tried to force herself to relax and allow her mind to hone in on her stalker’s features. But every time she pulled up his face it was all a giant blur.
Her head pounded viciously. The harder she tried to bring the image into focus, the more her head hurt. It felt as though she could burst a blood vessel in her brain at any moment.
“Do you need to take a break?” Dane asked.
His concern was evident as his gaze swept over her. Judging by his reaction, she must look pretty terrible. If she looked even half as bad as she felt then the expression death warmed over applied.
“We can stop for a few moments,” Eliza said gently. “Maybe get some fresh air. Would you like something to drink?”
“My head,” she moaned, pain assaulting her over the two words she verbalized. She sandwiched her head between her hands, pressing her palms to her throbbing temples.
“Are you all right?” Dane demanded. “What about your head?”
“Migraine.” It was all she could or wanted to get out. Her voice was so loud in her ears that even the three words she’d uttered felt as though she’d screamed them.
Eliza cast a worried glance in Dane’s direction.
“Do you have meds?” Dane asked. “Or do we need to call a doctor to come see you?”