* * *
PAIN. HORRIBLE, skull-shattering pain.
Kendra snapped awake. She couldn’t breathe.
She’d just vomited, she realized, and she was helpless to move and clear her air passages with anything but her throat muscles. She coughed and gasped until she could finally suck back some oxygen.
Darkness. Darkness everywhere. Where in the hell was she?
There was movement beneath her body. Then it hit her. She was spread out in the back of what must be Chatsworth’s SUV. The backseats were folded down, and a tarp covered her entire body. Her feet were tied together, and her arms were tied behind her back. The vehicle was moving, and its tires met the road with an airy two-tone hum that she identified as highway blacktop. Was he taking her into the desert?
“I would have been so disappointed if you’d choked to death, Kendra.” Chatsworth said from the driver’s seat. “Vomiting is an unfortunate side effect of the anesthetic.”
Kendra tried to speak, which caused her to gag for a few moments. Finally, she got the words out. “Where … are we going?”
“I’m surprised. After all we’ve been together … After all the questions I must have provoked in your mind and imagination during these past few days, that’s what you ask me?”
“Sorry … to disappoint you.”
“For instance, I took a real risk letting you see me the other night. But I wanted to see you, talk to you, touch you. You should be flattered. It was only because I had the highest respect for you, Kendra.”
“What … a lucky woman I am.”
“It was worth the risk. I was thrilled that my disguise was able to fool Kendra Michaels.”
“How did you—do it?”
“I had to shave the beard. This particular woolly beard is a fake, but only for the past few weeks. I had to perfect it. I figured if my broadcast audience couldn’t detect it through the magic of high definition, you couldn’t. And you had no way of knowing that Bobby Chatsworth uses dermal tape to pull back the skin above the temple hairline to remove the forehead lines. And my erstwhile police-officer image wore a set of dental appliances and cheek fillers that further altered the face. Of course, Chatsworth’s glasses also helped. You know … I don’t even wear glasses. It’s all part of Bobby Chatsworth’s costume. He’s a character I created. But I guess we all create characters for ourselves as we move through life.”
“So you’re a philosopher. How very … deep.”
He laughed. “Perhaps I’ve been getting carried away. It’s just that I’ve been looking forward to talking to you about this.”
“You wanted to brag, gloat. I’ve met men like you before. And one woman.”
“No you haven’t,” he snapped, suddenly angry. “There are no others like me.”
“Funny thing for a copycat killer to say.”
“Copycat? No such thing. I bested them all and showed how it should be done.”
Drop it. She might be pushing him toward the edge. She shifted uncomfortably in the rear compartment. “I can’t feel my arms.”
“Those ropes around your wrists have been soaked in water for days. And I learned to tie my knots from the Bristol University Royal Naval Unit. I know you have no weapons because I searched you before I tossed you back there. So by all means, try your best to get free. It’s not going to happen.”
“What an efficient serial killer you are. Colby taught you well.”
“Yes. And no.” He drove in silence for a moment. “I’m not new to the game. I’ve done this before. But it was Colby who made me an artist. He showed me that it takes more than just skill. It takes imagination. Why do you think people still remember Jack the Ripper? It wasn’t just because it was so shocking for the time … Throughout history, there have been many more gruesome and prolific killers. The real reason was his letters to the media. Once you capture the public’s imagination, you will live forever.”
Kendra tugged at the ropes. Chatsworth was right. She wasn’t going to slip out of his knots. So she had to go another route. Think. He had said something about weapons and searching her …
“Forever? That’s a funny thing to say less than twenty-four hours after your buddy Colby dies,” she said. “He’s already on his way to obscurity.”
“Not likely. Long after everyone has forgotten those Scotland Yard detectives, people still remember Jack the Ripper. And soon, everyone will forget you ever existed, Kendra Michaels.”
Weapons. He’d said she’d had no weapons. But what about that strange blade she’d taken from Wallach and tucked in her jacket pocket. She’d completely forgotten it in all the action that had followed. Was it so slender he’d missed it? She started to try to manipulate her tied hands toward her pocket. Keep him busy and talking.