A Righteous Kill by Kerrigan Byrne Page B

end to end. Maybe if he moved some of the pillows.
    Oh hell, she’d offer him the air mattress in her closet. But only after he stopped being a pouty dickweed.
    “Hero, this is very important,” Director Trojanowski claimed her attention with the grim severity in his voice. “Intelligence has gone over your case and they strongly feel that John the Baptist is someone you know. Or, at least, have met in a personal or professional capacity.”
    Hero’s heart stalled. “How does that figure?”
    “To start with, the extreme differences between you and the previous victims. You’re not a sex worker. You have a strong religious background. No addictions. You don’t come from a broken or abusive family. You’re educated, successful, et cetera.”
    Didn’t coffee count as an addiction anymore? Hero pressed her lips between her teeth. “My religious background isn’t that strong,” she confessed. “I’m more of a Christmas and Easter Catholic. For my parents, mostly. I mean, I’m more spiritual than religious.”
    “Either way, the psychological profile suggests that John the Baptist has likely been close to you this entire time and that something you did drew his… attention. We believe he kills these women in the way he does to save their souls. He’s just never left any indication as to why. If this is the case, then he won’t stop until he feels as though he’s saved you.”
    “Until he kills me, you mean.” Hero rubbed at the scars on her hands again, her eyes flicking to Agent Ramirez.
    In that moment, with his intense black eyes boring into hers, Hero knew they both wondered the same thing.
    What had she done to make this fanatic want her dead?

Chapter Seven
    “I am a great eater of beef
    and I believe that does harm to my wit.”
    ~William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night
     
     
    Luca stepped out of his car and checked his watch. Six o’clock, dead on. Grabbing his overnight bag, laptop, and briefcase, he looked up at the mansion. The dark grey brick seemed blue in the waning light. It matched the cherry wood pillars and window accents.
    Hero’s apartment was around the back through a narrow pathway between the house and the extra garage. The one big enough for boats and shit.
    Long way from where he grew up. His parent’s trailer back in El Paso could have fit in the extra garage like—he leaned over and looked in the dark window—at least three times.
    His Ferragamo Tosco Leather Oxfords made a smart clip he enjoyed on the slate flagstones of the drive. He had about a hundred more steps to get his head in the right place. Something he always had to do before seeing Hero. He sure as shit hadn’t been prepared this afternoon. He’d just rushed over, afraid for Hero’s safety. Everything had spun out of control from there.
    So he had to sleep in the same vicinity as Hero. No big deal. She was nothing more than a breakable object that he needed to keep intact. She was the job. He just needed to do his job without— doing his job.
    The covering over the oval pool flapped in a sudden gust of winter wind, and Luca turned to scan the shadowed forest guarding the acre back yard and a view of the river. A tactical nightmare, this house. Almost impossible to protect from all sides. Like all these umpteen million dollar homes off Riverside Drive, any assailant could melt into the trees and escape through the Highland Forest with no problem.
    Luca climbed the few steps to her arched door and paused in front of it, willing the anticipatory heat in his blood to calm. Taking a breath in through his nose he exhaled slowly through his mouth.
    One… Two… Three… Four…
    The door jerked open and Vince greeted him with his hand reaching into his suit coat for the Beretta he holstered next to his shoulder.
    “Oh it’s you,” Vince said. “I thought it might be, but then you didn’t come in.” He reached to help with Luca’s bag and stepped back to let him pass into the small, cozy entryway. “It’s been