“Oh, but I can. I know that if I’d been there, she never would’ve been driving late at night to get medicine for him. I would’ve been behind that wheel, not her. So when it comes to the ‘bad guys’—” he makes mocking air quotes “—I no longer dick around. If I know you’re guilty, you’re mine. No time wasted on protocol.”
I look at him. “No matter how far you have to go to catch the bad guy. No matter how many victims—”
“As far as I’m concerned, I did the world a favor. I’m a hero. Every one of my victims had a rap sheet a mile long. Scum of the earth. They had it coming, and now the world is better for their absence.”
Delusions of grandeur. Only Nelson isn’t the hero of this piece. He can’t be.
“You used your inside connections with the FBI to target victims,” I say, analyzing. “Sloppy.”
He scoffs. “You’re one to talk, doctor death.”
I eye him from my periphery. “How did you know about the Blue Clover?”
Silent, he strolls down the alley clad in a white T-shirt and jeans, so different than the put-together FBI agent I remember. He strolls like we’re just two people on a walk. No worries. No malice between us.
I’m not a threat to him. At least, not in the traditional sense. Nelson disappeared in part due to the imminent investigation after my attack—but mostly, once Grayson escaped law enforcement, Nelson went in pursuit of his obsession, his need to capture Grayson his primary goal; chasing his objective without the interference of the FBI to hinder him.
Nelson shouldn’t be underestimated. It takes a strong will to turn your back on the only life you know in pursuit of another, in spite of all else.
Which also makes him dangerous.
He’s a man with nothing to lose.
We come to our destination. The abandoned mechanic garage I selected myself. Nelson finally looks at me and says, “You told me.” He brings out a key, and I notice that the lock on the rusted metal door is new. He pushes the door open and sweeps his hands in an invitation, urging me forward.
As I enter the garage, memories of Grayson flood my mind. I feel him everywhere.
Then I see the locks.
I’m thrust back to the mouth of the maze and all the gleaming keys. Only now, every silver and gold and bronze shimmering object stares back at me with the eyes of rusted notches and mouths of keyholes.
“This isn’t your trap,” I say, my voice breathy. I recognize the construct, the details—all the hours of rigorous study and research I put into the design.
“I can’t take the credit,” Nelson says, edging closer. “But I can take the prize.”
A sharp prick at my neck, and I react. I’m fighting off Nelson and grasping at the needle sinking deep as my vision blurs. Drowsiness claims me, and my muscles go lax.
Nelson captures me before I hit the cement. My breaths shallow, my racing heart the only part of my body still filled with fight.
“I’m the bait,” I whisper.
He smoothes my hair away from my face, gaze cast down as he cradles me. “There was no other way, London.”
Grayson is coming.
It’s my last thought before blackness takes me.
23
Look Upon Thy Death ~Romeo & Juliet
Grayson
Perfection.
The ultimate assumption that it can be attained if one works hard enough, sacrifices enough, is determined enough to prevail…is the very definition of insanity.
But what is this maddening thing we call perfection?