The need to kill again bubbled inside him. Fuck. He’d have to wait until after the trip to Germany to get his fix though. He dusted off a stray hair from his jacket as he leaned against his father’s bedroom door. “You ready to go to the airport?”

Their plane to Germany left in three hours. They would spend the night in New York and take off early the next day. While he couldn’t really afford to lose the time to work on the tableau, his day job wouldn’t suffer much. That’s what backup workers were for. He’d be home in a week and would spend the remaining time finishing the tableau, assuming he could get Lara Romano alone.

Leaving Maggie, though, took more preparation on his part. He had provided her with enough food and insulin to last two weeks—just incase the plane was delayed. She’d be fine. The timing of the trip came at a bad time but being able to connect with the family that had shunned him meant the world to him.

His father looked around the room, his lips pinched together.

“I left my luggage in the car, in case you’re wondering.” No need to bring in his gear only to repack it in the trunk.

His dad snapped closed his suitcase and straightened. “Your luggage?”

“Yes, my luggage. You think I’m going to meet my relatives for the first time and wear the same thing for four days?”

His father squinted. “Whatever gave you the idea you were invited?”

His harsh tone landed harder than a well-aimed punch. As adrenaline spiked his heart, he gnashed his teeth together and breaths puffed out his nose. “You said it was a family reunion of sorts. I got my passport and bought my ticket.” He squeezed his fists tight.

“Your grandmother is ill. She only asked for me. You know how she felt about my marriage to your mother.” His dad shook his head. He closed his suitcase, and then patted his jacket pockets, most likely for his glasses he had on top of his head. “Why didn’t you ask me before you spent the money on the ticket?”

A sharp ache drove up his arm, and his vision momentarily blurred. “I’m still a half breed to her, is that it?”

His dad shrugged. “Found ‘em.” He dragged the glasses from atop his head to his face.

“You bastard. They kicked you out of the family too. Why invite you back now?” A fleck of spit flew out of his mouth and landed on his father’s face.

His dad wiped his cheek. “As I said, my mother is dying, and she wants to see me.”

“Like you care about her.” He dragged a hand across his mouth. “The old bat never once tried to contact any of us until she was almost gone. Tell me what did she ever do for you? For us?”

His dad slapped him hard across the face. “Don’t ever talk about your grandmother like that.”

Every muscle tensed. “Have a good trip. You can find your own goddamned way to the airport.” He spun on his heels and stormed out of the room. It would piss his dad off when he had to spend money to take a cab. Well too fucking bad.

The injustice of it all bit into his soul. He could only hope the plane crashed.

Bitch grandmother.

He slammed the front door. The need to hunt, and the need to kill reared up again. The rejection beat down on him like demons at his door.

Lara. Taking her would slake his anger.

Inhaling, he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and rolled his shoulders to relax. If Lara hadn’t returned yet from her jaunt, he’d come back later for her. After all, he’d scheduled in the four-day trip. He had time to spare, time to wait.

Not caring that he nearly rammed into the back of a subcompact, he made it to her house in record time. This was his second visit today. She had to come home sometime. He’d checked both detectives’ houses and hadn’t spotted her at either place. He’d called the lab too, but she hadn’t been there either. Her car hadn’t moved in front of her house. Shit. This bitch was pissing him off with her disappearing act.

Maybe she was trying to fool him by leaving the lights off. He marched up the porch steps and knocked. If her cop boyfriend answered, he’d say he stopped by to see how she was holding up after the funeral. It was an easy cover.

His family would be sorry they’d shunned him. When he was famous, he sure as hell wouldn’t acknowledge them.

He rang the bell, long and hard. No answer. His fingers clenched. Where the fuck was she? His sweet princess and he had a date—with a needle, and then with a knife. And he had a commitment to the Natural History museum in two weeks.

Fine. Real stars didn’t rely on one showing. Not at all. He’d already planned his next scene. It was what successful people did. The tableau with Pocahontas and John Smith would honor the Native American nation. His next scene would show them for what they really were—butchers and turncoats, like the Seminoles who’d refused to accept him as one of their own. If his mother had been alive, she would have made them see how wrong they were to shun him. She’d said Native Americans accepted everyone. We are all brothers and sisters. Bullshit. He’d make them pay for their snub, for their mockery.

He’d picked out the next victim a week ago. Her name was Charlene Eason. He strode back to his car and took off, needing the release killing always brought.

Her neighborhood, off I-4, was a hodgepodge of houses. Some had been fixed up in the last few years, while others lay in disrepair. Didn’t the Seminoles care what their neighborhood looked like? Pleasure surged. At least he wasn’t one of those lowlifes who had to rely on a monthly stipend to survive.

By the time he arrived, night had fallen, which was perfect for what he planned to do. He cut the engine and rolled to a stop under a large elm far from any house lights. He needed a tall woman with high cheekbones, slim hips and long, flowing hair. Around here, the Seminole women were short and stocky. He’d spotted Charlene at the Snake festival and immediately made plans for her to join the others in his tableau.

Every night for the last five days he’d followed her home, but she’d never seen him. He was that good, in part because makeup was his specialty. The first night, he’d been a harmless old man, the second night, a well-dressed salesman, and the third night, his personal favorite, a police officer. Last night he’d nabbed a dog and walked the pup around the streets, passing Charlene and her friend, Julie, twice. They were so wrapped up in themselves, they never looked at him. But he’d soon change that.

“Stupid women. So predictable.” How had they not been attacked before? It was his job to save them from suffering at the hand of some sadist by killing them first.

He checked the clock on the dash. Ten more minutes and the duo would be making their way down this road on their nightly walk. Lesbians, he bet, but he needed the tall woman to balance out his scene. According to the one nosy neighbor he’d spoken to, neither had men in their lives, nor did they socialize with anyone. God, did he know how to pick them or what?

He pulled the tube of red goo from the glove compartment and smeared the paint across his eyelid, down his cheek and along his knuckles. Too much and the women might think the coloring wasn’t real. The scant moonlight would help create the illusion of near death.

Charlene was a nurse and Julie worked at a women’s shelter. Sympathetic Lesbos. His plan was pure genius.

Laughter filtered down the road. Here they come! Charlene’s horsey sound grated on his nerves as he slumped in the seat. He slipped a leg out of the open car door and willed his erection to stay down.

He turned his head toward them. “Help...me.”

Charlene and Julie slowed. “You hear something?” It was Julie.

He snuck a glance at the women and moaned extra loud. Charlene took hold of Julie’s arm. “The sound came from that car.”

That’s right, girls. Come here. He slipped the tranquilizer dart into his right pants pocket, ready for use.

Footsteps came toward him. “Ohmigod.” Charlene leaned into the car. “Are you all right, mister?”

His groan came out slow and low, followed by weak cough. “I...can’t see.” His voice cracked at the right spot.

“I’m a nurse. Let me call an ambulance.”

“Can you take me? Hospital. Faster.” There were no cars around and no people. It was quiet. Perfect. One more minute, and they’ll be mine.

“He’s right, Lena. It won’t take but a sec.”

Lena. He liked the nickname. As he waited for them to write the script as to when and how they would die, he held his breath.

“I say we call 9-1-1.”

Eyes open, he watched Charlene unhook her phone from her waist. Quicker than lightning, he shot her in the upper arm with his dart gun. Her mouth opened as if to scream. Before any sound escaped she crumpled to the ground.

Patience.

“Lena!” Julie shrieked.

Like a good little friend, she bent over Charlene. He sprung from his seat, grabbed Julie by the neck and yanked, twisting her head to the side. The sweet snap gave his heart a boost. He loved the sound of a woman dying.

With a clean handkerchief he wiped the makeup from his eye and stuffed the cloth in his pocket. After he opened the back of the car, he dumped Charlene on the plastic sheet protecting the carpet. He certainly didn’t want to mess up his clean car. Her chest rose and fell slowly. She wouldn’t last long locked up, but then again, he wouldn’t need much time with Julie.

With Charlene safely in the back, he picked Julie up by the armpits and dragged her into the wooded area. Her limp body’s dead weight gave him trouble over the downed tree limbs. The cunt had to weigh close to two hundred pounds. Next time he’d be more choosey.

Branches scraped his bare arms. Shit. Bruises and cuts were not only ugly, they were evidence he’d been in the woods. Too bad he had to dress in a t-shirt tonight. It had been a bad costume choice, but he couldn’t have the grease paint and her blood on his good clothes.

The thick elms and oaks blocked out almost all vestige of moonlight. He let go of Julie’s arms and bent over to catch his breath from the hundred-foot haul.

He had a flashlight but didn’t use it for fear someone would drive by and see him. He extracted his blade and flicked it open. Now how the hell was he going to scalp this young woman in the dark? He straightened and debated whether to take her to his workshop and do the job right.

Not that it mattered. She was merely a practice round. He’d read scalping required a lot of precision and wasn’t as easy as one-two-three like they showed on the old TV movies with Cochise and his men. Besides, he doubted he could lift her fat ass into his wagon.

Julie moaned, and he stepped back. The bitch should be dead. He’d broken her damn neck.

He shrugged. Too bad for her.

He brought the knife to her forehead, made an incision from left to right and slid the blade under the skin.

Trevor must have been more tired than he realized, because daylight was already filtering in through the crack in the hotel curtain. He swung his legs over the side and checked Lara’s bed. She was rolled up in a ball under the covers. Just as he was about to crawl in with her, his cell rang.

Ethan. “What’s up?”

It was probably better he stayed away from her. He could feel it in his bones that this case was about to crack. Once they arrested the guy, Lara would be snug in her house, and working long hours at the lab, probably not interested in seeing him again.

“A fax came in for you that I think you’ll want to see. Where are you?”

“At a hotel. What does it say?”

“It’s about another case. Remember the nude man on the beach?”

“Yeah.” A little relieved it didn’t involve his missing men, he finished gathering his clothes.

“The photo looks like that man’s photo you showed me. It could be him.” Ethan filled him in on a few details.

He wasn’t sure if there was even a connection between the nude man and his men, but Lara seemed to think there might be. “I’ll be at the station as soon as we catch a bite to eat.” He wasn’t up for the precinct coffee or snack machine food this morning. “Later.” He disconnected and shoved his feet in his shoes.

He woke Lara up. “We have some information on the nude man found on the beach.”

She yawned and crawled out of bed. “The no fingertip man?”

“Yup. The fiancée’s brother called and sent a fax. Ethan seems to think it’s him.”

“I want to come with you.”

“I thought you wanted to go to the lab this morning. I don’t think this case has anything to do with your unidentified skeleton if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“He’s the one I wanted to exhume to see if he has tranquilizer in his system. He might hold the key to the rest of the missing men, and to my John Doe #1.”

Damn, she had a good memory. “Fine by me. I’ll worry a lot less if you’re by his side.”

They took the Interstate north and exited at Fletcher Avenue. They passed several fast food places, finally stopping at one. Lara claimed she wasn’t in the mood to eat, but he ordered two ham and egg sandwiches and a large coffee. He’d have to work out extra hard tomorrow to wear off that fat.

At the station, he brought Lara to the break room hoping she’d agree to eat something. She crossed her two index fingers in front of the snack machine.

“Then how about some black sludge?” He waved his nearly full cup.

“Sure.”

He smiled as he fixed the coffee the way she liked it. “Here ya go. Cream and sugar with a bit of java.” He motioned her to the table.

She took the cup in both hands and blew on the steaming liquid. “I’m sitting with you at your desk. I want to see what the fax says.”

She leaned in closer to him, their lips nearly touching, though it was more a stance of defiance than a desire to kiss him, he bet.

Ethan cleared his throat behind him. Christ.

“Sure. You can sit and watch but be prepared to become bored.” He spoke loud enough for his brother to hear.

Ethan clasped a hand on Trevor’s shoulder. “You two love birds finished fighting? Or doing whatever. You have work to do.”

Trevor’s head dropped back as he faced his brother. Ethan was grinning. Bastard. “We’re coming.”

Lara tossed him a victory smile, the first one he’d seen in a while.

He threaded his way to his desk knowing she’d follow behind. Though he wanted to take her hand, he didn’t. Couldn’t. God, the razzing would be endless. It was bad enough Ethan had seen them within kissing distance.

Swiping Caleb’s vacant chair, he dragged it next to his desk for Lara then picked up the fax and placed it between them. There was a black and white image of Maggie Jones and George Sanchez in front of a non-descript brick building. “You recognize the guy as the beach man?” Lara had studied the file more than he had.

When she leaned over, he angled the picture toward her. “They’re so young and seemingly in love. I couldn’t say one way or the other if this is the guy on the beach. But if it’s them, then Maggie is Maggie Sanchez.”

“True.” He shoved his chair back. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

In the file room, he retrieved the cold case box that contained the information about the nude man on the beach. He signed for the information and carried the container back to his desk. After sorting through the photos, he extracted the one that gave the best facial view of the victim. He placed the two side by side. “What do you think?” The dead man’s face was pale and flat.

“He could be the same man. The forehead and chin size appear to match.” Lara pointed to the woman’s face.

Ethan walked out of the Captain’s office and handed Trevor Maggie’s brother’s number. Had the office not been so noisy, Trevor would have put the phone on speaker so Lara could have listened to the exchange. “Let’s see what he has to say about the loving couple.”

Ethan stood there while Trevor called. Someone picked up on the first ring, and he introduced himself. The man said his name was Ben Jones.

“Thanks for getting back to me so quick,” the brother said. “I was looking on Maggie’s computer and found her Orbitz travel plans to Tampa for a week last August.” Ben’s voice came out soft and halting. “That’s the last I heard from her. I was hoping you Florida guys might be able to help me find her.”

The kid sounded young, sixteen maybe, and scared, almost as if he’d done something wrong by invading his sister’s privacy.

“What was she doing in Florida?” If she was here to sightsee, he might check on Disney, Sea World, or Busch Gardens.

“My sister wanted to marry her boyfriend at home, but my dad had a fit.”

Not the question he’d asked, but he’d go with the flow. “Why’s that?”

“My dad...he wanted to have this big Native American ceremony, but Maggie didn’t because George is Mexican American.”

The blood nearly drained from his face. “Your sister is Native American? Or are you from India?”

“Native American. We’re Ottawan.”

Oh, shit.