Ignoring the tearing agony in his back, Anis Tera sat in front of his laptop and tracked the movements of his next victim. She’d arrived in Halifax yesterday. Right now, she was ensconced in the hotel’s VIP suite, no doubt lounging in the cushy surroundings preparing for her next interview. Despite her less savory and little known pastimes, Jeanette Lawler was the popular host on the seamy Exposé show on WBCT. Her guests were plucked from the headlines: a man accused of breaking his wife’s neck and dropping her from a three-story window; a woman claiming post-partum depression who’d smothered her twin sons; a grandmotherly ex-nurse charged with an Angel of Death case. The more sensational the situation, the more doggedly she pursued her potential guests, who, while given a public forum for pleading their cases, could also expect to have her turn on them midway through the show with a titillating revelation she claimed to have uncovered about them.

Given the personal history Lawler kept hidden, her hypocrisy was astounding. Her ambition had made her remarkably easy to fool. She’d flown here from Vancouver because she thought she was getting an exclusive with Armand Vance, a Toronto-based financier who was battling multiple indictments for security law violations.

Anis made it his business to learn everything there was to discover about Simard, so he knew the man had lost a bundle because of Vance. Like a chess master, Anis had made sure the supposed meeting between Lawler and Vance had reached Simard’s trusted advisors. He hadn’t made the mistake of contacting Simard directly; he’d learned his lesson last time, and it had nearly cost him his life.

The financier was nowhere close to Nova Scotia. But the elaborate ruse had brought both of Anis Tera’s prey to one place. Simard had been dispatched. Lawler would be, soon.

Not bothering to check the hour, Anis punched in a familiar number.

“H’lo.” The word was slurred by sleep.

“Your chores better have been completed before you turned in for the night.”

Fear creeping into his voice, the kid said, “They were. All of them. We had a bad storm this afternoon. Stuff was hitting the roof and the side of the shed. There might be damage outside.”

Anis’s reaction was sharp. “Did the electricity go off?” He had a backup generator for that eventuality, but it was a struggle for the boy to start it alone. Desperation would have fueled his eventual success, though. He knew the price of failure.

“It just flickered a couple of times. I checked all the enclosures. The temperature is fine. It didn’t affect the carcass count of the dragonflies.”

“And the prey enclosures?” Anis felt a burst of impatience at the long hesitation that followed his words. He’d had the boy over two years after saving him from a flash flood that had swelled the stream in the woods near his property. The kid would have drowned if he hadn’t been pulled out. For that, he owed Anis his life.

He was extracting full payment.

“I…think they’re fine.”

Lips pressed tightly together, he silently counted to ten. Just when he thought the boy’s training was complete, the kid proved otherwise. The midges and mosquito populations needed to be monitored, because they were the dragonflies’ food source. A daily allotment was entrapped in mesh containers and released into the dragonflies’ enclosure. The life cycle was intricately woven.

“Check on them now.”

He waited as the boy went to do his bidding, visualizing the scene unfurling on the other end of the phone. The shed’s interior would be dimmed during night, so he’d have to flip on the overhead light above the enclosure, or use the lone flashlight from the supplies Anis left when he was away. The boy’s thin bedroll would be in the corner next to the small refrigerator containing the sandwiches and bottled water. The boy had learned to eat and drink sparingly, because Anis’s return date was always uncertain. Just as the kid had learned to stop talking about his former home and family and stupid dog. His life had been given a higher purpose as surely as Anis’s had.

“Yes, it’s all okay.”

He blew out a breath. “Good. Make sure everything stays that way.” He disconnected and set the phone aside, the boy already fading from his mind. Anis had seen to the shed’s security himself. It was well-insulated. There were no windows from which to escape. The Firefly cell left there for the kid to communicate with him was programmed to only accept or dial out only one number. The kid would be there when he got back. And his prized possessions would be alive. Thriving.

The hour was late, but Anis spent another hour prowling the Internet, trolling for future clients. The information people put online always amazed him. Credit card statements and banks were a treasure trove, and he eased in and out of their servers at will. He dealt in secrets. Everyone had them, a shameful part of their life that they would pay dearly to avoid having exposed. His was a lucrative occupation, and while the cost of avoiding exposure was costly, the opportunity also afforded his victims the chance to mend their ways.

He stretched, then stopped, grimacing, when the bruised and broken skin on his back ached and bled. With care, he rose, took off the burlap garment he wore and folded it before treating his wounds as best he could with antiseptic. The self-inflicted flaying had been punishment for the glow of satisfaction he’d felt after Simard’s death. Anis’s purpose was to exact impartial justice from those who refused to repent for their sins, not to sit in judgment or revel in his work. To do so would lower his actions to that of a simple murderer. He was so much more than that.

People thought they could hide their most shameful secrets from prying eyes. It was his sacred duty to ferret out the worst of the wickedness and exact the Lord’s vengeance. Sins could only be forgiven once a penance had been exacted. But the most evil sinners who turned down that chance…their sins would be buried with them.

As deep as the dead.