Kiss the Girls

detective.
    He got off at Exit 35, which was boldly marked for McCullers. He’d gone a little over thirty miles. It was approaching eleven-thirty at night. The witching hour.
    I was going to take him out tonight, no matter what. I had never done that before, not in all my time as a homicide detective in Washington.
    This time it
was
personal.

Chapter 117

    A MILE from the exit ramp off 41, a Ford pickup truck swerved out of a hidden driveway. It was unexpected, but good luck for me. The dull red truck fell in between Sikes and me, offering me some cover. Not much, but enough for a few more miles.
    The Cressida finally pulled off the main road a couple of miles outside McCullers. Sikes parked in the crowded lot of a bar called the Sports Page Pub. One more car that wasn’t likely to be noticed.
    That was what had begun to give him away. It was why even Kyle Craig had been on my list of suspects. Casanova seemed to have known every move the police would make
before they made it.
He had probably abducted some of the women by coming up to them as a police officer.
Detective Davey Sikes! He had gone into a professional shooting crouch that afternoon on the street in Chapel Hill.
I knew he was another cop.
    When I searched through the newspaper articles on the golden couple murder, I had spotted his name. Sikes had been a young cop on the original investigation team. He had interviewed a student named Will Rudolph back then, but he never mentioned it to any of us, never let on that he had met Will Rudolph in 1981.
    I passed by the Sports Page Pub, and pulled off the road as soon as I turned the next bend. I got out of the car and hurried back toward the bar. I was in time to see Davey Sikes cross the highway on foot.
    Casanova walked along the side of an intersecting side road with his hands thrust into his trouser pockets. He looked as if he belonged in the small-town neighborhood.
Stun gun in one of those deep pockets, sport? Feeling the familiar, burning itch now? The thrill is back?
    I followed Sikes into a pine-wooded lot, and he began to move quicker. He was fast for a big man. He could lose me now. Somebody’s life would be at risk in the peaceful neighborhood. Another Scootchie Cross. Another Kate McTiernan. I remembered Kate’s words:
Drive a stake through his heart, Alex.
    I slid the Glock nine millimeter out of my shoulder holster. Light. Efficient. Semiautomatic. Twelve deadly shots. My teeth were gritted so tight they hurt. I clicked off the safety. I was ready to take Davey Sikes out.
    I eyed the ominous shapes of overhanging pine branches as I moved along. An A-frame house was up ahead, set against the backdrop of a full, pale yellow moon. I moved quickly across the soft floor of pine needles. I made no sound. I had his tempo and rhythm down now.
    I saw Casanova rapidly approaching the A-frame house, gaining speed. He knew his way.
He’d been here before, hadn’t he? He had been here to scope things out, to study the next victim, to get it just right.
    I sprinted up closer to the house. Then I couldn’t see him. I’d lost him for a second. He might have slipped inside.
    A single shimmering light had been left on in the house. My heart was going to explode if I didn’t blow him up first. My finger was on the semiautomatic’s trigger.
    Drive a stake through his heart, Alex.

Chapter 118

    T AKE SIKES out.
    I fought to control my emotions, to find the calm pool inside me, as I ran toward a screened-in back porch that lay in shifting shadows and darkness. Suddenly, I could hear the sputtering hum of an air conditioner inside. I noticed a peeling sticker on the whitewashed porch door. It read:
I live for Girl Scout cookies.
    He’d found another nice one out here, hadn’t he? He was going to take her tonight. The Beast couldn’t stop himself.
    “Hello, Cross. Now put down the gun. Very slowly, ace,” said the deep voice behind me in the dark.
    Both my eyes closed for a beat. I lowered the pistol, then dropped it on the lawn of grass and pine needles. My body felt like an elevator car in free-fall.
    “Turn around now, you son of a bitch. You meddling shithead.”
    I turned, and looked into the face of Casanova. He was finally right there, close enough for me to touch. He had a Browning semiautomatic aimed at my chest.
    There would be no more overthinking, just gut instincts, I told myself. I let my right leg buckle as if I’d lost my footing. Then I sucker-punched Sikes to the side of his head. It