Yes!

It was all he could do not to rush into the bedroom, put a bullet into Devereaux’s head and be done with it. But that would ruin everything. Charles had meticulously planned this down to the nth degree. The other night inside Caleb’s head was a mere test run, one that he’d been delighted with the results of.

He fumbled, with shaking hands, for the cell phone in his pocket. He had to set up quickly if he was going to get it all on video. Wouldn’t Caleb be shocked when he watched this footage? He smiled and then closed his eyes to summon Devereaux.

Caleb sat up in bed, the comforter and sheet falling down to his lap. There were whispers in his mind, demanding he act. He slowly rose, walking to the doorway in measured steps. Quiet! You don’t want to wake Ramie.

He entered the kitchen and opened a drawer before shutting it again. Then he went to the next and this time he reached into the open drawer, his fingers curling around the handle of a wickedly sharp carving knife.

How appropriate to have a carving knife when he planned to carve Ramie up like a Christmas turkey. She would be the best Christmas and birthday present all rolled into one that he’d ever had.

Gripping the handle of the knife with a firm hand, he retraced his steps to the bedroom and quietly pushed the door open, slipping inside where Ramie still soundly slept. For a long moment he stood over her next to the bed drinking in the sight of the woman he’d hunted the last eighteen months.

A smile curved Caleb’s lips. “There’s no one here to hear you scream,” he whispered.

Still, he clamped one hand over her mouth, put the blade against the soft skin of her abdomen and sliced from one side to the other, angling slightly downward to follow the curve of her belly.

She let out a muffled shriek against his hand and he quickly straddled her writhing body. She bucked upward, trying to unseat him, but he followed her back down and then slid the blade in a vertical line between her br**sts.

Blood rose and dripped down her body in rivulets. She was wild beneath him, clearly hysterical and not yet comprehending who was doing this to her. The anticipation of her discovery was so keen that Charles was practically bubbling over.

And then her gaze locked with his and horror contorted her features. He let his hand slip from her mouth because it was too good an opportunity to pass up. He nearly clapped his hands together in the corner but if he did so it would mess up the video he was recording. And he wanted Devereaux to see every single cut he put on her body.

“Caleb!” she screamed. “Caleb, stop! Oh God, what are you doing?”

Two more cuts in quick succession. Her eyes went glassy with shock, her speech slurred from that same shock and blood loss. She tried to fight back, but she was no match for Caleb’s strength. Oddly she would have had a chance against Charles. Caleb was much bigger and stronger. Experiencing a kill vicariously through another’s eyes was deliciously addictive. It was something that now that he’d done once he’d want to do it again and again.

Tears streamed down Ramie’s face. Her voice was nearly gone from the force of her screams. The next came out in an ugly hoarse rasp when he made another cut, this time on her hip.

“Please don’t do this,” Ramie begged, her chest heaving from her pants of pain. “I thought you loved me,” she whispered. “You promised . . .” Her voice trailed off and her bowed body sagged back onto the mattress. She finally passed out. She’d earned a measure of respect from Charles. Not many people would have been able to stay conscious for as long as she had under such horrific conditions.

Charles frowned. Caleb’s eyes flickered. Turmoil shone in features creased with pain. Charles knew he had to get Ramie out now before Caleb broke free from his hold on him, but he felt like a pouty child deprived of his favorite toy.

Caleb’s movements were jerky, spasmodic almost as he leaned down and scooped Ramie up into his arms. Smiling, Charles followed along, continuing to film. The blood dripping from Ramie onto the floor was a nice touch. It added authenticity, but Charles was careful not to step in it.

Charles was sure to film Caleb stashing her in the backseat of his SUV. After the police saw this video, there would be no doubt as to who Ramie St. Claire’s murderer was. They wouldn’t even need the body to gain a conviction!

THIRTY-FOUR

CALEB’S eyes opened and immediately slammed shut. What little he’d seen of the room had been like a crazy Tilt-A-Whirl, spinning so rapidly it had made him instantly dizzy. His temples throbbed. Pain speared his skull and radiated down to the base of his neck. His mouth was dry, and he licked his lips, trying to moisten them.

His nostrils flared, the sickening sweet smell of . . . ​blood? . . . ​overwhelmed his senses. It was unmistakably blood.

His stomach balled into a knot and he sat up in bed, eyes flying open to the unthinkable.

Blood bathed the sheets, the mattress, the pillows. Oh God. It bathed him, covering his hands, arms, chest and legs.

He rolled off the bed, landing on the floor as his stomach heaved and he gagged at the overwhelming stench.

“Ramie!” he yelled hoarsely. “Ramie!” Oh God, where was she? What had happened? Why couldn’t he remember? Surely he would have remembered her bleeding this much. Why wasn’t she in bed?

He pushed himself off the floor and stumbled into the hallway, only to trip over the dead body of one of his security specialists.

“Oh Jesus,” he said with growing horror. This was a nightmare. It had to be. It was the only reasonable explanation. None of this was real.