One board meeting, when he’d listened to two of the other members jokingly harass Mason Callahan about the new woman in his life, Scott had gathered the relationship was serious. Callahan had looked relaxed and happy instead of being his usual no-nonsense self.

Scott needed to crush that happiness. Callahan didn’t deserve it.

Neither did any of the other men who’d played with his mother’s mental and emotional health. They weren’t entitled to joy.

A plan had formed in the back of his mind.

He’d encountered names and faces from his past in his new position. And he had their addresses . . . he knew their profiles.

They were primed for him to avenge the pain they’d caused his mother.

He created a goal and sketched out a timeline. He knew from his business classes that every goal needed a plan of action and then a deadline to measure success. He picked Halloween for his deadline, liking the tie-in with his passion for horror.

His first attempt had flopped.

It’d been strangely anticlimactic after his months of preparation and the intense rush of excitement that had started when he’d pressed his stun gun against Vance Weldon’s neck. The rush had stuck with him until the next day, when he watched the news and there was no mention of the grisly suicide of an FBI agent. He’d combed the Internet looking for affirmation. Instead he’d been left wanting. As if it had never happened. Looking back, he realized he’d done it too perfectly. He’d staged a suicide and everyone had believed it. The cops, the EMTs, and the medical examiner. No newspapers, no television, no mention anywhere.

He corrected that the second time.

Tonight was to be his finale. The last man on his list would be checked off.

And he would do it in a style that would keep people talking for years.

His mother could rest in peace.

37

“Wake up!”

“Wake up!”

A twisting, burning sensation in Mason’s upper arm made his eyes jerk open as his body spasmed in pain. He tried to focus on Scott’s face floating above him. The man was dressed in black, including a black hoodie that he’d pulled over his hair. His face was the only pale thing in the room. He stepped back for a fraction of a second and Mason glimpsed the knife in his hand, blood dripping from the tip.

That’s what I felt in my arm.

A boot connected with Mason’s ribs, and a red haze swamped his vision as he fought to stay conscious through the pain.

A hand yanked on his damaged arm. “Get up!”

Mason’s legs fumbled to get underneath him as Scott pulled, and he realized his feet had been untied. His muscles refused to keep him upright and he lurched to one side, landing on an elbow.

His eyes squeezed closed at the pain.

“For fuck’s sake! Get up!” Scott hauled on his arm again. Mason shakily stood, not trusting his legs and biting his lips to keep down the vomit that pushed up in the back of his throat.

“Barely walk,” he croaked between clenched lips. “Legs not working.”

“We’re not going far,” Scott said. He pressed his knife into Mason’s ribs. “Just in case you’re shitting me.”

“Not,” muttered Mason.

Scott pulled him to the door of the little shed and let go of his arm to open the door. Mason struggled to stay on his feet. He looked away as Scott’s hand multiplied into four hands as he pushed open the door. The multi-vision made his stomach clench.

Running away was out of the question.

He stumbled through the dark as Scott steered him with a hand on the back of his arm. Mason lost track of their direction. They moved between fir trees and tripped through a field of pumpkin vines. Voices grew louder. Children’s voices and the occasional speech of an adult. Scott stopped and tied a gag around his mouth. Mason concentrated on breathing around the foul-tasting cloth. Blood ran from his nose into his mouth and he struggled to spit it out. Instead a constant thread of drool oozed down his chin.

“Get down,” Scott hissed in a hushed voice as he dropped to the ground and yanked Mason down with him. Mason twisted, landing on one shoulder, protecting his face somewhat. He panted as he tried to catch his breath, momentarily pleased that he was no longer upright. The loud chug of a tractor moved in their direction and the laughter of people grew louder.

The haunted hayride.

He turned his head, trying to see the tractor he knew was pulling a big trailer lined with hay. The forest was dark, the tractor’s lights off to enhance the Halloween mood.

“Make a noise, and I’ll start shooting. Kids first,” Scott whispered in his ear.

Mason didn’t doubt him, but he was incapable of making a sound. The vibrations from the big engine shook the ground. He simply lay still and listened as the ride passed twenty yards away from their dark hiding spot, leaving them in the silent black woods again, and he remembered the dark ride with his son. A few minutes later Mason heard shrieks and screams and knew the ride had driven into a zombie horde or the interactive graveyard.

He put the thought of his son out of his head.

Ava. She’ll figure out Scott Heuser is our man.

But would it be before or after he became Scott’s next work of art?

Scott released his arm. “Don’t fucking move.”

I don’t have much choice.

He heard Scott dash away, leaves and twigs crunching under his feet. A raspy sound of plastic scraping against plastic came from his direction.

Mason listened, straining his eyes to see in the dim light. Scott cursed as something made an abrupt cracking and splashing noise.