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Laughter cut through her words. “I was celebrating those last few days.” His grin held no dimples, and the wicked pleasure in it sent ice sliding through her veins. She knew why he’d been celebrating.
Victim number four—Holly McRae—had been stabbed twenty-two times just days before he’d been locked away.
“I went out on the town,” he said, and she could feel the memories around him. “Drinking and dancing. Found some new bars that I sure liked one hell of a lot.”
“Which bars?”
“Can’t remember.”
Yes, he could. She stared into his eyes. “You were in Savannah, Georgia. The area was your hunting ground. The bars were where you picked your prey.”
“Were they?” He glanced at the nearest guard. “I’m bored. Thought she’d have some pics to show me. I do enjoy it when reporters bring back old pics for me to see.”
So he could relieve his sadistic crimes. Yes, Avalon would imagine that he would enjoy that particular activity. “I’m not a reporter.”
The guard shuffled forward. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket. They jangled as they bounced in his hand.
“Thought you said you were a writer.” Everett’s lips twisted.
“I write true crime books.”
“So you should have seen all the photos.” He widened his eyes. “Hey, maybe we can team up and you can prove that I’m innocent.”
“Impossible.” The guilty couldn’t be proven innocent.
The guard released the lock that had bound the ankle and wrist cuffs to the floor. Then the guard curled one beefy hand around Everett’s shoulder and hauled him to his feet.
“Why is it impossible?” Everett demanded.
“Because we both know you killed those women.”
The guard stepped back. “Time to go.”
This talk had certainly not gone the way she intended.
Everett slammed his fisted hands—and the attached cuffs—onto the table in front of her. The table bounced, the cuffs rattled with a screech, and it took every single bit of Avalon’s self-control not to flinch.
“What the hell?” A snarl from the guard.
Everett stared into her eyes. A little furrow appeared between his brows. “I don’t scare you?”
“It takes a lot to scare me.”
Both guards had grabbed him now. They were hauling him away.
She kept her hands fisted in her lap. Kept her arms close to her sides. Kept her breathing calm and kept her gaze dead set on him.
Everett smiled at her. “Four bars. Moonshine. Whiskey Sour. Midnight Rave. And LeBlanc’s.”
The guards almost had him through the doorway.
“If you find that sonofabitch…cut out his intestines and tie them in a bow!”
The guards yanked him out of the room. The door slammed shut with a clang. Avalon released a long, slow breath. She didn’t get out of the chair. If she’d tried to rise immediately, she was afraid that her knees might have turned to jelly, and she’d just fall in a puddle on the floor. Considering that there were currently eyes on her—eyes that had been watching that little chat the entire time—she didn’t want to screw up her confident facade by taking a header onto the floor. So unprofessional.
Another slow breath, and Avalon turned toward the one-way mirror that waited to the left. The warden would be behind that mirror. So would the DA. After all, it wasn’t as if she could have gotten an audience with a notorious killer without their help. “Did you know about the bars?” she asked. Her head tilted, and her hair slid over her shoulder.
Then she waited. Patiently. Still in her chair because she knew her weak knees. A few moments later, the door opened. DA Douglas Baptiste strolled in. “Got to be honest, I didn’t think he’d tell you jackshit.”
