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Amber nodded. “We’llwait for him to come, and then we’ll take him down.”
He would come, shewas certain of that. He had to. Amber had to be right about this. If she wasn’t,then she was going to find herself faced with another puzzle, and another lifewas going to be in her hands.
***
Amber sat in theboathouse, starting at every noise, thinking each time that Steven Boon hadcome with his next victim.
“Any movement?”she asked over one of a trio of police radios, for what seemed like thehundredth time.
“Negative,”Francesca replied. “Still nothing here.”
“Negative,” Simonsaid. “There’s no sign of him.”
That was startingto worry Amber. It had been too long now. The hours had ticked by, and theinitial burst of certainty that Steven Boon might show up at any moment hadgiven way to slow, creeping tendrils of doubt, telling her that he might notshow up at all. In spite of the list, maybe this wasn’t the right place afterall.
“Maybe he’s notplanning anything today,” Simon suggested, over the radio. “We don’t know whenhe’ll strike.”
“That doesn’t makeany sense,” Amber said. “He’s made two kills in two days. He’s not going toslow down now.”
It was starting toget dark outside, the sunset filtering in through the boathouse’s grimywindows.
As the lightfaded, Amber’s anxiety grew. She was beginning to feel like they had made amistake. Maybe Steven Boon was never coming here. Maybe he had already grabbedhis target and had stashed them somewhere else. Maybe he had decided to run,rather than continuing to take his victims. The thought that she might havegotten it wrong about this place was worrying.
Amber wondered whothe next victim would be. Maybe understanding that would help. She’d thoughtthat it might be Steven Boon until he turned out to be the killer. If not him,then who? If it really was going to be here, at the last place on Francesca’slist, then that implied the last kill in a sequence. That suggested to her thatit should be someone special, someone of particular importance to the killer.
One name sprang tomind immediately.
“Simon,” Ambersaid over the radio. “Do you think we should warn Richard Myer that Steven Boonmight be coming for him?”
There was silenceon the other end of the radio, and Amber wondered if Simon had heard her.
“Simon?” sherepeated.
“I heard you,”Simon replied. “I just don’t like that we’re warning him when he won’t warn hisemployees. But I’ll put in a call to him. We can’t afford to take any chances.”
Amber breathed asigh of relief. She had been worried that Simon would dismiss her suggestion,but was that just her nerves about how she’d failed with the puzzle beforetalking? Maybe it was more than that, with the connection that Simon andDetective Angelique seemed to have built making Amber feel less confident thathe would automatically go along with her ideas.
She got up fromher spot and walked over to the window, peering out into the evening light. Theriver flowed past, the sound of the water lapping against the riverbanksfilling her ears. It was peaceful, but it only served to make her feel more onedge.
Suddenly, sheheard something behind her. She spun around, her gun raised, only to findFrancesca standing there.
“Sorry,” Francescasaid. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s fine,” Ambersaid, lowering her weapon. “Anything to report?”
“Nothing,”Francesca said. “But I was thinking that maybe we should call for backup totake over the stakeout. We’ve left this as long as we can. We can’t just sithere forever.”
A part of Amberhated the thought of not being there to cover this location, but another partknew that Francesca had a point. They’d rushed here, expecting to find thekiller, and there had been nothing. Now, they had been here too long already.It felt too passive, too reactive.
Amber lifted herradio to call Simon and suggest to him that they should stop.
“Contact,” Simonsaid, just as Amber raised the radio. “I have movement out here. Right rearcorner.”
Instantly, Amber’sfears about being in the wrong place melted away. Amber and Francesca hurriedover to where Simon was stationed at the back of the boathouse. They could seea figure moving about in the shadows, slowly making their way toward the door.He was wrapped up in several layers of clothing, a hood covering his head. Hewas looking around furtively. Was he scouting the location?
Was this StevenBoon, checking the location, ready to set up his next gruesome game? If so,they couldn’t waste any time.
“That has to behim,” Francesca said, her grip tightening on her weapon. “Let’s move in andtake him down.”
