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I’m looking out over glorious San Francisco and I have my service revolver pressed against the side of my temple. “Goddamn you, God!” I whisper.
Campbell stepped forward and plunged a knife deep into the groom’s chest, between the third and fourth ribs, the closest route to the heart. “For the man who has everything,” Campbell said.
Campbell wanted to remember her like this. The frozen, wide-eyed look. The promise and hope that just moments ago had shined so brightly were now shattered.
“The truth is, Melanie, I’m here to save you,” he said as he smiled into her quivering face. Campbell lowered the blade and sliced into her. The slender body jolted up with a sudden cry.
Was this it? Had he just done it? Not yet, a voice inside answered. Not quite yet.
“Then here’s the truth, Lindsay. What you have is life threatening.” “Life threatening?” My heart stopped. My throat was as dry as parchment. “Fatal, Lindsay.”
Through the open double doors, I saw roses first—they were everywhere. Then I spotted Jacobi.
“You know women,” I heard Jacobi reply. “They always cry at weddings.”
The entrance cop gave her a careful once-over. In her black leather jacket, jeans, sandals from Earthsake, Cindy figured she didn’t look the part of someone arriving for a power brunch. “My meeting,” said Cindy, tapping her watch. “Eddleson.”
“Two murders. On thirty.”
She pressed 30. The Mandarin Suite. A double homicide. Her story.
An even more chilling possibility had already struck me. “He could have been a guest.”
Possibility two: A fear was building inside me. The killer was signing his murders? He was toying with us? Purposely leaving clues? One-time crime-of-passion killers didn’t leave clues like the jacket. Professionals didn’t, either. Serials left clues.
“Fractious, Ms. Thomas? I might be getting a little fractious myself.” “Apparently, some of the Russians were left hanging with their Uncle Vanyas out.”
When he is finished, he carries her to the bed. (Not drags. There is no sign of blood trailing behind.) This is important. He is gentle with her.
Nowhere in the room do I feel the clinical pattern of professionals or hired killers. Or even someone who has killed before.
The killer doesn’t take the earrings, I realized. He takes the rings.
watched them kiss. He hated every smug, deluded pore in their bodies. Don’t you want to take your princess in style? He fingered the gun resting in his lap. He was changing murder weapons.
Cause the concierge did receive one call last night. It was from the restaurant, confirming their reservations.” “So?” Hartwig took a sip of his coffee before he met our eyes. “No one at the restaurant ever called them.”
“About a month ago, after inventory, we noticed that our folder on the brides was missing.”
“She was protective. She didn’t tell me everything. Scout’s honor, Inspector. I assume he was a public figure.”
“What do you feel like?” Raleigh asked.
“And what I’m starting to feel like,” he answered, facing me, “is I’m having a hard time trying to pretend that nothing’s going on.”
Hillary sounded frightened.
“Then someone must know. Who? Tell me.” I heard Merrill Shortley let out a mirthless laugh. “Ask her sister.”
A junior account manager. If she repeatedly went down there, she was on her own.
She couldn’t stop herself. But what I don’t understand is why he would hurt her so badly. He took away all that was pure about her.
Nicholas Jenks was famous. A national figure. Untouchable.
“I figure, I check it out, I can be a hero, bring home a signed copy. You ever read Lion’s Share by Nicholas Jenks?”
“Wide open. Why?” “I think it’s time we talked to this guy face-to-face.”
Once… here, I circled it for you, for twelve minutes only last week. Three days before she was married, then killed.”
Sometimes, my fans are rather impressionable. And attractive. At times I, to my detriment, can be an impressionable man.”
Jenks’s face turned granitelike.
We had earned this. Nicholas Jenks had been arraigned. No bail. No consideration of the court. The four of us had pulled it off.
“To the ice bitches of the world,” Cindy toasted, “and the men who cannot thaw us out.”
“It’s like with Jenks, Lindsay,” she said. “You just don’t let it win.”
Or at least, Phillip Campbell thought, that’s what Jenks ought to be feeling.
But he came out with something unexpected. “I’m being framed!” Jenks announced angrily. It took about a half second for Jill’s glance to bump into mine.
“Oh, no. Oh, Jesus, no,” I whispered. When Jenks had lunged at me at his house, he had swung with his left hand. When he’d offered me a drink, he’d picked up the pitcher with his left hand. Impossible, I thought. This can’t be happening. Claire was certain David Brandt’s killer had been right-handed.
“Impossible. No. It isn’t Joanna.” “How can you be so sure?” He looked at me as if he were stating an understood fact. “Joanna loved me. She still does. Why do you think she hangs around, covets a relationship with my new wife? Because she misses the view? It’s because she cannot replace what I gave her. How I loved her. She is empty without me.

