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Five years ago, three young victims were found murdered, posed like little angels. No witnesses, no evidence left behind. The Sleeping Angel Killer called his despicable acts 'the perfect crimes.' The case nearly destroyed homicide detective Kitt Lundgren's career— because she let the killer get away.
Now the Sleeping Angel Killer is back.
But Kitt notices something different about this new rash of killings— a tiny variation that suggests a copycat killer may be re-creating the original 'perfect crimes.' Then the unthinkable happens. The Sleeping Angel Killer himself approaches Kitt with a bizarre offer: he will help her catch his copycat.
Kitt must decide whether to place her trust in a murderer—or risk falling victim to a fiend who has taken the art of the perfect murder to horrific new heights.
cell phone.” He turned toward her. “Detective, you want to fill everyone in?” She took over, recounting the brief conversation, minus the incriminating comments about her fall. “He told me to call him ‘Peanut.’” Sal looked sharply at her. “Your daughter’s nickname?” She kept her voice flat. “Yes. He called the bureau this morning as well.” She handed the message slip to Sal. “This was waiting for me here.” Sal swore. She shifted her gaze to the rest of the group. “Point is, he knows details
running away with him. Or was it? It wouldn’t be the first time the Other One had come to spy on him. And what of the angels? Perhaps one—the horrible one—had come to seek revenge for what he had done to her. He sank to the floor, the ceramic tile cold against his naked backside. He scooted toward the wall, until he was pressed into the corner facing the door. The minutes passed as he waited, his pounding heart marking off the seconds. Finally, eyes burning, he blinked. And she filled his
That done, M.C. wrote Cell/11:41 on a card and set it on the desk in front of Kitt. “Was she yours?” Kitt asked. “Did I kill her? No, Kitten, I didn’t.” “And you expect me to believe you? Just like that? After the little warning you left me?” “I hope it doesn’t devalue your ride too much. I wanted to be creative.” “I suppose you consider picking a brunette this time your idea of ‘creative’?” “I told you, I didn’t have anything to do with this girl.” He lowered his voice to a husky drawl. “I
security, it wouldn’t have happened.” Another of violent crime’s victims—those left behind who blamed themselves. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said softly. “There was nothing you could have done.” “I tell myself that but…You know how it goes.” She did, indeed. “How did the murderer get into the building? I noticed you had a keypad and call-box system. The main doors are kept locked twenty-four hours a day. Was anything different at the time of the murder?” “We’ve added video surveillance, but
She had thought she loved him. How could he have fooled her so completely? “I wish I could believe—So many things, M.C. I wish so many things.” He kissed her again. His breath smelled fresh, like peppermint. As if he’d just sucked on a candy. “He would be so angry,” he said. “Angrier than he already is.” “Who, Lance?” “The Beast.” He said it on a whisper, as if afraid of being overheard. Her heartbeat quickened. His partner. The one who had struck her the first time. And the one, she