Lathan stood center stage at a presentation much like the one he’d tried to attend, fists wrapped in the nation’s most-respected profiler’s shirt, sniffing the guy. He smelled the audience’s surprise, apprehension, and fear—a precursor to panic. Felt everyone watching him. What did he expect? With the way he looked, the audience probably thought they were on the cusp of witnessing an actual murder. There’d be pictures of this all over the Internet in seconds.
“I smell him. Where is he?” Lathan didn’t wait for Dr. Jonah’s answer. He turned to the audience and scented the air. His brain automatically sorted and sifted through all the people, picking up a skinny thread of the one smell that gave him the greatest hope and the greatest fear. “Gill—he’s here.”
Gill drew his badge and gun and said something to the audience. Must’ve been some version of freeze because no one moved.
“…are…?” The scent of Dr. Jonah’s fear grew.
Lathan didn’t need to read or hear the words to understand the man’s question. “You know who I am.”
“I don’t.”
Lathan waited for the peppery scent of the lie to enter his nostrils, but it didn’t. “You know who I am. You sent your partner after me at the Minds of Madness and Murder seminar. You have been inside my home. You decided Honey killed Junior and shot me.”
The light of recognition sparked in Dr. Jonah’s eyes. “Lathaniel Montgomery? But…”
At the mention of Lathan’s name, Gill slapped his hand over the microphone. Then fumbled with it a moment, turning it off.
“But what?” Lathan asked Dr. Jonah.
“I didn’t know…at the Minds of Madness and Murder seminar.” Dr. Jonah spoke so rapidly Lathan couldn’t catch it all.
It wasn’t important, nothing more than a trivial detail in the greater search for Honey, but for some reason Lathan couldn’t let the conversation pass. “Your partner chased me down. Told me you wanted me to return to the presentation.”
“That’s strange. Let’s ask James.”
James. Isleen said Honey was with a man named James.
“Your partner is named James?” Lathan asked, certain he must’ve read the name wrong.
“Yes.”
“James?” This time Gill asked, his gaze colliding with Lathan’s.
“Yes.” Dr. Jonah confirmed. Again.
Lathan forced himself to let go of his grip on Dr. Jonah. “I don’t believe in coincidences. What if…” A memory floated out of the ether of Lathan’s mind. That day at the Minds of Madness and Murder seminar, he’d smelled something familiar as he rushed across the grass to his Fat Bob, but he’d plugged his nose before his brain could lock onto it. And then the partner had grabbed his arm. “Holy Jesus. Holy Fuck. The partner. The partner has to be the Strategist.”
Gill looked as skeptical as he smelled. “There are a fuckload of people with the name James. Just because—”
Lathan interrupted Gill to ask Dr. Jonah. “The seminar—did you hire an interpreter for me?”
“No. Of course not. I didn’t even know you were there.” Dr. Jonah’s gaze flew back and forth between Lathan and Gill.
“Gill, listen. When I left, Dr. Jonah’s partner chased after me, told me the doctor wanted me to return to the presentation, but he”—Lathan flicked his thumb in Dr. Jonah’s direction—“never knew I was there. Don’t you see?” Lathan waited for Gill to have the spark of understanding, but Gill just looked at him. “I’m the only one claiming the Strategist exists.
“What if the Strategist has been watching me, trying to figure out how I do what I do? What if he suspected I had hearing problems and the interpreter was his way of confirming it? What if he was watching five nights ago? That would explain the bizarre timing of him taking Honey. It would explain why the scene was set to look like she’d shot me and killed Junior. Only a professional would’ve known how to stage it so perfectly.”
Dr. Jonah raked a trembling hand through his flyaway hair, his gaze faraway, lost in thought. Lathan could practically see the man shifting puzzle pieces into place—and reaching the same conclusion as Lathan, but for different reasons. Shaking his head, he stepped up to the front of the stage and spoke loud enough that Lathan could hear. “James, come down here.” No one moved. “James?”
A guy at the top, in the seat nearest the door, raised his arm and waved it wildly in the air. Gill listened, then turned to Lathan and spoke. “He said a man left through the door right after you came in.”
“Why would he leave?” Lathan directed the question to Dr. Jonah. “Does he normally leave?”
“No. Oh my God. I can’t believe this. He said he was too sick to attend the crime scene at your home. He’s been out the past five days with the stomach flu. I didn’t even question him. Why would I?” He swallowed, and sadness lined his face. “He’s my son. I should’ve seen. Should’ve known. Should’ve stopped him. I’ll take you to him.”
His fucking son—one of most prolific killers, and the great Dr. Jonah had been completely oblivious. Compassion for the guy wasn’t in Lathan’s dictionary at that moment, but neither could he direct any anger at Dr. Jonah. All he wanted was to find Honey.
Lathan inhaled the entire way out of the auditorium, searching for the Strategist’s scent. Confirmed for himself the guy really was gone.
Gill drove. Dr. Jonah navigated. Lathan obsessed over their speed. Speed of light wouldn’t have been fast enough. He didn’t bother trying to follow Gill and Dr. Jonah’s conversation. There was nothing either of them had to say that mattered. Only Honey mattered.
Lathan didn’t see the roads or the scenery they passed. All he could see was Honey in his mind’s eye. Her wiping the blood off his face after his fight with Gill. Her laughing and playing with Little Man. Her as he made love to her. Her. Her. Her.