She glanced at Sean, her stomach knotting in sudden agitation. “What do you want me to do?”

“Just tell me what you saw last night, what you felt. Your first impression, your gut instinct. Anything you can remember.”

“I thought you only wanted me to listen.”

“No. What I want is for you to help me get inside this creep’s head.”

But that wasn’t a place she should go, Sarah thought. She didn’t even know how to fight the demons that resided inside her own head. The very last thing she needed was a connection to another killer.

Yet, even as she tried to block her focus and strengthen her defenses, her mind was already racing with images from the night before. The house, the steps, the porch, the brass numbers hammered into the door frame. It was like she was back there again, moving through the empty rooms.

“I do remember something,” she said hesitantly.

“What?”

“It may not mean anything. It could be just a coincidence.”

“I still want to hear about it.”

“You have to consider it along with everything else we saw last night. Keep it in context. Taken alone, it doesn’t sound like much.”

He nodded. “Let’s hear it.”

“When we were going inside the house, I noticed that the number by the door started with a one and an eight. Eighteen is three times six. Six-sixty-six. The number of the beast mentioned in the Book of Revelation.”

She half expected Sean to blow off her observation as a stretch and she really wouldn’t have been all that sorry if he had. She didn’t like talking about this stuff. It unnerved the shit out of her, too.

“I don’t think anything about that crime scene was a coincidence. He seems to be heavily into symbolism and hidden meanings. It could be that he scoped out locations ahead of time, maybe even used the phone book to check for street addresses containing the right numbers. All he had to do was search until he found an empty house. He’s not necessarily someone who’s familiar with the area, just someone who knows how to find what he needs.”

Sean looked at Sarah and nodded. “Good. What else?”

The waitress had brought glasses of ice water along with their tea and coffee, and Sarah absently traced her finger in the condensation. “I thought I smelled sulphur when we first entered the house.”

“Sulphur? That’s a pretty hard odor to miss. I didn’t smell it, and no one else mentioned it.”

Sarah shrugged. “Maybe it was just my imagination, then. I was dreaming about it earlier when you called.”

“You were dreaming about sulphur? Jesus Christ, Sarah.” He looked worried. “You’re still having the nightmares, then.”

“Yeah, when I can get to sleep.”

“Are you still seeing that shrink?”

Her gaze dropped. “I really don’t want to talk about that right now, and anyway, I need to be getting back to the studio.”

“Don’t go yet. You still have some time, and I think we’re making progress. I might never have known about the significance of the house number without you.” He paused. “What else can you tell me about the symbol he left upstairs? You called it an udjat, right?”

“Like I said, you can get all this off the internet. More, actually. But what I do remember is that it’s usually depicted as the right eye, which represents the sun. The left eye—or the mirror image—represents the moon. The killer drew both in that room.”

“Any idea why?”

She didn’t answer at first. Her attention was caught by what she had unconsciously traced on the side of the frosty glass.

I am you.

“Sarah?”

With the tip of her finger, she obliterated the killer’s message, wondering if Sean had noticed the spidery script. “Sorry. I was just thinking. If I had to guess, I’d say the killer is in some sort of conflict with himself.”

“The truly fucked-up ones usually are,” he agreed. “Which would go a long way in explaining his knowledge of Rorschach inkblots, wouldn’t it? At some time or other, he’s probably been in treatment. Now, if we could just figure out what that particular inkblot means to him, we’d be in business.”

“I don’t think you’ll ever know that,” Sarah said. “But his compulsion to tattoo his victim may tell you something. How familiar are you with Leviticus?”

He gave her a bemused glance. “I know it’s from the Bible.”

“There’s a verse that goes something like this: Ye shall not make any cuttings in your flesh nor print any marks upon you. Some people interpret the passage to mean that piercings and tattoos are marks of the devil. I get that a lot from the true believers who come into the studio hell-bent on saving my soul.” In spite of its notorious decadence, New Orleans was still, at its heart, a very spiritual city.

“And you think that’s what he was doing...marking his victim for the devil?”

“I don’t know. It’s a possibility, I guess.”

“But she already had tattoos,” Sean said.

“They were old and faded. She didn’t take care of them. Maybe he took that to mean she’d repented.”

Sean ran his thumb back and forth across his bottom lip. “So he had to mark her again. First with the inkblot on her back and then with the pentagram in her palm.”

“It wasn’t a pentagram,” Sarah said. “I meant to tell you last night. It was a triangle enclosed in a circle.”

“What’s the difference?”

She hesitated, not certain how deep of an explanation she wanted to get into. “Thaumaturgic triangles are used for casting spells and summoning demons. The triangle is the door through which the demon passes and the circle is used to protect the conjuror from possession.”

Sean gave a low whistle. “So he tattoos her, kills her and inks a triangle in her palm to summon a demon. Just a normal day at the office for this guy.”

“I noticed something else about that triangle,” Sarah said. “It was a mess. The lines were scratchy and inconsistent, which means the needle didn’t go in deep enough. That’s the sign of an amateur. Nothing at all like the quality of the tattoo on her back.”

Sean thought about that for a moment. “The adrenaline was still pumping from the kill. He probably had the shakes.”

“No, I don’t think it was that. The styles are completely different. And think about everything else we’ve talked about. The symbolism of the left and right udjats. The inkblot with two distinct but identical images.”

“Twins?”

“Not just a twin. A mirror image. Two sides of the same person.”

“Identical twins, then.”

“Maybe.”

Sean sat back. “I never even considered that, but damn, Sarah, you may be onto something.”

She could see the excitement building in his eyes, and the air around him seemed to crackle with electricity. He always got like this when a case started to break his way.

“You don’t think I’ve lost my mind, then?” Her tone was light, but she was only half joking.

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Sure. Why not?”

He studied his coffee for a moment, and when he finally looked up, Sarah’s heart thudded against her chest. Something had shifted...changed. There was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Something that made her react with an almost-violent start.

“You really want to know what I’m thinking?” He leaned into the table. “I’m wondering how I’ve managed to solve a damn thing without you. I’ve missed you, Sarah.”

She jerked back as if he’d tried to physically assault her. “Why would you say that to me now?”

His eyes flashed. “Because it’s how I feel. And no matter what you might think, it wasn’t calculated. I told you because it’s the truth, and because there’s something else you should know. No, let me put it a different way. There’s something I want you to know.” His gaze held hers until she finally broke the contact. “Leaving you was the biggest mistake of my life.”

Sarah could scarcely breathe she was so angry. He had no right saying any of this to her now, and the fact that he thought he could, without consequences, infuriated her.

“You’re unbelievable.”

He rubbed a hand across his face. “I know how this sounds. And I know there’s no way I can possibly explain why I did what I did without making myself sound like a complete asshole.”

“Oh, do go on. That’s never stopped you before.”

He dropped his hand to the table. “You’re not going to cut me an inch of slack, are you?”

“Why should I?”

“God, you can be—”

“What?” she cut in. “A bitch?”

“No, not a bitch. That’s not you. But you are a hard person to live with. You have to know that. The insomnia. The night terrors. Those damn pills you take. You’re still letting the past eat you up inside, and all that anxiety takes a toll on those around you. And it’s not like I don’t have a shitload of misery of my own to deal with. Some of the things I’ve seen since Katrina...” He trailed off, his eyes bloodshot and haunted. “Day in and day out. That takes a toll, too, and I needed some downtime. I needed to be with someone I didn’t have to worry about twenty-four hours a day.”

“You wanted someone safe,” she said.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“And that was Catherine.”

He glanced around without answering. “Christ, I need a cigarette.”

“You quit smoking a long time ago.”

“Old habits are hard to break,” he muttered. “Sometimes the cravings come back when you least expect them.”

Sarah was scarcely hearing a word. Her head was filled with confused, angry clatter, like a trapped bird flailing helplessly against a wire cage. “Tell me about her.”

He gave her a doubtful look. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? Like you said, let’s get it all out there so we can be done with this.”

He waited a moment, as if sensing a trap. When she didn’t say anything else, he shrugged. “All right. We grew up together. We dated all through high school. We even talked about getting married when we graduated.”

Shit.

Maybe she didn’t want to hear this after all, because every word that came out of his mouth twisted the knife in her gut a little deeper.

“So what happened?”

“Different colleges, different cities, different ambitions.” He shrugged. “We drifted apart and eventually lost touch. I didn’t see her for years. And then, there she was one day in the same restaurant, seated a few tables over. We got to talking, reminiscing about the old days, and it made me realize how easy life had once been.”

“With her.”

“That’s the connection I made in my mind, I guess.”

“So you rekindled the old flame,” Sarah said scathingly. “Was this meeting before or after you moved out of my house?”

He was silent.

“I see.” She glanced down at her hands. “Were you sleeping with her before you left?”

“No. But to be honest, that’s why I moved out. I knew we were headed in that direction and I didn’t want to cheat on you. I didn’t want to play around behind your back.”

“What a fucking hero you are. So you moved out and four months later you were married.”

“And that was the second biggest mistake of my life.”

His words fell like tiny bombs between them. His eyes were on her, and Sarah knew he was waiting for her to say something, but she was utterly speechless.

“Well?” he prompted.

“You’ve only been married a few months. How can you already feel that way?”

“I felt that way after the first week.”

“Instant regret?” She shook her head. “I would have hoped for a little more maturity from someone your age. You know, like giving your marriage a fair shot and all.”

He frowned. “This isn’t exactly the reaction I expected from you.”

“Then what the hell did you expect?”

He glanced around. “Lower your voice, for Christ’s sake.”

She ignored him. “Did you think that you and I would just pick up where we left off? That’s not going to happen. I’ve moved on.”

“With someone else?”

“None of your business.”

“Oh, that’s mature.” He started to say something else, but his phone rang and he snatched it out of his pocket to check the display. “Shit.”