Second Honeymoon Part 44

"I'm John O'Hara," I said, acknowledging what we both saw on the screen. "And you are?"

"Special Agent Brubaker," she said. "Sarah." She holstered her Glock 23. "You thought I was-"

"About to make me the fifth victim, yeah," I said. "Wait, how did you get-"

We were officially finishing each other's sentences. "I rang the doorbell but no one answered. I came around back, the patio door was open...you didn't hear the doorbell?"

"No one can-it's broken," I said. "Gee, maybe I should get that fixed, huh?"

She started to laugh, but it wasn't on account of my sarcasm.

"What?" I asked. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing," she said, looking at the counter in front of me.

I glanced down to see the bada.s.s blade that I was ready to throw at her like some ninja warrior. Yeah, real bada.s.s. Way to go, O'Hara. It was a three-inch paring knife.

I shrugged. "Not too impressive, huh?"

"Don't worry, I've seen smaller," she said. "Besides, it's not the size but how you use it, right?"

She was funny, too. "Do women actually believe that?" I asked.

"No, not really."

"Ouch," I said. "So you really are here to hurt me."

"Ah, there it is," she said, pointing.

"What's that?"

"False modesty. Self-deprecating humor. Your file says you're an expert at it."

"Really? What else does it say?" I asked.

"Tons of really interesting stuff, at least the parts I'm cleared to read," she said. "In fact, that's why I'm here."

"To discuss my file?"

"No. To help you."

"The Bureau already has me seeing a shrink."

"I know. But he can't do for you what I can," she said.

"Oh, yeah? What's that?"

"Keep you alive."

I stopped and stared into those green eyes of hers. "Okay. I think we've just hit on a common interest we have."

Chapter 69

THE NEWS REPORT? The fact she was now here in my house? It would've been flat-out redundant to ask what division she was with at the Bureau.

Still, "I'm a.s.suming the BAU isn't making house calls to everyone named John O'Hara in this country, are they?" I asked.

"No," she said. "It's just you, I'm afraid."

More afraid than I should be?

We sat down at the kitchen table, and I watched as she reached for her shoulder bag and pulled out items as though it were the first day of school. Notepad. Pen. Folder. There was one thing I knew she wouldn't have on her, however.

"My file...DNR?" I asked.

"DNC, too," she answered. "You're quite famous."

"Infamous is more like it."

"Self-deprecating, see?"

When your file is marked both "do not remove" and "do not copy," chances are you've managed to FTU a few times over the years.

f.u.c.k things up.

"So you've obviously seen the news report," she began. "There's a guy out there killing John O'Haras and only John O'Haras."

"Except the news report didn't say anything about the killer's gender, and you just did. A guy. You know who he is?"

"Not only that, I've met him. Had a beer with him, in fact. Long story."

"How romantic. Have I met him, too?"

"I don't know," she said. "I'm sure of one thing, though. He really-and I mean really-must not like you."

"Why's that?" I asked.

"Something to do with his sister's death."

My mind immediately kicked into overdrive as every case I ever worked flashed before me like a slide show on steroids. There were a few possibilities, but something in my gut was pointing to a single name. h.e.l.l, I'd just been reminded of her only minutes before, with Dr. Papenziekas.

Talk about something in my gut. She was pure poison, up and down, all around. It still hurt just saying her name.