Hunter studied Lucien's sketches after he put out several calls to follow up on the startling information the man shared.

He's killed five... He just took another, and he is always hunting

That alone caused a chill down Hunter's spine.

He only had two bodies on the case to date. The brass had decided to withhold the waxed ears. That Lucien knew about it didn't play in his favor, but it did give Hunter some hope for the case.

He couldn't see the insightful artist as a killer. Lucien was genuinely disturbed by the details he relayed. Hunter knew he was probably horribly biased, given his interest in St. John's work.

He couldn't stop the errant thought that he now had a handful of St. John originals in his possession.

No, no. No, these were case-related sketches.

Kind of.

Hunter stacked the sketches on his scanner and ran them through. He watched as each one was rendered in digital detail on his screen. Once the last one finished, he saved them all and uploaded a copy to the case file. He gathered the sketches and stacked them in order on the desk.

Hunter attached a copy of the file to an email along with the recording and sent it to Fitz, copying himself. Opening the recordings, he pulled up Lucien's interview and fast-forwarded to the end, when he was sketching.

Plugging in a headset, he settled down to study the sketches and make more notes.

The long car was a limo, of course, possibly silver, since it was bright but not white. The sketch showed it parked in front of a tall hedge with a gated opening.

The lines were fuzzy, nothing clearly delineated, each object blending into others, yet somehow maintaining depth and dimension. That was a signature feature of a St. John original. Nothing had clear sharp lines in his work. It wasn't the way he saw the world.

Hunter went through them all, making notes until he got to the last ones he asked Lucien to do.

"The girls, the one he just took and the one he's hunting. If you can see them, even once, draw them for me."

Once Hunter saw the completed sketches, he knew who the second woman was, and it was the first call he placed after walking Lucien out.

His cell phone rang as he looked over his notes. He took a deep breath and answered.

"Hunter, sugah, how marvelous to hear from you."

He closed his eyes as the throaty purr of Delia Atkins, lifelong friend, and social goddess settled on his ears. She was Texas royalty, her family ties to oil, sports, music, and the arts as broad as his own.

"Delia, hello. I'm afraid it wasn't a social call."

"Well damn," she tsked. "And here I was sure you finally came to your senses and realized just how good we'd be together."

"Delia, that would never be why I call any woman," he sighed. "As you well know, I bleed glitter and piss rainbows."

Delia scoffed. "Just cuz your first toss was with a boy toy doesn't mean it's set in stone, sugah."

"Delia, hun, you know if Fitz ever heard you refer to him in even the most oblique manner as a boy or a toy, he'd turn your ass redder than li'l orphan Annie's hair. And you'd thank him and squeal for more."

She sighed, completely unbothered. "A girl can dream. So, what can I do for you, then?"

"Well, some information has come across my desk suggesting you may have a stalker."

Hunter smiled at the full, carefree laughter that issued forth. "Sugah, I got stalkers out the ass, day and night and twice on Sundays."

"Well, this one has killed at least two people, Del, honey, maybe as many as five," Hunter told her solemnly. "And he's got you square in his sights."

"Well shit," she muttered. "What d'ya figure we oughta do about that?"

***

Before he got too involved with the clay, Luc went through his collection of albums and pulled out a few favorites. He set them up on his turntable and started it up. He spent the rest of the evening dancing around his studio while he worked.

He didn't know what was coming to life under his hands. It felt so right, completely in sync with his mood and his thoughts.

He murmured to himself as he worked, sometimes singing along with his music, others just talking.

Stream of consciousness, Aunt Pru called it. Luc kept a recorder nearby to capture his rambling thoughts as they came to him. Pru thought it would help him work through the trauma that brought her into his life.

He couldn't deny that it had. Playing back the recordings often gave him insight and inspiration for another project, another sculpture.

Tonight, he seemed to be spending a great deal of time conversing with his clay about a certain Detective.

He had to reset the records four times before Jordy pulled him out of his creative fog late the next morning.

"I brought breakfast."

Luc's hands stilled. "More like brunch. Bacon, egg, and cheese croissants, hash browns, coffee, and..."

'"Bottle of orange juice," Jordy supplied.

Luc took a sniff. "Donut holes," he smiled. "And apple fritters. Jordy, you are too good to me."

"I know," his friend chuckled. "And, you haven't slept. I see you broke out some Carlisle oldies."

"Not that old." Luc pulled some wipes out of the package on his worktable to clean the clay from his hands. "I was in the mood for it."

"I just heard some Carlisle on the radio on the way over. Wait...Is the Detective that Hunter Carlisle?"

"He is," Luc confirmed, locating the bag of donut holes, and digging in. "And he knew who I was, too."

"Small world. There's chocolate milk in the other bag," Jordy chuckled as he watched Luc munch through the entire dozen humming happily.

He rummaged around and found the milk, before dusting his hands on his lounge pants and cracking open the bottle.

"You ate last night?"

He nodded, gulping half the bottle down. "The pho was delicious, thank you."

"You know...this piece you were working with over here looks a bit like Carlisle."

"Does it?" Luc paused with a bit of apple fritter halfway to his mouth. That would make sense.

The Detective wasn't far from his thoughts.

"How do you hear someone's voice and know what they look like?" Jordy shook his head. "Fucking amazing."

"I have no idea what he looks like," Luc laughed, "obviously. I just... I know what he sounds like. What color are his hair and eyes?"

Jordy hesitated before answering. "Black hair, kinda curly on top, short on the sides and back, and blue eyes. Bright, crazy blue."

Luc sidled back to his worktable, cleaned the sugar from his hands, and ran them lightly over the rough sculpt. "Hmm... I think... I need more definition...here."

"Maybe you should eat some more before you get back to it," Jordy suggested as Luc got The Look, getting lost in his work again.

"I'll eat," Luc murmured.

Jordy watched him push and pull, smooth, and roll the clay, eyes losing focus.

"Today?" Jordy insisted.

Luc nodded, hands never stopping. "Mmhm."

Jordy shook his head, moving the food bags to the unoccupied side of the worktable. "And you need to sleep."

He didn't expect a reply and he didn't get one. Jordy went out through the double French doors of the studio. The path veered to the left, going behind the house, into the garden. Jordy took the path to the right, heading to the long, sweeping driveway and garage that hadn't seen a car in or out of it since Prudence died. He got into his Explorer and checked his phone before pulling out. 

***

Jordy didn't come back, but he did send Italian for dinner.

Luc was still nibbling the breakfast croissant when the alert went off, telling him he had a delivery at the door. He waited a few minutes before he retrieved it and placed it in a small fridge in his studio. He was not dressed for company, and he didn't want to talk to anyone right now.

Too many people forgot to talk when they saw his scars or asked intrusive questions, and he rarely covered up when he was home. Pru never allowed him to feel ashamed of the scars. She called them evidence of life and encouraged him to embrace them.

He stood over the table, running his fingers along the edge. He had clay under his nails and caked up on his knuckles. His skin itched with bits of it dried on his chest and arms. He felt wonderfully exhausted, ready to take a hot shower and try to get some sleep.

Decided, he pushed away from the table and stripped out of his clothes on the way to the bathroom attached to the studio.

Inside he turned the old-fashioned taps on in the walk-in shower. He eased under the spray and sighed as it pelted down on muscles he hadn't realized were tense.

He leaned his head down under the spray, letting it beat down on his shoulders and back. The records were still playing in the background, Hunter Carlisle's soulful singing voice wrapping around his ears and mingling with his memory of the sexy Texas twang.

So smooth...but rough enough to be intriguing...

He slid his hands down his chest to his thighs and back up, lifting his hair off his neck and back before letting it fall. The scar tissue that marred his flesh didn't bother him anymore. Sometimes it was tender, sensitive to the touch, but Luc had never seen the scars, and often forgot they were even there.

He wondered if Hunter had any scars, something to add to the story his skin could tell.

This wasn't the first time he sculpted someone based on their voice alone, but he didn't think he would be putting this one in any gallery.

No, this bust would be his.

Hopefully, he would get a chance to explore the real thing, to learn just how accurate the sculpt was.

That would be an adventure worth having.

Luc shut off the water and grabbed a towel off the warming rack by the door. Wrapping it around his waist he went through the studio, stopping to pick up the discarded clothing.

Back in his room, he dropped the pants, underwear, and towel in the hamper and pulled a fresh pair of pants from the drawer in the closet. While he was there, he reached into the pocket of the coat he wore to see Hunter and pulled the card out, running his thumb across it.

With a grin, he took it with him into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed to pull his pajamas on.

It was interesting that Hunter was so mindful of the world of a blind person. Luc put it down to his sister, Hannah.

They had to be close being twins, and Hunter had left the spotlight to stay by her side when it became obvious that she was going blind. 

Luc pulled the covers back and settled cross-legged on the cool sheet.

"Lock up," he said in a clear steady voice. "Secure all."

He listened as every door locked and his alarm chimed.

Running his fingers over Hunter's card he yawned and leaned back on the pillows piled on his bed. 

Luc had no reason to call. Nothing more related to the case, anyway.

Hunter didn't specify, though, when he told him to call.

He left the card on his bedside table and drifted to sleep with a slight smile.