They finally found their way from the museum's monitor room into the predawn dark. The clear, crisp cold air was a blessing after the stuffy recycled air that never entirely filtered out the scent of old dust and ancient things that reminded Gillian of old books in a library, but in a more subtle earthy way like the tombs in Egypt she once visited.

"Shit," Elissa swore, her suave American accent giving way to that touch of British betraying her place of birth, even though her current birth papers stated otherwise.

"I can't believe there's no trace of him," her sister muttered, her teeth peeking between her lips.

Frustration boiled in her blood too, but also a little vindication. Elissa should have known this would not be an easy matter to solve—humans were not dumb, and neither was she.

"He traversed the hallway, entered the damn editing room, and erased himself. How did he get in with all those guards? How did he get outside without being spotted?" Elissa sounded harassed, but calm filled Gillian unexpectedly, and Elissa immediately noticed, stopping in her tracks.

"You know?" she asked, and the tightness building in Gillian all week released.

"Yes. it's so obvious it's almost ridiculous." She watched a frown tug at Elissa's brow as her sister tried to figure it out.

"Who had access to both crime scenes without breaking in?"

Elissa's eyes darkened, then darkened some more as she replayed the words in her mind.

"A guard," she supplied, and Elissa froze. "These rich humans possess their own guard force. The same guards protecting this building, patrol the campus, and..." She didn't finish as her sister ran toward the car without waiting, where Colt was unlocking the trunk to put away her stuff.

"Colt, get in; we need to go!" Elissa commanded. Colt glanced at her, and she nodded, the only reason the detective unceremoniously dumped her stuff in the trunk and slammed the lid shut without asking a question.

***

Colt peeled rubber out of the parking lot, and the security guard had to dive into the grass to get out of her way as she sped past the gate.

"Where the fuck are we going?" she demanded, and Gillian had never heard her swear before.

"Jacob Phelps's house. Our murderer is one of Hail security's guards," Elissa explained as they careened around a corner and missed a yellow cab by inches. The driver looked scared whit-less during the brief moment they glimpsed his face.

"He used the museum murder to keep us busy, so he had time to get to the boy," Gillian ground, fighting the vehicle's erratic motions as Colt weaved in and out of early morning traffic like one of those cellphone car games.

Colt stilled for a fraction of a second as her brain processed the information before shifting gears and driving even faster.

"We will not get in there without a warrant," she cautioned, and Colt gritted her teeth as the security gate finally came into view with two guards stationed at the boom.

Colt had no intention of stopping, and she braced herself.

The guards raised their guns at the barreling cruiser, but the flashing lights made them hesitate only long enough to grasp that they would be driven over if they didn't get out of the way.

They dove out of the way, and bullets pinged into the car's body as they skidded around the corner. Despite Colt's excellent driving skills, being in a car that isn't under your control was just a little scary, even for a vampire.

They expected to be greeted by gunfire at the house, but nothing happened as they skidded to a halt.

***

Colt took a second to call in their situation as she plucked vests out of the back of her car and tossed one at each of them.

They made their way across the grass and to the door, not bothering to knock on the slightly ajar door as they rushed in.

The smell of fresh blood hit Gillian's nose, and she grimaced, fighting for control. There were bodies everywhere as they moved through the house. In the foyer, the kitchen, on the stairs, inside the bedroom, and in the living area. The staff, security, cleaners, Jacob Phelps, his little brother, and their niece were among the dead.

"This is a bloody mess," Elissa said, staring at the carnage.

"Why did he do all of this? It isn't his style?" Colt asked.

"Maybe he didn't have time to do anything more?" Gillian asked, not buying it for a second.

"This seems wrong," Colt said, and she agreed.

"Perhaps it wasn't him?" Elissa suggested but didn't seem convinced.

"No, only he could pull this off," Gillian said.

Sirens wailed outside as they came back downstairs.

"The police could not respond so fast; someone else called 911 earlier," Colt said.

"Perhaps we're lucky, and there's a survivor?" Elissa said.

"How had the security heard none of this?" Gillian wondered. "The killer might have used a silenced weapon, but the security people didn't."

Swat stormed in as they reached the living area, and before they knew what had happened to them, they were pinned to the ground and not even given a chance to speak.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say—" she tuned the words out as she grasped that the Vigilante Killer had set them up.

"You are making a mistake; we are the police!" Colt said.

"Shut up, bitch." The lady pinning her to the ground with her knee said as Colt finally grasped their situation.

Gillian stared out over the marble floor. They were found in a house filled with bodies, the victims shot with what looked like a nine-millimeter handgun, and no trace of the killer's signature style. She would also wager there would conveniently be no active surveillance cameras.

Three cops, three guns, three vests, and a lot of dead people that hadn't been dead more than ten to fifteen minutes. Right then, there were no forensic people to ascertain their guns were not fired, and they had no gun residue on their hands.

This house belonged to a man who would soon be a vice-president, and things could get ugly if they didn't just go along with it. Gillian relaxed her muscles and stopped fighting.

He was probably down the road somewhere, getting away, when he saw them and recognized the perfect opportunity for a bit of mischief to show them their place and buy himself a little peace and quiet to disappear into. By the time they sorted out this mess, he would be gone.

A more chilling possibility was that he expected them to figure the security guard thing out and planned this mess, which seemed more likely. He set the scene, and this was not his signature.

Planning was his thing, wasn't it? He never left anything to chance, and she suspected he watched them even now.

Two cops pulled her roughly to her feet and escorted her outside into the back seat of a cruiser, the flashing lights illuminating the manicured lawns and marble façade in stark flashes of color.

Was this his way of letting them know they were in his sights? He had even counted on them barging in here without backup.

He understood them, and they knew nearly nothing about him. To pull this off, he had to know the exact moment they left the museum, which wasn't hard if he had a two-way radio tuned into Hail's security's frequency. After all, they had nearly driven over the guard.

He was toying with them, messing with them, and laughing at them.