Chapter 4 Rourke Closes In

"Everything okay, officer?" he asked, polite and pleasant.

Rourke smiled. "Mind if I take a look around?"

Elias hesitated only slightly. "Of course."

The main floor was pristine. Minimalist furniture. Sparse decor. One large abstract piece hung above the fireplace-colorful, chaotic, a distraction.

But Rourke's eyes went to the floor-dust patterns. Disturbed only near the kitchen and basement door.

"Mind if I check down there?"

Elias's smile tightened. "It's just storage."

"I insist."

---

V. The Basement

Rourke never forgot the smell. It hit him halfway down the stairs-oil paint and something else. Flesh.

The first thing he saw was the canvas. Emily Harrow's portrait. Flawless. Chilling.

Then he saw her body.

In a single, fluid motion, Rourke drew his weapon. "Hands where I can see them, Granger!"

But Elias was already moving, slipping behind the easel, grabbing something from beneath the table-a palette knife, its edge honed like a razor.

Rourke fired. The shot missed, grazing Elias's arm.

The artist lunged, slashing, slicing Rourke's cheek.

They grappled, knocking over a table, sending brushes, rags, and bones-actual bones-scattering across the floor.

Rourke managed to land a blow that sent Elias crashing into the easel, splintering it. The portrait ripped clean down the center, Emily's face torn apart.

Elias screamed-not in pain, but in anguish.

Rourke didn't wait. One more shot.