“No one was standing in the shadows smoking a cigarette or looking about with a shifty-eyed gaze. I couldn't see anyone quickly hiding a bloody knife behind his back or twirling a moustache, either. That ruled out the Dudley Do-Right approach to finding the killer.”

“He shrugged, looking right into my eyes. "Right now, this is all I feel." He held our intertwined hands up for me to see and I wanted to look away, but I couldn't break the hold his gaze had on me, like he could see more than anyone else saw. Things I couldn't see myself.”

“Here was this man Tom Guthrie in Holt standing at the back window in the kitchen of his house smoking cigarettes and looking out over the back lot where the sun was just coming up.”

“John Cusack is standing over there.”I followed his incredulous gaze to where a man very like Mr. Cusack did indeed stand, smoking a cigarette as he leaned against a building. I sighed.“That’s not John Cusack. That’s Jerome.”“Seriously?”“Yup. I told you he looked like John Cusack.”“Keyword: looked. That guy doesn’t look like him. That guy is him.”

“Looks can’t hide your true identity. It’s the eyes that give you away…the soul behind them. The intent. The Shadows.”

“The full moon cast an eerie glow through thick ancient dark woods. In the shadows around a tree, the serial killer ran his knife lovingly over Chelsea’s trussed dead body. She lay, as if posed for a photo, wearing only bloody pink underpants.”