Final Sins by Michael Prescott

knew it would make him mad.
    “The client I met wasn’t worried about Faust. The client I met with was Faust.”
    He got up slowly and stood very still, like a man posing for a picture. “Say that again.”
    “Peter Faust hired me. He and his girlfriend are being stalked.”
    “And you took the job?”
    “Yeah. That’s what I do, you know. I stalk the stalkers. I’d have it printed on my business cards—if I had business cards.”
    She said this with a smile, but Wyatt wasn’t in the mood.
    “Faust”—his voice was unnaturally low—“is a goddamned killer.”
    “I know very well what he is.”
    “He murdered one woman that we know of. He may have murdered others. How can you possibly offer him your services?”
    “What he did in his past is not the issue.”
    “And what he may be doing right now?”
    “You just told me you have no evidence of any recent crimes.”
    “I still wouldn’t exactly give him the benefit of the doubt.”
    “I don’t have to give the benefit of the doubt. I just have to protect him, the same way you would. If he placed a nine-one-one call, are you telling me LAPD wouldn’t dispatch a squad car?”
    “That’s different. We’re a public service. We can’t deny help to anyone. You pick and choose your clients. You could have turned him down.”
    “Why should I?”
    “If you don’t know the answer to that question, I doubt I can explain it to you.”
    “You know, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell me how to do my job. I’ve been doing it long enough to make my own decisions.”
    “I’m disappointed in you, Abby.”
    “Oh, come on. You’re not trying to guilt-trip me about this?”
    “There was a time when you would never have had anything to do with a man like Faust. You would have spit in his face before you worked for him.”
    “Maybe I’ve evolved to a higher level of awareness. Maybe I’m more tolerant and accepting.”
    He took a moment to answer. When he did, his voice was low, almost mournful. “Or maybe it’s not about good and evil anymore.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “Lately you seem to be less concerned about the moral issues.”
    He was really pushing her buttons now. “Then what am I concerned about?”
    “The professional challenge. It used to be about justice for you. Street justice—but justice. Now I think it’s more of a sport. A game. You enjoy playing, and I’m not sure you care which side you’re playing on.”
    “Bullshit.”
    “Nice comeback.”
    “That’s the second time today someone said that to me. I must be losing my gift for repartee.”
    “Who was the first to say it? Faust?”
    “Actually he used the term riposte , but the meaning was the same.” She crossed her arms over her chest, aware that this was defensive body language, but feeling the need to protect herself. “Not that I have to justify my actions to you, but I took the case because Faust’s girlfriend is the probable target. She must be pretty messed up to be hanging with a creep like him, but as far as I know, she’s not a criminal, and she doesn’t deserve to die just because she’s become the focus of some deviant’s obsession.”
    “Not so long ago you would have said that any grown woman stupid and self-destructive enough to hook up with Peter Faust deserved whatever she got.”
    “If I’d said that, I would’ve been wrong. And if that’s what you think, then you’re wrong, Vic. Speaking of judgments—maybe I’ve misjudged you.”
    She left, retaining enough presence of mind not to slam his door. It was a rule of hers never to let anyone see how badly she’d been wounded.
    People could hurt her. Over the years, she’d learned there was nothing she could do about that. But she could at least deny them the satisfaction of ever seeing her pain.

6
     
    It took Abby a good half hour to cool off after her encounter with Wyatt. Probably he did have a legitimate beef about her casual attitude toward their relationship. On the other