chin nearly landed on her chest and, as her entire body pitched forward, she felt herself come to a quick stop.
“ Ow ,” she muttered, as the familiar pain of the handcuffs bit into her wrists.
As she tried to ease the pain by sitting up, it finally occurred to her that she was in a chair.
“Welcome back,” the Chameleon said.
Isabelle slowly raised her head as her wrists, ankles, and arms protested in pain. The Chameleon stood directly in front of her, feet planted shoulder-width apart, hands grasping his thick leather belt, looking comfortable. They were in the corridor. Cell A35 was to her right and Isabelle could now see that they were on the bottom floor of a two-story cell block. The windows in the wall to her left soared upward and it looked as though it might be midday.
The Chameleon smiled pleasantly and, without taking his eyes away from hers, he opened one of the leather compartments on his belt. Isabelle cringed at the memory of the metal stick. Her bruised stomach tightened in response. But it wasn’t a stick that he removed. With a press of his gloved thumb and a flick of the wrist, a knife blade snicked into position.
With blinding realization, Isabelle knew he was going to kill her. Esme had been tied in a chair, just like this. Even though she knew it was pointless, Isabelle couldn’t help but struggle. Her lower legs wouldn’t move at all and her hands only jerked behind the chair back.
It had all backfired. Her breathing became labored and her blood roared in her ears. She’d tried to stall for time and all she’d done was bring the end more quickly.
“I can read the other objects,” she said, the words tumbling out without a thought. “I can still suffer.”
The Chameleon grinned in response.
“Oh you will,” he said. “Believe me.”
He took a step closer.
“Please,” she tried. “I won’t say another word.”
“I know ,” he agreed and he took another step.
He towered above her, the metal blade glinting as he reversed his grip on the handle.
This is it , she thought. I’m going to die.
Her father’s face appeared, smiling sadly at her.
Daddy?
But quickly his face was replaced with Mac’s, the strong jaw, the blue-green eyes, his eyebrows furrowing.
Oh Mac . Her eyes filled with tears that made his face waver. Mac, I should have read you .
She closed her eyes and felt the teardrops fall.
Too late now.
CHAPTER NINE
Mac closed the front door to Isabelle’s apartment. Without a single other clue turned up, he’d decided to go through the photos again. But as he loosened his tie, his phone rang.
It was Lou.
“Lou,” Mac said.
“Spirit gum,” Lou said. “It’s spirit gum.”
Spirit gum ? Mac thought.
“The chemists identified the components pretty quickly: alcohol, resin, and castor oil. That was easy. The problem was trying to find a substance that contained all three.”
Spirit gum. It was what makeup people used to glue on hairpieces in the movies.
“Mac?” Lou said. “Did you hear me?”
Given the disguises that the Chameleon used to blend into his surroundings it made sense.
“And where can you get it?” Mac said.
“Well, you’re in a hot spot for it right there,” Lou said. “It ought to be all over L.A. because of the entertainment industry. Costume stores would have it. Studios would have it.”
The hair on the back of Mac’s neck stood on end. Something gnawed at the back of his mind.
“Mac?” Lou said.
“Thanks Lou,” Mac said quickly and hung up.
Studios would have it.
It was used in make-up .
Mac stared at his phone not seeing it.
Linda Vista Hospital had been used for filming .
So had the lifeguard station where they’d found the Chameleon’s phone.
No, that’s not it. Mac gripped the phone hard. He’s not a Priest and he’s not a Chameleon.
“He’s an actor ,” Mac said.
He’s an actor of a certain height, weight and age who’d been familiar with Linda Vista. Yes! His
“ Ow ,” she muttered, as the familiar pain of the handcuffs bit into her wrists.
As she tried to ease the pain by sitting up, it finally occurred to her that she was in a chair.
“Welcome back,” the Chameleon said.
Isabelle slowly raised her head as her wrists, ankles, and arms protested in pain. The Chameleon stood directly in front of her, feet planted shoulder-width apart, hands grasping his thick leather belt, looking comfortable. They were in the corridor. Cell A35 was to her right and Isabelle could now see that they were on the bottom floor of a two-story cell block. The windows in the wall to her left soared upward and it looked as though it might be midday.
The Chameleon smiled pleasantly and, without taking his eyes away from hers, he opened one of the leather compartments on his belt. Isabelle cringed at the memory of the metal stick. Her bruised stomach tightened in response. But it wasn’t a stick that he removed. With a press of his gloved thumb and a flick of the wrist, a knife blade snicked into position.
With blinding realization, Isabelle knew he was going to kill her. Esme had been tied in a chair, just like this. Even though she knew it was pointless, Isabelle couldn’t help but struggle. Her lower legs wouldn’t move at all and her hands only jerked behind the chair back.
It had all backfired. Her breathing became labored and her blood roared in her ears. She’d tried to stall for time and all she’d done was bring the end more quickly.
“I can read the other objects,” she said, the words tumbling out without a thought. “I can still suffer.”
The Chameleon grinned in response.
“Oh you will,” he said. “Believe me.”
He took a step closer.
“Please,” she tried. “I won’t say another word.”
“I know ,” he agreed and he took another step.
He towered above her, the metal blade glinting as he reversed his grip on the handle.
This is it , she thought. I’m going to die.
Her father’s face appeared, smiling sadly at her.
Daddy?
But quickly his face was replaced with Mac’s, the strong jaw, the blue-green eyes, his eyebrows furrowing.
Oh Mac . Her eyes filled with tears that made his face waver. Mac, I should have read you .
She closed her eyes and felt the teardrops fall.
Too late now.
CHAPTER NINE
Mac closed the front door to Isabelle’s apartment. Without a single other clue turned up, he’d decided to go through the photos again. But as he loosened his tie, his phone rang.
It was Lou.
“Lou,” Mac said.
“Spirit gum,” Lou said. “It’s spirit gum.”
Spirit gum ? Mac thought.
“The chemists identified the components pretty quickly: alcohol, resin, and castor oil. That was easy. The problem was trying to find a substance that contained all three.”
Spirit gum. It was what makeup people used to glue on hairpieces in the movies.
“Mac?” Lou said. “Did you hear me?”
Given the disguises that the Chameleon used to blend into his surroundings it made sense.
“And where can you get it?” Mac said.
“Well, you’re in a hot spot for it right there,” Lou said. “It ought to be all over L.A. because of the entertainment industry. Costume stores would have it. Studios would have it.”
The hair on the back of Mac’s neck stood on end. Something gnawed at the back of his mind.
“Mac?” Lou said.
“Thanks Lou,” Mac said quickly and hung up.
Studios would have it.
It was used in make-up .
Mac stared at his phone not seeing it.
Linda Vista Hospital had been used for filming .
So had the lifeguard station where they’d found the Chameleon’s phone.
No, that’s not it. Mac gripped the phone hard. He’s not a Priest and he’s not a Chameleon.
“He’s an actor ,” Mac said.
He’s an actor of a certain height, weight and age who’d been familiar with Linda Vista. Yes! His
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