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seconds.
    Finally, he seemed to reach a decision and looked up at her. “You should
    consider the possibility that you’re wrong.”
    “Wrong?” About what? That she was the one to mourn them?
    “Yes, wrong.” He leaned forward, fixing her with the intensity of his
    gaze. “There are some who don’t deserve your compassion.”
    “Everyone deserves some compassion, some mercy.”
    Hadrian’s flat, pitiless glare chilled her blood. He drained his Guinness
    and slapped the glass on the wood with force enough to turn over Miko’s
    beer. Both ignored the liquid spilling onto the floor.
    “Beware how far you go with your compassion, for there are those for
    whom even God has no compassion. No mercy.”

Chapter Five
    BEFORE MIKO COULD react, Hadrian Hawken rose and strode toward
    the door. The crowd parted like a bow wave. But when she attempted to
    follow, the crowd had already merged into an undulating cross current.
    She glanced toward the back of the bar where only a few couples
    loitered, waiting for a seat. Past them, an exit sign beaconed dimly. Bingo .
    She bee-lined for it. Fortunately, the door wasn’t rigged to alarm, and
    she reached the alleyway without causing a riot. Her breath ghosted out in
    the chill air, and she wrapped her coat closer as she sprinted toward the
    front of the building. With any luck, she still might be able to catch up to
    Hawken. No time to text Kelly again.
    Sure enough, a streetlight illuminated his head like a dark halo as he
    turned the corner a couple of blocks away. Her canvas messenger bag
    banged her hip with every step she gained.
    She reached the corner in time to see him place some folding money in
    the cup held out by a homeless panhandler and make another turn. Even
    with that pause, he covered a lot of ground. She added a little speed. What is
    this guy, an Olympic runner? Any minute he could make a turn that she wouldn’t
    see, and she’d lose him. Sure enough, at the next block, he turned west.
    Her breath chugged, but she powered through, ignoring the stitch in
    her side. At the corner, she grabbed the lamp pole and swung herself around
    without breaking stride then stopped cold. The only people were a couple
    strolling hand in hand at the far end of the block.
    Dammit. She couldn’t lose him.
    A few dark doorways lured her forward. Maybe he had turned in one of
    them. She skirted wide around an empty alleyway and continued down the
    street toward the first door.
    Suddenly, she was jerked around and pushed up against a brick wall.
    She stared up into the glittering darkness of Hawken’s eyes as his hands
    tightened on her arms. Her reporter instinct kicked in just ahead of her
    martial arts training. Patience, grasshopper .
    “Following me again?”
    “I’m a reporter. Maybe you’re newsworthy.” She pushed back the
    images of the murdered homeless men that played across her mind. Had it
    only been last night that she found John Doe number ten?
    He lifted her slightly, and she centered herself, ready to pull him into a

    throw. “I’m not.” With a sigh, he released her. “I assure you, I’m not.”
    His eyes changed their focus inward, and she saw sorrow etch itself into
    his face then settle over him like a weight. What was he remembering? What
    had he done? His expression, full of pain and regret, didn’t jibe with her
    cold-blooded Skid Row Butcher theory.
    He returned his gaze to her. “I just want you to stay safe. Following me
    jeopardizes that.”
    “Why? How does it . . . ?” She laid her hand on his arm. He reminded
    her of Nic, trying to protect her when he was the one needing protection.
    “Maybe I can help somehow?”
    For a moment the sorrow returned to his eyes then he seemed to lock it
    away again.
    “Really, I’m pretty handy to have around.” Odd, but she couldn’t see
    the Butcher anymore when she looked at this man. In some way, he was
    vulnerable to something, someone, as surely as “her” homeless guys were,
    and she