Page 119 of Fatal Pattern

Florek’s crime scene strobed though his mind. He shook it loose. “You’re sick.”

“I’m an artist,” Wells said.

As if that was all the license he needed to murder.

A soft sound rasped through the room.

Blade’s attention snapped to the wheelchair.

Stryker’s head lifted and dropped forward again. A faint groan slipped past his lips.

Blade tightened his grip on the Glock. “What does he have to do with this?”

Wells followed his gaze.

A slow smile spread across his face.

“Everything.” Wells moved to the wheelchair.

Barclay took a half step back, giving Wells the space. His gun dropped from Stryker’s skull to his side.

Wells grabbed Stryker by the chin and lowered his face to within inches of his. “Stryker always had a soft spot for the broken, didn’t he?”

Wells pushed Stryker’s chin away as he released his grip. “I was his first project, long before he had a fancy name like the Warrior program. I was just a kid from juvie he thought he could save with a Bible and a boxing ring.”

Wells’s smile was thin and sharp. “But I wouldn’t listen. I didn’t want to be reformed. Stryker saw the darkness in me and got scared. He kicked me out before you and Tori ever even arrived.”

The casual use of their names made Blade’s skin crawl.

“To him, I was a failed experiment.” Wells flicked a strand of Stryker’s hair.

He turned to Barclay. “But Dean? Dean saw potential where Stryker saw a monster. He recognized my . . . unique ritualistic needs. He didn’t try to pray the darkness away. He taught me how to sharpen it. Helped me climb the ranks of the Bureau, giving me a badge to hide behind while he pointed me at the people who threatened our mission.”

“That’s right, son.” Barclay’s hand landed on Wells’s shoulder with paternal pride. “Sebastian had certain impulses. I gave him targets that served our mission. Channeled his artistry toward eliminating threats.”

“Enough of your resume,” Blade said. “Why did Damien have to die?”

Wells smiled like Blade had finally asked the right question. “We save the lives that matter. The leaders, the innovators, the architects of our future. Your parents, Tori, were a part of that. Then they became a threat.”

The rational tone made it worse. Lives reduced to equations. Children orphaned for balance sheets.

“Just like Dr. Forest and his daughter?” Blade asked.

“Dr. Forest thought he could freelance,” Wells continued. “Use our infrastructure for his personal crusade. We couldn’t allow that kind of exposure.”

“I suppose that’s why you left the medical ethics book at Florek’s house,” Tori said. “A little message to what happens to those who don’t follow your ethics?”

“I was hoping you’d see it. Did you know that your mother contributed a chapter?” Wells studied her for a reaction.

Tori didn’t move. Didn’t blink. The only thing that gave her away was the slight adjustment of her finger on the trigger of her Glock.

Heat rose behind Blade’s eyes, but he filed everything away and kept his sights steady. Wells was trying to get inside her head. Make her react.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Neither would he.

But Sebastian Wells would’ve been a teenager when the Crews were murdered.