The Wrong Kind Of Right
He didn’t like being reminded of his own compulsions.
Julian pressed, his voice rough but steady. “You want me to see you. To admit you were the puppet master. You want me to acknowledge your brilliance. Because without that, all this...” he jerked his chin toward the chemicals, the rope, the bushes... “is just a coward hiding in shadows, shooting people in the dark.”
The vein in Reid’s temple throbbed. He stood abruptly, pacing like a predator circling a cage. His hand tightened on the chemical jug, then loosened again, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to pour or prolong.
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