When they first came down the corridor, he’d thought, with a flash of heat and rage, that the taller one was Starrett—the husband. And even though he knew they must be armed beneath their winter jackets, he almost ruined everything by bursting out at them, just to stab Starrett in the throat. But it wasn’t him. It was the other one, who was just as tall, but not as ruggedly handsome. He thought about killing him anyway, about the way his blood would spray, hot and thick against the wall and in his face, coating him and staining his clothes. That would make it hard to escape, but first he’d have to kill the other—the one who was fumbling to get the key into the lock. He could do it. He wanted to do it. He had his Taser with him, which would give him the advantage. And killing them would confuse the issue and keep Alyssa from realizing, too soon, who he was, because the Dentist had only slaughtered women. True, he’d killed that man in the mall parking lot, and of course his father—but they hadn’t connected those deaths to him.
