“Dennis has already made some preliminary observations.” Benicio called the security chief from another room. “Dennis? Would you please share your findings with Lucas and Paige? And answer any questions they might have?”

“Of course, sir.” Dennis motioned to the dead guard. “We think he was approached from behind and possibly injected with something. That would explain why he didn’t fight back.”

“Didn’t fight?” I looked at the shattered table. “Oh, I see. The damage is from him falling.”

“Falling very hard.” Lucas knelt and prodded a black chunk by the guard’s hand.

As I crouched I caught a familiar scent, one that brought back memories of Girl Scout summer camp. Burnt firewood. Pieces of charred wood surrounded the guard’s clenched hands.

“An Aduro,” I said. “He grabbed for the table as he fell and burned it, meaning he wasn’t dead when he collapsed.”

Cassandra examined the wire embedded in the guard’s neck. “No blood.”

“Which indicates it was done postmortem,” Dennis said. “Plus the fact that it’s unlikely anyone could have garroted a man his size, with his powers.”

“What about Tyler?” I said. “Did he escape or was he taken?”

Dennis waved us to the bathroom. We stepped inside. Benicio stayed in the doorway, looking on. Across the room, a slight, red-haired man examined the window ledge with some kind of electronic scanner. The window itself was broken. There were a few bits of glass on the inside, but most presumably had fallen out.

Lucas turned around to look at the broken door jamb. “So either Tyler was in here when the killer arrived, or he managed to get in here before being attacked. Then the killer broke into the bathroom, but—” Lucas turned to the window. “Tyler was already gone, out that window. Simon? Any indication that the killer staged the window break?”

The red-haired man shook his head. “No, sir. There are blood smears on one shard. I’ll need a sample from the Boyds’ lab to match it, but the DNA is definitely from their family, so I’m assuming it’s Tyler’s. There are no signs of struggle or blood in the bathroom. I found Nike prints on the ground below, imprinted hard, indicating someone jumped from this window.”

“So we’re assuming Tyler fled,” Lucas said. “That’s logical. I doubt the killer would take him out of the hotel. Too risky. He’s always killed on-site before. He’s not likely to change his methods now.”

Benicio’s cell phone rang. After a few clipped words, he hung up. “Tyler’s been found.” He saw my expression and added, “He’s alive.”

“Was he chased?” I said. “If he was, then the killer could stillbe in the area—”

“He’s not,” Cassandra said. “He’s moved on.”

“What?”

The barest eye-roll, as if her conclusion was so simple it shouldn’t require an explanation. “He’s a hunter. He strikes at the easy targets. When they’re no longer easy, he finds another.”

“So you think he chased Tyler—” I began.

“The moment the boy escaped, your killer abandoned him. As Lucas said, he kills on-site. He’ll hang a girl in a tree or drape a boy over a car, but that’s only for outrage value. He’s a hunter. He kills them where he finds them, and he kills efficiently. When that other attack was interrupted, he left the boy alive rather than risk discovery. He’s not about to chase this young man through the streets of Miami.”

“By moved on, you mean—” I looked at Lucas. “To another member of a central family. That’s what Esus said. With Joey Nast, he reached the top level, and he’ll stay there now.”

Cassandra nodded. “Anything else would be a regression. However, with each step he takes, he makes it more difficult for himself. He’ll need to take advantage of every possible moment when security might be lax, such as—”

“Such as when the Cabals believe the killer is stalking another victim. When they’re all out searching for him. Lucas? Who are the other teens? Are there any in your family? Nephews—”

“I have an eleven-and a twelve-year-old grandson,” Benicio said. “Hector’s boys. I tripled their guard as soon as Griffin’s son was killed, and I’ve moved them to a secure location outside of Miami. As for others, Lionel St. Cloud has one boy, Stephen. He’s eighteen. Then there are a few more teenage Nast grandsons, and Frank Boyd has several nephews around Tyler’s age.”

“Stephen St. Cloud,” Lucas said. “He’s already hit the Nasts. If he can’t get to a Cortez, he’ll go for a St. Cloud.”

“I’ll call Lionel—”

“Where are they staying?” Lucas asked.

Benicio hesitated, finger poised over his phone keypad. “The Fairfield over in South Beach. Just wait while I—”

We were already out the door.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell us what you were thinking?” I said, twisting in my seat to glare at Cassandra as Lucas pulled away from the hotel parking lot.

“But I did.”

“You knew the killer had moved on the moment you saw that Tyler had escaped, but you said nothing. Then, when you did bother to tell us he’d moved on, you had to be prodded to explain what you meant by that. This isn’t a game, Cassandra.”