Hannibal gazed steadily across the bright, sunny thoroughfare at the man pretending not to watch him as he read his morning paper.
He had noticed the man looking at him earlier, seen the man recognize him. Now Hannibal waited to see what he would do.
He also recognized his observer, of course.
How could he not?
Even if he hadn’t been in the habit of keeping an eye and an ear turned toward the exploits of his fellows,
the stories of this man were so sensational and ever-present that he would have to have been living under a rock—or buried much deeper than charming Alana had managed—to avoid knowledge of him.
Hannibal suppressed an undignified snort with some difficulty, an unfortunate habit he was picking up from dear Will. But
…he almost couldn’t help it. The man was infamous, dubiously lauded as one of the most prolific and dangerous serial killers of the last three decades.
Textbooks and true crime novels put the gruesome accounts of his exploits on bookshelves beside Hannibal himself.
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