Chapter 25

Tense because of what Quint had told him, Clay found it difficult to get back to his painting. He was hyper-aware of every noise he heard outside of the loft—the soft rumble of the elevator moving up and down the shaft next to the studio, muted footsteps above him that he knew had to be caused by tenants using the rooftop patio, even the sound of a car door slamming on the street five stories below him.

“Get a grip,” he told himself. “No one can get in here without my knowing it.” That didn’t stop him from getting a butcher knife from the kitchen, setting it close at hand on his work table.

Eventually he unwound enough to get into what he was doing. He stretched a new canvas after throwing the old one in the trash and drew out the basics. Soon he was deeply involved in catching the Quint he now knew much more intimately than he had when he’d started the first portrait.