"The NYPSD has pitiful equipment."

"Not that pitiful," she muttered. "This guy's a real pro. You might have had a tough time with it."

"Now, that's insulting."

She had to smirk. "Well, you might get a chance at him. Since he tagged me personally, I wouldn't put it past him to contact me here."

Roarke set his fork aside, picked up his coffee, both gestures casual though his entire body had gone to alert. "Personally?"

"Yeah, he wanted me. Hit me with some religious mission crap first. Basically, he's doing the Lord's work and the Big Guy wants to play with riddles." She ran the transmission through for him, watching his eyes narrow, sharpen. Roarke was quick, she reflected as she saw his mouth go grim.

"You checked the Luxury Towers."

"That's right, penthouse floor. He'd left part of the victim in the living area. The rest of him was in the bedroom."

She pushed her plate aside and rose, raking a hand through her hair as she paced. "It was as bad as I've ever seen, Roarke, vicious. Because it was calculated to be ugly, not because it was uncontrolled. Most of the work was precise, like surgery. Prelim from the ME indicates the victim was kept alive and aware during most of the mutilation. He'd been pumped up with illegals – enough to keep him conscious without taking the edge off the pain. And believe me, the pain must have been unspeakable. He'd been disemboweled."

"Christ Jesus." Roarke blew out a breath. "An ancient punishment for political or religious crimes. A slow and hideous death."

"And a goddamn messy one," she put in. "His feet had been severed – one hand gone at the wrist. He was still alive when his right eye was cut out. That was the only piece of him we didn't recover at the scene."

"Lovely." Though he considered his stomach a strong one, Roarke lost his taste for breakfast. Rising, he went to the closet. "An eye for an eye."