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George was rushing down the hallway—she could see the back of his red hair

“Farris!” Samantha yelled “Stop! Put down your weapon—”

He swung toward her, his eyes seee from his face Terror and fury strained the lines of his pale skin and—

He’s firing

“Don’t,” Sa Please, don’t He was going to shoot Shoot her, shoot Blake

Her finger squeezed the trigger, two fast pops that cae’s mouth dropped open in shock even as a red circle of blood appeared on his chest His gun fell froe slammed into the white wall behind him, and a picture frame fell t

o the floor, shattering

Blake rushed forward and kicked the weapon farther away froaze locked on George as he shuddered Blood bubbled at his lips

“Where’s the victim?” Blake barked at the man “Where is Missy Johnson?”

Sarasp She rushed toward George His bloody lips were curling He was s

“Where is she?” Samantha demanded

But

George started wheezing When she’d fired, there had been no ti for her heart and she’d aimed for his

She hadn’t missed

The wheezing only lasted an instant, and then there was no breath at all No gasps No shudders He was just gone

Her desperate gaze shot toward Blake His face was gri as he stared back at her “Self-defense,” he gritted out “You saved our asses You—”

So crashed—a sound that had come from down the hallway Her head jerked at the noise, but Blake was already un drawn Saht of the shut door on the left

There was a thump from behind that door A pitiful moan and then

Blake grabbed the knob and thrust that door open She o steps behind hiot inside that little room, all of the breath left her in a quick rush

Missy Johnson was huddled in the corner, naked, her hands and feet tied, a gag in her mouth Cuts covered her body, but she was alive

Alive

They’d gotten to her in tiun in its holster and lifted her hands, palents, and we’re here to take you home”

THE LITTLE CUL-DE-SAC was illuhts

Saaze on the house She’d protested—adamantly and, apparently, uselessly—but the EMT had insisted on checking out her arm

Turned out that one of George’s bullets had grazed her Not bad enough for stitches, but the EMT had still wanted to patch the wound

Cop cars and FBI vehicles had swar off the cri in that kind of numb, shocked horror The kind that said, This shouldn’t have happened here We live in a good neighborhood It’s a safe place

When would people see? Sometimes, there were no safe places

News creere there, too Reporters ere broadcasting live, al

A serial killer—taken down by the FBI A victihtmare ended Talk about a killer story

And right in the middle of all that chaoswell, there was FBI executive assistant director Justin Bass The guy’s chest was puffed out, and his authoritative voice rang out clearly as he assured the reporters that his crack tea Missy Johnson, that he’d known all along they would be bringing that victim back alive

Samantha just shook her head