A gunshot fired, the explosion thundering through the quiet of the woods, and Monica stumbled back.
Then she hit the ground.
Fuck!
“No!” Luke swung his gun toward the house. He could see the tip of a rifle, poking through a now-open window. Bastard. He fired. Glass shattered. He shot again, aiming for the window. The rifle was gone.
He crouched and ran for Monica. Blood, soaking her shirt, soaking the ground around her. But she was conscious, her eyes open as she fought to rise.
He caught her hands. “It’s okay, you’re gonna be all right.” He yanked out his phone. “I’m getting help, baby.” Christ, her blood.
She shook her head. “Not… Lee…”
“This is Special Agent Luke Dante, I need an ambulance—”
Her hand turned and her nails dug into his palm. “Vance. Shoot… h-him.…”
His eyes widened, and he swung back around.
Too late.
The butt of the rifle slammed into his head.
Vance’s fingers tightened around the rifle, and he smiled. Too easy.
Dante was out cold.
But Monica…
“Get away from him!” Beneath the boiling fury, he could hear the fear in her words.
“Drop the gun,” he told her, “Or I kill him right now.” He glanced up and saw her struggling to rise. Struggling to aim the gun at him. He’d hit her in the right shoulder. Deliberate, that. He could have hit her dead in the heart, but then how could a quick kill be fun?
The wound had her hand shaking. Can’t aim for shit, can you, bitch?
Ah, Monica. And as a bonus, she was a bleeder. He’d realized that when Jones had shot her. So much blood, spilling all around.
And Dante, well, he didn’t react so well when his lady got hit.
Exactly why I gave the bitch the first shot.
Confuse and control—the way he worked.
His finger tightened on the trigger when she didn’t drop her weapon. “How ’bout I shoot him in the head? Or maybe the heart? Yeah, let’s go for the heart.”
Her lips trembled, and the gun slipped from her bloody fingers.
“Good girl.”
He said the words slowly, letting them sink in, and he saw the way her eyes widened. This would be so fine. Better than all the other kills. Adrenaline spiked through his blood. He’d planned for this moment for so long. The perfect kill.
He kicked her gun away and leaned in close to her. “I know what scares you, Agent Davenport.”
She tried to slam her head into his.
He laughed, then rammed the butt of the rifle into her head.
Bitch.
“I lost her.” Jon’s bleak voice.
Kenton’s blood iced. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means her signal just died on me—sonofabitch!”
But the signal shouldn’t die. “I thought the damn thing worked even if the phone was off!”
“It does. It only stops if the tracking chip has been destroyed.”
No. Dammit, no. “Give me the last address.”
“It’s not a street, man, it’s in the middle of nowhere. Why is she out—”
“Coordinates.” He’d find the place. “Just give me the damn coordinates.” The glass doors of the sheriff’s station swung open. Hyde came marching in first, followed by a pale and hunched Sam.
What? She shouldn’t be there!
He scribbled down the coordinates. “Keep trying to get her signal back,” he snapped, and waved for Hyde. The shit was about to hit the fan.
Hyde stopped beside him, a frown pulling his brows low. “Where’s Davenport? I want an update on—”
“We’ve got a problem, sir.” With Hyde, he’d learned it was better to get things out fast.
Hyde shook his head. “That’s not what I want to hear.” His eyes scanned the room. “Dante?”
They were together. He suspected that Monica actually trusted Luke more than she trusted anyone. “Davenport went in the field. She and Dante were looking for a deputy—a Lee Pope.” A quick breath. “She wanted me to track her cell, and we just lost the signal.”
Hyde didn’t blink, but behind him Sam seemed to sway a bit.
“Last coordinates,” Hyde barked.
Kenton reached for his pad. “I’ve got—”
“Davis!” Hyde’s roar. “Get me a car and get it f**king now!”
She awoke to complete darkness. The pain hit her instantly. Throbbing in her head, radiating from her right temple. Fire in her shoulder from the bullet that had gone through flesh and muscle.
Fumbling, she reached out her hand—and slammed her palm into a wall. Her breath shuddered out. Monica turned and reached behind her. Another wall.
She judged the distance and her heart stopped.
Two by three f**king feet.
Darkness.
I know what scares you.
She shoved up to her feet. No, no, the bastard didn’t know. He didn’t know her at all.
She blocked the pain. What she’d always done.
Her hands smoothed over the walls. There had to be a door. A way in, and a way out.
Romeo had taken off the door knob. He’d sealed her in so completely.
Shit, she couldn’t find a knob. Nothing but smooth wood. Nothing but—
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
A man’s groan. Pain-filled, dazed.
Luke! She didn’t realize she’d screamed his name until she heard the laughter.
Her fingers flattened over the wood. If there was a knob, this would be the right height. She inched along, slowly, slowly, and after a few seconds, she felt the slight ridge. Monica traced it with her index finger. A fat square. Probably a piece of wood he’d attached over what should have been the hole for the knob, and he’d sanded it down for a near-perfect fit.
He’d been preparing for them.
She pressed her head against the wood—from outside she could hear rustles, shuffling, groans. God, Luke.
Her fist drove into that patched spot on the door. Wood shattered. Light trickled through the darkness. She knelt and squinted through that hole. She could see some kind of table with long straps dangling over its edges. A body—Luke’s body.
“Get away from him!” she screamed. Her hand reached down to her right ankle. The holster was gone. No backup gun. Her fist shoved into the door again. Agony lanced through her knuckles. Block it. Block it. She kept pounding. Started kicking. She had to get to Luke.
No, she would get to him.
The sliver of light flickered. The laughter came again, taunting her even as it chilled her blood. “I know what scares you most.” His voice carried easily to her.