Chapter Twenty-Two
Morning activity had begun to stir through the neighborhood beneath a sky streaked with scattered clouds and early sunlight.
A chill clung to the air, but it would be gone soon as the temperature rose.
Several cars rolled through the streets as people headed to work, while a few pedestrians strolled along the sidewalks, and households began their day.
George eased toward the stop sign at the corner, his thoughts circling the news conference he’d watched the night before.
He still saw the federal agent’s face as if the man sat in the passenger seat beside him.
Calm. Certain. Looking straight into the cameras as he dissected everything, reducing it to neat conclusions and polished sound bites for the waiting reporters.
George had replayed every second for hours, watching until his jaw ached from clenching his teeth.
Then he couldn’t believe his luck. The karma gods must be shining on him because the jogger who’d just passed his sedan was none other than the Fed himself, his long strides eating up the asphalt.
There was no mistaking him. The build. The dark hair.
The sharp profile he’d studied on television until it was burned into his memory.
A surge of triumph shot through him. Of all the streets. Of all the mornings. The timing felt too perfect to be a coincidence.
His fingers curled around the steering wheel as anger churned beneath the rush of excitement.
That federal pig still didn't understand.
None of them did. Not the police. Not the reporters scribbling down their lies.
Not the grieving families pretending those women had been innocent victims instead of the filth they were.
Why could they not see what he was doing?
He was cleaning up what everyone else ignored. Making the world better. Erasing trash no one else dared to deal with.
Yet they stood in front of cameras and painted him as the monster.
The words still echoed from the recent broadcasts and headlines. Savage. Sadist. Barbarian.
They spat the accusations as if he were the villain, as if they could not recognize what he had done for them.
Then the FBI agent had gone further.
Weak.
A loser.
Dysfunctional.
And worst of all, a coward.
The insult scraped across his mind like broken glass. Coward. The word festered, feeding the rage coiling inside him until his pulse pounded in his ears.
He turned at the next corner, then took another, circling the block with his gaze fixed on the streets ahead as he calculated where the agent would reappear. If that smug fool wanted to provoke him, then he would learn what happened when he pushed too far.
George would show them all that he was many things, but a coward was not one of them.
And he would start with Special Agent Sean Malone.
Sean’s pulse and breathing held steady in their target range as his sneakers struck the pavement in an even rhythm through the streets on Grace’s side of town. Two miles down, two to go.
He wished he hadn’t left his earbuds at the sheriff’s department the day before.
After the press conference, he’d needed to shut everything out for a while.
Music helped take the edge off as he worked his way through the reports generated by the tip-line interviews.
It wasn’t that he doubted anyone’s ability to do the job.
He trusted his team. Still, he had hoped a detail someone else had missed might jump off the page.
Nothing had.
Frustration lingered at the edges of his thoughts as he took a random right, changing his route the way he always did. Routine bred complacency, and complacency got people hurt. Years of training had drilled that lesson deep.
As he passed the empty playground at the local elementary school, his mind drifted from the case to Grace. A slow grin tugged at his mouth. He’d promised to rock her world last night, and she had turned his upside down.
Her P.T. center was closed for the weekend, and she had made plans with Bonnie to attend a yoga class this morning.
He’d invited her to run with him, but she’d laughed and admitted that running bored her to tears.
Yoga, aerobics classes, and swimming were more her speed, all part of her campaign to keep what she called her too-curvy body in shape.
He had made his opinion on that comment crystal clear.
Rather than argue, he’d spent the better part of the night proving exactly how much he appreciated every inch of her.
He could still remember the soft sounds she made, the way she melted beneath his hands, and the look in her eyes when he had finally convinced her to stop criticizing the curves he found impossible to resist.
Checking his watch, he picked up his pace as a car passed him.
His thoughts shifted to Easter Sunday last weekend. It marked the first time any of the Malone brothers had brought a serious girlfriend to the family gathering. KC and Moriah had not met until a few weeks after the holiday the year before.
Easter had always been special. Next to Christmas, it had been Aunt Annie’s favorite holiday, and after her death, the family had kept every tradition alive in her memory.
When he and his brothers were kids, and their parents were still alive, the adults had hidden plastic eggs all over the beach, filling them with loose change and the occasional folded dollar bill.
Even after the boys had outgrown the hunts, the oversized dinners and family chaos had continued.
Now, with KC and Moriah expecting, a new generation would soon be tearing across the sand in search of brightly colored eggs.
An image came to him without warning. Blond curls bouncing in the sea breeze. Bright laughter floating across the beach. A little girl with Grace’s smile and his eyes racing toward him, while another child chased after her.
The thought caught him off guard.
Then the roar of an engine shattered it.
Sean glanced over his shoulder. A gray sedan barreled up the street behind him, moving far too fast for the thirty-mile-per-hour zone. Irritation flared. He started to lift a hand, ready to signal the driver to slow down.
Then his stomach dropped.
The car wasn’t shifting lanes—it was coming straight at him.
His training took over.
With no time to dive clear, Sean launched himself upward, throwing his body onto the hood before the bumper could take his legs out from under him.
The impact drove the breath from his lungs.
Pain ripped through his right side as bone slammed into metal.
He tucked his chin to his chest, instinct saving his skull from smashing into the windshield.
Momentum hurled him backward, and he hit the pavement hard enough to jar every tooth in his head. Asphalt tore at his skin as he rolled, pain exploding through his shoulder, hip, and ribs before he skidded to a stop.
For a moment, the world narrowed to blinding agony and the sharp rasp of air clawing back into his lungs.
Then came the screech of tires. Sean forced his head up. The sedan slowed just long enough to make a sharp right at the next corner before accelerating out of sight.
His vision blurred as he fought to focus, but he caught enough to register the make and color. Gray. Four-door Toyota Camry.
Nothing more. No plate. No driver. No identifying detail beyond the vehicle itself.
As pain pulsed through his battered body, one thought cut through the haze. This hadn’t been an accident.
“Oh, my goodness! Are you okay?” a woman yelled, her voice getting louder as she hurried toward him. “Helen, call 9-1-1! Sir, where are you hurt?”
A middle-aged woman stood over him, and Sean tried to answer her, but darkness overtook him, and he fell into a blank abyss.
Grace clung to Bonnie’s hand as they sat in the ER waiting room for Sean to return from his CT scan.
The sterile scent of antiseptic hung heavy in the emergency department, mingling with the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the distant beeping of monitors.
Every sound seemed sharper, every passing footstep enough to make her glance toward the hallway and hope it was him.
The doctor had already reset Sean’s dislocated left shoulder and ordered a series of X-rays.
From what they had been told, he had escaped with bruising along his left side, road rash on his arms and legs, and a possible concussion.
Because he had lost consciousness before the deputies and medics arrived, the ER physician had ordered the CT scan as a precaution.
Grace clung to that word. It was easier than letting her mind wander to how much worse his injuries could've been.
Deputy Montgomery had recognized Sean the moment he reached the scene and had contacted Sheriff Griffin and Brian, who then called Dan. He’d shut down the hardware store without hesitation and come straight to the yoga studio to get her and Bonnie.
The memory of his face when he stepped into the lobby still made her stomach twist. She had known something was wrong before he even spoke.
Neither she nor Bonnie had bothered changing out of their workout clothes. They had grabbed their bags from the locker room and followed Dan to the hospital in a blur of fear and unanswered questions.
She had never been so terrified in her life.
Not even the worst moments she had faced before compared to the crushing panic that had seized her when Dan told her Sean had been struck by a car.
That fear had lodged beneath her ribs and refused to ease, even after seeing him battered but awake in the ER.
It had taken nearly an hour for her heartbeat to slow and the trembling to leave her hands.
He was alive, and his injuries would heal. That was all that mattered.
All she wanted now was to get him home, tuck him into bed, and take care of him until he was back on his feet.