Chapter 31
Kade
I’d rather interview Andrea alone, but there’s no way I’m leaving Briana by herself. The stalker’s still out there—lurking, watching. He could strike anytime, anywhere.
With my palm at her back and Becca trotting behind, we climb the steps to my office. After I unlock the door, I turn and cradle Briana’s face in my hands, anchoring her with a slow, grounding kiss.
“I’ll get the truth,” I whisper. “Promise you won’t interrupt.”
Her pure, noncommittal grunt sounds so much like mine, I almost laugh.
Inside, Ronnie’s boots hit the floor as her feet drop from my desk. “Hey, Sheriff O’Malley.”
“Hi, Veronica. Mind taking a short break?” I hold the door open, making it clear it wasn’t a question.
“Yeah, whatever. I’ll be across the street.” She gives the women behind me a curious glance, then shrugs and strolls out.
Once the door shuts, Briana and Andrea take their places at the interrogation table. Arms crossed, jaws set, they glare at each other. The air practically crackles as sweat beads on their foreheads.
Becca lets out a low whine, ears pinned. She feels it—same as I do. Briana is one breath away from snapping.
Elbows on the wood, I unclench my jaw, then lean to the right. “Andrea, any detail—no matter how small—could help us find the killer.”
She blinks, face full of fake innocence. “I thought you did catch her.”
Briana jerks as if she’s been slapped. As her nails dig into my knee, I grip the edge of the tabletop and gently nudge her foot with mine.
When she looks up, I give her a short, tight, shake of my head.
I got this, babe. Trust me.
Still thinking she’s in control, Andrea’s eyes flit around the room. “Brett wanted her back. I don’t know anything more.”
The helo pilot snorts.
“It’s true.” Andrea’s voice climbs into a high-pitched soprano. “He asked if I knew where she was and I told him I was meeting her to hike for a couple days.”
Like a cobra sizing its next strike, she watches Briana. “It was supposed to be girl time. I had no idea he would follow. Imagine my shock seeing his face.”
“Liar! That’s not what you said on the phone.” As the pilot shoots to her feet, Andrea’s mask slips—only for a heartbeat—but I see it.
Fear.
Boom. Finally, a crack in her armor.
“Woof.” Becca glances at me, ears twitching, sensing the shift.
I calm her with a scratch on the head. “Good girl. Sit.”
Miss Bratner blinks twice, her wild eyes swinging toward me. “See what I mean? She needs help.”
“You fucking bitch!” Face flushed, my not-a-victim strikes back. “You brought him there. And instead of pleading his case, you told me all about the affair—made damn sure I’d hate him. You killed him, didn’t you?”
The other woman’s face lights up like she’s just been handed the lead in a high school play. “You’re the one with PTSD.”
Both rise, nose to nose, steam practically pouring from their ears. As I prepare to throw myself between them, the front door creaks open.
Click.
A rifle levels straight at Briana’s chest.
Jesus, no.
“Grrr.” My canine snarls, lips curled, incisors bared.
“Down, Bec.” My hand drops to her head, steadying her.
“Well, well, well.” Greasy hair pulled back in a ponytail, face streaked with green paint, Diego Carmine swaggers into the room. “Looks like I found a party.”
As my blood turns to ice, the warrior within snaps to life.
Front egress: blocked.
Back door: clear.
Assets: one service dog; one combat-ready pilot.
Risks: one hysterical civilian.
“Pistol on the floor or your lady gets it. Tie up your mutt.” His tone’s so casual, he might as well be ordering a vanilla latte—light roast.
Eyes glued to his, Bree doesn’t move. Andrea, however, lets out a strangled squeak and shrinks into the corner.
“I said, do it.” The steel edge in his voice cuts the room in half.
Watching. Calculating. I lower my Glock to the floor, nice and slow. Then I guide Becca into the closet, shutting the door behind her.
“You’re making a huge mistake.”
Diego’s chin bobs. “Copy that. This is the cleanup act.”
His narrow lips pull into a grim half-smile. “So, here’s the deal. I could kill you all now… but I prefer the hunt. You choose.”
Finger on the trigger, his barrel swings toward Briana. “Not you. Only her.”
The ex-Navy pilot lifts her head—cool, fearless. Every inch a warrior.
“Sure.” She narrows her gaze. “On one condition.”
Dipping his chin to his shoulder, he wipes away his drool. “Yeah? What is it?”
“I get a head start.” Her grin sends a shudder down my spine.
What the fuck is she doing?
“No.” His tone wavers. It doesn’t ring true.
Sensing the crack, she shifts her weight—her steady feet planted.
“If you don’t, it won’t be right,” she sing-songs, “Not right at all. It’ll ruin everything.”
Her coaxing lowers to a whisper. “It has to be fair, or it’s pointless. You want this to mean something, don’t you?”
Intensity burns in her bright eyes. “We have to hurry, though. Soon enough, his deputies will be back. Then the FBI will end it here, with you dead.”
“Is that what you want?” Head cocked, she studies him. “Suicide by cop?”
My breath hitches. God, the woman has balls. She’s buying us time—but will it work?
I picture the weapons locked in the closet. Sixty seconds is all I need.
My cell phone rings.
Ah fuck. Not now.
Hunt’s name lights up the screen. Every eye in the room jerks to my device on the table. In that instant, Bree’s hand flashes. My truck keys vanish off the desk—lightning-quick.
“Don’t answer.” The growling stalker is too focused to notice her daring theft.
My pulse spikes. Smart woman. Holy Jesus, if he catches her…
“Please don’t shoot me.” Andrea sobs from the corner, wheezing and gulping for air.
The rifle swings toward her. Predator to prey.
“You gave her credit for our kill.”
Her red nails flail. “I’m sorry! I simply assumed—”
He fires.
One clean shot.
She drops.
A perfect hole between her eyes.
My stomach lurches as the metallic iron scent floods my nostrils. Another life snuffed out for no reason. In my damn office.
As Becca goes wild, barking, snarling, scrabbling behind the door, the barrel swings back at me.
Above it? The dead, unfeeling, soulless eyes of a shark.
Weapon steady, his finger dances over the trigger.
Taking what might be my last breath, I wish I’d told Bree how I feel. I know it’s too soon—makes no sense. But what in life ever does?
Resigned, I lift my chin. “Go a—”
“Wait, wait.” Briana jumps in.
No, babe, no.
Before I can shove her out of the line of fire, she blurts out, “This man’s a tracker. You could pit your skills against his. Wouldn’t that be more fun?”
As the killer hesitates, I step in front of my reckless, brilliant woman. Her courage, her quick thinking—She keeps blowing me away.
“You’ve got skills.” Carmine lowers his weapon an inch. “Where’d you learn?”
I hold his stare. “Tom Brown’s—in the Pine Barrens. New Jersey.”
His hollow gaze sharpens. “I know it well.”
Lizard-like, a tongue flicks across his lower lip. “If I let you live… will you track me?”
I nod. “To my last breath.”
Which could be any second now.
His smile widens as he runs a thumb along the rifle’s stock. “Excellent.”