CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Faith took a deep breath and pushed it out through her nose. She felt very small.

She didn't want to do this. She didn't want to be an FBI agent anymore. No one had prepared her for this. She would fight bad guys and bring them to justice. She would learn to solve crimes and stop killers before they could take another life.

But she hated this. This was the worst damned part of the job, and no one had taught her how to deal with it.

"Just be calm, sympathetic and patient," Michael said. "Get through this part, then we'll go grab a drink or twelve."

She chuckled and tried to smile at her handsome partner, but as cute as Michael was, he couldn't cheer her up right now. "I can't," she said. "I can't do it. Can you do this part, please? I'm sorry, I just can't."

"I can," he said, "and if you ask me again, I will. But… this is stuff we have to do, Faith. Just hold your head up high and do your best, okay? The sooner you learn how to get through this part, the better."

She sighed and forced herself to calm. She was a U.S. Marine for God's sake. She could handle it. She took another breath and said, "All right. Let's go do it."

Michael nodded approvingly, then knocked on the door. The door opened a moment later, and Faith's resolve shattered.

Faith knew that the woman who answered the door was thirty-nine years old, but she looked almost fifteen years older. She looked at the two agents with tears streaming down her face. She wasn't weeping anymore, but the tears were still falling. Faith had a feeling they would fall for a while longer.

Faith opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. A lump formed in her throat. This sucked so much. This hurt so much. That poor woman. Why the hell were people so cruel?

Michael rescued her. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Davisson. I'm Special Agent Michael Prince of the FBI. This is my partner, Special Agent Faith Bold. We were wondering if we could ask you some questions about Hannah."

Hannah Davisson had been murdered one week after her nineteenth birthday when a serial killer that Faith and Michael were hunting had lured her into his vehicle and driven her out to the woods beyond town. They had found more of her body than they had of the other victims, but that didn't seem like much of a silver lining right now.

Mrs. Davisson closed her eyes and nodded. Then she broke into sobs. Tears swam in Faith's own eyes as Mrs. Davisson sunk to her knees, weeping with grief at the knowledge that her only daughter was gone. She would never see her again.

I'm sorry, Faith thought. I'm so sorry. We tried. We tried to get to the killer before he took anyone else. But we were too late.

***

Faith blinked tears away as she saw the killer drag the lifeless body of… Faith realized she didn't know the girl's name.

I'll find out , she thought. When I apologize personally to her family.

But first, she had a job to do. She lifted her handgun and aimed it at the killer. "Stop!"

The man jumped, dropping his victim. He stared at Faith in shock, his mouth open and his eyes wide.

"Put your hands above your head and back away slowly!" Faith called.

The man stood stock still, his expression unchanging. Turk barked firmly to emphasize Faith's command.

"Do as I say!" she called down. "Or so help me, I swear I will shoot you!"

The man remained riveted to the spot. Faith's finger tightened around the trigger.

But she wouldn't do that. She wouldn't fall that far. She wasn't broken yet.

"Sir, you are under arrest for the murders of Cassidy Holt, Samanthan Reynard, Lorraine Hayes and the young woman you brought into this theater."

Remembering reinforcements, she pulled her phone from her pocket, keeping her gun trained on the killer, and quickly dialed Michael's number. He answered, and she quickly said. "He's at the theater. I need medical and backup ASAP."

She hung up before Michael could answer and put her phone back in her pocket. "I have backup on the way," she said. "Surrender now, or things will go very badly for you."

The killer blinked. Then his eyes narrowed shrewdly. Faith saw the killer's intentions and said, "Don't try it. You move, I will shoot." That was an action she could justify considering the situation.

The killer looked at her. Then he looked somewhere to his left. "Don't try it," Faith warned again.

He bolted. Faith shot a split second too late, and the bullet buried itself in the soft wood of the stage. She swore and rushed toward the other side of the mezzanine, where a stairwell led down to the first floor. Turk outpaced her and quickly ran down the stairs. Faith followed.

She was halfway down when one of the steps snapped. She cried out and fell through, falling eight feet to the floor and landing heavily. She grimaced with the pain, but quickly got to her feet.

The killer was nowhere to be seen. Fortunately for her, Turk's nose still worked just fine. He sprinted toward the back of the auditorium, barking. Faith followed him, shouting ahead, "You need to come quietly! If you hurt me or my dog, I'll shoot. This isn't worth it!"

"This is everything!" a voice shrieked.

A moment later, the killer tackled Faith. He tried to kick the gun from Faith's hand and slammed his fist into her nose. Her vision swam, but she clung to the pistol, and the two of them grappled for the gun.

With a growl that close to a roar, Turk leapt from the mezzanine. He landed heavily, and Faith watched with bated breath to see if he'd get up.

That was a mistake. The killer hit her again, and this time, she stumbled back, releasing her gun.

The killer lifted the weapon, but Turk leaped into the air and clamped his hands around the killer's wrist. The man cried out and fell on top of Turk.

Faith put her hand against one of the chairs and sat down, struggling to gather her thoughts. Her ears rang, and her vision swam. Damn it, pull yourself together!

Turl yelped, and Faith snapped back to alertness. She rushed the killer, and this time, it was she who forced the gun off of its target. A few yards away, Turk got unsteadily to his feet and shook his head.

Faith drove the killer backwards, but after a few steps, he twisted the gun from her grasp and stiff-armed Faith. She flew backwards as though she had been thrown.

Turk dove low this time, grabbing the killer's ankle and dragging him to the ground. The man cried out and fired, but the bullet went wide and poked a hole in the roof above.

Faith rushed forward and grabbed his wrist before he could aim the weapon at Turk. She got her first good look at the man responsible for killing these women. He didn't wear his mask today, another mistake borne of desperation.

He was older. That surprised Faith. She'd chased older killers before, but they had either avoided a physical confrontation, or they'd been massive specimens of humanity. This killer was athletic but slender, almost wasted.

But he was strong. Faith fought with all her might to keep the gun pushed away from Turk, but even his one arm was all she could handle. With his other hand, he fought off the snarling Turk, and after a moment, he shrieked and pushed both Faith and Turk off of him.

He leveled the gun, but Faith kicked upward. The toe of her shoe caught the killer's wrist and sent the gun flying. He started toward it, but once again, Turk leaped on top of him and dragged him to the ground.

Faith got to her feet and prepared to join the fight when a moan caught her attention. She looked toward the stage, her eyes wide. The woman was groaning and rolling to her side, her eyes opening blearily.

The victim was alive! She was still alive! He had knocked her unconscious, but he hadn't killed her yet!

The killer noticed this too. He released a sound like a train whistle and shook Turk off. The dog's teeth tore grooves in his arm, but he didn't care. He ran toward the stage, moving at shocking speed.

Faith knew that if he reached her before she reached him, he would snap her neck before Faith could stop him. She sprinted toward him, angling herself so she could cut him off before he reached his would-be victim.

It was close. Damn it, it was close. His hands extended like claws. The woman reached a sitting position. She swayed in place, using one hand to rub her head, not entirely aware of what was going on.

Faith cried out and dove for the killer's waist just as his hands reached the victim. She dragged the killer to the ground and leaped on top of him. She rained blow after blow down on him, grunting with the effort as she tried to render the killer unconscious.

The killer shrugged off her strikes like they were nothing. He caught her wrists and pulled her downward, driving his forehead into Faith's. Their heads connected with a sound like a bowling ball hitting pins.

Her head buzzed. She saw the world spin as she fell to her back, stunned. Blackness swirled on the edges of her vision, and she gasped and rolled over, struggling to remain conscious.

She heard a growl and, a moment later, another yell. She forced herself onto her knees but could go no further. Her vision swam dangerously.

As her sight focused, she saw the victim slowly coming to. The victim got to her feet and stumbled backward, nearly falling from the stage as she watched Turk fight the killer.

Turk gave up trying to overpower the killer. Either the man was on drugs that gave him superhuman strength for his size, or his desperation lent a force that he wouldn't have otherwise. Whatever the reason, Turk avoided a contest of strength, instead using his superior speed to dart in and out, snapping at the killer's ankles and calves, leaping to nip at the killer's flailing arms, and finally, when he saw the opportunity, leaping into the air and planting all four paws on the killer's chest. He pushed off of the killer, somersaulting in the air and landing easily on his feet.

The killer fell backwards, and Turk turned to Faith. Faith must have looked worse than she felt because Turk's eyes widened with concern. He left the killer and rushed to her side, barking urgently.

"I'm fine," she said. Her voice croaked, and she took a breath to steady it. "I'm fine, go get him."

She heard a cry and turned toward the victim. The woman was staring at the killer, her face white. Faith heard another cry and realized it wasn't the victim making that sound but the killer.

She turned back to the killer and found him on one knee, clutching his chest. His face was red, and his eyes were wide with terror.

"No!" he gasped. "No! Please no! Not now! Please, I was so close!"

He extended the hand not clutched to his chest toward Faith. His fingers grasped as though Faith might extend her hand and save him from whatever was happening to him right now.

"Please!" he cried. "Help me! Please, I'm not ready! I'm not—"

He cried out, and fell forward, his head pressing into the stage. He gripped his chest and gasped. Faith got to her feet, but blood rushed to her head, and she had to stop to regain her balance before she could go to his aid.

He took a huge breath, then shouted, "PLEASE!"

Then he fell onto his back. His hands clawed at the air. He writhed and shook for a few seconds longer.

Then he stilled.

Red powder trickled down his chest from the vial that had broken in his death throes. The rubedo was complete.