Deadly Fear (Deadly #1)(41)

Charming? Yes, that had been Romeo’s style. At first. “I don’t—I don’t know what he meant with the clipping.” Lie. Lie. Sometimes, it was way too easy to lie.

She rolled her right shoulder. Caught herself.

“The sheriff’s coming,” Luke said, running a hand through his hair. “Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty with these back roads from Hell. He wants us to sit tight.”

“I don’t think he’s coming after us tonight.” No, he’d just wanted to leave his little message. Screw with her head, and let her know that he knew. And what would she do when Luke started putting the pieces together? Hell, was that what the killer wanted? For Luke to learn the truth about Romeo? “He’s just playing with us tonight.”

Building the fear. He wouldn’t kill them, not yet.

Luke crept past her, his gun in his hand. “Sitting back isn’t my style. Let’s see what we can—” His breath whistled out. “Sonofabitch. He’s coming.”

She crouched, bringing her gun up. No streetlights, but the moonlight trickled down, showing them.

“The bastard’s walking in the middle of the road. And he’s coming right for us.”

Her fingers tightened around the gun. She could see him. The thick bulk of a man stalking toward them. But that didn’t fit. The killer wouldn’t come right at them. Not his style.

She glanced at Luke. Too much darkness to see his face. “This is wrong.”

He was already heading for the steps, keeping his back close to the house. “Cover me.”

“Luke!”

He was gone. “FBI!” he yelled out. “Identify yourself!”

Sweat slickened her palms. She went after him, keeping cover, staying low. Her weapon was aimed and ready. But…

This isn’t right. It’s not his way.

The man didn’t stop walking. The shuffle of his feet traveled easily in the night.

“I said, identify yourself!” Luke’s order shook the porch.

But the guy didn’t speak. And he was getting closer.

Not right.

Then the guy’s hand lifted.

And Monica saw the glint of a gun. “Luke, he’s armed!”

Even as she screamed her warning, a bullet exploded, firing at the house, chipping wood just inches from Luke’s head.

“Sonofabitch.”

The man ran now, full-out ran, toward them. Yelling something as he fired, over and over.

Luke fired back.

So did she. Not aiming for the head. Or the heart. She should have, she knew, but…

Her bullet clipped him in the shoulder, and he staggered. Luke’s caught him in the chest. Blood burst from his wounds, spraying around him.

But still, somehow, he fired.

“Drop the gun!” Luke roared. “Drop it! Drop—”

“On… me!” The gunman screamed. “It’s on me!”

Monica’s finger froze on the trigger. Not our guy. “Luke, hold! Do you hear me? Hold—”

The guy fired again, and the bullet blasted right across her left arm. Oh, shit. Fire ripped the flesh away.

“Monica!” Luke shot again. The bullet thudded into flesh.

The gunman fell back.

“No.” She shook her head and raced across the overgrown grass.

“Monica! Stop, he’s not dead. It wasn’t a heart shot!”

The guy raised his head and somehow managed to lift his gun. Under the moonlight, she saw his eyes. So much fear there, and anger. Rage.

“B-bitch… not gonna… get me…” Blood dripped from his mouth.

“Drop your weapon,” she told him, never wavering with her own gun as she ignored the throb of fire racing up her arm. “Do it, just drop—”

But he shook his head. “N-not… like… him…”

She saw the tremble of his hand. Squeezing the trigger.

He wouldn’t miss her heart this close. Couldn’t miss. “Don’t make me shoot you,” she whispered.

“Monica! Get out of the f*cking way! Give me the shot!” Luke’s furious shout.

The man, young, thin hair, thin face, tried to smile. “F-f*ck y-you.” The gun shook. “F-f*ck him.”

“Your last chance,” she told him and heard the distant wail of sirens. It had to be the sheriff, coming fast. “Just put down the—”

“M-my… way.” He jerked up the gun.

“Monica! Get out of the way, get out—”

The guy fired.


The red lights from the ambulance flew in a sickening blur, lighting then concealing the crime scene.

Another scene. Another body.

“Damn straight.” The sheriff slapped Luke on the back, hard enough to make him nearly stagger. “Bringing you two in was the right choice. You got him. Stopped that freak cold—”

Davis was sure the dead man, the bastard lying in his own blood just steps away, was the serial they’d been seeking.

Luke lifted his eyes to Monica. She sat in the back of the ambulance. Her shirt was torn, her left sleeve completely gone. A guy in an EMT uniform pressed a white bandage against her flesh. She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just kept her eyes locked on the body.

The guy had blown his brains out right in front of her.