Deadly Fear (Deadly #1)(89)

Every muscle in his body tensed. What the—

Then she was gone.

He blinked and swiveled around. Monica was heading for the door, Dante close behind her. Yeah, what else was new? Lucky bastard wouldn’t let her get far.

But… her phone?

The door swung closed behind her.

Hyde had brought Monica a new cell phone when he came down. The tech guys had torn apart her other one while they tried to track the Watchman.

Watchman. Fucking stupid name. Who’d come up with that brilliant tag?

He glanced back at the computer. The page had finally loaded on the screen in front of him.

But Kenton didn’t really care. I’ve got my new phone. He whipped out his own cell and called SSD. Ramirez should be riding desk today, doing grunt work on the case and— “Yo.” Ramirez never bothered with ID’ing himself.

“What’s special about Monica Davenport’s new phone?”

“Uh, wanna run that by me again?”

He held on tight to his patience. If Sam were in the central office, she would have already given him the info. “I need you to check for me—find out if Monica’s new phone has a tracer.” A hunch. Because Monica’s moves were always so precise. Why tell him about the phone? Why—

A hum of sound. Then jazzy elevator music in his ears. Oh, crap, anything but— “Got a tracer.” A hint of excitement in Jon’s voice. “One of the new ones from Development. Whether her phone is on or off, we can get a lock on her and ID her exact location.”

He jumped out of his chair. “Get a lock on her.”

“What?”

“Get a lock on her,” he repeated. “Now.”

Because Monica always had a reason. Always.

His gaze flew around the sheriff’s office. She’d wanted to slip away from the deputies, but Monica had also wanted to make sure she could be tracked.

Sonofabitch. She’d left him a perfect trail of breadcrumbs to follow.


They tailed the deputy’s cruiser through the backwoods. Over a sagging wooden bridge. Down muddied dirt roads.

As they went deeper into the woods, Luke noticed that Monica grew more tense. Not that he blamed her. Not one damn bit. This whole scene set his nerves on edge. The sooner they found Pope, the better.

Then he saw the cabin. Dark wood with a sloping porch and two small windows near the front. A line of wildflowers outside.

Wildflowers. What the hell?

Monica’s breath came out, hard and fast. Too fast.

“Monica?”

The deputy had stopped. His brake lights flashed as he turned off the car.

“Get your gun,” Monica said. “Get it and get ready.”

But she’d said Lee might be the victim. Wait, shit, what—

She already had her weapon out. She didn’t look at him as she said, “It’s him.” Her stare was on the wildflowers.

Vance hopped out of his car. Paced nervously.

Luke opened his door, nice and slow. He pulled his weapon, felt the reassuring weight in his hand.

Vance squared his shoulders and marched toward the cabin. He slammed his fist on the door. “Lee! Lee, come out!”

No sign of Pope.

Monica climbed from the car.

Vance spun around. “I’m checking the side, he might be there. Lee!” He raised his voice. “Man, we’ve got to talk. Come on, buddy, come out!”

He disappeared. More pounding. Maybe on a second door?

Luke eyed the cabin. No lights were on inside.

“Lee’s in there,” Monica said, her voice pitched low. “We have to get him out.” She licked her lips. “We’re gonna have to move fast. As soon as you see Vance again, I need you to—”

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?