The Gathering Dusk (Killer Instinct 0.5)(12)

CHAPTER FIVE



BLAKE CROSSED HIS arms over his chest and stared at the elevator bank. The doors dinged and, when they opened, he found himself gazing at a redhead with vivid blue eyes. She blinked when she saw him, surprise flashing on her face.

“Hannah Broderick?” She fit the description Samantha had given to him.

She nodded.

“Took you a little longer than I expected to arrive.” He glanced at his watch. “What happened? Did you have to search a few floors while you were looking for the victim?”

Her breath rushed from between her lips as she slipped out of the elevator. She came right toward him and touched his shoulder. “You spoke to the other agent.” Her voice was low and smooth. Probably supposed to be sexy, but he just found it annoying.

Mostly because a reporter was trying to sneak her way into an injured woman’s hospital room? Annoying as hell.

The elevator doors had closed behind her. He reached around the lady and hit the button to get those doors open once more. “You’re heading back down.”

Her eyes narrowed on him. “Was your partner the one who pulled the trigger or was it you?”

“Get on the elevator,” Blake ordered. “This is not the time or the place for a reporter.”

The fury in her stare probably should have burned him. “Don’t you think people deserve to know what happened?”

He advanced toward her. She backed up, seemingly an automatic reflex, and he walked her into the elevator. Then he pushed the button for the parking garage. “A killer was stopped, ma’am. That’s what happened. When the victim has recovered, if she feels like talking...then I’m sure your station will be contacted.” He backed out of the elevator. “Now you have yourself a good day.”

The doors slid closed.

*



“FUCKING ASSHOLE.”

The elevator was playing some lame classical music that just grated in her ears. She hadn’t found the identity of the shooter but...

I got close.

Going to the hospital had been pure genius. The news had just served up the name of the hospital for her in their last report, and she’d thought, If the victim is there, maybe the FBI will be there, too. She’d been right. The female agent had just walked right up to her.

She’d recognized the other woman. And since the big, dark-haired agent had been lying in wait for her in front of the elevator bank on the third floor...

The lady from the parking garage must have called him and tipped him off. Maybe he’s her partner.

A partner who would have been with the other woman when she stormed George’s house.

So she had two agents in her sights—one male and one female.

Which one had pulled the trigger?

Which one deserved payback?

She didn’t know, so maybe she’d just punish them both.

*



THE OFFICE DIDN’T feel right without Samantha there. The place just seemed...empty. Blake steepled his fingers as he stared at her empty desk chair. She’d be cleared in the shooting, of that, he had no doubt. He’d already told his side of the story that morning. Samantha should be back in action right the hell away and then— The office door swung open. “She doesn’t exist.” Samantha stood there, her chest heaving, her eyes gleaming, faint spots of pink color on her cheeks.

His brows shot up as he rose to his feet. “Bass gave you the all clear to get back to work?” A smile curved his lips. When Samantha was close, there was more excitement in the air. More focus. More— “Hell, no. I haven’t heard a word from him yet.” She just waved that matter away.

Blake blinked. “What?”

“The woman. The reporter.” She hurried toward him, nodding. “She doesn’t exist. There is no Hannah Broderick at Channel Seven. I went down there and talked to the producer myself. She doesn’t work for them.”

Tension snaked through his body. “Then who the hell was she?” He reached for the phone. He’d call the hospital and warn the guard to be extra vigilant just in case the lady came back.

But Samantha snagged his hand. Heat seemed to lance him at her touch. “I already contacted the hospital. They’re moving Missy to another floor and putting a second guard on her.” Excitement sharpened her voice. “I think it’s her.”

He stared at her.

“George’s trigger? Come on, you know I mentioned this to you only a dozen or so times. His victims were all a certain type.”

“Young, blonde, beautiful.”

“Petite,” she fired right back. “Delicate builds. Fragile in appearance.”

“She had red hair, Samantha.”

“Like that couldn’t be a dye job.” Samantha nodded. “Actually, the hair was what made me suspicious in the first place. Do you know how many redheads with blue eyes are roaming around? Natural ones?”

He shook his head, not having a clue on that one.

“Those are recessive traits—the red hair, the blue eyes. I read a story on this once, and only like one percent of the population has that combination. It’s like finding a freaking four-leaf clover or some crazy shit like that. Needle-in-a-haystack odds.”

Samantha had a photographic memory. He’d learned that early on. If she read something once...she had the facts forever.