I See You (Criminal Profiler, #2)(100)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Thursday, August 15, 11:00 p.m.

Sixty-Four Hours after the 911 Call

Zoe stood on the sidewalk, her heart pounding as blood soaked her blouse, pants, and arm. Her breathing was rapid and shallow as she tried to settle herself. Agents went their entire careers without firing their weapons, and she had just fired hers point-blank into a man’s chest.

She heard police sirens in the distance, shoved aside the emotions that were sure to come later, and hurried toward her attacker. He lay on his back, staring up at her, his eyes focused sharply on her. She quickly kicked the knife out of his reach and pointed her weapon at his bloodstained chest should he make any move toward her. She did not have the strength or dexterity now in her right hand to cuff him. “Jason, can you hear me?”

He blinked, but it was a slow, lumbering move that suggested he was slipping.

“Did you kill Marsha?”

He closed his eyes as a slight smile tugged the edge of his lips. The color in his face drained.

“Jason, did you kill Marsha? Don’t come clean for me, but do it for Skylar.”

His eyes opened at the sound of his daughter’s name. He looked at her and then slowly nodded and smiled before he closed his eyes. His breathing quickly grew shallow and faded.

The lights of a cop car flashed around her, and she heard her name. She did not move or look back as she kept her gaze locked on Jason.

“Zoe!” It was Vaughan. “Zoe, are you all right?”

She did not dare look toward him. “I’m fine. You need to check for a pulse. He took a round to the chest.”

He reached for his cuffs, moving past her as he grabbed Jason’s hands and secured them before he pressed his fingertips to the man’s throat. “He’s dead.”

She slowly lowered her weapon and took a step back. “He came at me with that knife.”

Vaughan took Zoe’s weapon from her and then called in the shooting. “You’re bleeding. Did he stab you?”

“He tried. I’m fine.” She dared a glance down at her arm and tried to wiggle her fingers. They did not move.

Flashing blue-and-white lights mingled with the now-screaming police sirens. Two police cruisers barreled toward the garage, one from the south and the other from the north. They came to a stop, nose to nose, in front of the building.

“This is FBI special agent Zoe Spencer,” Vaughan said to the uniformed officer. “She and I have been working a case.”

Her mouth was dry, and the trembling in her hands was seeping through her body. Intellectually, she understood this was the adrenaline dump, her body’s reaction to the attack.

Blowing a breath between her lips, she reached for her badge and held it up. Her right arm burned, and she realized just how badly she was injured.

The paramedics arrived and unloaded a stretcher and supplies. One raced toward Jason as Vaughan led Zoe back toward the ambulance.

The paramedic pulled on fresh gloves and had her sit on the edge of the truck. “You’re going to need stitches, likely surgery,” the paramedic said. “It’s a nasty gash.”

“How deep is it?” She watched as a uniformed cop secured the scene with yellow tape.

“Deep enough,” the paramedic replied.

“Is there tendon damage?”

“Too soon to tell.”

As Vaughan stood beside her, she tried to move the fingers on her right hand again. They remained unresponsive.

“You’ll be fine,” Vaughan said. “They’ll get you patched up.”

“I’ve been down this road before. It doesn’t end well.”

“Don’t borrow trouble,” he said.

She looked up at him, searching for something that would assure her she had come through this, but the look of concern darkening his gaze told her just how much she stood to lose.

The paramedic applied a bandage to her cut, and as he pressed, pain burned through her, and she hissed in a breath. “Easy now.”

Vaughan laid a hand on her knee. It was steady and sure and brought her gaze into focus on the worry etched deep in his face. “Let’s get you to the hospital, and then we’ll figure this out.”

She closed her eyes, knowing this was the kind of injury that could end a career. God, but she had worked so hard to rebuild her life after her leg injury. If she could not be an agent, where would she go? Not again, she prayed.



Vaughan’s temper was stretched thin. Seeing Spencer covered in blood was something he never wanted to repeat. He followed the ambulance to the hospital, and he stayed with her. Both of them were silent as the doctor examined her wound and then made quick arrangements for a surgeon. He knew she was worried about future use of her hand and her career. The quieter and more reserved she became, the angrier he grew. Finally, when the doctors told him he had to leave, he was ready to argue, but Hughes appeared on scene, and she reminded him he had a job to do. He kissed Spencer and left, determined to dig up whatever he could find on Jason Dalton.

That vow rested heavily on his shoulders now as he handed the search warrant to the rotund building manager, who appeared half-asleep. Searching the apartment was the first step to figuring out what had driven Jason to attack Spencer with a knife and likely Veronica and Galina.

The manager handed Vaughan back his warrant and unlocked the front door of the apartment.