“Good gawd almighty, spit it out, girl.”How the fuck does she do it? I’ve never met anyone like her.
“I simply wondered how the killer got my email and investigated.”She has the audacity to make it sound perfectly reasonable.
“And?”
“I’m still waiting… But Suds, I think we can use this little mix-up to our advantage. We can catch this guy and stop him for good.”
“You no longer work for the FBI, babe. You’re a private detective.” I kiss her fingertips and pray she will give up on finding the serial killer. This shit just got real.
“My dad gave me this case to investigate.” Her brows raise in defiance so I set her straight.
“Online. No stings, no catching bad guys, no setting up murderers. We don’t have those kinds of resources, especially not now. Dammit, this isn’t a game. He’s a nutcase.”
“That’s just the point. Who else is going to trap him?”
“No.” I cross my arms and glare.
“Excuse me?” Her brows lift further, wrinkles appearing in her forehead but it don’t deter me none.
“Samantha, we are partners and I say no.”
“Well, my fifty percent disagrees.”
“You are, by far, the most stubborn and aggravatin’ female on the planet.” My temper snaps, heating me to the tips of my ears.
Usually, I’d take a walk and cool off but I’m stuck in this fucking apartment. “You do this and you might need some new letterhead.”
It ain’t right. We’re supposed to be a team.
She stands, doesn’t say nothin’, and crosses her arms.
“What the fuck? You’ll do what you want just like you always do.” I stomp out to the treadmill before I say something I may later regret and stick in my earbuds.
If she responds with some smartass retort, I can’t hear her, which is probably a good thing.
After a bit, I calm down but she must still be mad. Instead of opening the door, she pings my phone to tell me there’s a delivery so I stop my jogging and squeeze out the door.
That’s weird.Usually the delivery guy drops the package inside, not on the sidewalk.
Not thinking much of it, I meander down the steps. Halfway there, some fuck-tard picks up our stuff and dashes off.
What the hell? I jump, throw open the door, and… Jesus H. Christ.
A Taser digs into my abs, my legs go weak and I go down hard. My body may be incapacitated but I recall my SEAL training, stay sharp, and count off five agonizing seconds. As soon as the shock wears off, I’ll be ready.
Lying helpless, blue sky overhead, a small, bald man with wire-rimmed glasses comes into view. With an evil grin, he slips a garrote over my head and zip ties my hands behind my back.
“Inside and up the stairs.” He kicks my side and while I’d be happy to oblige, I can’t move.
The razor sharp edge of his weapon bites into my neck as I struggle to my feet. I could kick out his legs but if even tugs a little, he’ll cut my jugular.
I’m no good to Sam, dead so I do as he says and climb the steps. At the top, I push on the door, it bangs against the running machine, and he hisses.
“Open it.”
“My treadmill’s in the way.” I watch his hands and his face, for any sign of weakness I can use to my advantage.
“Move itoutof the way.” He pulls on the wire, it cuts through my skin, and I fucking lose it.
