Her father’s name in his mouth made Nora want to scream. But she bit down on her hand, forcing herself to stay silent.
“Your father ruined my family,” Eugene said, his voice hardening. “Did you know that? He started the investigation that got my dad fired. Got him arrested. Made him so ashamed he killed himself. My mother left after that. I lost everything because of what Daniel Bell did.”
The door handle rattled again, more violently this time.
“But you probably don’t remember any of that, do you? You were just a kid. Living your perfect life while mine fell apart. So I waited. I watched. I learned everything about you. Where you worked, where you lived, what you wore, who you talked to. And you know what I realized?”
Something hit the door. Hard. The wood cracked.
“You’re just as weak as your father was. Just as easy to break.”
Another hit. The door splintered.
“Carson!” Nora couldn’t help it—the word burst out of her, terrified and desperate.
“I’m here!” Carson’s voice through the phone. “I’m pulling up now. Hold on, Nora. Just hold on!”
The bathroom door burst open.
Eugene stood in the doorway, and Nora saw him clearly for the first time. Mid-thirties, average height, plain features. The kind of face you’d forgetimmediately. Perfect for someone who wanted to blend in. To watch without being watched.
He smiled at her. “There you are.”
***
Carson took the stairs three at a time, weapon drawn, every second feeling like an eternity.
He’d heard Eugene break through the bathroom door. Heard Nora cry out his name. Heard the fear in her voice that made his blood run cold.
Please. Please let me be in time.
He reached his apartment door—hanging open, lock destroyed. Rushed inside, clearing the living room in seconds.
“Blackridge PD!” he shouted. “Eugene Whitmore, show yourself!”
A crash from the bathroom. Nora screaming.
Carson ran.
The bathroom door was splintered, hanging on its hinges. The shower curtain had been torn down. And Eugene had Nora backed against the bathtub, one hand wrapped around her throat, the other holding a knife.
“Let her go.” Carson’s voice was deadly calm, his weapon trained on Eugene’s center mass. “Right now.”
Eugene tightened his grip on Nora’s throat. She gasped, clawing at his hand, her eyes wild with terror.
“You can’t shoot me without risking her,” Eugene said. “I know you’re a good shot, Detective. But are you that good? Can you guarantee the bullet won’t go through me and hit her?”
Carson’s finger rested on the trigger, his aim steady despite the rage coursing through him. Eugene was right—from this angle, with Nora pressed against him, the risk was too high.
But Carson had spent nineteen years training for moments like this. Nineteen years learning to make impossible shots. Nineteen years preparing to do whatever it took to save people.
“I’m giving you one chance,” Carson said. “Let her go, drop the knife, and we can end this peacefully.”
“Peacefully?” Eugene laughed. “There’s nothing peaceful about what your department did to my family. About what her father started. This is justice, Detective.”
“This is revenge. And it ends now.”
“You’re right about one thing.” Eugene raised the knife. “It does end now.”
