Rocky stumbled, quickly catching herself. “But what if they did get caught?”

“I will deal with them. Mansfield ’s not the only cop I have on my payroll. What else?”

“I made sure we left no documents. Granville hadn’t shredded them.”

Bobby scowled. “Sonofabitch. I should have killed him years ago.”

“Probably.”

Bobby leaned in close and murmured, “I could kill you now. With my bare hands. I could snap your neck in two. And you’d deserve it. You totally fucked up, Rocky.”

Again Rocky’s blood went cold. “But you won’t.” She forced her voice to be steady.

“And why won’t I?”

“Because without me, you wouldn’t have access to the chat rooms and all the ‘pretties’ we have in the pipeline would be lost. Your supply would dry up faster than spit on a fryin’ pan.” She leaned up on her toes until they were chin to chin. “And that’s bad business. So you won’t kill me.”

Bobby stared at her, then laughed bitterly. “You’re right. And you’re lucky. Right now, I need you more than I hate you. But it’s a real close call, kid. One more fuckup and I’ll take the chat room hit. I can find someone to replace you, and the base business will keep me flush enough to stay afloat until I build a new pipeline. When we get to Ridgefield, you get these girls cleaned up. I have a client coming over tonight. Now get in.” Bobby got behind the wheel, cell phone in hand. “Hey, Chili, it’s me. Gotta a coupla jobs for you, but they have to be done fast. Like, in the next hour.”

Rocky could hear Chili’s rather boisterous protests when Bobby held the cell phone at arm’s length with a wince.

“Look, Chili, if you don’t want the job, that’s fine. I’ll find someone else…” Bobby smirked. “I thought so. I need you to torch two houses for me. Usual pay, usual way…” Bobby’s smirk flattened. “All right. Double. But I want them both burned to the ground, nothing saved. Nothing should remain.”

Dutton, Friday, February 2, 4:15 p.m.

“Alex.” Luke rushed the door when Alex Fallon stumbled out of the bunker into the sunlight, covered in blood. “She’s hit. Corchran, get the medics.”

Alex pushed Luke’s hands away. “Not me. Daniel’s been hit. He’s critical. He needs to be airlifted to a level one trauma center. I’ll show you where he is.”

Luke caught her arm as she went back through the door. “He’s alive?”

“Barely,” Alex snapped. “We’re wasting time. Come on.”

“I’ll radio Larkin to have the chopper coming for the girl wait for Vartanian,” Corchran said, motioning for the paramedics. “You go.”

Alex was already running back through the bunker. Luke and two paramedics with a squeaky gurney followed. “Bailey escaped,” Alex said when he caught up with her.

“I know,” Luke said. “I found her. She’s alive. In pretty bad shape, but she’s alive.”

“Thank God. Beardsley’s in here, too.”

“Beardsley? You mean the army chaplain?” Captain Beardsley had been missing since Monday-since he’d gone looking for Bailey in her Dutton home.

“Yeah. He’s alive. He may be able to walk out on his own, but he’s bad, too.”

They got to the room at the end of the long hall and Luke stopped dead in his tracks. Two paramedics pushed around him to get to Daniel, who lay in the corner on his side, a makeshift bandage covering his chest, probably Alex’s handiwork. His face was gray. But he was breathing.

That was more than Luke could say for the three dead bodies littering the floor. Deputy Mansfield lay on his back, two shots to his chest. Mack O’Brien was crumpled in a heap, a neat bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. A third man also lay on his back, five gunshots to his chest and one to his hand. His bloody wrists were cuffed behind his back. His face was gone, blown away by a high-caliber weapon.

A fourth man sat against the wall, breathing hard. His face was covered in blood and grime and his eyes were closed. Luke assumed this was the missing army chaplain, although he looked more like Rambo at the moment.

“Holy Mother of God,” Luke breathed, then looked over at the slim woman who was the only participant in the action still standing. “Alex, did you do all this?”

Alex looked around as if seeing the destruction for the first time. “Most of it. Mansfield shot Daniel, then I killed Mansfield. Then Granville came in.” Grimly she looked over at the man with no face. “Dr. Granville was the third rapist.”

“I know,” Luke said. “Bailey told us. So you killed Granville, too?”

“No, I just wounded him. O’Brien killed Granville. It was O’Brien’s revenge.”

Luke nudged O’Brien with his shoe. “And this one?”

“Well, after O’Brien killed Granville, he put his gun to my head. And then Reverend Beardsley took O’Brien’s gun and Daniel made the head shot.” A sudden grin lit up her face. “I think we did good.”

Her silly grin had Luke smiling back, despite the sick clenching of his stomach at the sound of Daniel’s groan as the medics moved him. Daniel was groaning, which meant he was alive. “I think you did good, too. You took care of all the bad guys, kid.”

But the army chaplain shook his head. “You were too late,” Beardsley said wearily.

Alex instantly sobered. “What are you talking about?”

He killed them all, Bailey had said. Dread swept away any momentary satisfaction Luke had felt. “You stay here with Daniel,” he told Alex. “I’ll go see.”

Alex looked over at the medics. “His vitals are steady?”

“Steady, but weak,” one of the men said. “Who sealed this sucking chest wound?”

“I did,” Alex said. “I’m an ER nurse.”

The medic gave her a nod of approval. “Nice job. He’s breathing on his own.”

Alex’s nod was unsteady. “Good. Let’s go,” she said to Luke. “I need to know.”

Luke supposed she would. Her stepsister, Bailey, had been held in this place for a week and though everyone had told her that Bailey was a junkie who had probably just disappeared, Alex had never given up hope.

Beardsley pushed himself against the wall until he stood. “Then come with me.” He pulled on the first door to their left. It was unlocked, but not empty.

Luke drew a breath, dread becoming horror. A young girl lay on a thin cot, her arm chained to the wall. She was gaunt, her bones clearly visible. Her eyes were wide open and there was a small round hole in her forehead. She looked about fifteen.

He killed them all.

Luke slowly walked to the cot. Dear God, was all he could think. Then the shock of recognition punched his gut. I know her. Dammit, he’d seen this girl before. Pictures scrolled through his mind, vile, obscene pictures that he could never forget. Faces he could never forget.

This face, he knew. Angel. Her abusers, the subhumans who’d paraded her across their Web site, who’d committed acts so depraved… They’d called her Angel.

Bile rose in his throat as he stood, staring down at her. Angel was dead. Emaciated, tortured. You were too late. The shock began to fade as the fury that simmered inside him boiled over and he clenched his fists, trying to keep it inside. Controlled. He couldn’t let the fury keep him from doing his job.

To protect and serve, his mind mocked.

But you didn’t protect her. You failed. You were too late.

Alex dropped to her knees next to the cot, pressing her fingers to the girl’s thin neck. “She’s dead. Maybe an hour ago.”

“They’re all dead,” Beardsley said harshly. “Every one that was left behind.”

“How many?” Luke asked, his voice hard. “How many are dead?”

“Bailey and I were locked up at the other end,” Beardsley said. “I couldn’t see anything. But I counted seven shots.”

Seven shots. The girl Susannah had saved had been shot twice, once in the side. The other bullet had grazed her head. So five other shots. Five dead. Dear God.