“His name.” His voice came from above her. He grabbed a wad of her hair and jerked up.

She cried out, standing. Stars shot through her vision. Tears rolled down her face. She shoved her elbow into his chest, which felt like a metal plate, and tried to stomp on his foot.

Missed.

He yanked her head back, sending stars past her eyes.

“Keep that up and I’ll pull out my knife.” Cold metal touched her back again. He ran the gun muzzle down her spine and slipped the barrel inside the elastic of her panties. “You will tell me the truth.”

That warning sent her way beyond terror. To a point of realizing what did she have to lose if she fought him? The minute he gave her an opening she was attacking this bastard and screaming at the top of her lungs.

He pulled the muzzle out of her panties and shoved the cold steel under her chin. Yanking her against him, he whispered, “Give me any more trouble or scream, I’ll kill your mother.”

Hunter unlocked the deadbolt, then turned the knob slowly and entered Abbie’s apartment. He heard everything being said in her bedroom through the tiny round transmitter he’d pressed over one of her dress buttons.

The.380 he’d gotten from Rae was lightweight, but it felt better than an empty hand right now. He hadn’t expected to need a gun when he parked the car down the road and returned. His plan had been to bypass the security and knock on her door so they could talk.

He’d ask questions and she’d answer.

That changed when he got close to Abbie’s door and he picked up the intruder’s voice in his earpiece.

He could still hear them, the low keening sound she made. Like an animal caught in a trap. Her raw fear reached out from the dark bedroom and clawed his spine.

He eased along the wall of her living room until he reached the bedroom doorway and peered inside.

Light from the foyer around the corner offered just enough illumination for Hunter to make out the intruder in a black stocking mask with a white smiling skull face. The head cover was thick. Reinforced? Bulletproof head cover? That would mean he might be wearing body armor of some sort, too.

Skull face had a fist of Abbie’s hair and a.44 Magnum Smith & Wesson shoved beneath her chin. She clutched her half-naked body, her skin so bloodless she looked like a ghost in the dark. “Still don’t know his name?” the intruder asked Abbie.

“Looking for me?” Hunter stepped into the room, his weapon aimed at the bastard’s head, but he wouldn’t risk that shot with an unfamiliar weapon and Abbie so close to the target. “You can have me if you let her go.”

“Might want to keep you both.” He twisted her hair and muscles in her neck flexed against the pain. “She could prove entertaining if nothing else.”

“Hurt her and you’ll meet me in hell,” Hunter warned him. “I’ll be the one tying your dick in a knot. You’ll be the one bleeding out your eyeballs.”

Abbie trembled, but her eyes brimmed with hope.

Hunter couldn’t look at her and keep his focus on this maniac. What the hell was all this about? “Thought you were looking for me. What do you want?”

“Who do you work for?”

“Myself.”

“No, I’m thinking CIA… but I would have known about any agents on the premises tonight.” The intruder spoke in a melodic voice, smooth and calm. No ranting or demanding. “What were you doing at the Wentworth estate?”

Adrenaline spiked in Hunter at the realization of who might be holding Abbie at gunpoint. The JC sniper responsible for Eliot’s death. He had to know. “You’re the one who tried to kill Gwenyth.”

“I never try to kill anyone. I don’t miss an authorized target.”

Hunter took shallow breaths, telling himself not to go for the head shot he wanted to take. If the armor stopped the bullet, the sniper would kill Abbie. “Why’d you shoot Gwen if you didn’t want to kill her?”

“What I want isn’t part of the equation. I’m only a weapon.” The JC killer laughed. “Much like you.”

The same laugh Hunter had heard right after Eliot had died and every night when he closed his eyes. But Eliot would expect him to use his head and not put Abbie at risk, not even to kill this fuck.

“What do you want with her?” Hunter nodded at Abbie.

“Just a means to an end. Wanted to see you.” The killer released her hair, stroking softly across her head.

Abbie cringed but didn’t fold. She sent Hunter a wide-eyed gaze that said she was alert and a tiny nod he read as “ready to fight.”

“You got your look. Let her go and we’ll talk.” Then I’ll kill you with my bare hands if I can’t get a shot.

“I doubt you’ll give me any more information. Abigail, however, was most helpful tonight. Going to be a shame for her to die.”

Before Hunter had a chance to negotiate further or take a step, the killer used his free arm to flip a small canister up in the air past her shoulder.

Hunter recognized the canister, covered his eyes, and opened his mouth a second before the flash-bang exploded.

Abbie screamed. Thank God. If she hadn’t, her eardrums would have blown.

Tear gas flooded the air next.

The silence that followed filled him with hollow fear.

Hunter plunged forward through smoke filling the room, trying to see and breathe.

Abbie wasn’t making a sound, not a whimper. Shoving his shirt up to slow the hideous stink and burn of the tear gas, he fought his way in the dark. His feet bumped a pair of legs draped over the bed. She was out cold.

He scooped her up and over his shoulder, coughing his way back through the room and blind with tears. Outside the door to the hallway outside, he kicked the apartment door closed and slid to the ground. He’d turned her as he’d dropped down until he cradled her in his arms.

Searing heat raked his lungs.

But his mind burned hotter with questions. Why hadn’t the guy tried to kill one or both of them? What had he wanted?

Hunter couldn’t believe after four years he’d stood within a few feet of the JC killer.

And let him walk away.

He looked down at Abbie, limp in his arms and a swelling knot on her head where the bastard had hit her. Who had she pissed off and how was she connected to all of this?

Tonight changed everything.

He’d have to get answers another way, dammit.

She had to vanish. Now.

Jackson moved carefully along the streets. He did everything carefully.

He’d pulled off his stocking cap and shoved the reinforced headgear into the backpack he’d retrieved at the rear of Abigail Blanton’s apartment building.

His black clothing and gloves, also reinforced with bulletproof Kevlar armor, protected the only flaw in his honed body. Something the operative who had come to Abbie’s defense would have liked to know.

There’d been a hint of something personal in the threat her rescuer had leveled. The cocky guy had no idea he’d been facing the Jackson Chameleon. How he’d gambled his mortality.

Most people figured that out a nanosecond before they died, which reminded Jackson he needed to request authorization to dispatch Abbie’s protector.

He sent a brief text to his superior that another player had entered the game. And asked for authorization to engage.

The Fratelli allowed no unnecessary deaths or he’d have dropped both Abbie and her guard dog where they stood.

He got a text back that read, “Not yet. Determine whose interest he represents.”

Jackson pressed the “K” text button and sent confirmation he’d received the reply. He huddled his coat close against the chill and kept to the dark side of the street.

He hadn’t planned on allowing Abbie’s friend to walk around alive even if the guy hadn’t seen Jackson’s face, but neither could he make an unsanctioned hit.

That just meant Abbie’s friend couldn’t literally die by Jackson’s hand, but people died everyday that he didn’t touch. All it took to have that happen was to first know enough about what mattered most to a person, then provide that person with choices.