“Drop the weapon!” was the only response he got.

But if he dropped it, would they fire at him? Were they going to kill him anyway? He glanced around wildly. He didn’t know these people. He’d never seen them before in his life. And his sister . . .

Molly had been . . . taken. That was what the blond man had told him.

Then Eddie had woken up, strapped down. They’d been about to drug him.

Did they take me, too? “I’m getting out of here!” He’d find his sister. He and Molly . . . they always stuck together. It was them against the world. Always had been. Through all the foster homes. Through the different schools. They’d been together.

Molly needs me. “Give me my sister!” His head was throbbing, as if a jackhammer were digging right behind his eyes.

“We have to subdue him!” It was the woman again. Yelling. Her voice made his head ache even more.

“Shut up!” he told her. “Shut up, shut up. Shut up!” Then he lunged toward her.

Thunder erupted. No, not thunder. It was more like fireworks. He and Molly liked to watch the fireworks on New Year’s Eve.

But he didn’t see any fireworks and his chest . . . hurt.

His knees sagged. He hit the floor. The knife—scalpel—fell from his fingers. “I . . . want Molly.”

More footsteps rushed into the room. He strained to keep his eyes open.

“What the hell?” The shocked cry came from the guy who’d just burst into the room. A guy wearing a suit, with a badge pinned to his belt. The guy’s green eyes glittered.

Wait . . . he knew that guy. He was a detective. West—

I can see them all now. So clearly.

The detective must be there to help him. Eddie tried to speak, but he only managed a groan.

Then the cop was in front of him. “Stay with me, kid,” he said.

“Mol . . . ly . . .”

“We found your sister. She’s in a hospital.” The guy’s head turned to the left. “You fucking hit him dead in the heart! Why? Why?”

“He was lunging with the scalpel! I told him to drop it, again and again, and he wouldn’t! He wouldn’t!”

Eddie felt so cold. Cold everywhere, except for his heart. It seemed to be burning right in his chest. “Mol . . . ly . . .”

“Your sister is safe, do you hear me?” The detective leaned in close to him. “We got her. She’s safe.”

That was good. “L-Love . . . Mol . . .”

His chest didn’t burn anymore.

His eyes closed.

Chapter 10

JAX WAITED OUTSIDE OF THE POLICE STATION. HE’D gotten a call from Brent. The detective had said he needed to see Jax, right away.

Night had come. Darkness had swept over the city. In New Orleans, the darkness just meant that the real party was about to begin. This city never seemed to sleep. Vegas had nothing on the Big Easy.

He saw Brent hurry out of the station and quickly run down the steps. Jax hunched his shoulders and eased deeper into the shadows. Then he walked down the street, knowing that Brent would follow him. They wouldn’t have that chat right on the doorsteps of the PD. That would be far too obvious. But the perfect spot waited just ahead.

Jax propped his shoulders against the wall of an alley. Brent came into sight again a few moments later.

“He’s dead,” Brent said.

Jax waited. “Tell me you’re talking about the prick who took the girl.”

“I’m talking about Eddie Guthrie.” Brent started pacing. He jerked his hand over this face. Jax had noticed before that the guy did that whenever he was nervous or upset. “He was in the med unit, they were supposed to be taking care of him.”

Hell.

“He got loose—I don’t know how. Eddie grabbed a scalpel. The guards thought he was attacking a nurse, and they shot him. In the fucking heart.” He stopped pacing. “Why not shoot his shoulder? His hand? Why the heart?”

Jax locked his jaw.

“His last words were for his sister. I lied to the kid. I told him she was all right.” Brent swung around. “But the docs are saying she might not last until morning.”

Yes, Carlos had called and told Jax the same thing.

“I have nothing to go on here,” Brent continued, and his words sounded ragged. “All the evidence burned, and the guy got away scot-free.” Frustration seethed in his voice. “Is he going to do it again? You’ve got the in with LOST. I mean, damn, it’s obvious you’re fucking the pretty profiler.”

Ah, because of the kiss? But, yes, he had fucked her . . . and he planned to do it again, at the first opportunity.

“What does she say about this guy? Do we have one of them serial killers hunting in the city? What’s happening?”

Jax pushed away from the wall. He rolled his shoulders. This was Brent’s first big case, and the guy was breaking. “I’m sorry about Eddie.”

“Me too.” Brent shook his head. “I heard the gun blast when I was in the hall outside of the med ward. If I’d just gotten there faster, I would have stopped it! I would have saved him.”

We can’t save everyone.

But Sarah was trying to do just that.

“Molly might remember her attacker,” Jax said. “She’s not dead yet.” So don’t give up, not yet.

Brent nodded. Then he said, “We had a deal. I’d keep you in the loop . . .”

Yes.

“But I need you to tell me what’s happening, too,” Brent pushed. In the dark, his eyes gleamed. “If LOST has intel, they aren’t sharing, I have to know about it. Because it sure as shit isn’t like Cross is going to be making breaks on this one. The guy can’t solve his way through a crossword puzzle.”

Jax inclined his head. “If the LOST group think a serial is hunting here, you can be certain that you’ll know.” He turned away from the cop. It was getting late, and he didn’t want Sarah staying at that hospital all night.

“Wait!”

He looked back.

“I’ve . . . been researching Sarah Jacobs.” Brent hesitated. “Is all that shit true? Her dad was killing when Sarah was just a kid?”

Jax hadn’t asked Sarah for details about her past. She hadn’t pressed for his, and he’d given her the same courtesy. Anything she shared . . . she’d share. He wouldn’t dig.

“She stopped him, right? Put a gun to her own father’s head and stopped him from killing that last victim?”

“If that’s what the stories say . . .”

“What does that do to a person?” Brent wanted to know. “To know that your father is a twisted killer? To see what he does . . . what does that do to you?”

It makes you stronger. At least, that was what it had done for Sarah.

He started walking.

“Do you think she’s like him . . . deep down?”

“No.”

“How can you be sure? If she lived with him all that time, how can you be sure she’s not just like Murphy the Monster? I mean, Jesus, man, when I look into her eyes, I get unnerved. She sees too much.”

Too deep.

Jax kept walking.

“We don’t need another serial killer hunting down here!” Brent called after him. “This city just survived one nightmare, we don’t need another one.”

No, they didn’t. But it wasn’t about what they needed. It was about what the twisted prick out there had planned.

“SARAH . . .” HER NAME was a low rumble, one that pushed through the fog of sleep that surrounded her. “Sarah, it’s time to go.”

She blinked and realized that she was slouched in one of the waiting room chairs. She’d fallen asleep. She hadn’t meant to drift off. Sarah straightened quickly. “Is everything okay? Is Molly all right?”

Jax’s hand closed around her shoulder. “Molly’s condition hasn’t changed. But it’s time for you to come home. You’re dead on your feet.”

She rubbed her eyes. “I—I can’t leave. Someone has to stay and make sure—” She broke off, then confessed her fear. “What if he comes back for her?” Just because they’d saved a victim, it didn’t mean the case was over. They’d rescued another girl, only to have her die in a hospital. Sarah stood. “Someone has to stay here and—”