Page 54 of Critical Strike

“No, there are other ways. More efficient ways. Perhaps a bit messier, but in the end, they’ll serve our purpose more effectively than searching for a needle in a haystack. I want that girl’s world to dwindle to the size of a pinprick. I want her terrified. I want her to scurry for cover, because that’s when she’ll make a mistake that will allow us to ensnare her. When she’s most unsettled.”

“And then?”

For the first time in days, Ballard smiled. “And then we’ll kill her.”

“GIVEMETHERUNDOWN.”

Claire paused in the middle of drying the last of the dinner dishes. She’d known Luke was on the phone with his brothers—the only people who’d know how to get in contact with him on his burner phone.

It was the tone in his voice that stopped her and made her listen. She held her breath, though that didn’t do much to quiet the pounding in her ears.

Luke muttered a curse that made her flinch. “You’re sure about that? What’s their status?” Another curse, delivered with the sort of bitterness that nearly curdled her blood.

She was still holding a plate. Best to put it down before she dropped it. There was no way Luke was about to deliver good news, and for some reason, in the middle of the fluttery panic threatening to take control of her mind, she felt it extremely important to take care of Sheila and Clinton’s things. They had been good to her, and she didn’t want them to regret even a broken plate.

He was in the living room, standing with his back to her as she tiptoed out of the kitchen. He might as well have been made of stone—so still, so tense. He’d been still for so long that it almost came as a surprise when he ended the call and slid the phone into his pocket.

“What is it?” she choked out. “What’s happened? And don’t tell me it’s nothing because I know something bad’s going on.”

“I wasn’t going to tell you it’s nothing.” He turned his head, giving her a look at his profile. “I was trying to figure out how to tell you, is all.”

“Maybe you should come out with it and get it over with. I can handle it.”

He let out a deep breath as his shoulders fell. “There’ve been problems. That was Weston on the phone, giving me reports from the police department. A truck was run off the road into a ravine overnight. The driver didn’t make it.”

He might as well have broken out in Greek for all the sense he was making. “If the driver didn’t make it, then how do the police know they were run off the road?”

“There were skid marks on the road, along with damage to the rear of the truck. Like another vehicle pushed it.” A ghost of a smile played over his lips. “You would think to ask that, even now.”

“I still don’t understand what this has to do with anything.”

“We might not have made a connection if it wasn’t for the fire.”

She was more lost than ever. “Fire?”

He crossed the small room in three strides and took her by the arms. “I’m sorry, but the Romero house went up last night... It burned to the ground. There were at least two people inside when it did. The bodies haven’t been identified yet, but it seems likely your foster parents were home. When Weston got word, something clicked. He checked on the identity of the truck’s driver... It was Glen Parker. I’m so sorry.”

“Another foster parent.” They’d killed her foster parents, people she hadn’t seen in ages. The Romeros had always kept her in mind, even after she’d left them. The Parkers had always been kind.

The world started to gray at the edges. Luke’s voice started to fade.

“Claire. Stay with me.” His hands tightened, squeezing her biceps a little.

It had the intended effect. The world sharpened again, no matter how she wished it wouldn’t.

People were dead because of her, good people. She’d been only one of many kids taken in by them. Life might not have been perfect or even fun all the time, but it had been better than living on the street and eating out of trash cans. They had spared so many kids so much danger and pain.

And now? The thought of them dying in terror and pain threatened to crush her. If it wasn’t for Luke, she might’ve crumpled to the floor and never gotten up.

“You didn’t do this.” He took her in his arms and held her close. “This isn’t your fault. You need to know that.”

“In my head, I know it.” She closed her eyes as she buried her face in his chest.

“But it’s another story once we reach your heart. Right?”

“Right.”

“I understand. I do.” He stroked her hair, soothing her at least a little. “You couldn’t know what he would do. Only a truly sick, twisted person could dream up something like this. A means of smoking you out.”

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