Page 146 of Montana Manhunt

He beamed. “Chloe Russell. Dad talked me through it, but I did all the work. What a rush!”

The second stabbing victim. “So you found your new hobby.”

Jeff chuckled.

His father glanced at him. “Where’s my knife? I have to pick up Rosalie for breakfast in a few hours. I don’t want to be late.”

“Kitchen counter.”

“I’ll be back in a minute.” James pointed at his son. “Don’t start without me.”

“Yes, sir.” When his father exited the room, Jeff inched closer, his gaze skimming over Violet’s body. “So many places are calling to me,” he murmured.

The lawyer ambled closer. “Here, for instance.” The tip of his knife trailed over her cheek, leaving behind a stinging sensation, followed by warm liquid trickling down her skin. “But you’re so beautiful, I would hate to mar your delicate skin too much.”

The zip tie broke.

Violet adjusted her hold on the knife. “Did you attack me in the bathroom at the funeral home?”

“I warned you, baby. You should have listened to me,” he murmured, the tip of his knife moving down her throat and chest to rest on her thigh. “I was trying to protect you, but like your sister, you wouldn’t listen.”

“You tried to warn her away from the investigation?”

“I told her to leave it to the police. I tried to save her. She wouldn’t listen.” He pressed the tip of the knife into Violet’s thigh.

Pain radiated from the wound, making the nausea worse. Violet clenched her fists. “Jeff, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to be like your father.”

“I told you to wait for me,” the chief snapped as he strode into the room with a knife clutched in his fist.

It was now or never. Violet had run out of time.

She stabbed Jeff in the stomach, jerked the knife in an upward motion to do the maximum amount of damage, and shoved him away from her.

James shouted as he ran toward her, brandishing a knife with a five-inch blade. “I’ll kill you!”

She surged to her feet, grasping the stinger blade nestled in her left wrist sheath. With a flick of her wrist, the small blade sank into James Hanson’s chest.

The chief of police stumbled and fell to his knees.

Violet skirted past him and ran down a short hall to a small living room. Front door to her right. Back door to her left.

After a split second of debate, she sprinted to the back door, hoping her blurry vision cleared soon. Violet yanked open the door and raced into the forest.

“You’re dead! Hear me, Violet? You’re a dead woman,” James Hanson yelled.

She scowled as she ran. Her left shoulder burned and throbbed like a bad toothache. Her aim had been off. Instead of killing the police chief outright, she’d only made him angry. While the adrenaline rush was in full force at the moment, it wouldn’t sustain her for long. Finding a place to hide until help arrived was the priority.

As Violet ran, she felt blood pooling in her tactical boot and streaming down her side. She scouted for a place to hide. A fallen tree, a large cluster of trees, rock formations, anything to conceal her presence from the cop doggedly pursuing her through the early morning hours.

Her watch vibrated. Fortress. She fumbled for the button and raised her wrist to her mouth. “I’m on the run,” she murmured.

“It’s Zane. Noah and Grant are heading toward you. Injuries?”

“Stab wounds in the left shoulder and thigh.”

“Bogies?”

“At least one, James Hanson. I don’t know about Jeff.” She swallowed hard and shook her head as the terrain in front of her pitched, then righted itself. “I stabbed him in the stomach.”

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