Page 44 of So Lethal

She swore and drew her flashlight. The killer was running in between the houses, using the darkening night to conceal his movements. Faith sprinted after him, calling, “Stop! FBI! Stop running!”

That command worked as well as it always did, which was to say not at all. The killer ran quickly and easily, his movements urgent but self-assured. Faith brushed away the blow that dealt her pride and focused on how to overcome his size and speed advantage. Turk was usually how she did that, but apparently he hadn’t recovered from the earlier attack because he hadn’t followed her.

You’d better not have hurt my dog.

She aimed her handgun and shouted, “Stop now, or I’ll shoot!”

That was an empty threat. She couldn't shoot in a neighborhood like this, where a stray bullet could easily kill an innocent person. She was hoping her killer didn't know that.

He did. Or he felt he could still get away. Whatever the reason, he didn’t slow or stop at all.

She bared her teeth and increased her pace, her feet pistoning back and forth like a track star. She wasn’t gaining any ground, but she wasn’t losing any more ground either.

They reached the end of the neighborhood now and came to a city park. The killer continued to run, sprinting into a cluster of trees. Faith kept her light on him, and holstered her handgun, pulling her taser out instead. She still didn’t want to risk a shot here, but she felt comfortable with less lethal options.

She entered the trees and saw branches rustling ahead. “Stop now!” she called. “You’re going to get tased!”

The killer didn’t reply, so Faith continued to pursue. The trees were dense here, and her light reflected off of their branches and made it impossible for her to see the suspect, but she followed the rustling branches and kept up with him that way.

Her radio chirped. “Faith? Where are you?”

“I’m pursuing the suspect, Michael. He injured Turk with a sound weapon and ran. I’m in a city park about a half mile north of the residence. Do you have eyes on Turk?”

“Yeah, I have eyes on Turk,” Michael replied. “He’s okay.”

Faith saw rustling right in front of her. She caught a blur of dark clothing and tackled it.

She was rewarded for her troubles by a screech and a flash of fangs. She cried out and stumbled backwards just in time to see the possum she had tackled rush to the higher branches of the tree. She stared at the animal in disbelief for a moment, then heard an engine revving. Headlights switched on, and a moment later peeled away.

That would be her suspect escaping while she was wrestling with an animal. She pounded her fist into the ground and cried, “Damn it!”

Her radio chirped again. “Did you get him?”

“No. He got away.” She stood and brushed herself off. “Damn it! I didn’t even get the make and model of the car.”

“Well, you should probably come back here and look at what Turk found. Or rather, who Turk found.”

Faith’s heart dropped to her feet. “Who?”

“Marcus Wolfe.”

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

“This is new,” Michael said, a note of dejection in his voice.

Faith didn’t have a response. She just sighed and looked at Turk, who sat with his hands in between his legs. He whined at the body, and Faith said, “It wasn’t your fault, boy. We just didn’t quite get here fast enough.”

That thought brought a stab of guilt. They could have gotten here fast enough. If Faith hadn’t had a complete meltdown over a ringing in her ears, they could have been here before their killer finished with Marcus, maybe even before he started. The same would have been true if they hadn’t interrogated Rebecca Thorne, but she could forgive herself for that. She had a history of violence, she knew the victims, and she had strong opinions over how hearing-impaired people should view their condition.

But she couldn’t excuse her tantrum. Dr. Keraya could spin that all she wanted, but that was absolutely Faith’s fault.

And Marcus Wolfe had suffered for it.

He had been strangled to death like the previous three victims, but the killer had thrown a little extra flair into this murder. Instead of just leaving the body where he’d killed it, he had set up a little shrine in Marcus’s toolshed.

Marcus was suspended from the ceiling of the shed by wire tied around his wrists and around the rafters. He was naked, and crude papier-mache angel wings were secured to his back with duct tape. Blood trickled from both of his ears where the killer had used a sharp object to puncture them.

Minutes. They had been minutes behind the killer. If she had just shown a little backbone…

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