Page 49 of Let Her Run

"It's here, behind the shed," John said, leading Fiona toward the back of the yard.

As they walked, Fiona's eyes scanned the area, looking for any signs of Harrison. But the yard was empty, save for a few lawn chairs and a rusted swing set. They reached the shed, and John pointed to a wasp nest hanging from a tree limb.

"That's it, right there," he said. "I was going to call someone to get rid of it, but now I don't even want to deal with it."

Fiona nodded, her eyes still scanning the area. She felt uneasy, as though they were being watched.

Suddenly, the ring of a phone cut through the quiet evening from inside the house. John glanced back toward the house with a start. "Sorry, that might be my wife. She's out with the kids. Do you mind if I take that?"

"Of course, go ahead," Fiona said, keeping her eyes trained on the nest. As the man hurried back inside, she couldn't shake the feeling that they were on the brink of something important – or dangerous.

Please let this be the right guy,she thought, her heart pounding in her ears.We can't afford to be wrong.

Even if John wasn't the target, Harrison had to be the killer. They'd wasted too much time on other leads.

As she contemplated the implications, her gaze instinctively flicked back towards the house. The homeowner had disappeared inside, eager to answer the phone call that might have been his wife. Fiona knew she couldn't afford to waste any time, especially if they were about to apprehend the killer.

Just then, she caught a glimpse of movement through the window.

Her breath hitched as she saw a man stealthily approach the homeowner from behind.

A blood-chilling realization washed over her

This was the killer.

And he was inside John's house.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

The neon lights of Portland blurred past Jake's car as he tore through the night, finally free from that damn traffic jam. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles white against the black leather.

He had tried calling Fiona several times, but she hadn't answered.

The frustration gnawing at him intensified.

"Dammit, Red," he muttered under his breath, hitting the redial button once more.

His heart hammered in his chest as the phone rang unanswered. He knew she had been investigating a potential victim, John Hopper, and that she'd gone alone. Jake had called the police to the addresses Fiona had given him, but there was no way of knowing if they had arrived yet.

The thought of her alone with a possible killer sent a cold shiver down his spine. He shook his head, trying to dispel the image. "Come on, Fiona, pick up!" he growled as the call went to voicemail again.

Realizing that waiting was no longer an option, Jake made a quick decision--he set his course for John Hopper's house. His foot pressed harder on the accelerator, urging the car to move faster, even as his mind raced with thoughts of what might be happening to Fiona.

As he weaved hastily through the traffic, the streets grew darker and less inviting as he approached John Hopper's neighborhood. Shadows clung to every corner, hiding secrets and threats alike. The tension in Jake's body increased with every block he passed, the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders.

His heart ached at the possibility of Fiona being in danger. He'd almost lost her before, and he couldn't stand the idea of it.

As much as he tried to dispel the images, he could still feel the warmth of her lips from their single, stolen kiss, a moment of vulnerability that had caught them both off guard. He knew pursuing a romantic relationship with her would be a bad idea. She was right on that. And Jake had a history of being non-committal too. He hated the idea of hurting Fiona. More than that, he hated the idea of her getting hurt by some sick freak. He focused on the road ahead. The car's engine roared as he pressed harder on the accelerator, ducking and weaving through the increasingly sparse traffic. His heart hammered in his chest, adrenaline surging through his veins.

As each mile blurred past, Jake's thoughts raced along with them. If Fiona was right, she could be facing the murderer alone at that very moment.

He took a deep, steadying breath, and the knot of panic in his chest loosened ever so slightly. The air tasted like gasoline and damp asphalt, a bitter reminder of the city's darker side. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders like a heavy cloak, but he refused to let it slow him down. If anything, it only made him more determined.

"Almost there," Jake muttered, gripping the wheel harder as he turned onto John Hopper's street.

***

Fiona's heart thundered in her chest as she pushed open the door to John Hopper's house. The dimly lit interior seemed to swallow her whole, a void of darkness punctuated by ominous shadows. She had seen Harrison—the killer—lurking behind John through the window, and her instincts screamed at her to act. Now.

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