“Your last chance,” she told him and heard the distant wail of sirens. It had to be the sheriff, coming fast. “Just put down the—”
“M-my… way.” He jerked up the gun.
“Monica! Get out of the way, get out—”
The guy fired.
The red lights from the ambulance flew in a sickening blur, lighting then concealing the crime scene.
Another scene. Another body.
“Damn straight.” The sheriff slapped Luke on the back, hard enough to make him nearly stagger. “Bringing you two in was the right choice. You got him. Stopped that freak cold—”
Davis was sure the dead man, the bastard lying in his own blood just steps away, was the serial they’d been seeking.
Luke lifted his eyes to Monica. She sat in the back of the ambulance. Her shirt was torn, her left sleeve completely gone. A guy in an EMT uniform pressed a white bandage against her flesh. She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just kept her eyes locked on the body.
The guy had blown his brains out right in front of her.
“Guess some killers just can’t stand the thought of being taken in.” Another slap by Davis. The guy wore one big, face-splitting grin.
People didn’t normally get so excited over suicide. But then, this wasn’t your average case.
“He kept the control by shooting himself,” Luke said. A lesson he’d learned about serials long ago.
Control. For them, it was key. Lose the control, lose the game. Without control, the serials became sloppy. A sloppy murderer was one that could get caught. Or killed.
“Folks in this town will sure sleep better tonight, I tell you.”
Tires squealed. Luke glanced over and saw a news van braking to a hard stop just beyond the red, swirling lights.
A news van? Christ, that was the last thing they needed right now.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got ’em,” Kenton said. He’d arrived on the scene, riding shotgun with the sheriff, just in time to find Monica leaning over the body.
Shaking the man who’d tried to kill her. Tried to kill them.
She’d yelled at him, demanded, “Tell me! No, don’t do this! Tell me!”
But the guy hadn’t been able to tell her a thing. Kinda hard for the dead to talk.
“Hold on there, son.” Sheriff Davis straightened his shoulders. “This is my town. My people. They look to me for protection, and I’m gonna be letting them know they can sleep good again tonight.”
Monica blinked, like she was waking up from some kind of dream. Then she pushed away from the ambulance attendant. Her forehead wrinkled as she hurried across to him.
“The killer tried to set you both up, but he was the one to end up dying.” Davis shook his head. “Jasper is safe again. Our second brush with these bastards, but we came through. We came through.”
“Sheriff.” Monica’s clipped voice. “We have no concrete proof this is the killer we are after. There’s no evidence here to suggest…”
Davis’s jaw dropped. “What the hell? Davenport—this here bastard slashed your tires. Left you one of them love letters of his, then he came at you with a gun.” He pointed to the bandage on her arm. “You think he was just firin’ warning shots there? He came to kill you.”
“And he wound up killing himself.” She shook her head and lowered her voice. “That’s not the way this guy would go out.”
Luke stirred a bit at that. “I don’t know, maybe he would.” She looked tired and far too pale.
The bastard had shot her. Grazed her arm. A few more inches, just a few more…
His body stiffened as a wave of fury seared through him.
She’d been in front of the killer, staring down his gun. What if the perp hadn’t shot himself? What if he’d aimed for her?
Luke’s stomach churned with fury and fear. Yeah, he knew she was just doing her job. Just like he was.
But he couldn’t stand to see her hurt.
Good thing that bastard is dead. ’Cause I could send him to Hell myself right now.
Brain matter and blood littered the ground. The perp had done one hell of a number on himself. Half of his face was gone, blown to bits, and the eye that was left still stared, wide open.
A camera flashed as the crime scene guy snapped his images.
“Jeremy Jones has been nothin’ but trouble his whole damn life,” Davis said. “A real shame.”
Jeremy Jones. Yeah, that was the name they’d found in the wallet. But Davis had ID’d the guy even before they’d put on the gloves and gone searching for proof.
“He was in and out of juvie. Had two arrests last year.” The sheriff shook his head, and his lips tightened. Luke realized the guy wasn’t looking at the body. Hadn’t looked directly at it, not since he’d run toward them, glanced down and identified the body. “Jeremy, shit.”
“So this guy was a career criminal?” Kenton asked, rubbing the back of his head. “What was he in for as a kid? Animal mutilations? Break-ins?”
“Drugs.”
Monica’s gaze didn’t rise from the body. The sheriff wouldn’t look, but she couldn’t seem to look away. “What kind of drugs?”
“Any kind. Jeremy was what we call one equal opportunity boy.”
Doors slammed. The news crew, coming closer.
“Showtime for me.” Davis straightened his shirt and adjusted his star. “You two did a fine job on this one. I’ll be sure to tell Hyde how impressed I am. Real good work.”
“Don’t tell Hyde anything,” Monica said. “And don’t talk to the media. This case isn’t over.”
But the sheriff shook his head and stood his ground as he frowned at her. “It’s over. Everybody in this county knew Jones was trouble. Just like his old man. His dad died on the streets, and Jeremy did, too.” He turned away, headed toward the news team and muttered, “Some folks just can’t be saved.”
Monica shook her head. “No, sometimes, we just can’t save them.”
Hell. Luke had to go to her. He closed the distance between them. Let his fingers brush her arm. Not too hard, not too intimate, but he needed to touch her. “You okay?” Because she’d scared a good ten years off his life. Maybe more.
Her lips pressed together, and she gave a small nod.
Not good enough. He caught her other arm, the uninjured one, and spun her toward him. “Stop looking at him. He’s dead. He tried to kill us. Nothing we could do.”