The laugh that erupted from Wilson held a hint of hysteria in it. “Yeah. People don’t go against him and live. No thank you.”

  “You can go into protective custody.”

  A lone shot rang out—farther away than the recent volley of fire. The sound iced her blood. In the distance sirens blared, coming closer, but for some reason all Kyra could focus on was that single gunshot.

  Frozen, Michael braced himself. The thin man, the one Amy told him had worked with the snake-tattoo guy, raised his gun and took aim.

  The booming discharge of a pistol exploded in front of Michael. Every tense muscle waited for impact.

  The thin man stepped forward, stumbled, his arm dropping to his side. Then down he went.

  Stunned, Michael looked behind his assailant.

  Gabe kept his gun trained on the man on the pavement as he strode toward him. “Are you okay?”

  Michael wanted to pat his chest to make sure he wasn’t just in shock but with a glance down, he only glimpsed his trembling hands. “Yeah. You?”

  “I am, but Connors got shot. Can you take a look at him while I see to getting the others released?”

  “You think Wilson has them?”

  “Yes. His car is parked in the Pattersons’ driveway out of sight from the road.”

  Michael walked to the thin man and knelt to check to see if he was alive. The absence of a pulse only confirmed what he knew from the gaping hole in his upper back on the left side. He rose and continued his trek toward Connors sitting against Michael’s car, which was parked out in front of Kyra’s house.

  He stayed in the shadows in case Wilson decided to take a shot at him. When he reached his car, he paused at Connors’s side. “Where are you hit?”

  “Shoulder. Really no more than a graze. I told Chief not to worry, but I knew he would anyway. I can still help.”

  “Let me be the judge of that. My medical bag is in the trunk. I’ll get it and at least clean and bandage it until we can get you to the hospital.”

  Crouching, Michael moved to the back of his car and retrieved his bag. Law-enforcement vehicles from the sheriff’s department flooded the street, their flashing lights illuminating the darkness. Usually the sight of them brought comfort to Michael that everything would be all right. Not now. What if Wilson decided to shoot his way out, using one or all of the females as a barrier? Or what if Wilson had already killed them? Or…

  The gauze package slipped from his numb fingers. Please, Lord, bring them through safely.

  The wall phone rang. Wilson glared at it and didn’t make a move to pick it up.

  The strobe of the red lights seeped through the small cracks in the blinds. “You should answer it. See what their deal is.” Kyra’s fingers dug into the wood of the chair to keep herself from flying at the officer and getting herself shot. She’d been involved in hostage situations before. Remaining calm was important.

  “Shut up. I know what they’ll say.”

  The ringing stopped. Positioned by the blinds, Wilson relaxed slightly.

  Then the phone pealed again.

  The lethal look he gave it should have blown it to smithereens. His rigid stance and knuckle-white clasp on the gun shouted his jittery disposition, which could short-circuit with the slightest provocation. A dangerous time for hostages. Kyra kept her gaze trained on Wilson for any sign she could use to her advantage.

  Silence finally reigned—for a moment before Gabe’s deep voice boomed over a loudspeaker. “Wilson, this isn’t the young man I’ve gotten to know the past five years. Son, let the ladies go and we can work something out. We can make a deal in exchange for your cooperation.”

  “You all have no idea who you’re up against,” Wilson mumbled as though Gabe were standing next to him. “He’s a cold-blooded killer who’ll think nothing of murdering anyone in his way.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  Wilson blinked, surprise washing over his face. “No one.”

  “At least let Amy, Laurie and Ellen go. You can keep me as a hostage. You know how much Gabe cares for me. He won’t want anything to happen to me.”

  Wilson peered toward the dining room, the corner of his mouth jerking. “I’m supposed to kill you all.”

  “If you do, you are dead for sure. They’ll storm this place at the sound of the first gunshot.”

  “I’m dead anyway if I don’t do what he wants.”

  “There’s always a chance the other way. If you have something good to offer, the Witness Security Program has a first-rate reputation for keeping its people safe. Let me talk to Gabe. Work something out for you.”

  He bit into his lower lip, his eyes penetratingly intense. “I’ll trade the girls and Ellen for Gabe.”

  “Can I get up and use the phone?” She glanced the few feet to the desk where it sat.

  “Slowly. I’ll kill you if you try anything.” The fierce tone behind his words earlier had lost its bluster.

  Kyra followed his directions, and when she dialed Gabe’s cell, her mentor picked up on the first ring. “Wilson will trade Amy, Laurie and Ellen for you. He wants to talk a deal.” She wouldn’t blame Gabe if he declined, but he and Wilson had been close. She hoped when confronted with the man who took him under his wing that Wilson would fold and give himself up.

  “Have him send out Amy and Laurie, then I’ll approach the house and he can let Ellen go at the same time I go inside.”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  “Is everyone all right?”

  “Yes, scared but fine. Is everyone okay out there?”

  “Connors was hit in the shoulder, but Michael is patching him up.”

  Relief fluttered through her. Michael is safe. She hung up and faced Wilson, who had advanced within a couple of feet of her. “He agrees to exchange himself.”

  After she explained Gabe’s conditions, Wilson directed her to go into the dining room. “Uncuff them.” When Amy and Laurie were freed, he continued. “Take them to the front door and let them out. Remember, I still have the gun and can shoot you or your aunt.”

  Although she didn’t think he would now that he’d made up his mind to listen to Gabe, she wouldn’t take a chance with the others’ lives by trying to be heroic. She knew how fast a hostage situation could turn with one wrong move. After the girls left, Kyra untied her aunt and escorted her to the entrance, waiting until Gabe was on the porch before opening the door and letting Aunt Ellen leave. The two exchanged a brief smile and traded places. The police chief entered the foyer, his expression calm as though he faced down a gun every day.

  “Wilson, I’ve been on the phone with the county prosecutor. If you can lead us to the man behind these killings, he can reduce your sentence.”

  “Not good enough. I would die in prison.”

  “What do you have to offer for immunity?”

  “Something big. But I’m not coming in until I get full immunity from prosecution and protection. The information I have is well worth it.”

  Gabe studied his fellow officer for a long moment. “I need to make some calls.”

  Wilson tossed his head in the direction of the kitchen. “The phone is in there.”

  Gabe went into the room first, then Kyra and finally Wilson with his gun pointed at her the whole time. She concentrated on Gabe, ignoring the weapon not far from her, and started praying for a peaceful resolution.

  Ten minutes later, after adamant bargaining on his part, Gabe replaced the receiver in its cradle and said, “Done under the condition your information is everything you say it will be.”

  “It will be. Once I’m in a safe place, I’ll tell you all I know.”

  Gabe held out his hand for Wilson’s gun. Several heartbeats later, the officer finally put the weapon in the police chief’s palm. The second he did, Gabe passed it to Kyra, took out his handcuffs and secured his prisoner, then removed the two guns from Wilson’s waistband.

  Kyra didn’t fully breathe until the bracelets were locked around Wilson’s wrists behind his back. The tight band around her chest eased for the first time in an hour and oxygen poured into her lungs, filling them deeply.

  All she wanted to do was see Michael and put her arms around him. She had imagined him injured or dead several times in the past hour. She never wanted to go through that again. He meant more to her than she’d realized.

  Kyra hung back to let Gabe take Wilson out first. As the screen door banged closed, she came into the foyer, the police chief still on the porch with Wilson slightly to his left and a foot in front.

  Suddenly the muffled pop of a gun with a suppressor filled the quiet. The young officer stopped, wavered, then collapsed, tumbling down the stairs. Gabe dived to the side behind the railing and large bushes. Several police below the porch scattered. Kyra instantly lunged toward the kitchen entrance as another bullet ripped through the screen.

  THIRTEEN

  Kyra’s right shoulder slammed into the kitchen floor as the bullet flew into the house. She heard its impact—probably into the wall in the foyer. With pain radiating down her arm, she rolled over and pushed to her feet, drawing the Glock she’d gotten back.

  The realization that someone had shot Wilson reinforced the high stakes in this case. Something big was going down—more than the murder of two teenage boys.

  She hunkered down by the kitchen entrance into the foyer and saw the bullet hole in the wall on the left side of the foyer. Not a straight shot into the house. Was the shooter near the Pattersons’ house? In the swamp? Had he been shooting at her? Or Gabe?

  The sound of gunshots reeled through the air. She hated not knowing what was going on. She moved to the bay window and stooped low before parting the blinds an inch and scanning the scene outside. Deputies ran toward the swamp at the end of the block, shooting into the thick vegetation.

  She crept to the other side of the window to get a different angle on the yard. Where was Michael? Aunt Ellen? Amy? Laurie? Were they hit?

  Gabe eased up as the officers plunged into the swamp. The sheriff approached Wilson on the ground. Gabe descended the steps and knelt by his officer, who was down, and checked his pulse at the side of his neck.

  Michael rose from behind his car and started for Wilson.

  “No, Michael, it isn’t safe.” Her words came out hoarse, her throat closing as emotions flooded her. She couldn’t lose him. So many people had been hurt.

  She jumped to her feet and raced for the front door. Outside on the porch, she shouted, “Get back. The shooter may still be out there.”

  Gabe looked up. “She’s right. Wilson’s dead anyway.”

  With his medical bag in his grasp, Michael stopped in his tracks, his expression evolving from surprise to rage as he took in her disheveled appearance. “You’re hurt.” He strode toward her.

  She held up her hand. “I’m fine. Get back.”

  He ignored her and closed the space between them, charging up the steps. “What did he do to you?” Fury rolled through his voice.

  “Nothing. I’m fine.” She’d never seen Michael so angry.

  “The right side of your face is swollen and red. That’s not nothing. It’s not safe for you to be out here, either.” He took her arm and tugged her toward the front door.

  Kyra winced and pulled back, rubbing her shoulder.

  “What else is wrong?”

  “I fell on my shoulder. It hurts.”

  “Let me check you out.”

  “No, I’m all right. I’ve been hurt worst than this. I want to check on Aunt Ellen and the girls.”

  “They’re fine. They’re safe in the sheriff’s car and the minute the shooting started the deputy with them drove off.”

  Kyra entered the house. Exhaustion weighed her legs down as she made her way into the kitchen. She shuddered with weariness and sank down onto a chair. The sudden quiet sent a tremor through her. Was it over? Had they captured the other shooter?

  Michael stood at the counter and watched the coffee drip down into the carafe. Mindlessly staring at the plop, plop of the dark brew as it fell. Kyra could have been killed last night because of him. She was involved because of him.

  The memory of how she looked when she’d finally gone to bed a few hours ago haunted him. She would have a black eye; it had already started turning. Her cheek was bruised and swollen. Along with her shoulder. Thankfully, the MRI at the hospital had shown it wasn’t anything more serious with the shoulder than sore, tender muscles.

  Those injuries weren’t that serious, but the fact she was hurt at all bothered him. This had been her vacation, and instead he had placed her in danger a number of times. He couldn’t deal with anything happening to her as it did with Sarah.

  “You couldn’t sleep, either.”

  Kyra’s sweet voice floated to him. Slowly he turned toward her, leaning back against the counter and gripping it on either side of him. “Since the man got away from the deputies last night in the swamp, it’s hard not to think about him being out there somewhere. Too much going around and around in my brain.”

  “Me, too. Especially the possibilities of what the killer is planning.” Kyra walked across the room and stopped a foot from him.

  He wanted to take her in his arms and never let her go. He wanted to kiss her senseless. His fingers dug into the edge of the countertop. “If we all hadn’t been totally exhausted, we should have hashed it out after coming back from the hospital.”

  “I didn’t need to go.”

  “I’m glad you humored me. I feel bad enough with what happened to you without wondering if you needed more medical attention.”

  “At least Laurie got to see her mother and make sure she was all right.”

  “Gabe is taking Amy’s sketch back to Cherie this morning to see if she can add anything to the drawing but both girls think it’s pretty accurate.”

  “I know the killer’s picture is important, but I’m concerned about the plans that the girls saw in the duffel bag. We need to concentrate on those and figure out what’s going on. If Friday is the deadline, we have one day to come up with answers.”

  “We don’t have to do anything. Let the police figure it out.” He clasped her hands, wishing he could deny the bond between them. “You need to rest, take care of yourself.”

  “While something big might be going down that I could help stop? No, I can’t walk away from this. This killer made it personal when he sent Wilson after me.” She squeezed his hands, then tugged hers free and pulled a mug from the cabinet to fill with coffee. “I’m going to need tons of this.”

  Michael poured some for himself and strode to the bay window. He parted the blinds and peered out at the deputy standing guard on the porch. There was another one on the back deck. “It isn’t over. We’re still in danger.”

  “Until the killer is caught, yes.” Kyra came to his side. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Gabe is here soon. I doubt he’s gotten any sleep, either. He looked beat last night.”

  “It’s hard discovering one of your officers has been helping a killer.”

  “When it’s a decent hour, I’m calling a contact I know at the FBI in Washington. We’ve worked together. I keep thinking about Amy saying the man slipped back and forth between English and Spanish. I know we talked about Preston’s cousin being involved in a gang in Miami. I know many people in Miami—this area of Florida—speak both languages, but this killer being here doesn’t have anything to do with a gang. From what Gabe could find out, Tyler was here to see his family. We need to ID the killer. I know the state is being brought in, possibly the Feds, but I want to talk to my friend. Maybe this killer isn’t from the United States. Why was he hiding out in the Everglades? What is happening on Friday? From what Amy said there was a lot of money in that bag. Why is the man hanging around? Why didn’t he leave at the first sign of trouble? Could he be a hit man?”

  Michael held up his hand. “Whoa. My mind is on overload. Is this the way you were when you were working as a police detective?”

  “I found in my work it was important to ask the right questions if you wanted to discover what was going on.”

  He cocked a grin. “I imagine you’ve covered it somewhere in all those you asked.”

  “It’s hard to turn off once I get going.”

  “I wish I’d never gotten you involved in the first place.”

  Her forehead wrinkled. “Why?”

  He caressed the uninjured side of her face. “You were hurt because you helped me.”

  She gripped his hand. “Don’t you blame yourself for what happened. Like I said, I’ve had worse happen to me.”

  “Do you think I like hearing that?”

  “Listen, Michael Hunt. I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for years. I don’t need a protector.”

  “Do you need anyone?” The question came out unbidden, but he realized it had been in the back of his mind for a while. Kyra was so capable, as though it were her against the world. He cared about her, and she didn’t need someone to care about her.

  “What do you mean?”

  Michael turned away from the bay window and put several feet between them. Her scent of vanilla was playing havoc with his senses. He couldn’t think straight with her so near. “Just that. You’re so together. You can handle yourself in tough situations. You were hurt and you didn’t even want me to check you out. You told me on more than one occasion you could take care of yourself. I get that now. You don’t need anyone.”

  “No person can go totally alone.”

  “But isn’t that what you’ve been doing?”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but instead of speaking, she snapped it closed, pivoted and strode through the dining room to the living area.

  He followed her, leaning against one of the posts that separated the great room from the dining room. “When I was a teenager, you were this girl I couldn’t get out of my mind. Then we went our separate ways. I fell in love and thought I would have a life with Sarah. Then it was taken away from me. My world was rocked. My faith was tested. Even my conviction I should be a doctor. I was slowly piecing both back together, and then I see you again. From the first moment I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. But I’ve just figured out it isn’t a two-way street.”