Lisa Gardner - The killing hour

“Ah ha! So I’m not the only one who’s paranoid.”

“That’s true, ma’am. It would appear that we’re both equally paranoid. I can’t stand the heat. What’s your story?”

“I don’t have a story!”

“Fair enough. You’re the one with the knife after all.”

He fell silent and seemed to be waiting for her to do something. Which was an interesting point. What was she going to do now? New Agent Kimberly Quincy has just made her first apprehension. Unfortunately, he was a fellow law enforcement officer whose title was already bigger than hers.

Damn. Double damn. God, she was tired.

All at once, the last of the adrenaline left her, and her body, pushed too hard too fast, simply collapsed. She slid off the man’s chest and let her aching limbs sprawl in the relative comfort of the thick green grass.

“Long day?” Southern Boy asked, making no effort to get up.

“Long life,” Kimberly replied flatly, then promptly wished she hadn’t.

Super Cop didn’t say anything more, though. He tucked his hands beneath his head and appeared to be studying the sky. Kimberly followed his gaze and for the first time noticed the clear night sky, the sea of tiny, crystal stars. It was a beautiful night, really. Other girls her age probably went for walks during nights like this. Held hands with their boyfriends. Giggled when the guy tried to steal a kiss.

Kimberly couldn’t even imagine that sort of life. All she’d ever wanted was this.

She turned her head toward her companion, who seemed content with the silence. Upon closer inspection, he was a big guy. Not as big as some of the ex-Marines in her class, but he was over six feet tall and obviously very active. Dark hair, bronzed skin, very fit. She’d done good to take him out. She was proud of herself.

“You scared the shit out of me,” she said at last.

“That was uncalled-for,” he agreed.

“You shouldn’t skulk around at night.”

“Damn straight.”

“How long have you been in the program?”

“Arrived in June. You?”

“Week nine. Seven to go.”

“You’ll do fine,” he said.

“How do you know?”

“You outran me, didn’t you? And trust me, honey, most of the beautiful women I’ve chased haven’t gotten away.”

“You are so full of shit!” she told him crossly.

He just laughed again. The sound was deep and rumbly, like a jungle cat’s purr. She decided she didn’t like Special Agent McCormack very much. She should move, get away from him. Her body hurt too much. She went back to gazing at the stars.

“It’s hot out,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You said you didn’t like the heat.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He waited a heartbeat, then turned his head. “Heat kills,” he said, and it took her another moment to realize that he was finally serious.

Tree branches scratched at her face. Shrubs grabbed her ankles, while the tall grass tangled around her sandals and tried to pull her down. Tina pressed forward, panting hard, heart in her throat, as she careened from tree to tree and tried frantically to get one foot in front of the other.

He wasn’t running behind her. She heard no stampede of footsteps or angry commands to halt. He was quieter than that. Stealthier. And that frightened her far more.

Where was she going? She didn’t know. Why was he after her? She was too afraid to find out. What had happened to Betsy? The thought filled her with pain.

And the air was hot, searing her throat. And the air was wet, burning her lungs. And it was late, and she’d run away from the road, instinctively heading downhill, and now she realized her mistake. There would be no savior for her down in these deep dark shadows. There would be no safety.

Maybe if she could get far enough ahead. She was fit. She could find a tree, climb high above his head. She could find a ravine, duck low and curl up so small and tight he’d never see her. She could find a vine, and soar away like Tarzan in the animated Disney movie. She would like to be in a movie now. She would like to be anywhere but here.

The log came out of nowhere. A dead tree probably felled by lightning decades ago. She connected first with her shin, couldn’t bite back her sharp cry of pain, and went toppling down the other side. Her palms scraped savagely across a thorny shrub. Then her shoulder hit the rock-hard ground and her breath was knocked from her body.

The faint crackle of twigs behind her. Calm. Controlled. Contained.

Is this how death comes? Slowly walking through the woods?

Tina’s shin throbbed. Her lungs refused to inhale. She staggered to her feet anyway and tried one more step.

A faint whistle through the dark. A short stabbing pain. She looked down and spotted the feathery dart now protruding from her left thigh. What the…

She tried to take a step. Her mind commanded her body, screamed with primal urgency: Run, run, run! Her legs buckled. She went down in the knee-high grass as a strange, fluid warmth filled her veins and her muscles simply surrendered.

The panic was receding from her consciousness. Her heart slowed. Her lungs finally unlocked, giving easily into that next soft breath. Her body started to float, the woods spinning away.

Drugs, she thought. Doomed. And then even that thought wafted out of her reach.

Footsteps, coming closer. Her last image, his face, gazing down at her patiently.

“Please,” Tina murmured thickly, her hands curling instinctively around her belly. “Please… Don’t hurt me… I’m pregnant.”

The man simply hefted her unconscious form over his shoulder and carried her away.

Nora Ray Watts had a dream. In her dream it was blue and pink and purple. In her dream the air felt like velvet and she could spin around and around and still see the bright pinpricks of stars. In her dream, she was laughing and her dog Mumphry danced around her feet and even her worn-out parents finally wore a smile.

The only thing missing, of course, was her sister.

Then a door opened. Yawned black and gaping. It beckoned her toward it, drew her in. Nora Ray walked toward it, unafraid. She had taken this door before. Sometimes she fell asleep these days just so she could find it again.

Nora Ray stepped inside the shadowy depths-

And in the next instant, she was jerked awake. Her mother stood over her in the darkened room, her hand on her shoulder.

“You were dreaming,” her mother said.

“I saw Mary Lynn,” Nora Ray countered sleepily. “I think she has a friend.”

“Shhh,” her mother told her. “Let her go, baby. It’s only the heat.”

Quantico, Virginia

7:03 A . M .

Temperature: 83 degrees

“GET OUT OF BED.”

“No.”

“Get out of bed!”

“No.”

“Kimberly, it’s seven o’clock. Get up!”

“Can’t make me.”

The voice finally disappeared. Thank God. Kimberly sank blissfully back down into the desperately needed blackness. Then… a bolt of ice-cold water slapped across her face. Kimberly jerked upright in the bed, gasping for breath as she frantically wiped the deluge from her eyes.

Lucy stood beside her, holding an empty water pitcher, and looking unrepentant. “I have a five-year-old son,” she said. “Don’t mess with me.”

Kimberly’s gaze had just fallen on the bedside clock. Seven-ten A.M.

“Aaaagh!” she yelped. She jumped out of bed and looked wildly around the room. She was supposed to be… supposed to do… Okay, get dressed. She bolted for the closet.

“Late night?” Lucy asked with a raised brow as she trailed behind Kimberly. “Let me guess. Physical training or firearms training or both?”