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But the first person he saw was Colin. On the ground. Unconscious and bleeding from a knife wound to the chest. He ran forward, scared and sick. “Colin? Colin?” he asked anxiously.

His brother made no response, but he was breathing!

With shaking hands, Jake dialed 911 and before the dispatcher could ask him what the nature of his emergency was, he spit out the address and demanded an ambulance, telling her there was one person with a critical knife wound to the chest and possibly more victims. He left the phone on and placed it next to Colin, then he moved in a crouch to the back door.

They were heading into the vineyard, he was half-dragging, half-carrying her. September was heartsick and afraid. She needed to call for help.

She’d managed to pull out the knife blade from the opener, but the pace was too fast and she couldn’t manipulate it to free herself. Maybe when they stopped, she could stab him. An elbow to the nose was another defensive move that could give her a few moments, except her hands were tied and it would be difficult. He had the knife in his free hand and the gun in his pocket.

And then she heard the sirens.

He grabbed a hank of her hair and jerked her head up. She cried out from the pain but he shook her. “What the fuck? What did you do?
What did you do?
”

He threw her down in the dirt and jumped on her. The wine opener popped from her grasp. Her arms felt like they were breaking as he dug in her pocket and ripped out her cell phone.

“You called them!” he screamed.

She felt the opener at the end of her fingers. She worked it closer, pulling the knife blade to her bindings. “I don’t know. I couldn’t call. I didn’t do it,” she babbled.

“Liar.”

He pulled out his blade and cut open her blouse, exposing her bra.

She gazed past him toward the house and the road and seeing her eyes, he jerked his body around as well. She sawed with all her might. The cord was thin but taut.
Puk.
She felt one strand release. Then,
puk, puk.
She was free!

She pulled her arms out just as he turned back. “You!” he cried in outrage, lifting his knife. But she was faster. She swung her arm up in an arc and stabbed him in the lower neck, driving the little knife home, feeling his blade slice into her shoulder at the same time, biting deep.

“Augh!” he cried, reaching upward to the knife.

She pushed him hard with all her strength, toppling him back.

Then she scrambled to her feet and ran.

Jake heard Cargill’s scream of fury and bounded through the front door of the house and across the porch. He was running full speed in the direction of the vineyard as a Jeep slid to a stop on the tarmac of the parking lot followed by more police cars. Gretchen had called the cavalry.

September felt Cargill behind her, ran, tripped, ran some more. He grabbed at her hair, bellowing. She slashed backward and he grabbed her hand and twisted, throwing her down. His eyes blazed with fury and he raised his knife.

She grabbed his wrist, fighting with everything she had. Then suddenly he was pulled off her by strong hands and the knife skittered into the vines.

“I’ll kill you,” Jake’s voice snarled. “You hurt her. I’ll kill you.”

Seeing him, Cargill scrabbled for the gun.

“Jake!” September screamed.

Jake jumped him and they crashed past September. She was trying to get to her feet, trying to help. Footsteps were pounding and then suddenly:

Blam! Blam!

“Oh, God . . .” She got her feet beneath her, her gaze focused on the two men on the ground. Cargill was on top. There was no movement.

Then Gretchen was there, holding her gun on Cargill. September smelled the cordite and realized it was Sandler who’d fired. “Don’t move, motherfucker,” she snarled.

“Jake,” she said brokenly.

Then blood bloomed on the back of Cargill’s shirt in two spreading red pools, and Jake moved from beneath him, working his way free.

As he got to his feet, he murmured, “September . . .” in a scared voice.

She saw the growing red stain on her own shoulder and felt the hot pain beneath it. “I’m okay. I think I’m going to be okay.”

And then her eyes fluttered closed.

Chapter 23

There was something about the smell of a hospital that seemed to permeate everything. September was only half awake during the ambulance ride, and then was put under for the surgery to mend the knife wounds. When she came to, they told her she was remarkably lucky and she felt it, especially when she learned Colin Westerly’s surgery was far more extensive as he’d been stabbed in the chest and suffered a collapsed lung and nicked artery. Jake spent time with her but was beside himself over Colin, and Neela, rescued unhurt except for minor cuts from the trunk of her Impala, couldn’t stop the flow of silent tears until she heard that he was going to be all right.

They wanted to keep September overnight, but she couldn’t bear the thought. She was in a post-op room and told them she wasn’t going to a hospital room, but in the end her decree was overridden.

“You’ve got a nasty neck wound here, too,” she was told by one of the emergency room doctors. “Damn lucky whatever damn near garrotted you didn’t sever your carotids.”

She didn’t tell him that it had done the job Cargill was looking for by choking her to unconsciousness.

Gretchen was the first one to come see September. “Took forever to get done with them,” she said. “Them” were the IAD agents who investigated officer-involved shootings, and as soon as they’d gotten Gretchen’s report she’d come to the hospital. Peter Wharton Cargill had died from his gunshot wounds and Gretchen had been placed on administrative leave as was the policy of the department.

“Wes called,” Gretchen told her. “He wanted to know if he should come to the hospital.”

“I’m going to be out of here by tomorrow,” September said.

“Well, it looks like he might be your new partner until I’m cleared. As soon as you’re ready to go again.”

“I’m ready. And thank you,” September told her, with heartfelt gratitude.

“Save your thanks for your boyfriend,” she said with a smile.

She had thanked Jake, but he’d tried to minimize his part in the Do Unto Others capture. As Gretchen left, he returned to her room.

“Colin’s in ICU,” he said. “But he’s awake. It’s good.”

“I think I could go home,” she said.

He gazed at her tenderly. “You’ve got a bandage wrapped around your neck and your left shoulder is taped across your chest. You look like you’ve been in a war.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Worse,” he said. “Is there any way I can talk you into another profession? I don’t want to sound like your dad, but since we’re going to be living together, I just want to at least be able to vent.”

“I don’t recall agreeing to living together?”

“Oh, I asked you. And you said yes. You don’t remember?”

She gazed into his teasing gray eyes. “Oh, yes . . . maybe I do . . .”

He grinned and she chuckled and it kind of hurt, and when she moaned, he placed a kiss on her forehead and said seriously, “We’re together, you and I.”

She heard the unspoken question. “We’re together.”

His mouth had moved to her lips when she heard an “Ahem” from the doorway. She and Jake both looked around to see Auggie and Liv.

“You get stabbed, on your first big case?” Auggie gave her a look.

“Second big case, sort of. And I was pulled off both of them.”

Liv said with concern, “But you’re feeling okay?”

September slid a look Jake’s way and he threaded his fingers through hers. “I’ll live,” she said with a smile.

“Then I guess you can take the—kinda bad news—we’re here to bring you.”

“What bad news?” September asked, her heart clutching.

“Someone set fire to the house,” Auggie said. “It started in the garage and spread. Dash was there with dear old Dad and he helped contain it before the fire department came.”

Jake inhaled on a sharp breath and September asked, alarmed, “Is everyone all right?”

“Yes,” Liv assured her. “Everyone’s fine.”

Auggie said, “But Rosamund’s lovely green kitchen is a disaster.” He flashed her a grin.

“Wow,” September said.

“Do they know how it started?” Jake asked.

“Looks like arson,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Arson!” She’d expected Auggie to say it was faulty wiring or a gas leak, something along those lines. “Not . . . Dash?”

“Nope,” Auggie assured her. “He was with Dad , and they saw someone running away but they don’t know who.”

“Knock, knock.” September looked around them to see July poke her head in the room, holding up a bottle of Cat’s Paw. “For when you’re better.”

“Did you hear about the fire?” September asked her.

“Just heard from Dad. Guess he’s forgiven me enough to want to keep me informed. What the hell was in those boxes from the storage unit anyway?” she asked with a shake of her head.

“What do you mean?”

“Dad said that’s where the fire started,” July explained. “Someone threw gasoline on them and torched them. My money’s on Rosamund. If she can’t move the boxes out, she’ll just burn ’em up.”

September knew July was being facetious, but she looked from Auggie to Liv to July and then back again to Auggie. They all had the same
I don’t really get it
expression on their faces.

“I’m going to check on Colin again,” Jake told her and she watched him leave, feeling warm inside. Reading her expression, Auggie snorted and then he and Liv took off. July watched them go, then came to perch on September’s bed.

Before she could speak, September asked, “Do you know about May?” She wasn’t sure the word had gotten out past Jake and the Laurelton PD.

“Yeah, I do. Dad talked to Auggie and I guess you had it out with him before you found Peter Cargill.”

“Seems like a long time ago and it’s only been hours,” September realized.

“Hey, little sis,” July said. “After hearing about May, it just made me realize even more that you and I haven’t spent enough time together.”

September was pleased that she felt the same way she did. “Well, we have some Cat’s Paw to get started with.”

July smiled. “I haven’t been completely honest with you, and when I heard you were stabbed I just went bat-shit with worry. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

“Haven’t been honest with me?”

“I’m pregnant. I already went and picked out my little sperms and had the whole procedure. I just was . . . I couldn’t be straight with you at first.”

“July . . .” September felt a rush of emotion. “When are you due?”

“May. If it’s a girl, I think I’ll stick with tradition no matter how lame I think it is.”

September reached out to embrace her, and July carefully returned the hug, not wanting to cause her pain.

“So, who do you really think set fire to the boxes?” September asked her when they’d broken apart and were smiling at each other.

“Stefan,” July said without hesitation. “He’s just too damn weird.”

Epilogue

Stefan Harmak sat in his van outside the mall, his eyes glued to the doorway where the girls would come through. It was raining, finally, a break in the streak of hot weather, and he supposed it was a blessing, but he didn’t want anything to spoil his view of the beautiful girls. Beautiful . . . beautiful girls . . .

His mind drifted while he waited. He’d had to set the fire at the Rafferty house. He’d been sick with fear that his treasures would be found. That stupid cow Rosamund had shipped off all their belongings to the storage unit before he’d been able to retrieve them, and then when Nine had asked about them, Rosamund had brought them back. He was half-relieved that they were somewhere he could get to them, again. Finally. He’d spent endless hours worrying that someone would find them. Then he’d had his opportunity when no one was home and Suma was gone as well, and he’d let himself in with the key he still possessed.

He’d sneaked into the garage from the kitchen, but then Braden and that Dashiell guy had decided to have a meeting at the house, and he’d been trapped in the garage for what felt like hours. He’d gotten scared others would start showing up, so he’d grabbed a can of gasoline that was just sitting there, poured it all over the boxes, and then struck a match to it. The fire had served a dual purpose: it destroyed the evidence and it created a diversion so he could get away.

But he’d lost his treasures. Pictures of Evie naked, when she was about eight. Pictures he’d taken when she was getting ready for the bath. He’d snapped them in a hurry when March and Evie were staying at the house. No one had seen him. No one knew but Evie, and even she wasn’t sure as he’d pretended he was just fooling with the camera. He’d hurried away before anyone realized he’d been in the bathroom after she’d taken her clothes off.

But now, with the way she’d last looked at him at dinner the other night when all he’d tried to do was stroke her hair and touch her, he couldn’t trust that she’d keep her mouth shut if the pictures were found. Everyone would wonder what was up. There was no choice but to steal the photos back, but in the end he’d had to destroy them.

Now, he drew a breath and shuddered. He had to get over his obsession with Evie. She was out of reach to him. But one of these days he was going to find one girl alone, a straggler from the pack. All he had to do was wait.

The mall doors opened and a group of them came out, giggling and walking arm in arm. If he could think of a way to snatch just one, and if he could only be with her a little while . . . just a little while . . . that’s all he would need.

A shadow fell over the side of his window. A woman in a parka. Her face stared at him from beneath the hood. He glared at her through the sheeting rain and when she tapped on his window his heart seized a bit. But she couldn’t know what he was thinking. She couldn’t know.

Pushing the button to lower the window, he glared at her, pissed that rain was falling inside the van.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded, sizing her up. He saw a movement, and then her arm suddenly rose, and he recognized the stun gun just before she pressed it to his neck.