The Ghost broke eye contact and looked over Chris’s shoulder. Presumably at Jamie. Resignation crossed his features. The Ghost’s arm muscles moved under Chris’s hand, and the Ghost’s gun fell to the ground.

Chris released his arm, took a half step back, and struck the Ghost across the face with his gun. His nose exploded in a shower of blood, and the Ghost dropped to his knees with a wail, his hands on his face.

“Chris!” Jamie cried.

Chris stood with his feet planted apart, his gun at his side, staring at the destroyer of his life, gasping deeply. He’d never seen the man grovel at his feet before.

Shoot him.

Do it.

He shook his head.

You have cause. Protect your son.

The Ghost cowered on his knees, blood seeping through his fingers, his shoulders shaking.

Chris swallowed hard and turned away. Jamie stood behind him, her gun still trained on the wretch of a human being. Her hair was tangled and smears of blood covered her body, but she stood strong. She met his gaze, and tears shone at the corners of her eyes.

“You did the right thing.”

Chris wondered.

She started to smile, but her gaze bolted behind him. Her mouth opened.

Chris whirled, raised his gun, and shot.

A mist of blood covered the wall as the Ghostman slumped onto his side, his fingertips on his gun.

Mason had placed one foot on the stairs to the governor’s front door when he heard the gunshot. He didn’t even look at Ray; he simply ran up the steps, pulling out his weapon. “Call for backup!” He hit the front door running.

Locked.

He pounded on the door in frustration. “Police!”

Shit.

He jogged back down the steps and looked up at the big mansion, scanning the windows, wondering where another entrance could be. Ray was on his cell phone, rattling off instructions.

Damn it! They had to check around the side of the home. Mason wished the backup would instantly appear. He jerked his head at Ray and had started to move to the right side of the building when a movement near the front door caught his eye. He stopped. Two wide eyes peered out from a decorative window beside the huge double doors. Mason had already reversed direction back to the doors when he realized it was a child. He lowered his weapon and pulled out his badge to show the child.

The boy vanished.

Mason sprinted up the stairs and pressed his face against the same section of glass and saw a small figure step farther out of his sight. “I’m with the police! I heard the gunshot. Are you hurt?” he hollered at the boy. “Can you open the door?”

The boy stepped back into his line of vision, caution etched in his face. Mason didn’t see any wounds and gave a mental sigh of relief.

“Is everyone okay?”

The boy simply stared at him, and Mason wondered if he could hear. He pressed his badge and ID against the glass. “I’ve called for more police. Can you get the door open?”

The boy still didn’t move. Mason was about to give up and head around the side of the house again when the boy started at something and glanced over his shoulder. A second later, he ran at the door, terror on his face, and Mason could hear him fumbling with the locks.

“He’s letting us in!” he yelled at Ray.

The door opened, and an alarm screeched a warning.

“Jesus Christ.” The sound was worse than a teenager’s car stereo.

The boy shrank back, clearly shaken by the continuous siren.

“Good boy. You did the right thing.”

The kid didn’t look like he believed him, and he put his hands over his ears, his eyes gigantic. Mason wanted to do the same. The squawking split his eardrums.

“Where’s the gunshot? Do you know?” Mason yelled. The boy nodded, spun around, and started to dash away.

“Wait!” Mason grabbed at the boy’s shoulder and tried to lead him out of the house. His first priority was the kid’s safety. The boy fought back.

“My dad’s in there! I can’t leave!”

Mason held tight to the boy’s shirt. “Who’s your dad?”

Ray jogged up the steps, wrapped an arm around the boy’s ribcage, and lifted him up. The boy screamed and kicked as they moved away from the house.

“We’re the police, kid. We’re here to help, and I can’t let you back in where there’re gunshots.” Over the alarm, Ray spoke calmly in the boy’s ear and carried him back to the vehicle. The kid ignored him and proceeded to pound away. On one hand, Mason admired the kid’s smarts for fighting back against strangers; on the other hand, he wanted the kid to shut up and hold still.

“Look in the car,” Ray said to the boy as they neared the car door. “You see all that equipment? We’re police.”

The kid stilled. Ray set him on his feet but kept a firm grip on him.

“That’s better,” Mason said. He squatted down to get on eye level with the boy. Near the car, the alarm sounds were a bit more bearable. “Now, where are the people in the house?”

Dark brown eyes studied Mason. The child was way too serious. “They’re in a dining room. Uncle Michael got shot. He’s bleeding. And my dad was fighting with the ghost. The ghost pushed his gun in my neck.” The boy touched his neck, and Mason saw the red circle. Anger burned in his gut.

“You’re Brian Jacobs,” Mason stated. Ghost? The albino guy? Mr. Tattoo is here?

The boy’s eyes widened, and he nodded. New sirens sounded in the distance. The cavalry was coming. “I want you to stay outside with the other police officers. Ray and I are gonna go get your dad.”