Her gut told her Reid Kruger had pulled the trigger every time.

She wanted to see Kruger’s father try to make that go away.

“From what Saul said, this guy is brutal and dangerous. If he’s hurt Violet Trask . . .”

Becker didn’t answer. They’d both already imagined the worst. Several times.

“How far away are we?”

“Twenty minutes. Depending on the traffic.”

“I’ve tried calling Gianna and Chris. They must be in a cell phone dead spot.”

From his position on the floor, Chris stared at Reid Kruger’s boots. After Reid carried Violet down the ladder, he’d been too close for Chris to crane his neck to see his face. His ankles and wrists were tied tightly; someone had been efficient. His head hurt like a bitch and double vision came and went in waves that nauseated him.

Gianna stood between him and Kruger, arguing about a thumb drive.

Chris was no help. He knew nothing about it, but it sounded like Richard Messina had stolen some private information that could destroy Kruger’s father’s business. Does it really exist? Gianna’s father hadn’t been right in the head. Perhaps he’d made up this storage device to threaten the man who’d ruined his life?

Chris closed his eyes against an avalanche of nausea. What if all these people died because a crazy old man made up a story? What if three more were about to die?

Reid Kruger had left multiple bodies in his wake. Three more would be nothing.

His lids flew open as the ground shook while Kruger took two steps and shoved Violet onto the couch. She flopped on the cushions and fought to keep her balance, her terrified gaze meeting Chris’s. Her hands and feet were still bound, but Reid had ripped the tape from her mouth. Chris twisted his neck and rolled to his side to look up as Kruger stepped closer to Gianna, his weapon inches from her eyes. He took a quick glance down and made eye contact with Chris.

“You! Scarred man! You want to see your woman’s brains turn into a pink mist?” Fury sparked from Kruger’s pale eyes. “Where is it?”

Kruger took a step and kicked Chris in the stomach.

Bright lights exploded in his vision and his lungs refused to let him take a breath.

He wheezed.

Kruger laughed. “I think you’ve been beat on before, scarred man. I know those round marks. I’ve given plenty of them.”

A too-white face from the past rose up in Chris’s mind.

He’s dead. The Ghostman is dead.

Kruger’s accent resonated in his brain. He sounded nothing like the Ghostman. That’s not him. Chris looked over at Violet on the couch, her brown eyes wide in horror. In the depths of her eyes, he saw every child who’d vanished with him but had never returned. The pain in his chest echoed with the memories of torture. Burns, chains, knives. The other children’s voices filled his mind, their names, their faces. He’d sworn never to forget any of them.

Were he, Gianna, and Violet about to join their ranks?

Who would keep alive the memories of the children who’d died?

Had he deceived fate for too long? He should have never survived. Now nature was catching up.

He gagged and his lungs sucked in oxygen. Kruger laughed at his desperate gulps of air. His leg swung back for another kick and Gianna stepped in the way. Her legs tangled with Kruger’s, and he hit her across the face with his weapon. She collapsed to the floor, falling across Chris.

Kruger fired.

Chris felt Gianna’s body heave and jerk at the impact of the shot, and her shriek burned his ears.

“Fuck you all,” Kruger shouted. “I’ll find it!” He strode toward Chris’s tiny kitchen.

Chris twisted his body under Gianna as she shook with silent sobs. He stared as blood soaked through her shirt near her abdomen. The warmth of the liquid touched his arm.

She’s crying; she can’t be dead.

“Gianna! Can you move?” he begged. She pulled into a ball, shaking her head.

Smoke registered in Chris’s senses. Flames rose from his kitchen stove, and he watched Kruger rip the curtains from the kitchen window and add them to the blaze. The flames grew higher. Kruger pulled the top off an old-fashioned oil lamp and threw the oil across the weathered boards of the kitchen wall. He grabbed two more and did the same. The flames followed the new path and eagerly licked the dry wood. Smoke gathered at the peak of the roof and quickly filled the loft.

He turned toward Chris, a silhouette in front of the red-and-yellow fire, but his gaze burned with a cool intensity.

He’s fucking nuts.

Kruger paused and grabbed the last of Chris’s emergency hurricane lamps. He dumped the oil over Gianna and Chris, smiling as the oil soaked into their clothes. Chris flailed as if he could shake the flammable liquid off his body.

This isn’t happening.

Kruger strode to the door and glanced back at the three of them. “Burn in hell.” He opened the door, stepped out into the night, and slammed it shut.

“Gianna!” Chris shouted, shaking her with his body. “Get up!”

She shook her head and burrowed it into his torso, her legs pulled up to her injured abdomen. More of her blood warmed his side. She hadn’t flinched when Kruger flung the oil over them, but Chris was more than aware of it for the both of them. He looked over at Violet, the sound of the growing flames starting to fill the cabin. “Get out! Just get yourself out! Roll if you have to.”

The girl slid awkwardly off the couch and scooted on her butt toward him and Gianna. “Is she going to be okay?” Tears streamed down Violet’s face.