Every cell inside Mason commanded him to run in and find her.

Instead he sat and sucked on oxygen, knowing he could barely walk and worried that his airway would close off.

The helpful zombie had given the Washington County deputies a description of Scott Heuser and told them Ava had been in the woods, headed toward the corn maze. They’d proceeded cautiously, knowing a fellow officer was inside.

Somewhere.

Did Ava fire the shots?

He didn’t think Scott had a weapon other than the knife. If he’d had a gun, he would have used it on Mason.

Mason stared at the dark trees of the woods. Smoke billowed around them; the light from the fires toward the back cast an orange glow from within. Assorted zombies and actors with fake traumatic injuries milled around the driveway. It was a set for a horror movie. He crumpled his fear for Ava into a ball and gripped it tight, forbidding it to take over his thoughts. She was tough. She was experienced.

She would come back.

Two firemen moved in the shadows at the edge of the woods, a small zombie between them.

His zombie.

He got to his feet, dropping his mask, and the EMT immediately tried to settle him back down. Mason gestured and batted at his hands, pushing him away, and took off. Pain shot from his feet with every step and he was reduced to hobbling. She spotted him and ran forward, shock growing on her face as she focused on his neck.

“Oh, my God,” she started. “Look at—”

He grabbed her and pulled her close, muffling her voice in his shirt. He tried to ask if she was okay, but only grunts came from his mouth. He stepped back, his hands gripping her shoulders as he studied her from head to toe. Dusty ash covered her dark hair and blood dripped from a thin slash on her cheek.

Concern filled her face as she reached to touch his neck, then stopped, fear in her eyes. “You look like . . . like I don’t know what. Someone who’s been strangled and punched in the nose, I guess.”

He chortled, a saliva-filled sound that made her rapidly blink.

“Are you okay?” she asked hesitantly.

He nodded, longing to vocalize his happiness that she was unharmed.

“Can you speak?”

He shook his head as relief overwhelmed him.

“Scott is dead,” she said in a flat voice. “He stabbed a woman and tried to stab me.” Her gaze dropped and he pulled her close again, wishing he could comfort her with words, but knowing she would read his feelings in his touch. He settled for stroking her hair and back.

The world could continue to burn. He no longer cared.

41

Five days later

His neighbor across the street was putting up Christmas lights, fake deer, and an inflatable Santa. Mason watched through his front window and felt a subtle tug to keep up with the Joneses. Lights could wait. Hell, maybe he’d hire someone to do it this year. The thought of climbing a ladder with a broken bone in his foot held no appeal. He’d gotten by with a splint and a pair of crutches that he’d refused to use after the first two hours—they pushed on his broken ribs. His nose and throat had turned all sorts of vibrant colors, with impressive levels of swelling the first few days. Now his tissues were primarily yellow and brown, the swelling almost gone.

He wondered if his voice would ever sound the same. It was rough and raspy. The doctor had told him it could take months to return to normal. Or never return to normal at all.

Ava joked that their matching voices were a sign that they were meant to be together, but Mason didn’t agree. Her low voice was sexy and bluesy; his was horror movie villain material.

A car pulled into his driveway and Zander Wells stepped out. Ava’s footsteps sounded on the wooden staircase behind him and Bingo’s nails announced he was right beside her.

Good homey sounds.

Last Christmas Ava had been in a hospital room, her shoulder permanently damaged by a gunshot. This Christmas would be drama-free—he hoped. Jayne appeared to be settled in her new rehab facility in Costa Rica. Ava was cautiously optimistic. He saw it on her face and heard it in her tone. He hoped three thousand miles was enough distance to keep Jayne’s drama at a minimum. New drama had appeared in the form of someone claiming to be Ava’s father. For now Ava was content to keep him at a distance. David had pressed for a DNA test; Ava wasn’t in a hurry. She still hadn’t accepted that she might have two half siblings.

Mason wasn’t going to push her.

Knowing the truth wouldn’t change who she was.

Bingo pressed against his leg and Ava’s hand slipped into his as she watched Zander come up the walk. “He said he had more news about Scott Heuser.”

Mason didn’t care to ever hear the director’s name again. “I can’t believe I admired that guy.”

Ava said nothing. They’d talked the subject of Scott into the ground. Murderer. Psychopath. Son of a crazy mother. Good program director. It added up to a profile that’d made Special Agent Euzent stay in town for two extra days to dissect the killer’s background.

Halloween night haunted Mason’s dreams. The sensation of falling. The rope around his neck. His hands useless behind him. Ava’s scream. Scott’s eyes.

Sometimes it was fourteen-year-old Scott who pushed him off the platform.

Sometimes his feet never hit the ground.

Sometimes Ava found him hanging hours later.

He squeezed her hand, feeling his palms start to sweat, and hobbled to the front door before Zander could ring the bell.

A wave of brisk outdoor air entered with the FBI agent, and he looked run-down from a grueling week of investigation and cleanup. Ava had taken the week off as her shooting was reviewed, but ASAC Duncan had privately assured her of a positive result. The victim who’d been stabbed in the minutes before she shot Scott had provided clear testimony about the threat Scott posed.