Elliot Mills comes face-to-face with evil in this follow-up to Fair Game and Fair Chance from bestselling author Josh Lanyon
One final game of cat and mouse...
And if Tucker didn’t arrive home…
He parked in the curving drive in front of MacAuley’s place. There was a red Cadillac SRX in front of the garage, but no other cars around.
The flat, hard bang of a gunshot echoing from inside the house stopped him in his tracks—and then he raced the rest of the way up the slick path.
There was no further sound from inside the house.
A couple of very long seconds passed.
Suicide? Not with the front door standing wide-open. Or at least…unlikely.
Elliot found his phone, thumbed in 911, still observing the front door.
Emergency dispatch came on the line and Elliot gave him the details for a Code 2. No lights or sirens. Urgent. The address, the number of shots, a possible active shooter, his name and the name of the likely victim.
He listened intently.
Are you doing this?
But it was a rhetorical question. Of course he was doing it.
He used his free hand to soundlessly push the door wide and cross the threshold to buttonhook into the room, weapon at ready as he made sure no one was hiding behind the door.
He was past the point of entry and now in what was known in tactical training as the “fatal funnel.” If he was careless enough to get shot, Tucker would— No. Christ, don’t think of Tucker.
For the next ten minutes he could not afford to think of anyone or anything but getting through this. It was not the time to start second-guessing himself.
He swept the empty hall with his weapon, then traveled swiftly along the left wall toward the living room, safely reaching the opposite corner.
It did not feel clear though. The house did not feel empty. Elliot’s scalp prickled with tension, and his shirt felt damp beneath the arms. He took a couple of deep breaths. Sticking close to the wall, he moved to the living room doorway and risked a quick glance around the frame. The blinds were partially open, but the rainy light was muted and liquid, creating shadows and the illusion of movement.
Trying to do this on his own was a tactical nightmare.
He made himself focus on the room in front of him while trying to stay alert to his peripheral fields. He could make out indistinct, stationary shapes. Furniture. Potted plants. Blinds.
So far so good. Nobody and nobody.
But his instincts were screaming at him to stay alert, stay sharp. It felt like he had been in the building an hour already. In fact, it was probably no more than a couple of minutes.
His nostrils twitched at the scent of gunpowder…something burning…and blood. Yes, there was no missing that sharp, coppery tang. A lot of blood.
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