Death comes for everyone.

Deep in the Florida Everglades, the body of a woman is discovered in pieces, presumably ravaged by an alligator. Upon closer inspection, it’s determined no animal could make such perfectly precise cuts. Only a blade could do that. Wielded by a human. Soon, dozens of oil drums emerge amid the river of grass. Each one packed to the brim with body parts.

FDLE special agent Amy Larson and her partner, FBI special agent Hunter Forrest, share a bad feeling that extends beyond the horrifying nature of the grim discovery. They’ve seen this kind of sadistic killing before, and when a small beige horse is discovered at the bottom of one of the barrels, they know exactly what it means. The fourth horseman of the apocalypse rides a pale horse—and his name is Death.

With so many bodies to identify, connecting one victim to the next is easier said than done. But finding a pattern in the chaos might be the only way Amy and Hunter can zero in on the killer, testing their skills as agents—and their relationship—like never before. And when the disturbing trail of clues signals these slayings are just the beginning, the agents will have to return to where it all started before it’s too late. The apocalypse is coming, and Hunter and Amy have only one chance to stop it, even if it means sacrificing each other.

Revelation 6:8

Rides the Pale Horse

“I looked up and saw a horse whose color was pale green.

Its rider was named Death and his companion was the Grave.

These two were given authority over one fourth of the earth,

to kill with the sword and famine and disease and wild animals.”

Prologue

Aidan

The day was warm and humid, but a slight breeze stirred creating just a slight ripple on the shimmering water and an occasional shimmer among the rich growth of trees and grass. But looking ahead, with the sun also casting dazzling bits of diamond reflections on the water, Aidan Cypress thought about the beauty of the region.

But it didn’t alleviate Aidan Cypress’s sense of dread.

They’d all been waiting.

And now, it was possible the last shoe had dropped.

He had always loved his homeland, the Florida Everglades. There was an incredible sense of peace to be found here and majesty in the great sweeps of trees, hammocks, and sawgrass prairies. Birds soaring high in colors that shamed a rainbow held sway over the skies, and the land and the water offered so much more in nature’s bounty.

Despite the beauty of the great “river of grass,” he knew dangers awaited the unwary and the vulnerable. Alligators basked in the sun on the embankments of the countless streams and ponds that continually moved throughout the tropical wetlands; and the area was home to extremely poisonous coral snakes, eastern diamond backs, pygmy rattlers, and the cottonmouth.

He swatted at his cheek.

Of course, there were the mosquitos and other flying pests like gnats that could make one crazy.

He also knew that once upon a time, it had been this great river of grass that had given his people sanctuary. In the early eighteen hundreds, peoples from Georgia had fled south, Upper Creeks, Lower Creeks, and many other indigenous people. They all became known as Seminoles, or sometimes, Runaways. The Seminole wars raged throughout the early 1800s, and many indigenous people were rounded up and shipped out to reservations in the west. But in the end, approximately six-hundred people survived in the Everglades, never surrendering. Sometimes they were known as the Undefeated, or the Unconquered. Those six hundred or so people eventually thrived and in time separated into their two main language groups, Hitachi speaking and Muscogee speaking. In the mid-nineteenth century, they were finally recognized as the Seminole and Mikasuki tribes of Florida.

Aidan grinned to himself. Times changed. Now, his people were doing well. It didn’t hurt that they’d purchased many of the Hardrock properties, not the least of which was just in Hollywood near tribal offices, a stunning “Guitar” hotel and casino drawing thousands of people from across the world—not to mention of course, the local population who just enjoyed a night or two away to enjoy the pools, the fabulous restaurants, and, of course, the gaming.

He was glad Amy Larson and Hunter Forrest were there right now. A friend of his in casino management had arranged for a very special room for them. They really needed the break. Because the two of them had been on the case from the beginning, following the bizarre killings that had to do with the Book of Revelation—and the coming of the Apocalypse. He’d worked with Amy many times, and he loved her dearly as a friend. He’d met Hunter Forrest when the crucified victims had been displayed just south of here, and he admired the man tremendously.

And with all that they had seen . . .

They deserved a break. One they might have expected to be cut short.

Because they’d all dreaded that despite the monsters taken down so far, more would be out there. And now . . .

He was resigned to the fact this had been bound to happen—the dreaded arrival of the pale horse, and whatever truly lay behind the devastation they’d been fighting.

The Everglades are truly a national treasure of nature, and the very wild beauty of the place invited those who loved the remote and austere elegance of the landscape and also those who wanted to make use of it.

“Pull in here,” he called back to his friend, Jimmy Osceola. They’d taken the flatboat rather than Jimmy’s airboat so Aidan could watch the shoreline. Aidan worked for the FDLE, and he was proud of his expertise in the forensic field. But Jimmy was just a hell of a nice guy who loved people and loved being a tour guide in the Everglades.

Aidan didn’t know what he was going to find if anything. When whoever was really behind the Horsemen cases had begun, the killings had been shown in pure display, victims hanged as if crucified and left to be discovered. Then there had been the ridiculous displays with dead gang members.

But nothing was ever the same. Still, one of Jimmy’s customers had been convinced she’d seen something strange on the embankment; and so, when he’d finished the tour, he’d called Aidan. Even though a worried tourist had seen something that bothered her didn’t necessarily mean there was anything wrong . . .

Except as he somehow knew inside, the fourth horseman was still out there—and whoever was behind it all wanted something. Aidan’s sixth sense warned him the pale horse would waste no time in arriving.

And as he had feared, this tourist had been right—there was something wrong. Very wrong.

Aidan hopped off the boat and walked slowly and carefully toward the flash of pale color he had seen against the intense green of the foliage.

And as he came closer, his heart seemed to freeze, and he hated his own instinct.

There was a hand sticking out from the ground with fingers outstretched as if they’d been reaching, trying desperately to dig out. Except that . . .

As he came nearer, he realized there was no way the hand might dig a body out of a grave.

The hand was attached to a ravaged forearm and nothing more.

A few feet away, half-covered by brush, was a foot with part of an ankle and beyond that . . .

More. More chopped up body parts; body parts belonging to more than one person. This was no leftover or regurgitated meal discarded by a predator. These parts had fallen out of one of the barrels entangled in a stretch of mangrove roots.

Only one barrel had fallen over.

He could see four more barrels. Perhaps there were more barrels in the twisted and tangled undergrowth that proliferated in the area.

Carefully he inched forward; it appeared there was something twisted in the fingers protruding from the grass and roots and fallen leaves.

Slipping on gloves, he reached to keep his distance from the area of the crime scene until the medical examiners, photographers, the rest of his team, and the detectives and agents could arrive.

It was a torn scrap of paper, possibly secured by the person before death, and maybe unnoticed by the killer—or even purposely left to be discovered. He had to be careful with the paper; the elements had already played havoc with the dismembered corpses here.

Naturally, at the same time, his phone was ringing. Caller I.D. showed him Amy Larson, FDLE agent on loan to the FBI for the Horsemen cases, was on the line.

How the hell did she know already?

A sixth sense like his? Or . . .

“Aidan,” she said before he could speak. “Any chatter, any anything? Mickey Hampton called and told me he opened a package at our office; it contained one of those plastic horses.”

“A pale horse,” Aidan said, swallowing. “Pale green, the color of death, of rot and decay. Amy, he’s here. Our fourth ‘Horseman’ is at work already, out here once again in the Everglades.”

“You found a body?” she asked.

Aidan looked around and winced.

“Definitely. Um, more than one.”

“How many?”

“Amy, frankly, I have no idea. I’m just very afraid things may get a whole lot worse before . . . well, hopefully, before we all do our best to stop whatever ‘Apocalypse’ is being planned, and . . .”

He broke off. As he’d spoken, he’d managed at last to read the faint writing on the scrap of paper he’d extricated from the fingers.

“The Reaper Follows,” Aidan said.

“Pardon?” Amy asked.

“Scrap of paper in a hand—”

“A dead man was holding a scrap of paper?”

Aidan shrugged, shaking his head.

“Aidan?” Amy pressed, concerned.

“A hand. Fingers attached to a hand and a forearm. Just get the hell out here, please! I’m pinging you the coordinates. And . . .”

Behind him, he felt a presence; Jimmy Osceola had stepped off the boat. And now Jimmy let out something of a twist between a startled choke and a scream.

“Oh, my God, what--?” Amy began.

“We’re good; Jimmy just saw . . . please, Amy, tell Hunter—all hands-on deck. The Reaper isn’t following; the Reaper is here.”

Chapter 1

Hunter Forrest was grim as he surveyed the scene at the coordinates Aidan had sent.

When the little plastic horse, the “pale horse,” had shown up at FDLE, they’d known the respite was over. Whoever was making use of the biblical warning regarding the Apocalypse and the Four Horsemen who would bring it on wasn’t going to stop until he, she, or they had played their game out to the very end.

They’d circumvented so much of the insanity already, Hunter thought. But now they were playing the finale—the End Game—without knowing what that game was intended to be.

Except, of course, that it would include the deaths of more innocents. As apparently it had already done.

A pale horse—pale green. The color of death and the rot and decay that followed.

Then again . . .

This was the Florida Everglades.

Where one could often find miles and miles—and miles—of nothing but waterways, sawgrass, palms, and more natural flora and fauna. Where Miccosukee and Seminole tribal lands abutted state and federal lands.

There were no security cameras lurking around, just a few gators here and there.

No one to see the pale horse easily dispose of pale, sickly green—dispose of death.

In truth, they were looking at many colors here, mostly green already, but deep green, bright green—colors of life. And apparently these murders had been intended to stay hidden—for a time at least. All in all, they had discovered eight large oil drums filled with body parts. It was going to take a team of medical examiners to put them all together. It was truly horrendous, like a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle, except this puzzle had been created from human body parts.

The strange thing was they hadn’t heard of any mass killings. And by the evidence they had ascertained so far, the victims hadn’t been shot. And since they were in so many pieces, they had been left anywhere from a few days ago to a few weeks ago. None of the medical examiners on site could do more than tell them they couldn’t tell them much until they had time to try to piece the bodies together in a mass autopsy.

But so far, they hadn’t found a bullet in any body part nor had any cartridges been discovered in the area.

“They weren’t killed here,” Amy Larson said.

Hunter turned to look at Amy, his partner and so much more, and wondered if he wasn’t appearing to have a bit of “green” on his own face as she did. Despite the years he had spent in the service of law enforcement, this was one of the most horrendous crime scenes he had ever come across.

Even seasoned medical examiners were looking a bit green.

Just like the fourth “pale” horse.

But Amy stood firmly and grimly, angry and determined. She was a beautiful woman, about five-ten in height, with sweeping, dark auburn hair, and classic features. She usually tied her hair back when working and wore very professional-looking pantsuits—unless law enforcement was making use of her looks in any kind of an undercover operation. But a “professional” appearance took nothing away from her sculpted face or the emerald flash of her eyes.

She turned to him, frowning, one brow arched. “I hate to admit it. but I’m not feeling much like a hardened law enforcement officer at this moment. What? Do I look as . . . queasy as I feel?” she asked him.

“No. The green in your face just enhances the shade of your eyes,” he told her.

“You look a little bit under the weather, too, you know.”

“I’m human. And back to what we’re seeing, I agree, they weren’t killed here. They were murdered elsewhere and dumped here. This isn’t going to be easy. We’re going to need to have identities on these corpses to discover who they were and how they wound up being victims all here at the same site,” he said.

Amy nodded as she looked around, shaking her head. “This is . . . so strange. We were meant to find the bodies eventually, I think. Why else leave a toy horse and note? But to chop human beings up like this and put them in barrels . . . I don’t believe we were supposed to find them quite so quickly. The tourist was concerned because she saw a barrel had fallen over or a predator had knocked it over. And when we did find them, I don’t think the killer wanted us finding out who they were.”

“I agree on that, too. I think you’re right on that,” Hunter said.

“But!” Another voice chimed in.

They turned to see their friend, Aidan Cypress, forensic specialist, coming their way.

“But?” Amy queried, frowning.

“But while we may be missing a few fingers here and there—the wildlife around here does get hungry—we are going to have many. And it’s likely we’ll discover most of the identities between fingerprints and DNA.”

Hunter studied Aidan and said thoughtfully, “We’re on the pale horseman. With each of the others, there has been a leader—except we believe that the leader has been following someone else.”

“The horseman above the other horsemen?” Amy queried.

He nodded. “And I’m wondering . . . okay, what I’m thinking is we’ll have a fourth horseman—but expendable to whoever is really pulling the strings. All these things are meant to cause chaos, just like the four horsemen of the Apocalypse. This is loose, of course, because there are so many interpretations of the Book of Revelation. But bear with me. The first horseman, riding the white horse—seen as Christ himself by many but seen as the Antichrist is later interpretations—came to create war and conquer. The second horseman seated upon the red horse had a great sword and was to go forth and slay men. The third horseman, riding the black horse, was given scales and talked the price of food—and that was interpreted as someone bringing famine. The pale horseman rides along with the grave and brings death and an overall interpretation is the decimation of a quarter of the population. But here’s the thing—we’ve stopped the white, red, and black horse riders. And while they were clever, I’m going to go with either ape-shit crazy or maniacally brainwashed.”

“And you think there’s someone directing all the so-called horsemen,” Amy said. She grimaced. “Someone who isn’t ape-shit crazy.”

“Right,” Hunter agreed.

Aidan was nodding. Hunter arched a brow to him.

“You know, hungry big alligators will eat smaller alligators,” Aidan said thoughtfully.

“What?” Amy asked, frowning.

“I got it. I think we’re all three thinking that maybe . . . this leader of the pack may have been getting rid of baggage, those beneath him doing the dirty work and anyone who failed him or wasn’t towing his line closely enough?” Hunter asked.

“A theory. Possibly,” Aidan said. “A toy horse was sent to the FDLE, and there’s a toy horse here. We may discover that some of these people were failed followers, and some of them are victims who were simply getting in the way or causing trouble.”

“Okay, at the beginning, I was called in on this specifically because of the cult involvement. And let’s face it, we’ve taken down a few sadly deluded people—” Hunter began.

“But this kind of planning isn’t crazy, four horses until the Apocalypse—” Amy said.

“Tells us that there will, yes, be a fourth horseman—and then a someone over for him, someone who has caused all this for a greater plan. And while he or she might have had a few crackpots—conspiracy theorists, whatever—in their employ, I don’t believe the master puppeteer really believes in the Apocalypse or even the Bible or any other religious texts. This elongated path of death and destruction calls for something else, something deliberate,” Hunter theorized. He looked around at the scene again and shook his head. “We’ve all seen the power of a charismatic leader, especially a cult leader, someone who can truly convince others he—or she—knows the way to the afterlife in all good grace. It’s often mindboggling that the human mind can be so twisted and coerced. But brain washing is very real. The puppeteer found people in different stages of loss, confusion, or personal trauma and belief to prey upon. Some are just those who . . .” His voice trailed for a minute.

He knew a lot about cults and was called upon when cult activity was suspected because he’d spent time in a cult as a boy. It had started out for the right reasons—his mother had been infuriated by her rich father’s refusal to help those in need in any way. She had believed she was bringing his father, him, and herself to a better place of kindness and faith.

Only to discover that when rules weren’t obeyed, kindness was the last thing on a cult leader’s mind. And the “cult” concept was being used here. But he believed it was being used for a very specific reason.

“Hunter?” Amy said.

She was worried about him, and he smiled. “I’m just trying to figure out what the end game in all this might be. What could someone want? Everything in this has been the same—death and destruction—but different. Bodies out here, bodies in a cave, gang killings, bodies displayed, and bodies hidden. Why?” He grimaced. “Going back to scores of great minds in our field; when crimes are committed, we look for motive, opportunity, and means. When the Behavioral Analysis Unit got started, they had to take a new look at motive when they dealt with killers like the Son of the Sam—his motive was that a dog told him to kill. They interviewed and studied serial killers, trying to learn the reasons killers would select victims at random, victims who had done nothing to them. Anyway, I think we have both situations going on here—the follower ‘horsemen,’ some of whom do believe in what they’re doing in a cult fashion, and then someone with a definite desire to make something happen.”

“Like what, though?” Aidan asked.

“I don’t know. And figuring that out might be the key,” Hunter said.

They were all quiet for a minute.

“Hey!” Amy said, pointing to the score of officers, agents, forensic experts, and medical examiners carefully searching the area, “we’re not alone in all this.”

“No,” Aidan said grimly. “But still, Amy, you are targeted,” Aidan said. “Amy, the horses are always sent to you or appear wherever you and Hunter may be and then again at a site.”

“Hey, my friend, you’ve been with me at some of the most frightening twists in this thing, but as I said, we’re not alone. I’m always careful. And I have you and Hunter and amazing teams behind me.”

“I know,” Aidan said. “And I know you won’t sensibly back away from this.”

“I can’t,” Amy told him. “And we’re all only safe when we find the truth.”

Hunter nodded. “I did spend time taking classes and working with some of the Behavioral Analysis agents, and I think we might bring someone in on this. I’m trying to put a finger on just who we might be looking for, but we all know that help can be just what we need, too.”

“Well, I admit, I’ve never been able to take any of those classes—trace evidence, blood spatter patterns . . . you name it. But no profiling. But! I think I can tell you a few things, and you can tell me a lot more,” Aidan said. “The Everglades seems to be the prime location so we may be looking for someone who is a Floridian or loves and knows Florida. Or at the least, we’re looking for someone who has really studied the maps and the terrain. And I think it may be someone who even knows where all the boundaries are on tribal land, state land, and federal land. They know many of the waterways, and also where roads come close to waterways.”

Hunter smiled grimly and nodded. “And someone who is a narcissist, convinced of his or her own power, so much so that taunting us along the way brings them extreme pleasure. Clues are spread about, but the real leader of all this is convinced he’s superior to any of our efforts to come close to the truth. Yet, we all believe that while we were supposed to find these bodies, we weren’t supposed to have found them so quickly. I also believe the victims were dead before they were chopped to pieces. The horror of the situation—corpses in pieces, rotting and green—is something that is supposed to disarm us. A barrel fell over. We found these victims a little early. It may help, or it may not.”

“Maybe law enforcement was supposed to have been on edge by the arrival of the ‘pale’ horse at the FDLE office,” Aidan said. “They would be desperately looking but having to take time to find the bodies. If the barrels had all remained tightly sealed, it would have been some time before they were noticed, here, where they are.”

“Still, for now, we wait for forensics and the medical examiners to tell us just who we have here and what clues there might be. I’m going to speak with Assistant Director Garza and find out if he doesn’t have an agent from the BAU he thinks might be able to help on the profiling side. I don’t think these barrels were brought through the roads. It would be a long way through rugged terrain to carry them out here. They were brought through the waterways,” Amy said.

“And here’s the thing—no security cameras are hidden in these trees,” Aidan said. “There’s nothing to catch on video, no facial recognition to be used.” He wrinkled his face and said dryly, “Alligators and even the most beautiful birds don’t make great witnesses.”

“We need to work on the victimology,” Hunter said.

“And we will get names for you,” Aidan vowed.

His friend and co-worker was angry, Hunter thought. And he didn’t blame him. Some people found the Everglades to be a no-man’s land of heat, mosquitoes, and killer creatures. To Aidan, the area was a natural wonder, one that offered exquisite birds, tranquil waterways, and nature, all beautiful and hazardous at its best.

He understood. He wasn’t from the area himself, having endured his own strange childhood. But he knew Amy loved an airboat ride and watching for the various storks to be seen along with the Florida panther, endangered and protected, and yet seen by a lucky few.

He knew such an area—treacherous to the unwary—had been used through the years as a dumping ground, but never on a scale such as this.

“Thanks, Aidan,” he said. “I know you and your team will get whatever there is that can be gotten.”

Aidan nodded and tried to smile. “So, how was the holiday?”

Amy laughed softly. “Not sure you can call so few days a holiday, but wow! Aidan, thank you. It was beautiful, wonderful! Incredible.”

“I’ll get you back there!” Aidan promised.

“Let me add to that. Thank you, thank you, thank you! It was great,” Hunter emphasized. He noticed Amy was frowning, wandering toward something that wasn’t really a trail, but more or less like animal tracks between sawgrass and trees.

“Amy?”

“Be right back!” she promised. “I thought . . . I’m probably wrong. I’ll be right back!”

*

There had been movement.

Of course, there could well be movement. Man wasn’t the only creature to prowl through the Everglades. But . . .

Amy moved carefully, going inland, back toward the road, doubting she was going to stumble upon an alligator this far inland from the water, but it was possible. The danger that might be faced was certainly more likely that of venomous snakes in this area.

And then again, human snakes possibly as well, she thought grimly.

But while the barrels had been there an indeterminate amount of time, they hadn’t been left there in the trees by the water in the last hours or even the last days. Whoever had dumped them there was probably long gone.

And still . . .

She wasn’t sure why whatever she had seen just didn’t seem right. Birds caused leaves and branches to tremble. There were also the usual critters—alligators, snakes, frogs, lizards, and coming increasingly to the north in the Everglades and along the Atlantic coast, crocodiles as well. Deer, rabbits, raccoons, and opossums. Near the water, river otters. In the waters, manatees.

She saw a flash of dark blue through the intense green of the area.

None of the creatures she knew about wore garments in blue.

Someone was there. Someone moving quickly through the trees ahead of her.

She quickened her pace, still moving carefully, aware of patches of sawgrass and watching the ground and low branches for creatures other than man as well.

“FDLE! Stop!” she commanded. She was just feet behind her quarry now.

She stopped. There was no movement. She waited, listening.

Then a man stepped out before her wearing blue jeans and a blue shirt. He was young, perhaps twenty-five, tops, with long, rich dark hair and well-cut features.

He was wielding a gun.

Fine; she had one, too. But she didn’t want to kill this man. He could be the lead they so desperately needed to what had happened here.

“It’s you!” he said, his face filled strangely with recognition, surprise, and pleasure. As if he had just won the jackpot at a casino.

“It’s me?” she said, hoping to keep him talking, to understand him, and to find a way for him to relinquish his weapon.

“I know who you are!”

“And who am I?” she asked.

“The beloved of the antichrist!” he said.

She arched a brow. Not the answer she’d been expecting. But everything about him seemed real; he believed what he was saying.

“Um . . . honestly, I’m not even sure I know the antichrist,” she told him. “And what makes you think I’m his beloved?”

“Because I know you. I’ve seen your picture,” he assured her.

“Where?”

“The Archangel showed it to me,” he assured her. “And it is you. I’m certain. And don’t try anything on me. We were all warned you were beautiful, and you might try to seduce us and dissuade us, but . . . we all know what we must do.”

“Okay, please, I promise you, I don’t know the antichrist. Please, let’s start over. I’m Amy Larson. Who are you and what are you doing out here? I just wanted to talk to you—and you’re aiming a gun at me,” Amy said.

“You don’t know who I am?” he asked, amused.

“No, and that would be why I’m asking you.”

His smile deepened. “Angel.”

“Your name is Angel. Angel . . . what?” she asked.

He started to laugh. “No, you really are blind, aren’t you? I’m an angel, part of all the greater glory that will come!”

“Right,” she murmured. “How about your earthly name?”

He smiled. “Amy, you must pay attention. Petty things of this flesh are unimportant. Take it like this—I am an angel. And I know who you are. And I know what disguise you’ve taken on while here on earth. Yes. You’re Special Agent Amy Larson. Such a hotshot! And you think I won’t shoot you—because you’ll shoot me. Of course, I know you carry a gun. What you don’t understand is I am a messenger angel, and my strength and power come from the pale horse! So you see, I don’t care if you shoot me. Because the greatest award awaits me. Though, to be truthful, I do hope my shot disarms you first, and yours misses me. Because you see, you need to pay for all your sins.”

“My sins? I’m sorry—you want to hurt me, kill me, and I have never killed an innocent, sir. It appears you have been involved in the deaths of many,” Amy said. “Put your weapon down—”

“No, no, no. You are such a fool, bound by stupid laws, created by stupid people. I have merely joined with those who want to see the world for what it should be! Some are ready, so good that the heavens await them. And some must be sent to the pits below! I do what I am commanded by the grace of the Archangel who leads us to our great reward in the hereafter. Not many are selected as I have been!”

He spoke the last almost angrily.

“Well, I don’t think many are as gullible as you are, I’m afraid. Laws protect us all to go about our lives seeking happiness without harming others,” Amy said.

He sniffed and shook his head. “You are so brain-washed.”

“Think about what you’re saying. I’m a friend to the antichrist—”

“You’re his concubine!”

“Trust me, I am no one’s concubine. And I’m begging you. You’re so young! Don’t throw your life away. Put your weapon down and—”

“ Ah, well. I will have done my part! But . . . you were supposed to pay a greater price on this earth. Even you should be able to pay the needed death, suffer in the flesh that you may rise high above with the angels in the beauty that will be! Oh, so many must suffer here, but we are saving them, you idiot, and you are doing all you can to see that so many burn eternally in agony!”

“Drop it!” Came a harsh voice.

She had her gun out in a flash, but it was unnecessary. Amy realized Hunter was with her, just a step behind her. Of course. When she hadn’t returned quickly, he had headed after her. That’s what a good partner would do in any case.

“Drop it, now. I promise you, we both have great aim, and you’ll be dead before your finger twitches,” Hunter said evenly.

To Amy’s astonishment, the man smiled.

“I have tried. I have tried and tried. You know, I might have honored her. Provided the blood and pain and death that would have allowed her peace and beauty. But now . . .”

“Drop the weapon,” Hunter repeated quietly.

The man bowed down, as if to toss his gun on the ground.

But he didn’t. Rather, he aimed the gun at his own head.

“No!” Amy screamed. She had one chance, and she took it as she aimed for the young man’s hand.

The sound of their bullets exploding seemed earth-shattering against the blanket of green that surrounded them. view abbreviated excerpt only...

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