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"The shooting was an accident."

"Incompetence, I'd say. But you call it whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Where's my daughter?"

"Poor Kristi. And now, poor Jenna. I won't ask you again, lower your weapons"

Christopher moved toward Dylan, just a step or two. Just enough to let him know that he was unafraid.

"Where is your son?"

The words brought a smile, but Walker said nothing.

Christopher pushed harder. "Are he and Jenna together? If you're here ... and they are off somewhere, doesn't that leave you without the prize?"

A blank look came over Walker's face. "The prize?"

"Your son. All of this is about him. The smuggling of your semen? The babies by Tina and Bonnie. All about your legacy, right."

Walker let out a long insidious laugh. It was the kind of laugh that chills a body to the marrow, Freon in the bloodstream. An evil laugh that had nothing to do with anything being amusing. "For all of your reading about serial killers, all the stupid classes you've taken for your somewhat checkered career, you don't understand me one bit."

"I do" It was Emily this time. "I get you. You're all about control and power. That's why you pick on young girls, trusting women. You like to be in charge, don't you?"

"Ooooh," he said, "I like it when you act smart"

"Don't patronize me, Dylan. I know you. I can see through you. You're nothing but a guy who thinks the world revolves around him. You're a narcissist."

Walker laughed again, this time it was brief like a release of gratification.

"As if that label would sting a little," he said, sitting back. "I'm a narcissist because I look good. People like me. Women like me"

"Not this one," she said. "Now, let's give this up. You can be reunited with your son. I can find my daughter. You can go quietly and safely."

Walker looked confused. It was the first time he'd seemed out of sorts, as though what Emily said finally touched a nerve. Finally she was able to penetrate the facade, the mask.

"You don't get it, do you?" he asked. "You don't understand me like Bonnie did-"

"Before you killed her?" Christopher cut in. The fire crackled and sent embers across the pine floorboards.

Dylan Walker was agitated. The coolness of his demeanor was draining before their eyes. "Like Bonnie did. She was smart. Fat, but smart. Weak, needy, and smart. My favorite combination. She knew I was a mimic. She knew I didn't care one bit about her or anyone. Nick included. I didn't care whether any of them took their last breaths. That made her want me even more" The heinous grin returned, but this time it seemed fake. Practiced. Bravado.

"Where is Jenna Kenyon?" Christopher asked.

Just then, without warning, a shot pierced the small space of the cabin. Almost on instinct, Emily checked her own gun. Had it gone off? Had she pressed the trigger when she hadn't meant to? She wondered if that's what happened years ago with Reynard Tuttle. Had that been a serious misstep or an accident? All of that passed through her mind as the realization came that it was not her gun that had fired and that Dylan Walker had not been shot.

Dylan was standing, having jumped to his feet, his gun in his hand. Smoke curled from its shiny black barrel. Emily heard the sound of a body falling, a heavy thud. She turned.

Christopher Collier was on the floor, blood oozing from his chest. His life draining from his body, one red drop at a time. He was so pale; he looked like one of those Elizabethan courtesans, all white with a gash of red for his mouth. The blood was flowing. In the split second of the shot to the realization that Dylan Walker had shot Christopher, Emily Kenyon let her guard down. She could have fired back at Dylan, but she didn't. She'd been trained to do so. Officer down! Fire back! Stop the shooter! Everything she knew from the police academy failed her. The knowledge was there. The skill, too. But when she learned how to deal with a cop shooter, she hadn't been a mother.

She hadn't needed to know where a serial killer had stashed her daughter. The only link in the chain of evidence to save Jenna was the evil force with the gun pointed at her.

"What did you do?" She dropped to her knees and held Christopher.

His breathing was labored. His handsome face, pallid. "I'm going to be all right," he said. Christopher's voice was soft, but he tried to show confidence.

"Of course you are," Emily answered, not sure who was lying just then. Her? Him? Both of them. She blinked back her tears. "We need to get medical attention here"

"Not so fast" Dylan Walker now stood by the doorway. "Aren't you forgetting something?" He hesitated. "Someone?"

Jenna.

Emily pointed her gun. Walker smiled at her and in doing so, it rushed through her mind that he'd never been handsome in his life. Evil like that never could be. His features were symmetrical, classic, and well proportioned. He'd been likened to a "Greek god" by magazine writers who fantasized for their readers what being with the ultimate bad boy, the King of the Serial Killers, might be like. The sexy mix of danger and good looks. So damned stupid. But just then, he looked hideous, a twisted kind of handsome.

"I'm going to leave just now. You can call 911. Detective Collier just might live. You might be able to find your daughter. You stop me. Shoot me. Whatever's going through your mind right now, isn't going to happen. Because if you stop me, you'll never find her."

Emily knew he was right. She pressed her palm against Collier's heaving chest. She'd stopped the syrupy red blood flow. For now

Walker scanned the room, surveying his work. He seemed so satisfied that it repulsed Emily all the more. As he walked toward the door, red clay particles fell from the soles of his shoes.

"Please," she said, "where is she?"

"In the dark," he said. "Just like Kristi." His gaze was the dead-eyed stare of a shark. "She's alive, for now. But remember poor Kristi ... she waited for someone to find her."

Anger and fear converged. Emily thought she might lose control and just lunge for him. Instead, she pleaded.

"Please"

"Jenna Kenyon. Kristi Cooper. Two peas in a pod. Pretty girls. The kind I like to-"

"Just shut up," she said, finding her voice, breaking his rhythm. If he had meant to hurt her deeply, he'd done so. The wound was deep. "I want my daughter and Christopher needs a doctor. Now."

Dylan stepped backward, once again that dead, cold stare fixed on her like the scope of an assault rifle. "I'm going now. If I stay, your daughter will be just like Kristi, a bag of bones in the dark somewhere. That is, if they ever find her. Remember they've never found Steffi or Brit."

Emily closed her eyes to shut out Dylan's words. When she opened them, she focused on Christopher. She leaned closer. The color of his face was slightly better. She could feel the faint warmth of his breath against her cheek. He wanted to speak, and he fought for it. "Let him go. We'll find her." His voice was a rasp. Emily gently squeezed his hand, telegraphing that she believed him; she trusted him. Despite the gunshot, despite the turmoil of the moment, Christopher Collier was what he'd always been-calm and direct. He lived up to every promise he ever made.

"I hope so," she said, her voice a soft whisper. She brushed his wavy hair with her fingertips. If there was a better man, a stronger and gentler man, she'd never known him in her life. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she tucked her chin down to wipe them from her face.

When she looked up, the door was open, and Dylan Walker was gone.

She punched 9-1-1 on her phone's keypad.

"We're going to be all right," she said as the call went through. "All of us. Walker's not going to get what he wants"

Deep down, she wasn't so sure. She told the dispatcher where she was, and she uttered the words that no cop every wants to say: "There's an officer down .. ." She gripped Chris's hand and told him once more to hang on, help would be there.