Standing ahead of me, framed in a doorway, was a young version of Martin. I gaped, almost as if I were seeing a ghost, and then quickly shook my head.
“Easton,” Jean said, his eyes bugged open. “How?”
“Jean Rodriguez, you’re under arrest,” Sloan called out.
Jean took a step toward me. “Stop,” I said.
The other troopers were yelling and moving around. Jean reached into his pants.
“Don’t do it,” I called to him. “You don’t have to do this, Jean.”
It was almost like we were alone in that room. I was standing face to face with the killer that had been haunting me. Worse, it was my past there, too. Jean represented every single failure that had ever happened to me, all wrapped into one.
“Easton,” he said, “I hate you.” There was almost no expression on his face.
“Give yourself up, Jean. Please.” I paused then added, “Think of your dad.”
His face twisted into a mask of rage. “I think about him every day.” He pulled a gun from his pocket.
“Stop,” I yelled, but it was too late.
Jean leveled the gun at me.
An explosion of bullets met him.
I couldn’t tell who had actually hit him, whether it was me or any of the other troopers that had fired. But in the end, Jean’s body crumpled backward, riddled with blooming red bullet wounds. He tumbled down the basement steps.
I moved forward, ignoring Sloan’s warning. I flipped a switch but the light didn’t come on.
I moved carefully down the steps, my gun forward. A beam from a flashlight danced from behind me, probably held by the trooper that was right on my heels.
Jean’s body was gone.
“He’s still alive,” I said.
“Easton!”
I paused, recognizing the voice. “Laney?”
“I’m here!”
I ran down the steps, two at a time, hitting the bottom landing and running into the basement.
The trooper couldn’t keep up with me.
I felt the knife first. It slid into my side, slicing into me. I let out a grunt of pain.
“Die,” I heard, a wet whisper from my right.
I pressed my gun against Jean’s head and pulled the trigger. He fell to the ground, not moving.
“Fuck,” I said.
The trooper appeared at my side. “We need an ambulance!” he yelled. “We have a stabbing!”
“Easton!” Laney yelled. “Easton, what’s happening?”
I pushed past the trooper and dropped to my knees. Laney was huddled in a cage, manacles dangling above her head. She stared at me and was unhurt.
“Laney,” I said softly. I could feel the pain, feel the bleeding, but I didn’t care.
I had her. I had her. She was safe and the killer was dead.
Suddenly, the world tilted.
“Easton?” she said, pushing against the bars. “Somebody help!”
“Laney, this was for you.” I smiled at her weakly. I saw black coming into the edges of my vision.
Someone grabbed me before I fell.
My side ached like a mother fucker.
I came to slowly, my eyes blinking awake. I was lying on my back in a bed and there was a beeping sound next to me. The room was lit by harsh fluorescent lights.
“Easton?”
I turned my head with a little effort. Sitting there by my side was a fucking angel.
“Laney.”
She smiled. “Hey. You’re awake.”
“Where the hell am I?”
“You’re in a hospital. You were stabbed.”
I grinned. “Stabbed? So what?” I tried to sit up.
“Not so fast,” she said, smiling. She pushed me back down. “You need to see the doctor first.”
“Are you okay?” I asked her.
She nodded. “He didn’t touch me.”
“Laney, I—”
“Later. Tell me later.”
I reached out and grabbed her hand before she could move away. “I love you.”
She blinked, surprised. “I know that. I love you too. Now talk to the doctor.”
I laughed softly, even though it fucking hurt. “Fine.”
The doctor explained it all pretty succinctly. I had a stab wound to the side, but I was lucky that it hadn’t hit anything vital. I was going to be in a hospital bed for a few days, and in pain for a few weeks, but I was going to be just fine.
I was lucky. I was so damn lucky, but Martin hadn’t been. And neither had his son.
“It’s all over now,” Laney said after the doctor was gone.
“It never should have started.”
“Stop,” she said quickly. “It isn’t your fault. I read the file you have on Jean.”
“Kid had problems, sure, but his dad was handling it.”
“His dad was hiding it. Jean was a walking time bomb for this sort of thing.”