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Cole’s hackles raised as he reached for his firearm. Gripping it, he motioned for Jo to get down on the floor.

“Maybe she forgot we were here. That’s me just hoping,” Jo said.

“Not likely. Keep quiet and follow me.” Cole ducked as he crept forward so their heads couldn’t be seen over the partition walls.

“Where are we going?” She whispered the question.

He turned and put his finger to his lips, then continued forward, making his way through this maze of a library, with old-fashioned card-catalog shelves, books, documents, and microfiche.

If he headed for the front door, they could be ambushed.

Where was his backup, Detective Sanders?

Maybe Sanders wasn’t aware of what was going on inside the archive room, or maybe he had been taken out.

Only two egresses were available if they didn’t go out the front.

Three if you counted crashing through one of the windows.

The entire south wall contained windows.

Regardless, any effort to escape was a risk if this was another attack on Jo.

And he couldn’t know that for sure either.

He couldn’t know which exit was being covered. Maybe all of them. He didn’t for one minute believe that the librarian had forgotten them. She would have come back to make sure they had left and had returned the microfiche. Tidied up the workspaces before shutting off the lights and locking up.

At least light from the windows filtered into the room, but it didn’t chase away all the shadows.

Lord , help me get her out of this.

He continued creeping toward the well-lit Exit sign, then pulled her into the shadows to watch quietly, except Jo misstepped and knocked a chair against the counter. His heart hammered at the sound. He braced for a reaction.

Gunfire echoed off the walls, the sound reverberating through his skull. Bullets pinged the partitions, barely missing Jo’s head.

Jo instinctively ducked. Whimpering, gasping for breath, she covered her head and moved to crawl under the desk, but he redirected her, urging her to crouch and rush ahead of him toward the wall and to safety, protecting her with his body.

He handed her his cell, then whispered in a barely audible tone, “Text Sanders that we’re under attack.” Just in case the guy hadn’t heard the shots fired.

As if the man wouldn’t already know, if he was worth the weight of his law enforcement badge. Cole grabbed a couple of pens off the counter and slid them across the floor to the exit to see if he got a reaction.

Nothing.

Merrick—and Cole strongly suspected their murderous stalker was behind this attack—wouldn’t be fooled. Cole needed to get Jo to safety and go on the offense. She handed his cell back and he read the text from Sanders.

I’m coming.

Anger boiled in his gut. Cole weighed his options. Until help arrived, he could wait the gunman out, but anyone entering was in danger. He handed off his additional firearm to Jo and urged her into a dark corner behind a partition. Motioned for her to stay.

Then he turned to face the enemy and hunt their pursuer.

He’d learned to blend in and move quietly during his time in special forces, but he was stalking a man with the same skills.

Today at the library, Cole had taken some time to look into Merrick’s background via his cell.

Merrick had been Army too. He’d found an image showing his unit and showing him shaking hands with an engineer from a military contractor.

And when Jo had found Troy Martin, Cole learned the connection.

A window shattered, allowing blustery, cold wind into the room, along with rain.

The actual archives were back in another room—an environmentally controlled room. But this violation could have a negative effect on the collection. The shattered window was meant to be a distraction, and he zeroed in on finding the shooter.

His skin tingled, alerting him to a presence behind him. He turned to face the muzzle of a gun. Lunging, he thrust the man’s arm upward.

Gunfire resounded.

The bullet meant for him went into the ceiling, then they battled for control of Merrick’s gun, which took all Cole’s focus. Muscles straining, Merrick grunting with the effort, Cole let instinct take over so he could win this. Protect Jo.

But if he killed Jo’s pursuer in this fight, they would get no answers from his dead body. In his peripheral vision, Cole caught sight of Sanders.

Straining to overcome his opponent, he ground out the words “Get. Her. Out...”

“You’re in more danger than she is.” Sanders rushed forward to assist Cole.

The shift in focus was all Merrick needed.

He abandoned the gun, reaching for something else—something faster and just as deadly.

A blade. He thrust the knife at Cole who twisted away, losing his grip on Merrick, though he’d seized the gun.

Still holding his knife, the guy slipped behind the tall shelves and jumped out the shattered window.

Cole ran after him, ignoring Sanders’s shouts.

Sanders could protect Jo.

Cole refused to let the man who posed imminent danger to her escape.

He jumped through the window and landed on the soft earth in a crouch, then sprinted after Merrick in the cold rain.

Merrick raced up the slippery sidewalk, then crossed the busy street.

Cole followed, dodging cars, ignoring honks and cursing shouts.

One vehicle continued forward, blocking his path, and he slid across the hood.

“Sorry!” he shouted, but he couldn’t let the man get away.

He couldn’t let Jo continue to be threatened. Her life endangered. Breathing hard, he sprinted. This guy must have been a sprinter in college or the Olympics. Cole might die trying to keep up with him.

The man approached a drawbridge. Traffic had stopped at the lights. Cyclists and the foot traffic paused too. The drawbridge had already started lifting, but that didn’t deter Merrick.

Would the bridge operator stop the process? Could he? Cole had no idea.

“You can’t make that. You’re not going to make it!” Cole shouted, but he, too, continued forward.

The bridge became unnavigable, and Merrick appeared to only now realize his mistake. He turned to face Cole instead. Brandished his knife. He’d lost his gun at the library.

Cole still had his. “Give it up, man. You’re done. It’s over. Police everywhere are looking for you. I know you’re working for Martin.” He wouldn’t make promises. He wasn’t a lawyer. But bring this guy in, and he could roll on his boss’s crimes.

“You got me all wrong,” Merrick said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

There was that aspect too—he’d been hired to do a job.

But Cole doubted that was the case here, given the connection.

And with the words, vessels were lining up to pass under the drawbridge as it continued lifting.

Cole was no fool, and he started backing down the ever-increasing angle of the lifting drawbridge.

Knife in hand, Merrick suddenly ran toward him. Cole realized that law enforcement vehicles had approached. Officers had accumulated at his back. He lowered his gun.

“Look, put the knife away,” he said. “I don’t want to shoot you. I don’t want either of us to get shot.”

The man suddenly veered toward the rail, surprising Cole with his intention.

“No! Don’t!” Cole shouted.

Merrick jumped over before Cole had even finished shouting.

Oh , for crying out loud.

“You think that’s going to stop me? You’re in for a rude awakening. I’m not afraid of the water.”

But that wasn’t true.

He’d hated it ever since the helicopter crash. He’d hated it after being stranded on the rocks with the king tide coming toward him. The ocean had nearly taken Jo from him. But Merrick had been the one to send her off that ferry.

And Cole would end this.

For Jo.

It was now or never. His cell phone was going off. Text alerts and rings. Yeah, that was about to end.

Cole raced toward the edge, peered down to make sure this wasn’t a suicide jump, then gripped the rail and jumped over too.

Into the darkest fear he’d ever known.