Page 33 of Shattered Truth (Off The Grid: FBI #15)

"Who's everyone?" Matt asked.

"Henry, Trent, Drew, Jill…others… Look, I'm not like them. I'm not as rich or as powerful as they are. Jill is my employer. I get paid a salary. I don't have access to the company's finances or Jill's private plans. I just plan events, that's it."

"That's not it," she said. "You stole something from my brother, and you played a part of his death, even if you don't want to say it."

Brooke's face paled. "I can't do this. I have a lawyer. If you want to speak to me again, you'll have to go through him." As soon as she finished speaking, she ran toward her door and slipped inside, disappearing into the stairwell.

"I think we should go after her, make her keep talking," she told Matt, starting toward the door.

"Hang on," he said, putting a hand on her arm. "You know when a subject is done talking, Haley. You're a journalist. You've hit this wall before."

"And it pisses me off every time," she said hotly. She stopped abruptly as a scream pierced the air. "Oh, my God. Is that Brooke?"

They ran into the building and up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Another scream echoed through the stairwell, cut short by what sounded like a crash. Matt pulled his gun as they reached the second-floor landing.

The door to apartment 2B was ajar, hanging off one hinge. Through the opening, she could see overturned furniture and Brooke on the floor, blood pooling beneath her.

A figure in dark clothing and a ski mask was rifling through Brooke's purse when Matt pushed the door fully open, his gun drawn.

"Drop the weapon!" Matt ordered.

The man spun around, a bloody knife in his hand. Instead of complying, he lunged toward Matt with surprising speed. Matt fired once as the man charged, but the attacker was already diving low, and the bullet went high, punching into the wall behind him.

The attacker crashed into Matt before he could fire again, driving him backward into the wall. The impact knocked the gun from Matt's hand, sending it skittering across the floor as both men went down hard. The attacker kept hold of his knife, slashing wildly as they wrestled.

She could see Matt grabbing for the man's wrist, trying to control the blade while the attacker fought to drive it toward his throat. They rolled across the floor, crashing into furniture, both grunting with effort.

The gun . She spotted it near the overturned coffee table, maybe ten feet away. If the attacker broke free from Matt...

She ran for it, dropping to her knees and snatching up the weapon just as the two men barreled into the dining table, sending a lamp and picture frames crashing to the ground. The gun was heavier than she'd expected, and her hands were shaking.

"Haley, get out!" Matt shouted between gritted teeth as he blocked the knife from coming down toward his chest.

But she couldn't leave. Matt was losing ground—the attacker was on top of him now, pressing the blade down with both hands while Matt strained to hold it back. She could see the knife inching closer to Matt's throat.

She sprang up, gripping the gun tight, heart pounding like a drum. She'd never fired a weapon before, and they were moving fast, rolling and struggling. She couldn't pull the trigger. What if she hit Matt?

Matt managed to get his knee up and kicked the attacker off him. The man rolled away and then bolted toward the door.

Matt staggered to his feet and gave chase, blood trickling from where his head had hit the table. "Call 911!" he shouted over his shoulder as he ran after the attacker.

Her fingers shook as she dialed 911. "I need an ambulance at 1247 Westwood Avenue, apartment 2B. A woman's been stabbed. She's bleeding really badly. Please hurry."

The dispatcher told her help was on the way, and she left her phone on as she ran to the kitchen, grabbed dish towels, and then came back to kneel beside Brooke. There were at least two wounds she could see—one in the abdomen, one in her shoulder.

"Brooke, can you hear me?" She pressed the towel against the worst wound, the one in her abdomen. Blood immediately soaked through the fabric. "Help is coming."

Brooke’s eyes flickered open, glossy with pain. "I—I don't want to die," she whispered.

"You're not going to die. Just stay with me." She applied more pressure to the wound, trying to remember basic first aid. "Do you know who attacked you?"

Brooke's head moved slightly—maybe a shake, maybe just a spasm. "Why did this happen? I did everything they asked."

"If you tell me what you know, maybe I can help. The FBI can protect you."

"They're going to..." Brooke's eyes rolled back, then refocused again with effort. "Make so much money. Change…change the world."

"How? How are they going to do that? Brooke, stay with me."

"I wish..." Her voice faded to nothing, her eyes closing.

"Brooke! What do you wish?" She checked for a pulse at Brooke's neck. It was weak but still there. "Don't you dare die on me," she said forcefully.

But Brooke had lost consciousness, her breathing shallow and irregular.

Matt stumbled back through the doorway just as sirens became audible in the distance. His face was pale, blood trickling from a cut on his head.

"Are you okay? Did you get him?" she asked.

"No. He got away," he said in frustration. His gaze moved to Brooke. "How is she doing?"

"It's bad. But she's still breathing." She paused. "You need medical attention, too."

"I'm fine. Just a scratch."

The paramedics burst into the apartment, followed quickly by police. While Matt explained to the officers what was happening, she moved into the kitchen to wash the blood off her hands, the sight of it making her want to vomit.

Within minutes, the medics had loaded Brooke onto a stretcher, her face gray and still.

She really hoped Brooke would survive, but she didn't know if she'd lost too much blood.

"Let me at least clean your cut," she said, grabbing another towel and wetting it before dabbing at the blood on Matt's face.

Luckily, the cut wasn't very deep, and as soon as it stopped dripping blood, he waved her hand away.

"It's fine," he said. "The police will secure and process the scene, so we can go."

She was more than happy to get out of the apartment and away from the blood on the floor, a reminder of what had just happened. After they got into Matt's car, they just sat there for a moment.

"Do you think Jill did this?" she asked. "Brooke told her she was nervous about us. Did we cause that to happen? Did we put a target on Brooke?"

"Brooke put a target on herself when she expressed concern and asked too many questions. I don't know if Jill is behind the attack or if she told someone else who decided Brooke was a liability." He paused. "Did Brooke say anything to you before she passed out?"

"She said they were going to change the world and make a lot of money.

She started to say something else, but she couldn't get the words out before she lost consciousness.

I want to go to the hospital. I know Brooke might be responsible for Landon's death, but she's my last connection to him, and she wanted to say something to me.

If she has more to tell, I need to hear it. "

"Then that's where we'll go," he said as he started the engine and pulled away from the curb.