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“PD’s on their way,” Faith said. “They’ll be five minutes behind us.”

“Sounds good,” Michael replied. He spun the wheel and the massive SUV’s tires screeched as it drifted around the corner.

“Next time we’re taking my car,” Faith said.

“Bold of you to assume that dinosaur can turn any better than my car can.”

“I don’t think Jeep designed this for city streets—God!”

The SUV swayed drunkenly as Michael took another corner. “I’ve done this before, Faith. You know it’ll get us there.”

“It better. He could be planning to kill someone else as we speak.”

“Almost certainly he is. But we’ll get there.”

Tyler Grant lived in Camden in a low-income neighborhood that was nearly abandoned. According to the New Jersey Motor Vehicle Commission, his house was one of only four still occupied in the subdivision. The nearest occupied house was four lots away. That was good. It would allow them to surround his house and give them the freedom to fire their weapons if they needed to.

“Are we waiting for PD when we get there?” Michael asked, careening around another corner.

“What do you think?”

“What I think is that we should wait. What I feel is that we should go in and fold this guy into a pretzel before PD shows up to stop us.”

“Well, I say follow your heart.”

Turk barked affirmatively.

Faith looked out the window at the stars just starting to shine through the lights. Tyler’s murders all occurred in evening but not at night. He should be home. If he wasn’t, it wouldn’t matter. They had the APB out on his vehicle and his description was in the hands of every law enforcement agency in the area, along with the FBI. Unless he turned out to be another Franklin West, it was next to impossible that he would escape them. Even if he was, his reign of terror had most likely ended.

The problem was that it was next to impossible, not impossible. His spree had most likely ended, not ended. She couldn’t accept that uncertainty.

“How long until we get there?” she asked.

“Five minutes,” Michael replied. “Maybe less if people in Camden respect lights and sirens.”

Faith leaned back in her seat and tried to relax. That was impossible, so she sat straight again and thought about their plan. The homes in the neighborhood were old and not in the best shape from what Faith could tell online, but a lot of people in poor neighborhoods had deadbolts and padlocks installed to secure their homes. She’d even seen some homes with bars across the windows and doors to prevent burglary.

She shook her head and forced her worries away. She didn’t need to think about everything that could go wrong but about how to make things go right. If they couldn’t get into his house, they’d just wait for PD. If PD was stalled, they could call in SWAT. Within an hour, they could have fifty officers here with enough weaponry to conquer Fort Bragg.

They would be fine.

Turk nudged her, and she turned to see his brown eyes locked on hers. He showed the same love he always did, but there was nothing gentle in his gaze. He was reassuring her of his commitment to the fight ahead. He was a Marine too, just like her, and the steel in his eyes was the same she had seen in the eyes of her brothers and sisters in combat, the same eyes that stared at her in the mirror every morning.

She smiled and scratched him behind his neck. “You ready to catch a bad guy, Turk?”

Turk barked loudly, and Faith grinned.

“I think that was a yes,” Michael said. “Okay, two minutes out. Do I keep the lights and sirens on or shut them off?”

Faith thought a moment. “Keep them on. I want him to know that it’s over.”

“You got it.”

They reached the house in two minutes, just as Michael promised. There were no lights on inside, and Faith felt a brief flash of panic. If he wasn’t home, then he would have a much better chance of getting away.

“Let’s go in anyway,” Michael said. “He could be in the basement.”

“Does the house have a basement?”

“Let’s find out.” He parked the car and unbuckled his belt. “You and Turk go to the front. I’m going to the back.”

“Sounds good. Leave the lights on so PD can see us.”

“You got it.”

The three agents quickly crossed the yard. The yard was free of the chain link fence that surrounded most houses in the neighborhood, so they covered the distance without fuss. Michael continued to the back while Faith and Turk climbed the steps of the front porch and waited by the door.

She counted to ten to give Michael enough time to reach the back door, then knocked loudly. “Tyler Grant! This is the FBI! Come out now with your hands where I can see them!”

No answer.

That didn’t surprise Faith. No one ever surrendered after the first warning. She knocked again, more forcefully. “Tyler! I’m not playing with you. This is the FBI! You need to come out now with your hands up, or we’re coming in!”

Still no answer.

Well, he had been warned.

She stepped back and squared up to the door. She took a deep breath, then kicked hard. The door shattered inward, splinters flying everywhere. An instant later, she heard another crash as Michael kicked in the back door.

The two of them rushed through the house, weapons and flashlights drawn. The place was eerily silent. An odd, musty odor hung in the air. She would have thought the place would be abandoned if not for the dishes in the sink and the loafers sitting in front of an old recliner in the living room.

They cleared the first floor and quickly moved to the second. The odor was slightly less powerful here, but still present.

More importantly, there was no one on the second floor either. No Tyler, no anyone.

Panic skirted the edges of Faith’s thoughts again, but she fought it down. There could still be a basement.

As though reading her mind, Turk barked and rushed back down the stairs. Faith and Michael rushed after him, calling for Tyler to surrender.

Tyler didn’t reply, but when they found Turk standing in front of a door on the first floor behind the stairs, they knew they had found him. Faith looked at Michael, who nodded once and squared up to the door.

“Turk, come,” Faith called.

When Turk was clear, Michael kicked the door open. Light spilled through, and Faith felt a rush of excitement. He was here!

The three of them rushed down into the basement. Turk ran ahead, barking madly.

When Faith reached the bottom, several answers flooded her mind all at the same time. The first one she expressed was, “Holy shit. It was fugu after all.”

That was the reason for the smell too. She counted eight fish tanks down here, with more than a dozen pufferfish in each tank. They were reasonably clean, but there was only so much you could do about the odor of over a hundred fish in an enclosed space.

Most shocking, however, was the sight of a young woman tied to a water pipe near the back of the basement. She was shaking and weeping, whether with fear or relief, Faith couldn’t tell.

The answer to that question became clear when Turk growled at a shadow in the corner. That shadow stepped forward, brandishing a syringe. Tyler Grant glared at the two agents and snarled. “Damn it! I’m not finished yet!”

Faith and Michael turned their weapons to Tyler, but he quickly closed the distance to the woman bound to the wall and pressed the syringe to her neck.

“I’ll kill her!” he shrieked. “I swear to God, I’ll kill her!”

“You do that, and you’re dead,” Michael assured him. “You know that.”

Tears streamed down the young killer’s face. “Damn it! Not yet! I’m not ready yet!”

Misunderstanding his meaning, Michael said, “You don’t have to go yet. We’re not here to kill you. You put that needle down and come quietly, and I promise you we won’t hurt you.”

“I don’t give a fuck about that,” Tyler spat. “I’m not done! I’m not ready!”

“Tell us why,” Faith interjected, trying to keep him talking. The police would arrive within two minutes. She just needed to keep him occupied until then. “Tell us why you’re doing this.”

“Because they deserve it!” Tyler shouted. He was nearly sobbing now.

“Why do they deserve it? What did they do?”

“They didn’t have to do anything,” Tyler said. “It’s this whole fucking industry. All of them. All of it. It’s stupid. It used to be about food, but it’s not anymore. Now it’s about trends and popularity and cutthroat politics. They don’t know what the hell they’re talking about.”

Faith frowned. “Tyler, I don’t understand. You’re saying they don’t know food? They’re not cooks, Tyler. They just write about food.”

“Yes! And they write bullshit about food. That kind of shit… it weighs on people, you know? They’re murderers just as much as I am!”

“Holy shit,” Michael breathed. “You’re Elijah Grant’s son.”

Tyler nodded.

Faith looked at Michael. He had a strangely sympathetic look on his face. “Okay, Tyler,” he said.

He lowered his weapon and slowly set it on the counter next to one of the fish tanks. Faith frowned, but Michael lifted a hand for calm. “Look, man, I get it. What those critics did to your father was awful. But this woman isn’t one of them.”

“They’re all one of them!”

Michael slowly approached Tyler. Faith bit back the epithet she wanted to release and steadied her aim. Now she understood why Michael got so upset at her whenever she tried something like this. If she didn’t react quickly enough, Tyler could kill Michael. If Michael said the wrong thing, he might kill Gina.

I hope you know what you’re doing, she thought.

“No, they aren’t. Some chefs are hacks and some chefs, like your father, are brilliant. Some writers are evil and others aren’t. This woman didn’t write anything about your father. She didn’t drive him to kill himself. She’s not the one you want.”

“I want all of them!” Tyler insisted. His hands were beginning to shake.

“You can’t have all of them,” Michael said softly. “It’s not right. It’s not what Elijah would want.”

“Fuck you! Don’t say his name! He’s dead! He’s fucking dead!”

“I know,” Michael said. “I know.”

Faith heard shouting, then footfalls as the police rushed down the stairs. Tyler’s eyes flicked up toward the sound and Michael bolted forward. His hands moved like a blur, pushing the syringe up to the ceiling and pinning Tyler against the wall.

Tyler didn’t resist. He went limp in Michael’s arms and dropped the syringe, weeping profusely.

Faith slowly holstered her weapon while the police officers rushed to free the would-be victim. Faith met Michael’s eyes and saw a pained look in them.

She understood that look all too well. They couldn’t really sympathize with someone who would do what Tyler had done.

But they could understand the pain of someone who had lost a father. After all, the line between sanity and insanity was thin indeed.