Deadly Fear Page 0,2

instead.

The perp ran into traffic—they always did that. Horns blared as brakes squealed. Luke shook his head. Traffic was stopped now so he lunged after the guy.

Close, so close—he could hear the perp’s ragged breaths—

Luke launched forward, grabbed the idiot, and they slammed onto the street.

Asphalt ripped away the flesh on his arm. He felt the wet flow of blood slide across his skin. The robber bucked beneath him, twisting, kicking, swearing, then turning with a gun—

Luke snapped the perp’s wrist and heard the guy howl. The gun hit the pavement.

“FBI,” he gritted. Drops of blood flew from Luke’s wound and stained his shirt. “Man, you chose the wrong damn convenience store.”

The scream of sirens reached his ears. Finally. In this age of cell phones, he really would have expected one of the shouting folks he’d passed on the street to have punched 911 sooner.

“Fucking bastard asshole, you let me go, you let—”

Luke shifted and pinned the perp beneath him. Glittering green eyes stared up at him from the slits in the ski mask. “Was the fifty bucks worth it, genius?” He ripped away the mask.

A kid stared back at him.

The perps just got younger every day.

Acne spotted the kid’s face—his perfectly smooth face. Not even a hint of facial hair yet. The punk’s blond hair was a dirty mop brushing against his round face.

Jesus, the kid still had baby fat. “What are you? Fifteen?”

“I’ll fucking kill you!” Veins bulged in the kid’s forehead.

Luke sighed. He knew that look. The glassy-eyed stare. The trembling body. The kid was flying high—and wanted to keep flying—which explained the robbery.

The swirling police lights hit Luke’s eyes. Doors slammed. Luke glanced up to see the cops charge at him.

“Stand up and step away!” An order given over a drawn gun.

“Easy.” No sense in anyone getting trigger happy. “I’m with the FBI.”

And this really was one bad morning.

Because Luke knew that before the questions were finished, he’d be late for his new assignment. Late the first day.

Hell of a way to make an impression on his new boss.

When Luke entered the J. Edgar Hoover Building two hours later, scratches covered his arms and blood stained his shirt. But he walked in with his head up and his shoulders back. This wasn’t his first time in the building. Though he’d been stationed in Atlanta, he’d been to the D.C. office a handful of times for different cases. But this time, he wasn’t just a visiting agent.

His palms were dry when he punched the button in the elevator. His gaze locked on the floor indicator lights. Three. Four. Five…

A soft ding, then the doors opened. A long hallway waited. Two branches at the end. One led toward the crime lab. One toward the SSD—Serial Services Division.

The division was still pretty new at the Bureau, and it was one that he knew a few dozen other agents would have killed to get in.

And they’d picked me. He’d busted his ass to get this spot, and now that it was his—try to pry it from my cold, dead hands.

The weight of his gun and holster pressed against his side as he marched down the hallway, then branched to the left. SSD. Luke shoved open the perfectly clear glass door. Phones rang. Voices hummed. Luke took a breath and glanced around, wondering if he’d be able to sneak—

“About time, partner.”

Luke’s gaze shot to the right.

“I was beginning to think you’d bailed on me and—ah…” The guy, tall, lean, with close-cropped black hair, winced and his gray eyes narrowed. “Trouble at home, eh?” There was a hint of laughter beneath the question.

He grunted. “Armed robbery. Had to take a perp down.”

“Showoff.” The agent shook his head even as he extended his hand. “Trying to make the rest of us look bad on your first day? Real bad business, that…”

Luke took the hand, squeezed once, then dropped his hold. “Sorry,” Luke said and cleared his throat. “Maybe next time I’ll let the bad guy get away.”

A smile broke the man’s face. “Name’s Kenton Lake. And Dante, I think it’ll be… interesting having you here.”

Here. The only unit in the Bureau solely dedicated to tracking and trapping serials. Rapists. Killers. Even the serial kidnappers who stalked the streets.

“I’d heard you were a bit… strong-willed when it comes to your work,” Kenton said.

Yeah, and Luke could just imagine where the guy had heard that. But he was pretty sure “strong-willed” hadn’t quite been the adjective used. “I believe in getting the job done.”

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