“Dean,” his wife begged. “Don’t hurt them. I’ll go with you. We can be together forever.”

“We’ll never get away.” Voss shook Morgan by the hair. Her scalp screamed.

“I’ll tie them up, and we’ll go,” his wife pleaded. “Just you and me. I know you’ll be able to make us disappear. You were right all along. We’re not safe here.”

Voss nodded. “If you mean it, get rid of the cop at the door.”

“Mrs. Voss?” the rookie shouted through the door. “If you don’t open this door, I’m going to break it down.”

“Coming!” his wife called out toward the door as she wiped her palms on her jeans. She lowered her voice. “I’ll get some rope.”

She ran out of the room. Morgan didn’t know whether to expect her to return or not. Mrs. Voss could run right out of the house if she wanted to escape. But she didn’t. She hurried back into the kitchen, a coil of nylon rope in her hand. “Put your hands behind your back,” she said to Lance.

He complied, and she tied his wrists. Morgan’s racing pulse echoed in her ears. She couldn’t allow her own wrists to be tied. They’d all be at Voss’s mercy.

“Zip ties would have worked better,” Voss said. “And take her weapon.”

Damn. He’d spotted her gun under her jacket.

“I couldn’t find zip ties.” His wife tied a knot. She moved a chair behind Lance, and he sat while she bound his ankles to the chair legs. “This will hold them long enough.” She took Lance’s gun from his holster, then moved on to Morgan’s. “What should I do with the guns?”

“Give them to me,” Voss said.

Once Lance was tied, Voss set the rifle down on the counter and tucked Morgan’s gun into his waistband. He brought Morgan to a second chair. She had to act now. She wasn’t going to get another chance. But it had been years since she’d practiced physical self-defense. Would she do it correctly? If she didn’t . . .

Before he could force her into the chair, she slapped her hands on the top of her head, crushing the fingers entwined in her hair. Pinning his hand to her scalp, she dropped to her knees and bowed her head toward his knees, bending his hand backward. Bone crunched as his wrist broke. His useless fingers released her. He reached for her with his other hand.

No! She wouldn’t allow him to get a fresh hold on her.

She scrambled a few feet away, fear tightening around her throat like fingers. Breathing hard, Morgan rolled onto her back and kicked out. Voss jumped out of the way and tried to get around her feet, but she kept her legs drawn up and prepared to fire another kick.

Lance sprang to his feet. Mrs. Voss’s knots must have been all show. Lance dove across the room, tackling Voss around the waist. They landed hard on the floor and rolled in a tangle of limbs, coming to a stop with Lance on top. With a grunt, Voss heaved Lance off him.

“Mrs. Voss. I’m coming in.” The rookie kicked at the door. It didn’t open. He kicked again.

Morgan hoped he’d called for backup. She climbed to her feet and raced for the door. She opened it, and the rookie stumbled inside. He recovered his balance and lifted his drawn handgun. Pointing it at the men on the floor, he shouted, “Freeze.”

Voss jumped to his feet and ran. Lance lunged after him, grabbing his shirt. Voss spun around, his right hand cradled against his body.

Boom!

The gunshot reverberated in the small room. Voss stopped midstride. Lance froze. Morgan’s heart skipped a beat. A red stain bloomed across Voss’s chest. He fell to his knees and swayed for a few long seconds before crashing facedown to the floor.

The rookie didn’t move. His gun was still pointed at Voss. Lance was on his knees beside Voss. “Get me a towel.”

Crying, Mrs. Voss ran to the kitchen and brought a dish towel. Lance put it over the wound on Voss’s chest and applied pressure. “Call for an ambulance.”

The rookie jumped to action. Holstering his weapon, he used his radio to call for assistance.

Morgan’s knees felt like water as she stumbled to Lance’s side. Despite Voss’s attack, she didn’t want him to die. He couldn’t help what he’d done. He wasn’t sane. “How is he?”

“Bleeding way too much.” Lance said. “I need another towel.”

Mrs. Voss brought him a stack. Then she dropped to her knees beside her husband. She grabbed his hand. “Dean? Dean, don’t you give up.”

Lance caught Morgan’s gaze. He shook his head. The bullet had hit Voss in the center of his chest, right over his heart.

Morgan put two fingers to Voss’s neck but felt nothing. “No pulse.”

Lance started CPR and performed chest compressions until the paramedics arrived. Then he stepped back. The paramedics worked on Voss for ten minutes before shaking their heads. “He’s gone.”

Mrs. Voss began to weep. Morgan went to her, putting an arm around the woman’s shoulders.

The next few hours passed in a blur of I can’t believe that just happened. More police arrived. Morgan’s and Lance’s guns were recovered from the scene and kept as evidence until they were cleared by ballistics. Though everyone agreed the rookie had shot Voss, a thorough investigation dotted every I and crossed every T. The police determined that Voss had scaled a tree and broken in through an upstairs window at the back of the house.

Morgan, Lance, and Mrs. Voss went to the police station to give statements. They were separated and put in individual rooms. Numb, Morgan recounted the incident like a robot. She wasn’t even aware that she was shivering until an officer brought her a jacket and a cup of coffee. As the adrenaline faded, her scalp throbbed from her encounter with Voss, but other than a few bruises, she was uninjured.

It was after lunch by the time Morgan emerged from the tiny, windowless room. Lance was waiting for her.

Lance led Morgan out of the station. The sun had emerged while they were inside, and as much as Morgan craved heat, the warmth of its rays felt wrong.

“He shouldn’t have died.” Morgan shivered in the sunlight. She’d given the officer’s jacket back before leaving the station. “He was mentally ill.”

“Do you think he killed Tessa?” Lance opened the Jeep door for her.

Morgan replayed Voss’s words. “I don’t know. He wasn’t any more specific than the first time we encountered him. I’ve no doubt that Voss’s words will help Nick’s case, but I wish we had more.”

“We know Voss had a campsite not far from where Tessa’s body was found. He was suffering from delusions and paranoia.” Lance closed the door, rounded the vehicle, and slid behind the wheel. “Hopefully forensics will be able to tie Voss to the crime scene.”

“Why would he have killed Tessa?” Morgan asked.

“He was delusional. Maybe he thought she was someone else. If he really was falsely accused, he could have mistaken her for Kimmie Blake, the girl who made the accusation.”

“Or, if he really was interested in his female students, maybe he was attracted to Tessa.” Morgan’s phone vibrated. She glanced at the display. “It’s the DA.”

She answered the call.

“Can you come to my office?” he asked.

“Yes.” She looked at Lance. His clothes were stained with Dean Voss’s blood. “Thirty minutes?”

Bryce agreed, and Morgan ended the call.

“What was that about?” Lance drove out of the parking lot.

“Bryce wants to see me.” She checked the time. “Which is interesting because he’s supposed to be in a grand jury hearing in two hours.”

“Do you think he’ll drop the charges?” Lance asked.

“Maybe.” Morgan rubbed her head. Her scalp still stung from Dean Voss’s grip in her hair. “If you drop me back at the office, I’ll get my minivan.”

“Or I could take you to the courthouse.”

“I think I’ll be safe enough there,” she said. “Besides, you need a shower and fresh clothes.”

“Where are you going after the courthouse?” he asked as he drove toward the office.