Friday #Review - Into the Black Nowhere by Meg Gardiner #Thrillers

Series: UNSUB # 2
Format: E-Book, 368 pages
Release Date: January 30, 2018
Publisher: Dutton/Penguin
Source: NetGalley
Genre: Fiction / Thrillers / Suspense

In this exhilarating thriller inspired by real-life serial killer Ted Bundy, FBI profiler Caitlin Hendrix faces off against a charming, merciless serial killer.

In southern Texas, on Saturday nights, women are disappearing. One vanishes from a movie theater. Another is ripped from her car at a stoplight. Another vanishes from her home while checking on her baby. Rookie FBI agent Caitlin Hendrix, newly assigned to the FBI’s elite Behavioral Analysis Unit, fears that a serial killer is roaming the dark roads outside Austin.

Caitlin and the FBI’s serial crime unit discover the first victim’s body in the woods. She’s laid out in a bloodstained, white baby-doll nightgown. A second victim in a white nightie lies deeper in the forest’s darkness. Both bodies are surrounded by Polaroid photos, stuck in the earth like headstones. Each photo pictures a woman in a white negligee, wrists slashed, suicide-style—posed like Snow White awaiting her prince’s kiss.

To track the UNSUB, Caitlin must get inside his mind. How is he selecting these women? Working with a legendary FBI profiler, Caitlin searches for a homology—that elusive point where character and action come together. She profiles a confident, meticulous killer who convinces his victims to lower their guard until he can overpower and take them in plain sight. He then reduces them to objects in a twisted fantasy—dolls for him to possess, control, and ultimately destroy. Caitlin’s profile leads the FBI to focus on one man: a charismatic, successful professional who easily gains people’s trust. But with only circumstantial evidence linking him to the murders, the police allow him to escape. As Saturday night approaches, Caitlin and the FBI enter a desperate game of cat and mouse, racing to capture the cunning predator before he claims more victims.

Story Locale: Texas

Into the Black Nowhere is the second installment in Meg Gardiner's UNSUB series.

Gardiner’s UNSUB series follows rookie FBI profiler Caitlin Hendrix, whose recent brush with a merciless serial killer in California’s Bay Area, has launched her new career hunting down the nation’s most dangerous and notorious serial killers. The UNSUBs, or unknown subjects, at the heart of each installment are inspired by real-life killers—the Zodiac Killer, Ted Bundy, the Babysitter Killer—lending each book a terrifying level of authenticity.

As the story picks up, Caitlin has a new job. She is an agent in training & rookie criminal profiler for the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU). Caitlin is still searching for the man she is calling the Ghost after he severely damaged her hand, left her boyfriend ATF agent Sean Rawlins struggling to live, and then taunted her. He was also accomplice to the serial killer known as the Prophet. Now, we are on to Solace, Texas where 5 women have gone missing without a trace left behind. The latest is the most disturbing of all of them. The killer just walked in and walked out without leaving any clues behind. 

It will be up to Caitlin, Special Agent in Charge CJ Emmerich, and Special Agent Brianne Raines to put the facts together before any more women go missing. If you think there is anything easy about this story and that just because the author reveals who the killer is, this man is devious, clever, intelligent, and above all, arrogant. He gets inside of people's minds. Is he the cat, or the mouse in this game of catch me if you can? 

One of the things that Gardiner does well is get inside her characters heads. Caitlin is remarkably good at knowing things others have missed. Plus, in this story, we actually get the narrative of the killer who, as the summary says, will remind you of Ted Bundy in he is able to walk right up to the woman he wants and take her without any sort of struggle or evidence left behind. The story has a chase will take Caitlin from Texas, all the way to the Pacific Northwest where thrilling the game will be played out in spades.

Like the first book, this book had me from the onset and kept my attention riveted to the action. There's a secondary storyline which I also won't spoil since it leaves a heart wrenching cliffhanger ending that I am too afraid to even talk about for fear of losing my mind. I am also afraid that once Hollywood producers get hold of this story, they will screw it up badly. I don't put much path in book to move adaptations because they don't always come out as the author intended.

1

The cry pierced the walls, ringing through the darkness. Shana Kerber roused and squinted at the clock. Twelve forty five A.M.

Her voice came as a sigh. “Already:”

Shana huddled for a minute under the comforter, clinging wish fully to warmth and sleep. Hush yourself, Jaydee. Please. But the baby’s crying intensified. It was her strong, wide awake, I’m hungry cry.

The night was bitter. Early February, the north wind scouring Texas. It whistled through the cracks in the farmhouse, rattling the doors in their frames. Shana rolled over. The other side of the bed was cool. Brandon wasn’t home yet.

For a few more seconds Shana lay still, aching with fatigue, hoping Jaydee would quiet. But she was crying to beat the band. Ten months old and still up twice a night. Shana’s mom swore things would get easier. She’d been swearing so for months. When, Mom? Please, when?

“Coming, baby,” Shana murmured.

She tossed back the covers, brushed her sleep tangled hair from her face, and slogged out of the bedroom. The hardwood floor creaked beneath her bare feet. Jaydee’s cries grew clearer.

Six feet down the hall, she slowed. The crying wasn’t coming from the nursery.

The house was completely dark. Jaydee was too little to climb out of her crib.

Shana turned on the hall light. The nursery door was open.

A sliver of ice seemed to slide through her chest. At the far end of the hall she could see into the living room. On the sofa, half lit by the hall light, a stranger sat holding her little girl on his lap.

The icy sliver sank through Shana. “What are you doing here?’

”Don’t worry. I’m a friend of your husband.“ The man’s face was in shadow. His voice was soothing-almost warm. ”She was crying. Didn’t want to wake you.“

He seemed completely relaxed. Shana walked slowly to the living room. She glanced out the front window. The moon was full. An SUV was parked outside. A placard hung from the rearview mirror.

”Is that…“ She looked him up and down. ”Army? Are you…“

The baby twisted in the man’s arms. He bounced her. ”She’s quite the little doll.“

He tickled Jaydee and made baby talk. Shana tried harder to see his face. His eyes remained in shadow. Something stopped her from turning on the table lamp.

Is he a friend of Brandon’s?

Shana extended her hands. ”I’ll take her.“

The wind battered the windows. The man’s smile persisted. Though she couldn’t see his eyes, Shana had a gut certainty that he was watching her.

She edged forward. She was eight feet from him. Out of his reach. ”Give Jaydee to me.“

He didn’t.

Her hands were open. ”Please.“

Jaydee twisted in the man’s arms. Her chubby legs pumped like pistons. Shana’s heart thundered. She saw the power in the man’s hands and knew she couldn’t simply charge at him.

The shotgun was under her bed. Five seconds was what it would take to run to the bedroom, grab it, and rush back down the hall. It was a twelve gauge. It was loaded.

And it was useless, because this man was holding her child to his chest. Her breathing caught, like a cloth snagging on a nail.

She inched forward. ”Give her here.“

For a few seconds, he continued bouncing Jaydee. Crying, the little girl reached starfish fingers toward Shana.

”She wants her mama,“ the man said. ”Aww, come here.“

Shana held still, her own arms outstretched. ”Give me my baby.“

The smile stiffened. The man set Jaydee gently beside him on the sofa.

Before Shana could inhale, he lowered his shoulders, gathering himself. He was in motion when the light finally hit his eyes.

The dashboard clock read one thirty A.M. when Brandon Kerber turned into the gravel driveway. The truck bounced over the ruts, stereo blasting Chris Stapleton. Brandon whistled along. His rare Saturday night out had been golden-a Spurs game in San Antonio with friends from his army days. He curved past the stand of cedars and the house came into view.

”What…“

The front door was open.

Brandon gunned the F-150 up to the house. The windows reflected the truck’s headlights like wild eyes. He jumped out. In the wind, the door was banging back against the wall. An acid taste burned his throat. Banging that loud should have woken Shana up. Inside the darkened house, he heard a mournful sound.

Crying.

Brandon rushed in. The living room was cold. The headlights threw his shadow ahead of him on the floor like a blade. The crying kept up. It was the baby.

Jaydee lay huddled on the floor. He scooped her up. ”Shana?“

He hit a light switch. The living room lit up, neat, clean, and empty. Jaydee’s eyes were red rimmed. She was exhausted from sobbing. He pulled her to his chest. Her cries diminished to pathetic hiccups.

”Shana.“

Brandon ran to the bedroom with the baby and flipped on the light. He spun and strode down the hall, looking in the nursery. In the kitchen. The garage. The back porch.

Nothing. Shana was gone.

He stood in the living room, clutching Jaydee, telling himself, She’s here. I just can’t see her.

But the truth closed in on him. Shana had vanished.

She was the fifth.

2

Early morning shadows slashed the road. The sun blazed gold through the pines. Caitlin Hendrix accelerated and swung her Highlander into the grounds of the FBI Academy in Quantico.

Beneath her black winter coat, her credentials were clipped to the left side of her belt. Her Glock 19M was holstered on the right. The text on her phone read, Solace, Texas.

Caitlin got out, and the freezing wind lifted her auburn hair off her shoulders. The Virginia winter constantly reminded her she was an outsider here. She liked it that way. It kept her on her toes.

She buzzed through the door and headed for the Behavioral Analysis Unit.

Suspected serial abductions, the text read.

The people Caitlin passed walked faster than the detectives she’d worked with back at the Alameda Sheriffs Office. They turned corners more crisply. She missed her Bay Area colleagues-missed their pride and camaraderie. But she loved seeing FBI on her creds, with the words Special Agent beneath her name.

Phones rang. Beyond the windows, the blue glass walls of the FBI Laboratory complex reflected the rising sun.

Caitlin approached her desk in BAU 4, where she was currently one of eight agents and analysts assigned to Crimes Against Adults. She said good morning to her colleagues as they arrived. Everyone had received the same text.

The Behavioral Analysis Unit was a department of the FBI’s National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime-a branch of the Critical Incident Response Group. Its mission involved investigating unusual or repetitive violent crimes. Critical incident response meant that when a hot case came to the BAU, it acted, and fast, because time was limited and people were in danger.

Like today.

She barely had time to take off her coat before an office door opened at the far end of the room.

”Don’t get comfortable.“

People looked over. Special Agent in Charge C.J. Emmerich strode toward them.

”Five women have disappeared from Gideon County, Texas, in the last six months. The latest was two nights ago,“ he said. ”The victims have all vanished on a Saturday night. And the period between abductions is diminishing.“

Emmerich’s gaze swept the room and landed on Caitlin.

”Escalation,“ she said.

His nod was brief. ”Commonalities between the abductions indicate that we’re dealing with a single offender. Someone who’s growing bolder, more confident.“

Emmerich was her official mentor as an agent-in training. A legendary profiler, he radiated such self discipline that it unsettled her. Solemn, intense, he attacked cases like a hawk attacks prey. When he swooped in for a kill, his talons were sharp.

”The Gideon County Sheriff’s Office has requested our assistance,“ he said.

His assistant stood and passed out file folders. Caitlin flipped through hers.

Escalation. She scanned the pages in the file, looking for exactly what that word meant in this case.

She was no longer a raw rookie but was still finding her feet as a criminal profiler. She had a cop’s experience and instincts; she was learning to interpret crime scene evidence, forensics, and victimology to build a picture of a perpetrator. Profiling was based on the insight that everything at a crime scene tells a story and reveals something about the criminal. The BAU studied offender behavior to uncover how they thought, predict how they would escalate-and apprehend them before they could put any others in danger.

”The victims have been taken from public places and their own homes,“ Emmerich said. ”No witnesses, and so far, no probative forensic evidence. As the sheriff put it, they simply vanished.“

Vanished. Caitlin’s eye was drawn to the composite sketch pinned above her desk.

White male, late twenties. The sketch caught his slit-eyed stare and casual menace. He had walked past her in a California biker bar. Later, in a dark tunnel, he’d crucified her hand with a nail gun.

The Bureau’s facial recognition software couldn’t identify him. He was the Ghost: a killer, a betrayer, a hiss in the wiring. He had helped the serial killer known as the Prophet murder seven people, including her father.

He’d promised they would meet again. She was waiting for his call.

But that couldn’t rate her attention this morning.

She turned a page in the file folder and saw a photo: a woman in her mid-twenties, only a few years younger than she was. Lively eyes, a self-assured smile, halo gold hair.

Shana Kerber. Caitlin lingered on the photo, wishing she could tell her, Hold on. People are searching for you.

”It’s been twenty nine hours since the latest abduction,“ Emmerich said. ”The locals need us on scene while there’s still a significant chance to find this victim alive. And if we can find her, maybe there’s a chance to save the others.“

He pointed at Caitlin and another agent. Caitlin’s pulse kicked up a beat.

”Grab your go bags. Flight leaves Dulles for Austin at ten thirty."

Amazon | Audible | Barnes & Noble | Kobo

Monday #Review - UNSUB by Meg Gardiner #Mystery #Thriller

Series: UNSUB # 1
Format: Hardcover, 384 pages
Release Date: June 27, 2017
Publisher: Dutton
Source: Library
Genre: Thrillers / Suspense

A riveting psychological thriller inspired by the never-caught Zodiac Killer, about a young detective determined to apprehend the serial murderer who destroyed her family and terrorized a city twenty years earlier.

Caitlin Hendrix has been a Narcotics detective for six months when the killer at the heart of all her childhood nightmares reemerges: the Prophet. An UNSUB—what the FBI calls an unknown subject—the Prophet terrorized the Bay Area in the 1990s and nearly destroyed her father, the lead investigator on the case.

The Prophet’s cryptic messages and mind games drove Detective Mack Hendrix to the brink of madness, and Mack’s failure to solve the series of ritualized murders—eleven seemingly unconnected victims left with the ancient sign for Mercury etched into their flesh—was the final nail in the coffin for a once promising career.

Twenty years later, two bodies are found bearing the haunting signature of the Prophet. Caitlin Hendrix has never escaped the shadow of her father’s failure to protect their city. But now the ruthless madman is killing again and has set his sights on her, threatening to undermine the fragile barrier she rigidly maintains for her own protection, between relentless pursuit and dangerous obsession.

Determined to decipher his twisted messages and stop the carnage, Caitlin ignores her father’s warnings as she draws closer to the killer with each new gruesome murder. Is it a copycat, or can this really be the same Prophet who haunted her childhood? Will Caitlin avoid repeating her father’s mistakes and redeem her family name, or will chasing the Prophet drag her and everyone she loves into the depths of the abyss?

UNSUB is the first installment in author Meg Gardiner's UNSUB series. UNSUB is the start of a new franchise series for author Meg Gardiner. The series features 29-year old Caitlin Hendrix. Caitlin has been a Narcotics Detective in the Alameda Sheriff's Department for the past 6 months. After the discovery of dual murders with familiar signs from the past, Caitlin fears the worse. 20 years ago, The Prophet disappeared without a trace after a 5 year reign of horror that put the everyone in Bay Area on notice that nobody was safe. 

Now, he may be back on the prowl and it will be only a matter of time before the bodies start piling up. At her request, Caitlin is transferred to the Homicide Department under Senior Homicide Sergeant Joe Guthrie to work Cold Cases linked to the Prophet hoping to find any shred of evidence that may have been missed 20 years ago. Unlike the rest of those working on the case, Caitlin has had 20 years of deep seeded memories planted in her head. She can tell you all about the Prophet from memory. 

Caitlin's father Mack was the lead Detective on the original Prophet cases. He spent several frustrating years chasing after The Prophet in the 90's before he disappeared without a trace. Mack may be the best source of material that anyone has to put an end to the Prophet's reign of terror. But, Mack hasn't been the same since the Prophet disappeared after one final run-in with the Prophet. Caitlin, however, knows that he is a tempest and dangerous. She knows that he is brilliant, smart, and the most dangerous adversary anyone has faced. She knows that he will target those she loves if she gets too close solving the case. 

It will be up to Caitlin, Joe Guthrie, Tomas Martinez, and Mary Shanklin to bring an end to the Prophet. What's curious about this story is that the terrifying serial killer at the heart of this book is inspired by the Zodiac Killer, the UNSUB who terrorized California’s Bay Area in the late 1960's before disappearing forever. For those who love authenticity, Gardiner hits it out of the ball part. She really puts the pieces of the puzzle together brilliantly, and one can definitely tell that she has had more than just a passing knowledge of police procedures and how things are done in California.

If you are a fan of TV shows like Criminal Minds, then you should pick up this book and read it. If you love heart pounding, action packed stories that grab your attention right out of the gate and holds it right to the end, then you definitely need to read this story. Caitlin is a character who is absolutely relatable. She is brilliant in a way that doesn't seem as though the author has created a hero who has eyes in the back of her head. She has an understanding for who she is dealing with. She is also human. She makes mistakes. She pushes herself a bit too much, and gets a bit overwhelmed at times. But, that's what I like about her the most. The human aspect that she can fight evil face to face, and still maintain a bit of humanity and feelings for those she is trying to help. 

In future episodes, Caitlin will be joining the FBI as a profiler. I have already requested the sequel from the publisher. I look forward to seeing what Caitlin's journey brings to her in the future. I think this is one series that I will definitely be keeping an eye out for.

1

Equinox

Present Day

Weapon at her side, eyes on the night, Caitlin approached the house. Fog clung to the ground, rolling thick off San Francisco Bay. It hid the stars, their faces, the view beyond.

Silently they climbed the steps to the broad porch. The March chill weeviled down Caitlin’s arms. By the doorbell a faded sticker announced that jesus saves, but Caitlin saw no evidence of it. Not tonight, she thought. Tonight, he didn’t get the call.

They stacked up beside the door. Behind drawn blinds, a television burbled. Intel suggested that six people were inside. But suggested didn’t mean confirmed.

Caitlin’s heart beat hard against her ballistic vest. Beneath it she wore a T-shirt, jeans, and work boots. Her auburn hair was tucked beneath a ball cap. Her nerves were tuned to an ultrahigh frequency, adrenaline crackling through her like static, waiting for the sign.

The raid leader held up a fist. The team stilled.

Rios was an Oakland Police Department sergeant, built like a furnace in black tactical gear. He glanced at them over his shoulder: Oakland Police, San Francisco PD, Alameda County. Caitlin’s vest said sheriff. Her ball cap said narcotics task force. They gave him a thumbs-up.

The moments before, the suspense, always fried her. Anticipation was hell. The hateful uncertainty. The house was two-story, decrepit, secretly humming with danger. Caitlin hugged the stucco wall, SIG Sauer warm in her hand. At her back, a young Alameda sheriff’s deputy named Marston thrummed with apprehension. Come on, she thought. Jesus might not get the call tonight, but we’re here. Let’s move.

Rios raised his semiautomatic rifle and pounded on the door. “Police.”

A dog barked. The TV droned. Rios drew back his arm to pound on the door again.

A gunshot from inside blew splinters across the porch.

The static in Caitlin’s nerves resolved to a clear tone. Here we go.

Inside the house, feet pounded. Men yelled. Rios tested the doorknob. Locked. He signaled the fourth man in the stack, an Oakland cop who held the Little Pig.

Caitlin braced for more gunfire. The Oakland cop, Hillyer, rounded them and aimed the Little Pig at the dead bolt. The scaled-down shotgun was loaded with a breaching round. He fired from an inch away. The dead bolt assembly blew into the house and Hillyer stepped aside. The door yawned open. The Master Key-it worked on any lock.

Rios said, “Go, go.” Rifle to his shoulder, he led the formation in.

The lights were dim, the floor warped. Tight and fluid, they swept into the hall. Rios aimed ahead, then to the right.

“Right clear,” he said.

Caitlin stepped to the left, pistol level. Checked her sector. “Left clear.”

The hall reeked of sulfur and ammonia. At the back of the house, a battering ram smashed open the rear door.

Marston stepped past her, checked his sector. “Clear.”

They closed up behind Rios, left hands on the shoulder of the person in front of them, and advanced to the wide doorway to the living room. Rios pointed. Go. He swung in.

“Drop it,” he yelled.

A gun clattered to the floor.

Caitlin came in behind him. Again she checked her sector. Rios yelled, “Get down,” and peripherally she saw a man drop to his knees. She said, “Left clear.” Rios kicked a handgun away from the suspect and held his rifle on him while Marston and Hillyer swept the room.

“All clear.”

Down the hall, men shouted. Footsteps raced back and forth.

Rios pointed at Caitlin and Marston and put two fingers to his eyes. “Kitchen. Go.”

Caitlin returned to the hall. At the far end, men grabbed stacks of cash and fled with officers in pursuit. She advanced toward the kitchen door, weapon level, finger on the trigger. Her pulse pounded in her ears. The kid, Marston, closed up behind her.

His breath warmed her neck. She was taller than he was, five-ten, and, for the moment, a shield. In another room, someone shouted and slammed into a wall.

“Clear,” an officer shouted.

The stench of ammonia burned her throat. At the threshold she stopped, concealed. Heard nothing from the kitchen. Marston’s hand grabbed her shoulder. She nodded: Ready to clear the room. He squeezed: I’ll be right behind you. They moved together.

She swung through the door with Marston on her heels, peripherally checking the gap between the door and the frame. Vision pulsing, SIG sweeping the room. She immediately stepped out of the doorway. The fatal funnel, path of most bullets.

“Right clear,” she said.

Marston went around her. “Left clear.”

Crusted dishes covered the counter. On the table sat a money scale, colorful currency straps, and a pile of cash. A trail of twenty-dollar bills wafted across the linoleum in the clammy breeze blowing through the window. The screen had been punched out. It looked like a quick getaway.

A shiver climbed Caitlin’s arms. She hated having a doorway behind her. Even though the team had cleared the hall, a door always felt like a hungry mouth at her back.

And the window opened to darkness. To anyone outside, she and Marston were brightly lit targets.

Marston’s knuckles were white on his gun. He was waiting for the all clear.

Beneath the chemical stench hung the reek of sweat. She eyed the darkness outside, a pantry in the corner of the room, and the twenties on the floor. The money didn’t actually lead in a trail to the window.

Marston stepped toward the table. Outside, the dog barked again.

Caitlin raised her left hand, fisted. “Stop…”

The pantry door flew open. A man lunged out.

Shirtless, strung out, he charged toward the table. A butcher knife gleamed in his right hand. Caitlin turned to put him in her sights.

Marston was directly beyond him in her line of fire.

Screeching, the man drove the knife forward.

She launched at him, a flying dive, and tackled him around the chest. He was ripe with sour sweat. Twenties were falling from his pockets. They hit the kitchen table and slid across it. Twitching eyes. Blackened teeth. Clawing hands. She worked the momentum and rolled, flinging him with her to the floor. He shrieked like a smoke alarm.

She flipped him facedown and subdued him with a wristlock, forcing his head into the linoleum, knee shoved against his elbow. Marston stood above her, eyes on his own chest. The knife jutted from his ballistic vest.

Rios came through the door, weapon raised. He stopped at the sight of Marston and of the man thrashing under Caitlin’s grip amid broken dishes and crumpled cash.

Marston pulled the knife from his vest. “All clear.”

Rios lowered his rifle. “The guy pop out of the toaster?”

Caitlin handcuffed the man and pulled him to his feet. “It’s the meth fairy. Tweakerbell.”

Rios’s eyes didn’t match his light tone.

“Under control,” she said.

Marston touched his vest, wincing like his ribs were bruised. Rios told him to bag the knife for evidence and take the suspect into custody. As Marston led him away, Hillyer appeared in the doorway.

“House is clear,” he said.

Caitlin followed Rios into the hall. The yelling and running had stopped. In the living room three men sat cuffed on the floor, backs against the wall. The SFPD officers were counting bags of crystal meth. She holstered her gun and exhaled.

Overhead came a noise. They all tilted their heads to the ceiling.

Rios pointed at Caitlin and Hillyer. “Upstairs. Two bedrooms. Go.”

The tone in her head revved like a firehouse Klaxon. She didn’t ask what the team had missed. She drew her gun again and led Hillyer down the dingy hallway. Her vest felt heavy. So did the SIG Sauer, in a two-handed combat grip. At the foot of the stairs, Hillyer put his hand on her shoulder. Steady. Together they climbed.

Upstairs they cleared the hall and first bedroom. The second bedroom door was half closed. From within came muffled sounds. Caitlin leveled the SIG. Not gonna get surprised again. Gonna be ready.

The sounds intensified. Almost a cry. She and Hillyer stopped outside the door. They had concealment but not cover, not if whoever was inside decided to shoot them through the plywood. She tried to slow her breathing. She nodded, Hillyer squeezed her shoulder, and she flowed through the door, gun aimed at the source of the sound.

“Sheriff. Don’t move.”

The crying intensified. Hillyer slid around her, his weapon swinging.

“Stop. Stop.” She raised a fist. Grabbed Hillyer’s vest. “Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Take your finger off the trigger.” She lowered her gun. “Oh, my God.”

2

Caitlin closed the front door behind her and flipped the dead bolt. Her footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor. A table lamp gave the living room an amber glow. She reached to unhook her duty belt. She couldn’t get her fingers to work the buckle. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists. After a few seconds the shaking eased. She unbuckled the belt and dropped it, clattering, on the coffee table.

Her jeans were torn, her knee swollen where she’d hit the crank-house kitchen floor. Her red hair was disheveled. Beneath her white T-shirt, the scarred bullet hole in her shoulder ached. The world seemed bright and supersonic.

From the back of the house, Shadow came running. Big ears alert, tongue lolling. Caitlin knelt and buried her face in Shadow’s soft exuberance and let the dog lick her face. The tremor in her hands subsided.

She leaned back and looked at Shadow’s bright eyes. “Who’s a good girl?”

The mutt yipped and sat, tail wagging. She was skinny, black with white paws. Caitlin roughed her fur, then groaned to her feet.

She followed Shadow to the kitchen and filled her water bowl. The small house was warm against the foggy night. It was a rental in Rockridge, a Craftsman cottage behind a Father Knows Best picket fence. The Berkeley Hills rose behind it. The neighborhood was crowded, eclectic, heavy with fir trees and spilling ivy-which meant she was safely beyond the fire line. At least until the fire line burned its way downhill to her street.

In her bedroom she cleared her SIG and set it on the dresser. She shucked off her clothes and showered away the eau de meth head and the knots in her shoulders. She was pulling on clean jeans and a T-shirt when she heard a knock on the front door and a key turning in the lock.

She leaned around the doorway and saw Sean Rawlins walking down the hall toward her. She exhaled.

Sean had just come off surveillance, but he didn’t take his eyes off of her. His stride was long and slow, boots clocking on the floor. His dark hair was windblown. His brown eyes were intense. His great-great-grandfather had ridden with the Chiricahua Apache into the Sierra Madre, and Caitlin thought of that look as Sean’s raider stare. The take-no-shit look he gave to suspects and car salesmen. She thought he was the best-looking thing she’d ever seen.

The stare turned to a smile. He held up a bottle of tequila.

She laughed, took the bottle, and tossed back a swallow. Her chest heated. She blew out a breath.

“Perfect.”

She didn’t drink during the week-holidays, Warriors’ championships, and shots fired excepted.

“There’s more,” he said.

“Better be.”

He pulled her along the hall to the kitchen. On the counter sat a brown paper bag from a neighborhood taqueria.

“Praise Jesus,” Caitlin said.

They didn’t bother with plates but stood at the kitchen island bent over their tacos, spilling pico de gallo.

“There’s something else,” he said.

“Did I win the lotto?”

“You made the news.”

His voice, usually cool, took on an edge. He pulled up a video on his phone.

“Last thing I expected to see you carrying out of a crank house was a baby,” he said.

“You never know what’s behind door number three.”

The screen went bright, the late news, and yeah, there she was.

Maybe the Narcotics Task Force had alerted the media about the raid. Maybe reports of gunfire had brought them out. She forgot the food and watched herself at a weird remove.

Coming out the front door of the crank house, cradling a squalling infant. On-screen, she blinked as though caught by surprise. She had been.

When she’d rounded the doorway into the upstairs bedroom at the raid house, she had been that close to firing. She could still feel the pressure of her finger on the trigger as she shouted at the room-and stopped dead.

Seeing the baby, only a few months old, trying to kick her way out from under the ratty blanket heaped on the floor. Window wide, cold air heaving in. Little fists clenched by her red face, chubby legs bicycling. Caitlin had holstered her gun and scooped her up. Stunned.

Just like she looked on the video. Under control, she’d told Rios. Like hell.

“For a little thing, she had a ton of fight in her. I hope that’s a good sign,” she said.

“Always,” Sean said. “Whether you’re twenty inches or five foot ten.”

She gave him an appreciative look, shut off the phone, and caught a view of herself in the window. Eyes too hot. She grabbed the tequila bottle and poured another shot. It burned less than the first.

She wound an arm around Sean’s waist and nodded at the ATF badge that hung on a chain around his neck.

“Off the clock,” she said.

He pulled it over his head and set it on the counter. Then he picked her up and set her on the counter too. She pulled him close. He smelled like soap and the outdoors.

“You got more to bring me tonight?” she said.

He smiled, and it looked like a wicked promise. She laughed. The remnants of her stress evaporated. She kissed him. Then wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him some more. He ran his fingers into her hair, tilted her head back, and kissed her neck.

Headlights swept past the window. She slid off the counter, hanging on to him, and reached to close the shutters. A car door slammed.

They paused. Turned to the window. Outside, an Alameda County sheriff’s car had pulled to the curb.

They looked at each other. A cop car was never a good sign, not even at a cop’s house. A heavy knock sounded.

She opened the door to the cold night.

The plainclothes officer who stood there looked like so many older cops who hung on to the job until somebody told them it was time to retire. Jowls and a slouch. His grim expression said that something was seriously wrong.

“Detective Hendrix. I need you to come with me.”

Amazon | Audible | Barnes & Noble | Kobo