When Spencer pulled up to Jordan’s house, all the lights were glowing bright. She had said she liked to keep the lights on so if she woke up with sight, she would know it.

So why didn’t it feel right?

His phone rang. “Spencer.”

“This is Santiago. I couldn’t find Avery.”

“I’m at Jordan’s house,” Spencer said. “Avery’s car and Jordan’s SUV are in the driveway, but this doesn’t feel right.”

“I’m on my way.” Santiago ended the call.

Out of his car, Spencer settled his hand on his weapon. As he moved toward the front door, he heard Jordan’s anguished cry of pain. Standing back, he unholstered his weapon.

He stepped back and kicked the front door hard with his booted foot. The hinges gave partway. He kicked a second time, and a third, and then the doorframe cracked, and the door fell inside the house.

He saw Jordan on the ground, covered in blood, Rogan Malone straddling her and raising a knife above her as she raked her hand down his cheek. Lying nearby was an unconscious Avery. He drew in a breath, praying he was not too late.

Spencer fired, hitting Rogan in the shoulder. The bullet tore through his body and threw him off balance. He struggled to right himself as he scrambled for the knife.

Jordan rolled to her side, drew her fist back, and struck Rogan. The blow grazed his jaw. Not enough to stop Rogan but enough to distract him.

Spencer fired a second round. This one struck Rogan at center mass in the chest. He stared down at his injury with a mixture of shock and fury. The man fell backward, hitting the floor.

Spencer was on top of him immediately, rolling him to his belly. He unhooked his cuffs and clicked them on Rogan’s wrists.

“She needs to die,” Rogan wheezed.

“Jordan, are you okay?” Spencer asked.

“I’m fine.” Her voice sounded ragged.

Her shirt and pants were covered in blood, and automatically he ran his hands over her body, searching for injuries. “The blood.”

“It’s his.”

Spencer reached for his phone and called for backup.

“I need to get to Avery,” Jordan said. “He hit her. She’s on the floor.”

Jordan tried to rise on wobbly feet and then fell to her knees. Her face tightened with frustration as she fought against her body’s weakness.

Moments like this for any cop passed in painfully slow seconds as they struggled to overcome an injury. “Stay,” he said. “I’ve got this.”

He gently rolled Avery on her back and pressed his fingers to her throat. Her skin felt hot to the touch, and her pulse was weak but present. He pushed open her eyelids and stared into oversize pupils. She was high.

“Avery,” he said. “Can you hear me?”