Samantha gave a soft little whimper in Ilse’s ear. Ilse’s stomach twisted in fury and fear.

The killer was still out there.

Perhaps her client wasn’t so safe after all.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Ilse watched as the old shack swarmed with paramedics and cops. The row of nails and scattered screws had been swept off the road, and multiple squad cars with flashing lights lined the roundabout at the end of the street beneath the watch of the old, dusty farmhouse.

An ambulance sat with its back doors open, as if preparing to embrace the shack. A stretcher had been removed from the back of the white vehicle, and two paramedics were gently situating Samantha, while at the same time checking her vitals and tending to her wound.

Samantha winced against a sudden hiss of disinfectant against the injury, and her fingers groped out, twisting in Ilse’s direction like a child desperate for her mother.

Her eyes were wide with panic, and Ilse hurried over, reaching out and taking the woman’s hand in hers.

“He’s going to find me again,” Samantha whispered. “I know he is. The hospital won’t be safe! He’s coming for me!”

Ilse shushed her softly, giving Sam’s fingers a gentle squeeze. At the same time, though, she didn’t disagree. Instead, she glanced toward the farmhouse, where Agent Sawyer and a couple of other police were going through the building for the third time, searching every nook and cranny.

The scowl of frustration on Sawyer’s rigid, stony features told the tale.

Not so much as a fingerprint.

Ilse ground her teeth in frustration, moving to the side as one of the paramedics strapped an IV bag up to a metal hanger, inserting the IV into Samantha’s arm. She didn’t even seem to notice.

“I’m cursed,” she was murmuring. “Twice now… Twice…” she whimpered.

Ilse just held her hand, unsure what else to say. One of the paramedics said, quietly, “You’re lucky they found you when they did. You might have bled out.”

If he’d meant this to be soothing, it only seemed to send Samantha into another round of hyperventilation. Sam squeezed Ilse’s fingers until they hurt, and Ilse winced against the grip, but kept her hand in her patient’s.

“It’s going to be okay, you’re safe now,” Ilse said, quietly. For her part, she shivered at the paramedic’s words. Maybe the killer hadn’t made a mistake with his shallow cut across Sam’s shoulder, just missing her neck. Maybe he’d intended to leave her like that, in the dark, surrounded by the dead, bleeding out.

She shivered at the sheer horror of it.

“Was it him?” Ilse said, her voice nearly a whisper now. A group of police moved past, banging open the shack’s doors and heading inside. “Did you recognize him?”

Sam whimpered at the question, her eyes scrunched up now, her lips barely parted. The paramedics were beginning to move the stretcher, gently guiding it back toward the open ambulance doors.

Ilse walked alongside, still watching her client.