He tried to quiet the little voice inside his head. He remembered all too well that awful night in Cleveland. He’d arrived to find his house engulfed in flames, found his wife and little girls dead inside. It wasn’t until after the autopsy days later that he’d learned they’d been tortured and burned alive.

You’re too late.

“Shut up,” he muttered. “Shut the fuck up!”

A person could bleed to death in a matter of minutes. The thought shook him so completely, he nearly ran off the road. He could feel the fear climbing over him, an ugly lumbering beast that tore him up from the inside out.

Too late. Too late . . .

The Tahoe fishtailed on the wet asphalt as he turned into the gravel lane of the Zook farm. The SUV kicked up stones and bounced over ruts. The farmhouse loomed into view. The place was pitch black. No vehicles. No lights on inside.

Where the hell was her backup?

Tomasetti drove over a sapling tree and through the grass, over the sidewalk. Ten feet from the back door, he hit the brakes hard, and the Tahoe’s tires dug ruts into the soft ground, skidded to a halt.

Throwing open the door, he pulled his weapon and hit the ground running. He knew better than to enter the place alone. He knew he could be walking into a trap. He kicked in the door without knocking. “Police!” he shouted. “Police! Put your fucking hands up now!”

In the dim light slanting through the window, he saw three bodies. A lake-size puddle of blood. The black silhouette of a gun. His heart slammed hard against his ribs when a flicker of lightning revealed Kate. She was lying on her back, stone still. Her eyes were open and for a horrifying moment, he thought she was dead.

Too late. Too late.

The little voice taunted him. He stumbled toward her. Choking sobs squeezed from his throat. A scream of denial rang in his head.

She’s not fucking dead! God wouldn’t do that to me twice in one lifetime.

“Kate!” He dropped to his knees beside her. “Kate!”

Her eyes shifted to his. “Jesus Christ, Tomasetti, it took you long enough. A girl could bleed to death.”

The relief came with such force that for a moment, he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t stop looking at her. Couldn’t stop touching her. He could hear his breaths rushing in and out. His heart hammering in his ears. Too many emotions knocking at his door. All he could think was that she was alive. He hadn’t been too late.

“I ought to wring your neck,” he growled after a moment.

“Now would be a prime opportunity,” she whispered. “I’m in no condition to stop you.”

“Ambulance is on the way.” There was too much blood. Too much pain in her face. It worried him that she wasn’t moving. “You shot?”