“The cops are coming—so are my team members.” Eric had given his card and number to Mark after they’d talked at the gallery. He’d told Mark to call him if the guy ever saw anything suspicious. “You stay where you are, understand?”

“No, man, no. This is the bastard who’s been tormenting Piper! He’s not getting away! Not like the sonofabitch who killed my sister. It’s not gonna happen again, you understand me? I won’t let him get away again!”

“No, just listen, Mark—”

But the guy had hung up. So much for listening.

Piper jumped from the bed. “Someone is at my gallery?”

“The cops are on the way, so are my team members—”

“So are we! You’re not leaving me behind. We’re going—come on!”

***

“You sonofabitch!” Mark raised the gun he’d taken from his shop. The gun that he kept locked beneath the counter because a guy could never be too careful. The gun felt heavy and cold in his hand, and his fingers were shaking. “Why did you do this? Why did you do this to her?”

Dante Fallon looked up at him, eyes wide, and blood still coming from a wound on his chest. The guy had a knife gripped in his fingers, and he lunged—

Mark’s fingers squeezed the trigger. Just squeezed and squeezed, and Dante jerked back. It looked like he tried to speak, but if he said something, Mark couldn’t hear him over the thunder of the gunfire. He just kept squeezing, Dante kept jerking, and then…

Nothing.

Dante was on the floor. Blood was all around him. Blood had spread to some of the easels nearby. Dante’s chest rose and fell and a wheezing came from him—

Footsteps thundered up the stairs. “Freeze!” A woman’s voice yelled. Then, immediately, “Drop the gun!”

Was he supposed to freeze? Or drop the gun? For a moment, Mark wasn’t sure. He only knew that he’d…

He’d shot a man.

Dante stopped wheezing.

His chest stopped rising and falling.

I killed a man.

“Drop the gun, Mark!” The shout came from the woman. “Now!”

He dropped the gun and, in the next moment, hard hands grabbed him. His arms were pulled behind his back, and he felt metal snap around his wrists. Handcuffs.

Then he was staring into a woman’s dark, deep eyes. A woman he knew. Detective Lopez.

“What did you do?” she whispered.

“He had a knife. He was going to stab me.” Mark licked his lips. “I couldn’t let him get away. Katie’s killer got away. Did you know that?” His voice was rising and falling. To him, it sounded a touch insane.

What must it sound like to the cops?