Tears streamed down the woman’s face. She trembled uncontrollably and clenched her eyes shut.

He squeezed the trigger, and the gun clicked on an empty chamber.

The terrified woman jumped and screamed at the small sound of the hammer falling.

Kruger opened the cylinder again and gave it a spin. This time, he placed the gun against the beautiful young Indian woman’s head.

“What’s your name, my lovely?” he said.

“Gabi Deshpande.”

He ran his fingers through her hair. She didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Her shoulder-length hair was black like obsidian and silky and reminded him of feathers against his skin. She even smelled exotic, like jasmine tea.

Kruger wrapped his massive hand around her neck and lifted her slender body from the floor. He placed the gun against her head and cocked back the hammer.

“Ask your boss very nicely, very sweetly if he will put aside his own ego in order to save your life. Mr. Yarborough doesn’t believe that I would kill every one of you, but he doesn’t know me very well.”

The young beauty could only release a strained choking sound from her constricted throat. He squeezed tighter to ring out another choked gasp from her and make her eyes bulge.

The door didn’t open, and Yarborough didn’t say a word.

Kruger pulled the trigger.

Everyone except for Kruger jumped. Gabi shook with fear and looked like she could pass out at any moment.

Dropping Gabi to the floor, he stuck the gun to the white-haired woman’s head and cocked back the hammer. He didn’t even bother to spin the cylinder this time.

He met Yarborough’s gaze. “You’re going to open the door. It’s an inevitability that you would be better off accepting.”

Quentin Yarborough’s eyes bored a hole right through Kruger’s skull, but with a snarl of disgust falling across his lined and pale features, the facility’s manager ordered, “Open the door.”

Chapter 9

Assistant Special Agent in Charge Samuel Carter threw the rubber stress ball against the wall of his office. It bounced back, and he caught it. He then repeated this over and over, seeing how many he could catch in a row and how fast. With a sigh, he put the ball away and booted up his computer. On paper, this new promotion had seemed great. But they didn’t tell him how boring it was sitting in the office all day. He was a field agent. He wasn’t built to sit on his ass, filing requisition forms and conducting performance reviews. Sam Carter should have been out there on the streets, investigating and catching bad guys.

When his phone rang, he snatched up the receiver like it was a low-hanging branch and he was drowning in quick sand. He could see from the indicator light that it was his secretary. “Hello.”

“Sir, three gunmen in Henderson took over the GoBox building and have hostages. The locals are requesting FBI assistance.”

“SWAT?”

“No, that’s the strange thing. The hostage takers specifically demanded an FBI SSA or higher. I was calling to find out who you want to send.”