Detrick kicks the weapon away. I look up to see him slide the knife from his pocket. He leans over me. I roll onto my back. Raising both legs, I mule kick him. He reels backward, arms flailing. I hear glass shatter, realize I nearly sent him through the window. I flip onto my side and look wildly for the gun. My last chance. My only chance of getting out of this alive.

But the Kimber is nowhere in sight. I squirm frantically in the direction he kicked it. Detrick’s hands come down hard on my shoulders. I twist, try to get into position to kick him again. I see his arm come toward me.

Crack!

Five hundred thousand volts of electricity ignite every nerve ending in my body. Pain wrenches a scream from my throat. My muscles contract. Light explodes inside my head. The next thing I know my cheek is against the floor. Another crack! and my body goes rigid. I feel my eyes roll back. I hear my teeth snap together. I taste blood at the back of my throat. My bladder releases.

Crack!

And the world fades to gray.

CHAPTER 34

LaShonda wasn’t happy about him going out in the storm. Glock didn’t like it either, but he didn’t have a choice. He’d tried Kate’s home phone and her cell and gotten voice mail both times. Considering the weather and Tomasetti’s cryptic call, he was worried.

He knew Kate was despondent about the murders and the loss of her job. Best case scenario, he’d find her at home snuggled up with a bottle of something eighty proof. It wouldn’t be the first time a cop had turned to alcohol for comfort or escape. It was the other possibilities that had him concerned.

He parked on the street in front of her house and squinted through the swirling snow. Usually, she parked in the driveway. Tonight, the driveway stood vacant. He told himself the Mustang was probably in the garage due to the storm. But Glock had been a cop long enough to know when he needed to listen to his gut. This was one of those times.

Wind and snow pelted him as he walked to the garage and looked in the window. Uneasiness rippled through him when he found it empty. At the back door, Glock tried the knob, found it locked. Using his gloved hand, he broke the pane nearest the knob, reached inside and unlocked the door. The house was warm and smelled of coffee. He flipped on the light. “Chief? It’s Glock. You here?”

The wind whipping around the eaves seemed to mock him.

Glock set his hand against the coffeemaker, found it cold. Papers and files and a laptop covered the kitchen table. He glanced down to see handwritten notes. The state police in Indiana. A former detective from Alaska. A newspaper story.

Quickly, he cleared the rest of the house, but Kate was not there. Back in the kitchen, he called Tomasetti. “She’s not home,” he said without preamble.