The woman’s gaze widened in panic. “Stay away!” she screamed, scrabbling back. From behind the door, Sampson barked furiously.

The utter terror in her voice stopped me cold, and I looked from the knife in my grip to the bodies laying around. There was a sharp scent of ozone in the damp air, and the scent of blood. Her wrists were bleeding around the duct tape. What had they done to her?

“It’s okay,” I said, dropping the knife and kneeling to be on her level. “I’m one of the good guys.” I am. Really, I am. “Let me get the tape off you.”

“D-Don’t touch me!” she shrilled, her green eyes wide when I reached out.

My hand dropped to my middle. I felt filthy. “Sampson!” I shouted at the door. “Shut the hell up!”

The dog went silent, and my tension eased in the new quiet. The woman’s pupils were huge. “All right,” I said, backing up when tears kept slipping down her cheeks. “I won’t touch you. Just…stay there. I’ll figure this out.”

Leaving the knife within her reach, I searched for a phone to call for reinforcements. Someone’s bowels had let go, and it was starting to stink. The intercom began buzzing again, leading me right to it. It was one of those intercom phone systems, and ticked, I thumbed the circuit open. “Betty, is that you?” I shouted into it, releasing some tension.

“Are you okay down there?” came her worried voice. I could hear the TV on in the background over the music. “I heard screaming.”

“He’s tearing apart that woman,” I said, trying to make my voice lower and winking at the girl. Her whimpering stopped, and her green eyes were wet and beautiful. “Get off the damn phone! And turn the music down, will you?”

“Well, so-o-o-orry,” she muttered. “It sounded like you were in trouble.”

The line clicked, and the buzz of an open phone line hummed out. My gaze went to the woman, who was sniffing loudly. Hope was in her expression and the knife was in her still-bound hands. “Can I get the tape off you now?” I asked, and she shook her head no. But at least she wasn’t screaming. Shaking, I punched in the FIB’s number and Glenn’s extension.

The ringing phone was picked up immediately, and Glenn’s preoccupied “Glenn here” never sounded so good. I sniffed back a tear, wondering where it had come from. I didn’t remember starting to cry. “Hey, hi, Glenn,” I said. “I got Tom to voluntarily admit he was letting Al go to kill me. Even got a motive. Could you come over and pick me up?”

“Rachel?” Glenn gasped. “Where are you? Ivy and Jenks think you’re dead. The entire department does.”