But neither man stopped or even slowed down. How was that possible? Even with bulletproof vests, they should have been staggering.

She was out of bullets but pulled the trigger anyway, unsure what else to do. As the two men advanced on her with their knives lifted high above their heads, she tossed away the gun and assumed a defensive stance, fully aware that it was a futile gesture. The knives came slicing down, hard and fast.

*

With a gasp Jessie sat bolt upright in bed. She was drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. Looking around the room, she saw she was alone. The shutters on the windows were still nailed shut to prevent access. Her bedroom door still had the chair propped under the knob as an extra security precaution. The clock read 1:39 a.m.

There was a soft knock on the door.

“You okay in there, Ms. Hunt?” one of the marshals asked. “I heard a noise.”

“Just a bad dream,” she called out, seeing no reason to lie about what he likely already suspected.

“Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” she said, listening for the familiar creak of the floorboard beneath the carpet as he walked away.

She slid her legs out of bed and sat quietly for a moment, allowing her heart rate and breathing to return to something close to normal. She stood up and headed to the bathroom. A shower was in order, as was a change of the damp sheets.

As she crossed the room, she couldn’t help but wander over to the one window where the shutter was tilted open slightly to allow in a bit of light. She swore she saw the silhouette of someone in the shadows of the trees beyond the pool. Even after assuring herself that it was either a tree trunk or a marshal, she felt unsettled.

Somewhere out there two serial killers were on the loose. And both of them were looking for her. There was no getting around the fact that even in a completely secured safe house with all this protection around, she was a sitting duck.

*

Gabrielle and her date for the night, Carter, arrived back at the house just after 2 a.m. They were both a little drunk and she had to remind him again to keep his voice down so as not to wake up Claire.

They stumbled clumsily through the hall until they got to her bedroom, where they shared a long kiss. Gabby pulled back and gave him her best “come hither” smile. He returned the smile, although not too eagerly. She liked that. He was older—in his late forties—and able to control his enthusiasm better than some of the newly minted tech boys she went out with.

He was good-looking in a distinguished kind of way and reminded her of some of her dad’s friends, the ones who snuck glances at her when they thought she wasn’t looking. He waited for her to resume the kissing. When she held off teasingly to find out how he’d react, he finally spoke.