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She left the tall building in the middle of the New Orleans Central Business District. Looked to the left and the right. Her steps were brisk as she turned and began to march down the sidewalk. Alone.

He’d expected her to leave alone. Had expected her to make a solo trip back to her home in the French Quarter. The home behind the tall, thick brick wall that surrounded the residence. Barbed wire and broken bottles sat on top of the wall, as they did on so many of the houses in the Quarter and Garden District. Cameras perched at careful angles near her home, catching sight of anyone who came too close.

Her home was secure. Too secure. So he’d known that if he was going to get to his final girl, he had to plan his attack when she was out in the city.

When she was alone.

When she was vulnerable.

His knife was strapped inside his boot. Such a temptation. Part of him wanted to run up behind her on the busy street. To plunge that blade into her. He could wrap his arms around her, hold her tightly, seem to embrace her. Hell, most of the other people out there wouldn’t even realize what he was doing. He could plunge the knife into her. Kill her. Hold her. Watch the life bleed from her eyes. Make sure he was the last thing she saw in this world.

Oh, but that was what he wanted. The end she deserved.

But he couldn’t.

Too much could go wrong.

Because…

She might fight him. She might scream. One of the damn tourists on the street might try to be a hero. Someone might see the knife before he could kill her.

He just couldn’t risk it.

She had to die. And, unfortunately, it wasn’t going to be the death that she deserved.

He lifted the rifle. Lined up the shot as he closed one eye and gazed through the scope. He pulled in a breath even as his body hunched forward. He’d known the route she’d take going home. He’d had enough time to hunt for this perfect perch.

She waited near the edge of the sidewalk. The trolley was coming through, and she had to let it pass. This was his moment.

I’m sorry, Shelby. You deserved better.

He squeezed the trigger.

Chapter Three

“Shelby!”

She jerked at the sound of her name—the deep, dark rumble—and automatically turned. She took a step forward, moving instinctively to Hunter as he barreled toward her.

And she felt something rip past her arm. No, not past it. Across it. A fast, hot burn. She glanced down, wondering what had happened. A bee sting?

Blood trailed down her arm.

The noise on the street was loud. The trolley chugged forward and groaned and screeched as it stopped. Shelby kept looking at her arm and trying to figure out just why she was bleeding.

Then she hit the cement. Mostly because Hunter had just thrown her to the cement. The impact shook her whole body and, even as she shoved against him, he was pushing her down harder.

“Shot fired!” Hunter bellowed. “Everyone take fucking cover!”

The bystanders around him gaped.

“Someone just fucking shot her!” A roar. “Take. Cover!”

Then…

Chaos. Screams. The people rushed away from the sidewalk. The trolley came to a full stop. The doors whined and popped open.

“Shot fired!” Hunter thundered. “Stay inside!” He glared down at her. “I have to get you to cover.”