Abigail Watson never expected to hold a dying woman in her arms, but a cold day in December changed everything. Now, she crouched in an office cubicle as the other woman’s blood pooled at her feet. The faint snick of a door opening captured Abigail’s attention, and her heart stilled.

  Her fate—as well as Bethany’s— hung in the balance. Soft footsteps reverberated on the tile as lightning coursed down Abigail’s spine.

  “You can’t hide from me,” a low voice growled. The sound of a lion hunting his prey. “I'm getting impatient.” Dread coiled in Abigail’s stomach. Her mind raced as she considered the options. Bethany would die if she didn't receive medical assistance soon. Wiping beads of sweat from the younger woman's forehead, Abigail whispered, “I’ll be back.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think they would find me here," the woman's face contorted as she struggled to speak. "This is about Black Orchid. I'm sure of it." Bethany’s wide, frightened eyes bored into Abigail’s.

  “This is not your fault.” What? Bethany wasn't making sense. Abigail hoped her words penetrated the young woman’s heart. She lowered Bethany to the floor and stood on quivering legs. Emerging from behind a partition that separated the cubicles in the far corner of the office, Abigail drew in a sharp breath as her gaze settled on a shadowy figure across the room.

  “I’ll disarm the facility. Just let her go.” Abigail hoped her voice sounded stronger than she felt.

  The man's shadowy outline spun in her direction. “Not a chance. You’re both coming with me.”

  “She needs help. Leave her and I’ll go with you.” Abigail inched away from the corner where Bethany lay. The man chuckled—a low, mirthless sound.

  “Wrong direction, beautiful.” With the lithe movements of an athlete, he closed the space between them and collided against Abigail's frame. The breath rushed from her lungs at the same time a rough arm pulled her flush against his body. The man's free hand pressed hard steel against Abigail's temple. Abigail stiffened as fear coursed down her spine. The bullet lodged in Bethany's back proved this thug meant business.

  “The code,” the man's voice grated in her ear. In one swift and unexpected movement, Bethany's assailant slipped the gun into a back pocket and shoved her against the wall—a hand wrapped around her throat. Stroking the rapid pulse at the base of her neck with his thumb, an eerie smile twisted the man’s features beneath his ghoulish mask. Abigail froze, suppressing the scream swelling in her throat.

  Willing her dry mouth to cooperate despite the man’s nearness, she said, “I d-d-don’t have it memorized, and my phone is somewhere in this mess. Give me a minute. I promise I'll find it.”

  “You’re lying,” the man roared. Abigail’s body tensed as a second hand joined the first. This is your opportunity. Unrecognizable ferocity roared from inside Abigail as anger tore from her lungs. Reaching behind her neck, she twisted her fingers around the attacker's and yanked hard. Howling in pain, he released his grip.

  Catapulting herself toward the entryway of Hagar’s Hope Center, Abigail neared the door. Only a few more steps. She pressed the panic button before a hand twisted in her hair and thrust her to the ground. Scrambling across the floor, Abigail exhaled as the man's weight pinned her to the ground. Breathe. Think.

  "Fine, I'll do what you want. Just don't hurt her," Abigail rasped as she attempted to catch her breath beneath the intruder's considerable weight.

  "What do you know about that bag of lies?"

  "I know she deserves a life free of fear. A life of promise."

  A laugh as sharp as a knife sliced the air between them, "You little fool. Where. Is. The. Code."

  "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  The man’s flinty eyes shone through thin nylon as he kneeled over her and pressed the gun's barrel against her temple. " Liar,” The man's hot breath smelled sweet. Cloying.

  “Help me, God,” Abigail whispered

  “There is no God.” In one swift movement, the pistol connected with Abigail's jaw. She welcomed the darkness.

  FBI Agent Cody Connelly drained a cup of coffee as thick as oil—undeterred by the chaos around him. A body lay concealed by a sheet in the back corner of the room as emergency personnel loaded another victim into an ambulance. Cody steeled himself as he drew the cover back.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Young woman. Mid-to-late twenties. Sandy hair. A familiar black [orchid] positioned vertically on her torso.

  "It's him. I won't let him get away this time,”. Anger roiled in his spirit as he considered the needless loss of life—and his part in it. Ignoring the heat creeping up his neck, Cody followed a thin trail of blood to the main entrance. A shoe's partial impression caught his attention. “I need a crime scene tech over here.”

  Within moments, a woman in Tyvek coveralls joined him. He watched as she expertly lifted the print.

  “Ready in about a week,” she said. “We also got a set of prints from the door to the office.”

  Criminals. They almost always left incriminating evidence. Mute witnesses. But another witness vital to the investigation needed his attention. Perhaps she could shed light on the horrors of the morning and help him eliminate the nagging impression that this crime fed the perp’s desire for more.

  Abigail moaned as the paramedic shone a bright light in her eyes. "I'm alright," she said, shaking her head in an attempt to clear her vision. The room lurched as she pieced together the events of the morning. "Bethany! Where's Bethany?"

  A tall man flashing ID moved to her side, his mouth taut. "Ma'am, I'm sorry. They couldn't save her."

  Bethany had depended on her—the face of Rahab's Hope—to give her a safe place to recover. Instead? She was the victim of a brutal murder. On Abigail's watch. A rush of bile demanded release, and Abigail's eyes searched her immediate surroundings. Late-morning light revealed a chaotic scene with office drawers flung open. Files scattered across the floor. A trail of blood led to the back corner of the room where she and Bethany had sought refuge from the killer.

  Several minutes later, Abigail swiped a hand across her mouth. "Sorry," she said.

  Compassion-filled eyes met hers."We've all been there," he said. "I'm FBI Special Agent Cody Collins," the man's deep voice reminded her of a river. Deep. Powerful. "Can you tell me about this morning?"

  Abigail felt as though someone else was sharing the horrific details of those long moments trapped with the killer. "Bethany had been here for less than a week. She kept to herself, but that's common for new girls. It's hard to trust people when trafficking is part of their background. This morning, Bethany found me before I even made it inside. Just as I unlocked the door, I heard the crack of a firearm and saw someone running toward the building. I drug Bethany inside where we tried to hide."

  Abigail gave the remainder of her statement with Agent Collins listening. His furrowed brow gave him a stern—almost ominous—appearance. How much death had he witnessed? After what seemed like hours, Abigail finally slipped into the calm surroundings of her townhome. She kicked off her shoes and sank into the living room sofa. A shudder ran through her body as she waded through the horror of the day's events. Bethany's murder. The fury in the intruder's eyes. The certainty of death. None of it made any sense. Feelings she had denied refused to dissipate, and anger, fear, and grief emerged in wracking, pain-laced wails. How could this happen, Lord? Why Bethany?

  Suffering did not make sense. Not Bethany's. Not her father's.

  Hours later, Abigail stretched stiff limbs as she awakened from a restless sleep. How long had it been since she fell asleep crying? Shifting to a seated position, Abigail released a low moan. Her hands shook like leaves in the wind, and the left side of her face throbbed. Ignoring her body, Abigali reached for her cell phone and dialed her mother’s number. The sound of Mama’s calm, reassuring voice soothed frayed nerves.

  “Sweetheart, are you alright? I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

  “I’m angry, Mom. Angry at this butcher. Angry that I couldn’t protect Bethany. Angry that I’m afraid.”

  “Of course you’re angry. Honey, I don’t want you to be alone. I’m going to catch the first flight to Colorado Springs.”

  “Thanks, Mom. That means a lot.”

  Abigail reassured her mother that she was fine and hung up. Then, she shuffled to the laundry room and stripped off her clothes-depositing them in the trash. Hurrying into her bedroom, Abigail yanked the shower's knob. Stepping beneath the cleansing heat of almost scalding water, Abigail scrubbed until her skin was as raw as her heart.

  Cody rubbed a hand across weary eyes. How long had he stared at the computer screen, hoping a new detail would emerge? The Black Orchid case, cold for five years, offered few details. Emmalee Richards. Early twenties. Brutally beaten. A black orchid on her torso.

  Yet, Emmalee was more than another case. She was like a little sister. Cody shoved himself away from the computer- his mind filled with images of Emmalee. Brown hair and pigtails. A smattering of freckles across her nose. Head titled back in laughter. Her tragic death drove a wedge between him and Evan, Emmalee’s brother and Cody’s childhood best friend. Each time a promising trail led to a dead end, Evan grew more distant—as if he blamed Cody for his loss. Who could fault him? Cody was responsible. Emily deserved justice, but Cody had failed them both.

  Turning toward the screen, Cody watched Emmalee’s battered image fade as he pressed the computer’s button. What was the connection between yesterday's victim and Emily? It was clear. Em's killer was on the loose. He'd managed to live beneath the radar for a while, but Cody recognized his calling card—a black orchid displayed on each victim's upper body. And the possibility of a copycat? Minimal since Dax Malone, Cody's boss, ensured all sensitive information remained out of the headlines.

  Cody glanced at the clock. The scene bothered him. Launching toward the office door, he said, “Lou, let me know when the results of the prints come in?”

  “Will do”, Louellen said with a nod of her chin. “Where you headed?”

  “Rahab's Hope Center. I need to check some details.”

  “I'll see what I can do on my end.”

  His thoughts still focused on Emmalle, Cody threaded his way through Colorado Springs. Maybe Rahab’s Hope and Abigail Watson held the answers to his greatest failure.