Page 96 of Knox

Her house came into view. Deputy Lennox’s cruiser in the driveway. But Lennox was in the emergency room. Severe head trauma.

I slammed the Jeep into park and ran through the open garage door.

Blood dripped over the hardwood floor toward the marble tiles in the kitchen where sounds of a struggle rose and echoed.

I rounded the corner, fear turning to red-hot rage. And my world narrowed to a single point.

Walter Lehman Junior stood over Sloane, a kitchen knife raised high. Ready to strike.

Sloane sprawled on the floor before him, sliding backward, bleeding, eyes wide with terror.

Time slowed.

I crossed the space in an instant, bent forward at the waist, muscles braced for impact, and I hit him like a freight train. My shoulder blasted against his ribs from the side, lifting him off his feet and sending him through the air. We crashed into the kitchen island in a tangled heap.

The knife clattered across tile.

Walter swung his arms in a wild effort. His fist glanced off my jaw.

I grabbed his shirt, hauled him up, and put him down with two precise strikes. One to the solar plexus. One to the temple.

He dropped like a stone.

I kicked the knife away, then pulled zip ties from my pocket and secured his wrists behind his back.

“Knox.” Sloane’s terrorized voice broke me.

I spun and she was there, curled on the floor, trembling. Blood on her hands and streaked across her face. Fresh bruises already forming on her throat.

I crossed to her in two steps, dropping to my knees. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

She collapsed against my chest, shaking. I wrapped my arms around her, feeling her heartbeat against mine. Too fast. Too hard. But alive.

“You came,” she whispered.

“Always.” I pulled back just enough to check her over. The cuts on her palms. The swelling around her throat. Her split lip. “Did he cut you?”

“No.”

Sirens wailed in the distance, louder with my every breath.

I held her tighter, pressing my face into her hair. My hands shook as I ran them down her back, needing to feel she was real. Whole. Here.

“I thought I lost you.” My voice came out rough.

“I’m here.” She pulled back, cupping my face. “I’m okay.”

Nash and two deputies stormed in through the open garage doors, heavy footfalls preceding them, weapons drawn.

“We’re here,” I called.

Nash appeared first, taking in the scene. Walter unconscious on the floor. Sloane in my arms. Blood everywhere.

“Christ.” He holstered his weapon and spoke into his radio. “Suspect secured. Need paramedics inside.”

Emergency vehicles continued arriving until the house was filled with first responders.

Agent Darvis led Agent Reid through the mess.