KILLER FOCUS
When photographer Lily Parker escapes an attack, she doesnât want any help from the FBI agent who is convinced sheâs a serial killerâs latest obsession. But after one of her photographs is found at a murder scene, itâs clear that Special Agent Rex Sullivan was right. Lily, a former CIA agent, isnât used to relying on others, but she wonât survive without Rex at her side. And Rex quickly sees that Lily isnât a typical victim in need of his protection, but a valuable partner who can help him bring down a madman. With the murderer growing bolder, Rex has to convince Lily to trust him with her safetyâor she could become the killerâs next victim.
âItâs him,â Lily said. âHe sent me another text. Itâs from a different account but itâs our guy.â
âWhat does it say?â
She looked down at her phone and then back up and then back down again. ââNext time I wonât miss.ââ She handed the phone to him so he could read it for himself.
Rex nodded. âJust as I suspected. His fixation is growing stronger and stronger with each passing day that he hasnât accomplished his ultimate goal.â
âWe have to make sure that he never reaches that goal. And we also need to try to stop him before he goes on killing other women on his list.â
âAgreed, but you know thatâs much easier said than done.â
The phone chirped again. âOh no,â she said. âWhat is it now?â
Since he still had her phone in his hand, he opened the second message. Well, that was strange. He hadnât expected this twist.
âItâs a picture of you.â
ONE
The loud barking didnât rouse Lily Parker from a deep sleep. No, she was still wide-awake even though her head had hit the pillow an hour ago. Sleep didnât come easily, because of the recurring nightmares involving her last mission with the CIA. The mission that had changed her entire life.
Her bedroom was dark, and she glanced over at the bright red numbers on her alarm clock. Sheâd been working late in her darkroom developing her latest photographs, so seeing that it was three in the morning wasnât much of a surprise.
âGrace,â she yelled out to her yellow Labrador. But Grace kept barking loudly downstairs. Sheâd rescued Grace from an animal shelter in a rough part of Atlanta six months ago. Clearly her dog hadnât gotten the memo that it wasnât acceptable to bark in the middle of the night.
âOkay, Iâm coming.â Reluctantly, Lily threw back the down comforter, leaving the warmth of her bed, and stood up. She grabbed her fuzzy robe from the navy chaise in the corner and walked out of her bedroom. Graceâs barking only grew more persistent.
When Lily was almost at the bottom of the stairs, she thought she heard something that couldnât have come from Grace. She paused for a moment, debating whether she should run back up the steps to grab her Glock from the nightstand.
However, as a former CIA agent, she wasnât easily rattled. Knowing Grace, sheâd probably become fixated on a tree branch, a possum or even something as silly as a bag blowing in the wind. She proceeded down the rest of the stairs and flipped the switch for the hallway light. But no light came on. She stepped into the pitch-black living room and suddenly felt she wasnât alone. Was someone in her house?
Grace ran into the room, almost knocking her over. âEasy, girl.â She reached down and gave Grace a quick pat on the head, trying to reassure her. Taking a deep breath, she started walking toward the kitchen. At least there she could grab a knife to protect herself. She was fairly certain that sheâd set the alarm before she went to bed, but now she started second-guessing herself. Sheâd been so engrossed in her work she couldnât remember.
Another loud bark from Grace had Lily moving quickly through the kitchen. Even though it was dark, there was still a thread of moonlight coming in through the kitchen windows. Enough light for her to locate her butcher block and grab the biggest knife she had.
Lily knew she wasnât like most women. Sheâd spent five years in the CIA on highly dangerous operations overseas. But sheâd never confronted danger in her own home. Although she wasnât afraid, she was angry at the possibility that someone had dared to invade her privacy. She clenched the knife in her right hand, ready to fight off any attacker.