Page 135 of Secrets in the Deep

“This is it,” he whispered. “The big finale. It’ll go down as the most real film ever made, and I’ll become infamous as the greatest director who ever lived.”

“No. You’ll go to prison. And your ‘footage’ will be buried in police evidence. No one will see it.Ever. And your name will be forgotten.”

He growled, the knife pressing so hard to her skin that pain stung her neck. It paled in comparison to the stab wound in her leg.

“You’re wrong,” he seethed. “But you won’t live long enough to know that. You won’t?—”

Suddenly, Ryan appeared in the window. One swift move and he was out on the roof, gun aimed right at Roscoe’s head.

The Yukon wasthe first thing Ryan saw as he pulled up in front of the abandoned mansion.

Roscoe’s rental.

He was here.Theywere here.

He slammed his truck to a stop out front, Zac coming up beside him.

“Call the team and get them here,” Ryan called over his shoulder as he raced up the steps. “You go back door, I’ll go front.”

He tried the handle. Locked. And all the windows on the ground floor were boarded over.

He could pick the lock, but it would take too long.

Instead, he stepped back, took aim, and fired.

Chips of wood exploded into the air, a hole punching through between the door and the frame. With one massive slam of his shoulder, the door gave way.

Ryan stepped inside, Glock close to his body as he scanned the living room. Candles cast dim light over the space, but that wasn’t where he went. He moved toward the room just past the stairs, the one where light and noise was coming from.

He stepped inside and froze.

The fuck was this?

Screen after screen showing different attacks. On Faye. Preston. Melanie.

Emily.

A smashed flat-screen lay on the floor.

Someone had already been here.

Emily and Roscoe?

A heart-wrenching scream pierced the air.

Ryan sprinted back into the hall and up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

At the top, he went into the first bedroom, the one with light pouring out. A window stood open across the room. He raced over and looked out.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

Emily. Held by Roscoe. A knife to her throat.

He leapt onto the roof. Then he trained his Glock on the fucker. “Let her go.”

Roscoe shook his head. “Drop the gun, Ryan.”

“No. You put the knife down.Now.”