Willa fell back against the cupboards and stretched out her aching legs as she heard the door click shut. She’d done it! She’d gotten the whole conversation on videotape. This time, nothing could stop Jack Paulson from paying for a very long time.

“I thought you learned your lesson the last time I caught you spying on the boss.” Carlos’s raw hate-filled voice slithered around her.

Willa cringed. She stood, rocking unsteadily in her five-inch heels and faced him eye to eye, ignoring the glacial chill quivering down to her toes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Carlos.”

He grabbed her by the shoulders, his bony fingers biting into her flesh. “You were eavesdropping on the boss.”

His breath, smelling of coffee and cigarettes, nearly gagged her. “I wasn’t, Carlos. Really. I was just waiting for Jack to leave so we could be alone. That’s all.” She lifted a painted nail to his chin and flicked the stubble he thought made him look sexy instead of just slimy.

He loosened his grasp, then pushed her against the counter. “I knew you liked me,” he rasped.

“Of course I do, sugar,” she lied with a honey-thickened tongue. “If you give me a little time, I’ll prove it to you.”

“I’ve got time.”

The way he looked at her sent a fresh round of shudders coursing down her back. He turned toward her room. Not able to wait another second, she snatched up the pen. He turned back, staring at the Pen Cam in her hand, suspicion crossing his face.

“Did you really think I’d fall for that act?”

Fear hammered in her chest, but she was careful to make sure it didn’t show on her face. “Which act is that, sugar?”

With two easy strides, he was on her and reaching for the pen. She pulled away, palming it behind her back. With spring-loaded speed, he grabbed her arm and jerked the Pen Cam from her grasp. “What’s this?”

She didn’t answer, just held her breath and prayed the man was as dumb as he looked. He started to unscrew the pen’s barrel.

“Don’t—” she said softly.

“Don’t what?” He dropped the Pen Cam to the floor and raised a steel-toed boot.

The closest she’d ever come to nailing Jack Paulson was recorded on that pen and she wasn’t about to let some moronic flunkie pulverize it. She swung back, brought up one leg and—“Whaaa chai!”—kicked with all her might. Five inches of pointy heel dug deep into soft flesh.

Grunting, he doubled over. She reached down, grabbed the pen, then clattered as fast as she could out the door and down the hall toward the stairs. She had to get the pen to the captain. It was the only way to stop Jack, to save that young girl and to save herself another night of knowing that animal was still out there spreading his poison and infecting everything he touched.

He’s finally going to pay, Daddy. Just like I promised.

She ran toward the staircase at the end of the hall, pushing herself harder, faster. One spiked heel caught an uneven board. She slipped, twisting her ankle as she fought for balance. Through the fog of pain, she kept moving. It wasn’t bad enough to stop her. For that, she’d have to be dead.

“I’m going to kill you, woman!”

If only she had time to lose the stilettos. They’d make a mighty fine weapon in her hand, but on her feet they were downright deadly. A door two apartments down opened. If she could reach it and lock herself in, she might have enough time to call for backup.

Betty Jones, one of Jack’s oldest pros, stepped into the hall. “Hey, Blondie! What’s up?”

Without a word, Willa raced past her, slammed shut her door and threw the bolt. She dashed for the phone and dialed 911.

“Blondie, open up!” Betty yelled, her feeble fists hitting the door.

“Nine-one-one emergency,” the voice on the line answered.

“I need help….”

With one earth-shattering kick, the door flew open, slamming against the wall, shredding the plaster. She had to find a weapon! Dropping the phone, Willa slipped around the counter into the kitchen and yanked open the drawer she kept her knives in back in her apartment. She stared blankly at potholders and dish-towels. “Blast!”

“Give it up, Blondie. You’re mine now.” With slow deliberate steps, Carlos walked into the kitchen, cornering her against the sink. “Take a walk, Betty,” he called without checking to see if she listened. He knew she would obey, and so did Willa. His gaze locked on hers. The expression on his face was downright animalistic.

All her years of training on the force scattered right out of her mind. This man was pure demented evil. He wrapped his hands around her waist, picked her up and threw her across the kitchen counter. She landed on the floor, the impact jolting every bone in her body. Within seconds, he was on her.