A Cold Day in Hell by Stella Cameron

expect it. You must guard against what is least likely. One death may not come close to satisfying our killer’s appetite.”

6
    B ucky Smith turned his head, tried to focus. Flashing lights. He fucking hated flashing lights. They never meant anythin’ good, or they never had for him.
    He hated this town. If he hadn’t just about run out of places to be, he’d already be gone.
    Cops driving down the side of Ona’s.
    So what? Nothing to do with him. He just had to take a leak and he’d be out of here.
    Nobody gave a shit about him. Never had.
    Would you look at that? He was in the damn kitchen. What he wanted was the can, the can, dammit.
    Where was everyone back here? Yeah, Ona’s Out Back. Tea room, she called it. Shit. He could smell the booze even if the place was empty. Empty, not a single piece of ass sippin’ tea.
    The cop lights were out back.
    Out back of Out Back.
    Damn, he ought to be a poet or somethin’. He needed that can and another drink. If anyone was still workin’ around here.
    The fryer smelled good. All those leftover bits of food bubblin’ in the fat. Best part of this nowhere, the food.
    Bucky turned back, frowned. He must have passed the can on the way in here.
    The side door to the outside slammed open and a guy came in—fast. Bucky turned his head the other way, blinked to look at him. Just a guy in a wet coat.
    “You lost?” Bucky said. “Same’s me. Shit. You lookin’ for the can, too?”
    The guy just stared at him, his hair dark and sopped, stuck to his face.
    Bucky raised his palms. “Friendly, ain’t you? Well, fuck you.” He stumbled toward the passageway to Out Front.
    He didn’t see the hand coming.
    Fingers dug into his windpipe and he gagged, took a swing at the face that wouldn’t stay still. He clawed at the man’s chest.
    Deeper the fingertips gouged. Bucky’s mouth opened. A shove and he fell backward. His skull hit something hard and he felt his bladder let go.
    All he heard was the sizzle of the boiling fat.

7
    F inn Duhon drove into the parking lot behind Ona’s restaurants. Emma had called him, whispered for him to come, but she wouldn’t say why.
    A cream-colored Jeep passed him and the driver honked. Finn honked back but didn’t recognize the vehicle or the driver. Seeing someone drive by as though everything was normal didn’t make him feel any better.
    He stopped his car and jumped out. The lights were on in both Out Front and Out Back. It wasn’t that late.
    He didn’t see anyone in the lot and started to run past parked cars. He saw Emma’s Lexus and broke into a sprint. His left shoe scrunched on something and he paused to look down.
    Car keys. He picked them up and knew immediately that they were Emma’s. Finn breathed through his open mouth. Heading for her car again, he punched the number pad on his cell, got through to the police station and demanded to speak with Matt Boudreaux.
    He heard Matt’s voice and said, “Get to the parking lot behind Ona’s. Something’s happened to Emma. I think she’s been kidnapped,” then cut off.
    The Lexus was empty, just as he’d known it would be. No wonder she’d whispered; she must have been in someone else’s vehicle.
    Maybe she was in a trunk. Emma was no dummy. He could hope she’d find a way to put out a taillight to get air—or puncture the spare tire.
    How long had she been in trouble before she could call him? Finn stared around.
    He heard a siren and saw the reflection of flashing lights against the sky.
    What should he do first? This wasn’t like jungle warfare—the only kind of warfare he knew about. He didn’t have the automatic reactions that would work here.
    My God. He didn’t know where to start.
    People who wanted children badly enough cut babies from their mothers’ wombs.
    He bent double and took a deep breath. Finn Duhon didn’t panic. He’d been a warrior and that was something that changed you forever. He needed the police and they’d be here any