Carter stepped out first, hand hovering near his holster. Rain soaked his uniform as he pushed the door open with his foot.
Inside, the smell hit him immediately — alcohol, sweat, something burned. A chair lay overturned in the living room. In the kitchen, a woman stood pressed against the counter, her face pale, eyes wide with terror.
And in front of her stood a man gripping a kitchen knife.
Ryan Anderson.
His arm shook, his breath uneven, rage and desperation tangled together on his face. The knife wasn’t raised — not yet — but it didn’t need to be. The threat was already there.
Voir la suite sur la page suivante:
