Newburgh Heights, Virginia

Tully climbed over a dark corner of Maggie’s privacy fence without much effort or sound. He was tall, long-legged and still in good shape if you didn’t count a bum knee. Of course it helped that there was an air conditioner unit he could use as a step up. On the other side he slinked down and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He glanced back at Maggie’s house and hoped Emma was following his instructions, packing Harvey’s leash and toys and not looking out back to see what exactly her father thought he needed to check on.

Worrying about Emma reminded him of Caroline. When he first met Caroline she seemed enamored of his career choice. It wasn’t until years after they were married and after Emma was born that Caroline pushed for him to get out of the field, stay home more, quit jumping fences and stop hunting killers.

“What about teaching?” she had asked over and over again.

Ironically, just as he managed to get the ultimate teaching job—or at least, Quantico was the ultimate FBI teaching job for him—Caroline decided she wanted a divorce. She had countered his travels with travels of her own as the CEO of a large advertising agency. And what he believed had been requests for the safety of their daughter—him getting out of the field and out of killers’ radar—had really been some strange, selfish jealousy. She wanted the adventure and not the responsibilities that came with being a parent.

Instead, it was Tully who constantly worried that his job could and would put Emma in danger. She had been on the cusp before. Too close for comfort. And so was this.

Tully didn’t like prowling around while Emma was only yards away. But if someone was watching Maggie’s house Tully needed to find out why. Was it possible that the same guy who sent Maggie and Cunningham to the Kellerman house was now outside Maggie’s home? Maybe Tully and Emma had interrupted his plans.

Tully kept to the outside fence line, staying in the shadows. The few streetlights were decorative ironwork with faint yellow globes, another perk of the prestigious neighborhood with expensive alarm systems and false security. Tully had already figured out the route he needed to take so he could approach the car from behind. Along the fence, beside the evergreens and directly out to the street, hidden the entire time by shadows and branches.

He tucked his hand inside his jacket, wrapping his fingers around the butt of his Glock. Then he stood up straight and walked casually past the last set of bushes, coming to the trunk of the car, rounding it quickly and pulling out his gun. He had his Glock pressed to the car window with his badge flapping beside it before the driver even looked up at him.

By the time the man rolled down the car window Tully was already shaking his head and holstering his weapon.

“What the hell are you doing, Morrelli?”