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“Hurry!” I whispered-shouted at Hi as he jumped aboard.

Shelton crouched in the stern while Ben untied
Sewee
’s lines. Even while docked the runabout was rolling and pitching in the quickly rising chop. The ocean had gone from placid to rough in the forty minutes we’d wasted getting ready.

Hurricane Katelyn was closing in. Everyone could feel it.

“I’m dead,” Hi moaned as he slid onto the stern bench. “So, so dead. My parents will fillet me. You guys, too.”

Sorry, Kit. This one is my bad.

I waved to Ben. “Go!”

“Wait!” Shelton pointed. Coop was bounding down the dock.

“No, boy!” I shooed him with my hands. “Go back!”

Ignoring my command, Coop hopped from the pier and settled in the bow.

I froze, undecided.

“Movement on the hill!” Hi warned.

Ben glanced at me. I nodded.

He fired the engine and we motored from the dock.

CHAPTER 52

T
he Gamemaster stoked the flames until they licked the roof of his fireplace.

Luminous tendrils danced before his eyes.

Satisfied, he began feeding the blaze. Driver’s license. Credit card. Lease. Auto registration. Strands of an identity no longer of use.

Outside, the wind tickled the yellow jessamine climbing the chipped wood siding. A stop sign waggled in the quickening breeze.

The Gamemaster smiled. Giggled shrilly as he donned his coarse brown cloak.

It had been a
wonderful
game. Exquisitely orchestrated.

He shrugged off the sense of loss that assailed him each time a Game ended. Soon he’d write a new script, more elaborate than the last. He always did. Always would.

And this time, God had sent a gift. A mighty Tempest to commemorate his finale.

A small part of him felt uneasy. He was usually gone by this point, enjoying media reports of his triumph while settling into his next life.

His new cover was ready. Documents secured. Job in place. All that remained was the selection of players and a final target. The Game would soon recommence.

But nature’s wrath was too delicious a lure.

He wanted to witness the fury firsthand—a grinding crescendo of wind and rain that would acclaim his genius. His victory. Then he’d vanish, never to return.

Task complete, the Gamemaster straightened and walked to the kitchen, passing a half-dozen empty duffel bags piled in the hallway. He’d need to pack his beloved collection soon, before the storm arrived in force.

The Gamemaster thought of his snare gun. Smiled. He’d regretted almost losing the clever weapon, uncertain he’d ever find another quite like it. But his fondness for the device hadn’t stopped him—tools were meant to be used.

Then he giggled, remembering his hardly contained joy when the kids had handed the gun right back to him! Now
that
was a stroke of luck. Delightful!

Humming softly, the Gamemaster began washing dishes stacked in the sink.

Outside, fat drops began ticking the window.

This Game had been special. His players had been young, but incredibly resourceful. So many Games never reached the final stage, yet these four adolescents had somehow conquered every challenge. Remarkable!

They’d failed in the end, of course. And died, of course.

He’d never before come so close to losing. The little scamps had even averted The Danger. No one had accomplished that in years. Extraordinary!

A shocking realization froze his hands.

He had
liked
this Tory Brennan. Respected her. Been wary of her.

He thought back to their coffee shop meeting. Bright. Resourceful. Up for the challenge. Brennan had been the rarest of treasures—a worthy opponent. It was a pity she and her friends had cheated.

He
tsk
ed.
You mustn’t break The Rules.

He’d been very clear. The kids had earned The Punishment.

All in all, a very satisfying Game indeed.

Only one detail troubled him—there’d been no reports on their deaths. Odd. The press usually went berserk when children were killed.

Relax.
He shut off the tap and dried his hands, chuckling at his impatience.

The Game ended only yesterday. The hurricane was no doubt disrupting everything. The police would withhold details from the media until they’d notified the families. Perhaps the bodies hadn’t been discovered.

Be patient. The trophies will come.

The Gamemaster did have one regret.

Never again would he work with a partner.

Too many variables. Too little control.

The thrill of added danger wasn’t worth the headache.

Whistling off-tune, the Gamemaster returned to his living room and powered his laptop. Slowly, he scrolled through images.

Soon his collection would expand.

Smiling, the Gamemaster settled in to enjoy the storm.

CHAPTER 53

T
he sky was the color of dried blood.

A massive, towering inkblot covered the eastern horizon.

Hurricane Katelyn was coming.
Fast.

Gusts snapped my windbreaker as
Sewee
bucked across the whitecaps. Overhead, gulls streamed inland, flapping ahead of the strengthening gale.

Boating at that moment felt like suicide.

As
Sewee
rounded Morris, passed Fort Sumter, and muscled across Charleston Harbor, I saw no other vessels on the water. I was in the bow, with Coop’s snout buried in my lap. The wolfdog had no fondness for boats.

What am I supposed to do with him?

“Does this bucket move any faster?” Shelton was staring back out to sea, transfixed by the approaching vortex. “If that mess catches us on the water, it’s all over.”

“Relax.” Ben had the engine running full throttle. “We’ll make it.”

I tried to focus on our mission, but guilt was eating me alive.

The note I’d left was vague, and would provide no comfort. I could imagine Kit at that moment, terrified, pacing our boarded-up kitchen, unable to comprehend my decision.

Dear Kit,

The boys and I have to do something
right now
. It’s extremely important. We’re taking
Sewee
into the city and will shelter at a police station. PLEASE DON’T FOLLOW!!! I’ll explain everything in a few hours. Promise. Don’t worry, we’re being very, very careful.

Love, Tory

PS—Don’t hate me. I swear to God this is important. Please trust me.

PPS—Don’t follow!

I’d scrawled a second message in my notebook and tossed it on the dock: “I have Coop!”

Best I could do.

I knew it was terrible. What parent could read those words and not panic? We’d set sail for an evacuated city, on an open sixteen-foot boat, with a Cat Four hurricane breathing down our necks. A bad action movie, starring his daughter.

I’ll make it up to you, Kit. Somehow.

Despite the early hour, the sky was darkening fast. The gusts were growing wetter, stronger, heavier, and more frequent. As if sensing landfall, Katelyn thundered and hissed. Tense minutes passed before the marina finally hove into view.

Ben cut our speed and we glided up to a row of quays. He chose a berth well away from the handful of other boats still at dock. Then we wasted twenty precious minutes tying
Sewee
down with every available rope in the Lowcountry.

Finally satisfied, Ben led us up to the street. Coop’s tail wagged in happiness at being back on dry land. That went for everyone.

No more distractions. We had a psycho to bag.

Walking quickly, we crossed Lockwood to Calhoun, turned left onto Courtenay Drive, and headed north through the medical district. The streets and sidewalks were empty. Houses and businesses were boarded with plywood, or protected by metal storm shutters. Few lights burned in the gloom. The city had a creepy, abandoned feeling, like a war zone or a postapocalyptic future.

A blast of sodden wind slammed me from behind and nearly sent me sprawling. An early taste of the nightmare to come.

Katelyn must be entering the harbor. We don’t have much time.

As we reached Spring Street, rain began falling in bands. Fat droplets smacked my forehead, face, and cheeks. I leaned forward for balance as a series of gusts ripped down the sidewalk. Head lowered, I scrunched my hood tight.

“This is the southern boundary of zone
G.
” Hi was shouting to be heard. “It’s small, like Tory said. If the Gamemaster lives here, his F-150 should be parked on one of the next three blocks.”

“Unless he’s got a garage,” Shelton griped. “Or left town with the sane people.”

“If he has a garage, why buy a street permit?” Hi countered.

“This is pointless,” Ben yelled. “Let’s go look.”

“We’ll walk up Norman,” I said, “then cut back and forth, working a grid until we locate the truck.”

“Should we split up?” Ben gestured left, then right. “Spread out to cover more ground?”

Before I could answer the sky opened up, drenching us in a salty deluge. Visibility shrank to a few dozen yards. Coop whined and shook furiously.

“Let’s stick together.” I scratched the wolfdog’s ears. “The Gamemaster is armed and dangerous. We shouldn’t separate the pack for any reason.”

“Should we light ’em up?” Hi glanced at the angry sky. “We might need our flare strength sooner than you think.”

“Not yet.” Though I was tempted. “We can’t risk burning too soon. We’ll need our powers when we corner this snake.”

“Any plan for that bit?” Shelton asked dully. “You keep glossing over how we’re actually gonna make the citizen’s arrest.”

“Of course.” I chucked his shoulder. “We’ll improvise.”

“Great. Well thought out.” Shelton pulled his hoodie tighter around his face.

A burst of wind barreled up Spring Street, fluttering streetlights and rocking stop signs. Rain blew horizontally, needling my skin and stinging my eyes. This time the velocity held steady, refusing to die back down.

Hurricane Katelyn had arrived.

Hi circled a finger above his head. “Move out.”

With Ben leading, we hurried up the block and turned left onto Ashton. Pacing down a line of row houses and modest residences, we checked every driveway, carport, and curb. No black truck.

At block’s end we turned right, advanced a street, and worked our way back. Coop trotted at my side, alert but uncertain, pausing now and again to shake rain from his coat.

Cheap duplex apartments lined the left side of the road. A small grocery store sat midway up on the right.

I slogged to the store and stepped under the awning. Gusts tore at my windbreaker, forcing the hood back and filling it with rainwater. I gave up trying to keep the sodden thing on my head. Hand-shielding my eyes, I squinted down the block.

And saw it.

My heart began thumping triple time.

“What now?” Hi shouted.

“
Now
we break in.”

I pointed at a wooden row house a dozen yards from where we stood.

At the black F-150, parked in its backyard.

CHAPTER 54

“B
en, you and Shelton slip around back. Get a look through that window.”

I gathered my sopping hair into a ponytail. The wind and rain had doubled in intensity. Trash and bits of debris were cartwheeling down the street, rising and spiraling, then dropping only to lift back up again. Bottles and bags began shooting along the gutters.

Our grace period was over. We were caught in a full-blown hurricane.

Huddled beside the grocery, we formed a game plan. Coop’s eyes were white and round with fear. I held his collar so he couldn’t dart away.

“Why do
I
have to scout?” Shelton whined. “I suck at sneaking up on people!”

Ben backhanded rain from his face. “I thought you said no splitting up?” His thick black hair was pasted to his scalp.

“Just this once, and only for a few seconds. We can’t let the Gamemaster spot us all together. We’d lose any element of surprise.”

“Can we flare?” Hi was red-faced and breathing hard. “We need to be ready.”

I hesitated. What if the Gamemaster wasn’t home?

Then this whole adventure was pointless.

“We need to be sure he’s in there,” Ben said. “We only get one shot.”

I nodded. “No flares yet. You two go first. Head for the truck. Hi and I will count to thirty, then buzz the front of the house. If you spot the Gamemaster, whistle twice. Otherwise we’ll reconnect in the backyard.”

“You won’t hear a whistle in this.” Ben gestured to the chaos swirling around us. “Or anything else.”

“Then just sit tight wherever you are. If we don’t see you in the driveway, we’ll keep circling the house and link up by the truck.”

“What about Coop?” Hi kept his gaze on our target.

“He stays with me.” I grabbed the wolfdog’s snout and looked him in the eye. “You hear that, dog breath? By my side.”

Coop licked my hand.

Impossibly, the gusting kicked up a notch, making it difficult to even stand up straight. I braced myself against the store’s wall and prayed for a lull.

Time was up. We’d need to seek shelter in minutes.

After what seemed like an eon, the wind’s force dropped a fraction. Everyone struggled to their feet.

I gave Shelton a reassuring hug. “Good luck.”

“Stupidest thing I’ve ever done.” Shelton blinked through water-blurred lenses. “At least if the Gamemaster kills me, my parents won’t have the chance.”

“Stay close.” Ben squeezed Shelton’s shoulder. “Nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

Bending into the wind, they disappeared behind the rear of the store.

A powerful blast stripped a Miller Lite sign from the wall above my head. I watched the metal square careen across the street, slam into a car, then spin sideways and vanish into the gloom.

Hi and I silently counted. At thirty, we worked our way around the front of the store. At the corner of the building, we stopped to survey our objective.

The one-story row house was small and decrepit, its faded blue paint cracked and peeling. The exterior was a neglected eyesore of warped wooden slats, loose shingles, and dirty windows.

Not boarded up. Katelyn’s going to smash that place.

A fractured concrete walk connected the front door to the street. The lawn to either side was patchy and overgrown with weeds. No shrubs. No shade trees.

I pointed to a pair of windows flanking the entrance. “I’ll go left, you go right.”

Hi nodded. We sloshed forward, Coop by my side. At the window I dropped to a crouch beneath the sill.

Cautiously wiping grime from the unscreened glass, I examined what lay on the other side. Couch. Coffee table. Two armchairs. TV stand. Bare walls.

The room was dark. No one was in it.

I stepped back and signaled Hi. Sticking close to the building, we stole around to a gravel driveway on its opposite side. Sensing our need for stealth, Coop loped silently at my knee.

A chain-link fence bounded the property, running along the far edge of the gravel. A single window overlooked the drive from the house’s rear corner.

We crept forward, heads lowered, muscles tense.

I can’t see anything in this downpour. I could stumble right into him.

At the window, Hi boosted me with his hands. I peeked into a tiny chamber containing a bare mattress and a large black trunk. Lights off. Vacant.

When I stepped down, Hi cupped his hands over my ear. “What now?”

I pointed to the yard. “Truck.”

We found Ben and Shelton hunkered behind the Ford’s rear bumper. Glancing into the backyard, I saw a wheelbarrow, a stack of bricks, and a dilapidated storage shed in the near corner. Then I peered over the empty truck bed at the row house.

We were facing a screened-in porch, its wooden door banging in the shifting gale.

Ben pointed to three tiny windows lined up to the left of the porch. “Kitchen,” he yelled as we ducked back down. “No lights on, nothing moving.”

“Same for the living room and bedroom,” Hi shouted.

“So nobody’s home.” Shelton couldn’t hide his relief.

Coop chose that moment to shake vigorously, spraying us with doggie castoff.

Ben glared at the wolfdog, then nodded back the way he and Shelton had come. “I think there’s another room on that side. No windows.”

“Then we have to go in.” Sounding braver than I felt. “Make absolutely sure.”

Ben nodded, face tense. He started to rise but I snagged his elbow.

“Wait. It’s time.”

“Thank God,” Shelton breathed. “Now?”

“Now.”

SNAP.

The transformation came easily. No struggle. No battle for concentration.

The power flowed as though I’d flipped a switch.

Heat seared through my blood vessels. My irises ignited with golden fire.

Every sense blasted into hyperdrive. Sight. Smell. Hearing. Taste. Touch.

The surrounding maelstrom took on a thousand new dimensions. My brain could detect the tiniest details with laser precision. I was no longer blinded by the storm, wasn’t overwhelmed by nature’s savage fury.

I glanced at Coop, found him staring back at me.

He knew I’d unleashed the wolf inside me. That his pack was now fully alive.

With Coop so close the sensations were stronger, every faculty more supercharged. My flare power felt sharper than ever before.

Full strength. This is how it feels.

The boys looked at me with blazing yellow eyes. I felt their amazement.

“Whoa.” Hi blinked. “It’s like flaring on crack.”

Shelton removed his glasses and stuck them in his pocket. “Intense.”

Ben cracked his knuckles.

We were ready.

I’m coming for you, Gamemaster.

“Now,” I whispered, no longer needing to shout.

I bounded onto the porch, reached the door, and quietly turned the knob. Slipping inside the kitchen, I sidestepped along the wall so the others could follow.

Every sense was on high alert.

No movement. No sound of alarm.

Moving silently, Ben crept through a door on the left, Coop on his heels. A second later they were back, Ben shaking his head.

Anxious to retain the advantage of surprise, I tiptoed down a short hallway leading to the front. My pack followed in a noiseless line.

Bedroom. Bathroom. Living room.

All unoccupied. The five of us were alone in the house.

But a small blaze crackled in the fireplace.

“What should we do?” Hi whispered. “There’s a fire. The Gamemaster’s truck’s still here. He must be coming back.”

“Where would he go?” Shelton cracked open a door. Closet. Empty. “The city’s a ghost town. It’s not like he could pop out for a Whopper.”

“Guys, look!” Hi pointed to a Dell laptop lying on the couch.

I set the computer on the coffee table and booted. The boys sat beside me. Lacking tech skills, Coop began a nasal inspection of the drapes.

“
Please
have something we can use.” Shelton was dry-washing his hands.

A background image appeared—the man I’d met as Eric Marchant, shirtless, loading a giant marlin into his truck.

The Gamemaster.

I wanted to punch his smirking face.

The desktop held a single folder. Double-clicking the icon launched a slideshow.

Images began scrolling. Crime scene photos. Scanned newspaper clippings. Pictures of flipped cars and fire-gutted buildings. Obituaries. Autopsy reports.

Each item related to an accident or crime.

I paused the slideshow to scan several articles. Detected the theme.

Every crime was unsolved. Every accident was freakish and unexplained.

Many incidents had numerous victims. Some were grisly. All were terrible.

One after another the entries flashed on-screen. A few settings were identifiable. Seattle. New York City. Las Vegas. The majority were unrecognizable.

Shelton turned to me. “So what, he’s into police reports? Disaster stories?”

“They’re
his
work.” My stomach churned with revulsion. “Everything on here. This must be the Gamemaster’s private archive. A diary of his twisted games.”

“Trophies.” Hi’s voice was hushed. “His collection. Every serial killer has one.”

Ben’s fist slammed the coffee table. “I’ll kill this sick freak!”

Suddenly the screen went blank. There were sounds like a videogame, then a new program opened.

The Gamemaster’s face appeared.

“Hello, Tory.” He smiled. “Welcome to my humble home.”