Page 66 of Secret Stalker

“What about the blood?” Max rushed to ask him, holding his hands in the air. “If killing me is supposed to make the investigation into Bobby’s death go away, won’t my blood all over your living room just start a new investigation and put you right back in the same situation?”

“Well, I do plan on cleaning up the mess,” Deacon reasoned.

“You can’t clean up blood completely, not good enough so that a CSI guy can’t find traces of it. You need to kill me outside, in the rain.”

Deacon moved his finger back to the frame of the gun. “I know you’re just stalling for time. But you do have a point. I wasn’t too worried about blood when Bobby died, since it was all his anyway. But you’re right. Explaining your DNA in my home might prove to be a problem. Move.” He motioned with the rifle toward the front door.

The French door behind Max finally swung open, slamming back against the wall in a burst of wind and rain.

Deacon’s eyes widened and he stepped to the right, swinging the rifle toward the door.

Max lunged toward him, praying he was close enough to reach him as Deacon swung the rifle back toward him.

Bam!

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