Meanwhile, police Inspector Sabrina Vaughn–the woman Michael passionately
loves but has been kept from seeing–discovers the body of a little boy that
bears a striking resemblance to the missing child. Against all his instincts,
Michael must draw Sabrina into his life as one of the world’s most notorious
assassins if he’s to overcome the legacy of his bloodthirsty past

Sabrina’s heart slammed into her throat. She unsnapped her holster as quietly as she

could, and shot a look over her shoulder. Strickland had seen it too. He drew his weapon and

nodded. She lifted her SIG P220 off her hip and took aim at the curtain.

“SFPD—I know you’re back there. Come out with your hands where I can see them,” she

said in a tone that gave little doubt as to her intent if her command wasn’t followed.

No response, just the slight flutter of the curtain that told her that who or whatever was

behind it was still there.

“I said, SFPD. Come out—”

A pair of feet appeared, nothing more than the tops and toes. They were small and pale in

the steady beam of her flashlight.

Holy shit. It was a kid.

She changed tactics, softened her tone but still held firm. “It’s okay, you’re safe. I’m a

police officer—it’s okay to come out now,” she said but didn’t lower her gun. There was a chance

the child behind the curtain wasn’t alone.

Small feet shuffled closer and a hand peeked out from the split between the curtains. The

opening was pulled wider to reveal a white face—dark, vacant eyes and a sharp nose set in a face

that was painfully thin. Equally thin shoulders and torso appeared as the kid moved forward

slowly. Just like the dead boy upstairs, he was naked.

“Are you alone back there?” she said. The kid didn’t answer, just stared at her with those

empty eyes. She motioned the child closer. “Come here, it’s okay.” She looked at Strickland and

tipped her head in the direction of the curtain. He nodded and moved forward, gun raised.

Sabrina reached out and latched onto the boy’s arm, pulling him toward her. The second

her fingers made contact, he went crazy—swinging and shouting in a language she didn’t

understand.

She dragged the boy clear of the curtain. He fought against her grip, screaming and

flailing, while Strickland did a sweep of the room behind it. He came out a few seconds later.

“Nothing. Just a mattress, TV and another camcorder.” he said over the din of the boy’s

screaming. “What the hell is he saying?”

She shook her head and looked at the boy, saw his face, white and stretched thin with

terror. He wasn’t speaking English but his fear was obvious. “Shhh, shhh—it’s okay. We’re here

to help,” she said, hoping her tone would convey the message her words couldn’t.

The boy darted away from her, nothing but a pale blur as he bolted toward freedom and

she started after him, pounding up the steps, Strickland two strides behind her. She reached the

top of the stairs and saw him running down the darkened hallway, darting this way and that.

“Stop him,” she shouted, hoping the uniform at the front door would be quick enough to

catch him.

The boy cut to the left and she followed, through the living room doorway. He saw the

uniform, blocking his way out and he darted to the left again, cutting across the room to the other

side of the house. Toward the room where the dead boy probably still lay stretched out on the

“Don’t go in there,” she said, even though he didn’t understand her. He disappeared

through the doorway seconds before she reached it. She skidded to a stop, blocking the doorway.

The coroner, Mandy Black, hunkered down next to the body on the floor but the whole of her

attention was concentrated on the boy who just burst into the room. He was crouching in the

corner furthest away from the doorway, knees drawn tight against his chest by arms so thin and

pale they looked like twigs, bleached white by the sun.

He started rambling again, eyes, like miniature black holes, aimed at the body on the

floor. She started to cross the threshold but Mandy threw up a hand and shook her head. Sabrina

stalled out mid-stride and watched as Mandy stood, crossing the room on slow and steady feet.

She said something in what sounded like the same language the boy was speaking and as if

Mandy had thrown a switch, he stopped talking.

Sabrina watched and listened. Mandy got closer and closer, still speaking the strange

language in a low, easy tone that seemed to sooth the boy. It sounded Slavic—maybe Russian.

Strange coming from the woman crouched on the floor. She must’ve asked him a question

because the boy nodded, eyes suddenly flooded with tears. He started to speak again but his

speech had lost its hysterical edge. Mandy got close enough to reach out and touch him but she

didn’t. She kept her hands at her sides, shaking her head as she crouched low and slow in front of

him. She kept talking. The boy kept listening.

“What. The. Fuck,” Strickland said behind her. “Coroner Barbie speaks gibberish.”

“It’s not gibberish, dickhead. It’s Russian,” Mandy said without looking up.

She felt a prickle, like electricity dancing along her skin. What was a Russian boy doing

in an abandoned house in San Francisco? One that had obviously been held against his will?

She looked away from the boy crouched in the corner to the one dead on the floor.

“Ask him if he knows the victim,” she said.

Mandy spoke quietly and the boy answered, shaking his head. “No. He said he’s never

seen him before.”

Sabrina studied the boy on the floor. He was small and blond. She entered the room and

squatted down next to the body. She peeled back a lid and looked at his eyes. They were milky

but she could see enough of the iris to know they were light in color.

She stood. “I need some air,” she said, brushing past Strickland on her way out the door.

She could feel him watching her and she silently urged him not to follow.

She didn’t need air. She needed to call Ben, because there was a very real chance that

she’d just found Leo Maddox.

Sacrificial Muse (Book #2)

every day. But when only eight roses arrive on the same day a Berkeley student’s mutilated body is found,

Sabrina fears that the killer is taunting her. Forced into a partnership with a deceitful reporter who somehow

remains one step ahead of her, Sabrina discovers that she’s the object of a psychopath’s twisted delusion . . .

and there may be no escape.

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