The cold penetrated her wet clothes and numbed her from ankle to shoulder.

"You killed the wrong person." Wally's frightened words echoed in an unending cry. But Bastian was a butcher. Untouchable. Unstoppable. He met every criterion The Fixer set for her assignments. "You killed the wrong person."

More than thirty targets over six years. Never a doubt. Never a mistake. Always justice. Never revenge.

"You killed the wrong person."

Savannah was silent for several long moments. "I hurt people, Dr. Corriger. It didn't used to bother me. Now it does."

“There’s lots of ways we can hurt people,” Lydia said. “Intentional or accidental. Emotional. Physical. Sexual. Financial. Consistently or at random.” She watched her patient. “What ways do you think you hurt people, Savannah?”

The beautiful woman continued her numb gaze into nothingness. “I’ve hurt people every way you can conceive. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Not inhibited at all, Dr. Bastian.” She pulled off the orange needle guard and leaned forward. “Not one little bit.”

She teased aside his collar, and watched him smile in anticipation of her kiss. She stabbed the syringe into his shoulder, pressed the plunger, and jumped free of the chaise.

All before his eyes jerked open.

“I need you to listen to me, Gordon. Listen very carefully.”

“No. You listen to me, you c***. Cut me loose, tell me who hired you, and maybe I won’t call the cops. How’s that?”

“You’re going to die tonight, Gordon.” Anna’s voice held as much emotion as telling him the time.

Mort stood frozen, unable to comprehend. A heartbeat later his cop instincts kicked in. Fingers to her neck, praying for a pulse. Calling her name as he lunged for the phone. [...]

The physician walking toward him. Sad eyes. Shaking head. Trying to explain what an aneurysm was.

Mort squeezed the bridge of his nose and brought himself back. It had been the longest and worst year of his life. He didn’t want to revisit its inaugural.