“You destroyed it,” Chloe said from the chair.

Beatrice whirled back toward Chloe, raising the beam again.

I lunged forward, grabbing Beatrice’s arm before she could bring the wood down.

The weight of her impact threw us both against a charred filing cabinet.

The cabinet groaned and tipped over, crashing to the floor with a metallic boom that shook the small room.

Beatrice was surprisingly strong, fueled by pure, desperate madness.

She clawed at my face, her sharp fingernails scratching near my old scar.

I felt a sharp sting, but I did not let go of her wrists.

“You will not hurt anyone else,” I gasped, locking my arms around her waist to pull her away from Chloe.

We fell to the wet, soot-covered floor together.

Beatrice scrambled to her feet first, looking around wild-eyed for another weapon.

But before she could move, a bright beam of light flooded the room from the doorway.

“Police! Do not move!” a voice commanded.

It was Detective Maren Holt.

She stood in the doorway, her service weapon raised and steady, her face grim.