"Move and you die."

Polly Chapman remained as still as possible, her mind working frantically for an escape that wouldn't further rile the Powers That Be. For three months she'd followed this man--against orders--waiting impatiently for red tape to be resolved so she'd get the go-ahead to nail his sorry ass to the wall. It didn't come too late; it never came at all. He'd done the unthinkable before she could save the innocent.

The mess she was in now was her own fault. She was supposed to have waited for backup, kept hidden until Ballard or Augustine arrived to take the perp down. She'd been given direct orders to keep her hands off him, to let local law enforcement collar him. Now, she not only lost the advantage of surprise, she might very well lose her life to some sorry son of a bitch she could break into tiny pieces if allowed.

"Who else is out there?"

A line of heat met her throat where he held the knife. She licked her lips, refusing to whimper as heat turned to pain. "My backup," she bluffed.

"How many?"

Inch by careful inch, Polly slid her hand across her stomach until her fingertips reached the small Taser tucked into her black slacks, but lost concentration when he ground his pelvis against her bottom.

"Don't fuck with me, sister."

Fetid breath caressed her cheek, making her gag. As far as she could tell, he hadn't detected her movements, but was referring to her bluff. She fought taking a deep breath, certain she'd vomit from the dumpster-smell of his rotting teeth. Taking short, sharp breaths through her mouth, she nearly cried in triumph when she grasped the stun-gun on her second attempt.

"Move that hand and I'll take it off."

Indecision was a new and unwelcome problem. She remained still, regret formulating with the certainty that she wouldn't make it out of this alive if she followed orders. Fury simmered at the restrictions she'd been made to endure regarding this man. He was refuse, sludge, and expendable as far as she was concerned, more so now than before, but she'd been forced to back off.

She had her orders: get counseling and leave Karl Whallen to others. To take him down now would spotlight her disobedience. To obey could, and most certainly would, cost her life, a condition she'd never given thought to before. How could she let go of life when she hadn't even lived it yet? She'd given Uncle Sam everything. Twice over. And he'd paid her back by letting the very people she'd sworn to protect die.

She didn't want to die, too. Not by this man's hands. There was so much she'd put off in her climb up the Bureau's ladder--a home of her own instead of an apartment where she couldn't even change the wall color if she wanted to. A family, starting with a man she could adore and one who would adore her right back. Maybe even a couple of kids, and with them, a dog or two. Perhaps even her soul. She'd given it all, freely, in service to her country.

"What's that sound?"

Polly didn't know what he was talking about, but wasn't about to give up what might be her only opportunity to work him. "Probably my backup. Let me go and you've got a chance. Kill me and they will roast you in the chair, if they don't kill you instantly."

The perp slightly turned his body, and subsequently her own, from side to side as he searched for whatever it was that had spooked him.

Hoping her words scared him, she continued, "I can help you. I know you didn't mean to hurt Martha. Everybody knows you aren't that kind of man. If you let me go, we can make a judge understand that you are the victim. She made you do it. She didn't give you any choice."

Polly closed her mouth, not wanting to overplay her hand, hoping he'd buy her offer. Chances were Whallen knew his days were numbered if they got him into a courtroom. He'd brutally abused then murdered his wife and their three kids months before when Martha finally tried to escape him. Polly had been her chance for a new life, a new start, a new identity. Only everything had gone wrong before she'd been able to get Martha and those children to safety.

"You should'a left me alone. I ain't got no beef with you."

Polly nodded, relieved he was talking. "You're right, Karl. I stepped in where I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

"She done it. She made me hit her. Them brats, too. Hated them. They cried. All they ever did was friggin' cry." He ground his engorged manhood against her bottom. "Couldn't even screw the old lady without them whining bastard's interfer'n."

Polly nodded, hoping if she agreed with everything, he'd drop his guard. "I know. Kids ruin everything."

A huff of his laughter blew his breath from behind her head, across her cheek. This time her entire body gagged, and he tightened his hold. "You ever had a man, girly? You ever had a real man make you cum? I can, you know. Martha had it so good."

Fury coincided with revulsion when he licked her face. Without thought, she grasped the Taser and spun, pressing the stun button and grinding it into his groin even as heat sliced into her throat. They went down together, him screaming and slashing with the knife, her pressing electricity into him until she couldn't keep her eyes open or her arm lifted any longer. She lay there in darkness, feeling the life flow from her body.

Strangely, there was no pain. Only regret.