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The drive to the Brighton's house brought the same feelings that Corbett had felt the first time that he drove along the wooded street. His heart was racing and he could almost feel his hands beginning to shake. The first time that he had come up here was after he received the assignment to the case, and the feelings were from the excitement of being handed a case that he knew could make his career. He had known at the time that if he handled it right, there might be a shot at the chief's desk in his future.

Now, though, the drive through the trees with the sun beginning to set brought a whole new reason for the heartbeat that he could hear as well as feel in his head. He knew this time that no matter what happened from here on out, he was never going to be able to continue being a cop. The moment that Duke's men had picked up his family had changed all that. The SNAG officers would eventually come back and find out that the targets they were supposed to be watching were nowhere to be found.

It might take a while, but eventually word would bet back to Senator Lewis, and that would be the beginning of the end. The cover that Sylvester gave him with the hacking of the bugs in his car would only last so long until the whole trail that they'd built collapsed.

He could only hope that it held up long enough for him to get done with what he needed to do. It had to last long enough for him to get something from Hunter and get it in front of the magistrate. Once that happened, he could trust Duke to get him out of whatever jam he was in, and failing that, he could at least trust his friend to take care of his family.

The Brightons lived far enough out of the city that the drive had time to get monotonous, especially in the fading light. Trees lined both sides of the two-lane street, and the shadows were already getting dark beneath the canopy of leaves that they put out over the road. With the window down, Corbett could smell the stagnant, humid summer air. In the evening, the heat wasn't bad, even in the summer, and with the car moving at a respectable clip, it kept the air inside the vehicle moving enough that it was actually pleasant.

Corbett watched the road in front of him, illuminated by his headlights and tried not to think about the way that this was going down. He wanted so much to be at Duke's ranch with his wife instead of working through the rest of this case. That would be the easiest road, to just turn tail and run. It would be just a simple matter of leaving the Senator to do what he wanted to do and he wouldn't have to worry about looking over his shoulder.

But the sound of the Kincaid girl's voice haunted him still. He could still hear the fear and the bewilderment in it during the interview. No, he had to stick it out to the end.

The turnoff was right where he remembered it. He'd nearly missed it the first morning in his excitement to get to the crime scene. The dirt road was sheltered between two very large pines and it was difficult to see. As he slowed down, though, he could see a fresh set of tire tracks dug into the gravel. They were too close together to be a police cruiser, and the tires were thinner than he'd expect on one of their vehicles. It looked like a compact car's tracks.

He slowed even further, turning into the driveway with as little sound and dust as he could. Little by little, with his foot almost off the accelerator, he crept the car up the dirt road, almost wincing at the crunching of the gravel under his tires. If anyone was outside, they were sure to hear him coming, but if they were inside, he might still have the benefit of surprise.

The car's headlights illuminated the road in front of him and the trees to the side. The sun had set far enough that without the aid of the headlights, all he could see were shadows beyond their glare.

At the end of the drive, the gate to the house stood open and the official police cordon had been moved away from the opening. He could see the remnants of the crime scene tape hanging off the end of the gate, fluttering lightly in the barely perceptible breeze.

He remembered that the gate was out of sight of the rest of the house, hidden behind some trees and an outbuilding, and when he pulled in through the gate, he steered the car to a stop behind the small storage shed, then killed the engine.

With the motor stopped, he sat in the car with the window down and listened. The only thing that met his listening ear was the sounds of the frogs in the pond off to the east, and the sound of crickets and cicadas in the trees. The smell of jasmine crept through the window, carried by the same slight breeze that fluttered the tape on the gate.

Satisfied that no one was coming to greet him, he eased open the door and slid out of the seat. There had to be someone else here. He hadn't seen any tracks going out of the driveway. Judging by Sylvester's trace, it had to be Hunter. The teenager had murdered seven people with what looked like anything he could get his hands on. Corbett was acutely aware of that, but that was the boy on C. Would he be here getting high again?

As much as he wanted to believe that Hunter wasn't here to do exactly that, he couldn't justify it. So with a quick look around the area of the yard he could see, he eased his pistol from its holster on his hip and held it at the ready.

After a few moments to let his eyes adjust to the darkened house and yard, he started making his way to the front of the house, using bushes and trees for cover, his alert eyes watching the house for any movement. As he got closer, he could make out the forms of the vehicles that were still at the front of the house. Crime scene officers had gone over them all with their usual precision and attention to detail, and none of them had needed to bring any of the cars back to the lab. They were all clean.

By now, after living with this case for as long as he had, Corbett could pinpoint which car belonged to which victim. But there was an addition tonight, and it was parked right beside Kincaid's little red car. Another compact, this one black, but the same make and model, just a couple years newer sat in the gravel close enough that the cars themselves made a couple.

Corbett took another look towards the house, finally able to make out the front porch, and he waited, looking for any movement or any other sign of life. When he saw none, he crossed the drive to the pair of cars. Kincaid's hadn't moved an inch since he was here the last time, but the hood on the black one was warm to the touch, and he heard the clicking sounds of a cooling engine telling him that it wasn't all that long ago that the car had been running.

He carefully eased the door open and looked inside, squinting his eyes against the sudden assault of the car's dome light. Sitting on the black leather passenger seat was an open box of ammunition. It was meant for a revolver, and from only a cursory glance at the box, there were five cartridges missing, enough for a standard load in one of the lighter pocket-size revolvers.

Corbett made a note of it and slid into the car. He carefully looked over every surface and opened every compartment and pocket he could find, trying to find anything else that would tell him more about the Lewis boy. He was up here for a reason, but nothing in the car hinted to what that reason was, other than the ammunition.

Corbett carefully slid back out of the car and gently closed the door, latching it just enough that the dome light extinguished, then looked up at the house. There was nothing for it, he was going to have to search the house. He'd never wished for backup more than he did right then, but there was no way to call for any without tipping off the captain and from him Senator Lewis as to what he was up to. That left just him, though he wasn't entirely alone.

He tucked himself up against the back of Kincaid's car, out of sight of the house and dialed Sylvester.

"Did you find something, Inspector?" Sylvester asked, not even bothering with a greeting.

"You were right, Hunter's here. Can you get this tablet you gave me to monitor?"

"Sound and video, inspector. Why?"

"I need you to set it up. You're my backup, and I want you listening in."

Corbett listened to the silence on the other end of the phone.

"That'll do it, inspector. I'm getting audio and video, but you're going to have to point the tablet's camera at whatever you want me to record. I can still hear everything, though."

"Good," Corbett said. "I want you listening until I tell you I'm done. If things go sideways, call it in, then get out. Do what you have to do to make sure they don't come after you, too."

"I got your back, Inspector," Sylvester said and then cut the connection.

Corbett tucked the phone away and started walking towards the house again, keeping himself out of sight of the main windows, still cautious. A stray breeze blew from the house and brought with it the scent of cigarette smoke.

Corbett looked up at the porch again and didn't see any of the telltale glow that would tell of someone smoking. Satisfied that Hunter wasn't outside waiting for him, he hurried across the open space to the porch and pressed himself up against the wall.

A glance through the window told him that the lights were off in the house, though he could still make out the blood stains on the floor inside.

Movement caught his eye when he looked through the next window. This one looked through the entire house to the sliding glass door at the back, and from there out onto the patio by the pool. He could discern the silhouette of a man sitting in one of the pool chairs, and the dim orange spot against the figure's hand told him that he'd found the source of the cigarette smoke.

As he watched, the figure lifted the cigarette to his mouth. The orange spot flared brighter and the figure took a deep breath, then slowly blew the smoke out. The hand that wasn't holding the cigarette rested in the figure's lap, hidden from Corbett's view.

Corbett frowned, remembering the layout of the house. The front door opened almost directly into a line of sight to the pool. Hunter would hear him right away opening that door, and it would give him a clear firing line right through the open areas of the house. The same problem presented itself when he thought about the windows. The safest way to approach would be from the side of the house. He remembered that there was a gate he could get through on the near side.

His mind made up, he stood away from the wall and walked off the porch and around the side of the house. The gate was right where he remembered it, and it opened quietly. He left it hanging open and pressed his back against the wall, and then peered around the corner.

The wavy lights filtering out of the pool illuminated the wolf's face. It was the face that had looked out of his tablet many times while he was looking over the case files. Hunter's face was focused on the pool and he wasn't paying any attention to anything else around him, seemingly transfixed by the waves lapping at the concrete edge. The legs of the chair rested just a few inches away from the blood pool that still remained from where Amanda Brighton's body had laid.

He took another drag on the cigarette and moved a little in the chair, adjusting himself to sit a little straighter and with the movement, Corbett could see the tears shining in the hollows of his eyes. Puffy bags were starkly evident under his eyes and the sound of a choking sob could be heard over the quiet whirring of the pool filter.

Corbett watched for another moment, and then carefully drew his tablet from its holster. He knew from experience that the camera and microphone would be able to hear everything he said from over a couple hundred feet away. He propped the tablet up against the wall so that it had a good line of sight with Hunter in his chair.

Satisfied that his initial feeling was correct about him not wanting to harm anyone, Corbett stepped out from around the corner with his gun held loosely in his hand by his side. He wanted to present the least threatening stance he could while still being ready.

"Hunter?" he called softly. "Hunter Lewis?"

The boy jerked himself to his feet and whirled to face Corbett.

"Stay back!" he shouted, lifting a hand cannon of a revolver to point it at Corbett.

Corbett raised his free hand in a placating gesture, leaving the other hand at his side. Nothing he did betrayed the hard and fast pounding of his heart. He'd had guns pointed at him in the past, and every time it inspired the same reaction Nothing he could do would make the barrel look any smaller, so he tore his eyes from it and looked into Hunter's trying to forge a connection between the two of them.

"Just relax, Hunter," Corbett said in the calmest voice he could manage.

"Relax?!" Hunter cried, "How the fuck am I going to relax? You're one of my father's goons. Bought and paid for!"

"Listen to me, Hunter," Corbett said, keeping his voice low and even, "I'm not your father's man."

"Bullshit! He brags around the house how he bought you off! A car and a bag of cash." Hunter spit viciously at Corbett's face. "You're just another of my dad's two dollar whores. Give you a little sugar and you'll just lay right down and suck his cock for all you're worth won't you?"

Corbett flinched at the vehemence coming off the young man. There were many things that he was expecting, but this didn't even make the bottom of the list.

"Hunter, slow down a second," Corbett said, a pleading tone coming into his voice. "Your father threatened to kill my wife and daughter."

Hunter lowered the gun just a touch at that, but then lifted it right back up. "Doesn't matter. He still got to you. You're here to take me back."

"I'm not here to take you anywhere, Hunter," Corbett said. "I'm just here to talk to you. Your father wouldn't let me ask you any questions."

Corbett slowly moved his gun towards his holster. "I'm going to put my gun away. You can keep yours wherever you want."

The leather hissed softly as the metal slid against it and when it was seated, Corbett snapped the strap around it and let his hand rest again by his side.

"Tell me what happened, Hunter."

Hunter lowered the gun to his side and let it dangle from his fingers and Corbett relaxed just a little. The adrenaline was still pumping through his system, and his heart was still beating like mad in his ears, but he could focus more on Hunter than on the gun now. When Hunter turned and sat himself back in the chair, he relaxed just a little more, though he stayed precisely where he was.

"I killed them. Every one of them."

The sound of despair in Hunter's voice almost drove Corbett to reach out to him. He knew the sound of pain, and he was a father above everything else. At that moment, he wanted to comfort the young man, and he had to remind himself that he was talking to someone that had killed seven people.

"Why, Hunter?" Corbett asked.

"The guys at school gave me this stuff. I was talking to them about me and Caitlin. Told them how much I wanted to get with her again. Things started turning nasty. One of them told me how he'd drugged his girlfriend to get into her pants."

Hunter paused and watched the waves for a moment while his hands fidgeted on his lap with the gun.

"He gave me some of the stuff that he used, and something else, too. He said it was Vitamin C, that it would make it fantastic. I just thought that's what it was. I didn't know what it really was."

Corbett frowned. He already knew what Hunter had done to Kincaid, but he had the picture in his head of the drug addict that just wanted to get high again. He hadn't considered the fact that he might have been tricked into taking it, some college prank gone horribly wrong.

"You didn't know what you were doing, Hunter."

"Yeah, I did. I knew everything I was doing. I couldn't stop! I wanted it. Every time I stabbed one of them, it was more intense than anything else. Like I was fucking Caitlin again and again, every time."

Hunter's voice caught and he paused to compose himself a little further before he continued.

"And when I came down, my father's men were in the house. I couldn't move at all, I was so tired. I knew they were there to clean it all up, make it go away. My father couldn't allow me to be to be an embarrassment."

"Why not Caitlin, Hunter? Why didn't you kill her?"

"I couldn't. Not even then. She was everything that I had. When she left, I couldn't figure out what went wrong, and I thought that I might be able to talk her into coming back to me, and maybe I could get her to feel what we had before, and she'd love me again."

Hunter's body shook with a series of sobs and he lowered his head to his chest. Corbett stayed rooted in place, trying to sort out his frenzied thoughts.

"And now she's condemned, because of me. I saw Davis putting the knife in her hand, and I couldn't do anything to stop him."

Hunter's face twisted into a grimace of rage and his hand tightened around the handle of the revolver. "It's MY fault! They're going to shoot her like a dog, and there's nothing I can do."

"You can still stop it, Hunter. Come with me and let's tell your side. Don't let Caitlin die because of you or your father."

"You think I'm that stupid, inspector?" Hunter spat the last word with so much contempt that Corbett felt slapped. "I know you're under father's thumb. I go with you, and you're going to take me upstate somewhere."

He raised the gun again and waved it at Corbett.

"No. This is the only way. I have to pay for it, and when it's over, maybe I'll see her again."

Hunter reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. With an angry flash of his hand, he threw it at Corbett.

"You're just going to find it anyway, so I'll save you the trouble."

Corbett looked down at the paper as it hit the deck, taking his eyes off Hunter for only a moment and when he looked back up, Hunter had the gun pressed to his temple.

"No!" Corbett shouted as he leapt for Hunter.

He was too far away and by the time he'd crossed even half the distance between them, Hunter pulled the trigger. There would never be any question about how quickly he'd died, the large caliber round opened a hole bigger than Corbett's fist on the other side of his head.

Corbett reached Hunter's body moments after it began to slump down in the chair, and he gently eased it to the ground as the last echoes of the gunshot filtered through the trees. Seconds later, his phone vibrated against his leg. He knew without looking who it was.

"Jesus, Inspector," Sylvester's breathless voice came through the phone when he answered.

"Tell me you were recording," Corbett said as he let go of Hunter's body and stood up.

"Got every last bit of it, Inspector. Think it'll be enough?"

"Between that and Amine's confession, it's definitely enough."

"What about Hunter?" Sylvester asked.

"Give me fifteen minutes and then call it in. Concerned neighbor heard the gunshots or something."

"You got it. What else do you need?"

"Think you can wake up the magistrate for me?"

"Inspector, I can have his house turn into one giant alarm clock if I have to. Get going, and I'll take care of things."

Corbett hung up the phone and walked back to the crumpled piece of paper on the patio. With still-shaking hands, he reached down, picked it up and unfurled it.

Dearest Caitlin -

There is no way that I could tell you how sorry I am. It's because of me that you're going to die, and there's nothing I can do to stop that. I killed Amanda and the others. They'll try to say that it was the drugs that made me do it, but I think there was always something inside that wanted to let loose like I did. It makes me sick to finally be honest and say that I enjoyed it.

I know there is no reason for you to forgive me, Cait, but if anyone can, I know that you can. If you ever get this, know that I did what I could to tell people the truth.

To whomever is reading this -

My name is Hunter Lewis, and I am the guilty one. I murdered Amanda Brighton and six other people in this house. I was high on C and I stabbed them until they were dead. Then I carried Caitlin Kincaid downstairs where I was not able to kill her. I drugged Caitlin in order to have sex with her, and she was unconscious at the time of the killings.

I'm signing this in my hand in the hopes that it will save Caitlin's life.

Hunter Lewis

Corbett read the note and when he was finished, he folded it neatly and tucked it into his pocket. With the recording, the note, and the signed confession from the doc, he had enough to convince just about anyone.

He picked up his tablet as he walked back around the house to his car. When the gate was disappearing behind him down the dirt road, he finally let himself hope. Now it just remained to be seen if the magistrate was in Lewis' pocket, too.