Satan’s Playground.

She looked away.

“I need to go after Seth,” Dean said after he’d finished his call. “You okay staying here with him?”

She nodded. “Be careful. Call me and keep me posted. I’ll catch up as soon as backup gets here; it shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

He leaned over the boy, brushing a tender hand across his pale, clammy forehead. Then, a muscle twitching in his jaw, he pointed toward the sharp tools on the floor. The ones that had been laid out neatly on the towel Stacey had grabbed. “Looks like he was setting everything up.”

Stacey nodded. She’d realized the same thing. “We’re fine. I won’t let anything happen to him. Now go.”

Pressing a quick kiss on her mouth, Dean went.

Seth had taken his truck, driving over the lawn to get around the two vehicles parked behind it. As Dean ran for his, he pulled his phone out and called Mulrooney. He explained in as few words as possible, not having time to give Kyle any more than the bare bones. That they’d found the Reaper. That he was Randy Covey’s twenty-year-old son. And that he was on the run.

“I’m going after him,” he snapped. Then he stopped short. “God damn it.”

“What?” Mulrooney asked.

“He snipped the fucking valve stems on both cars.” Both his car and Stacey’s had two flat tires on the driver’s side. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“Get here fast,” he told the other agent. “But first call Wyatt. Get an APB out on Seth Covey and his vehicle.”

“Hold tight; we’re on the way.”

As he cut the call, he heard sirens, soft, in the distance. But no more than a couple of minutes away. He’d have to jump in with one of Stacey’s deputies.

Hurrying back to let her know, he headed for the open metal doors and descended into the Reaper’s personal hellhole.

“He won’t get far,” she said after he filled her in. “There are only a couple of roads that lead out of town.”

“I know.” Seeing the still-motionless child, he asked, “Any change?”

She shook her head.

A moment later, they heard voices from above. Dean darted back outside, seeing the ambulance, not a sheriff’s car, and gestured for the paramedics. They followed him down, taking over the care of the Reaper’s intended victim. Dean and Stacey watched in silence. Somehow, in the dark, their hands had twined together. She squeezed his, as if knowing that when he looked at that kid, all he saw was Jared’s face. Jared lifeless and near death.

“Do you have any idea what he gave him?” one EMT asked after taking the boy’s vitals.

Stacey hurried to the desk, grabbing a prescription bottle. She tossed it to the man, who read it and shook his head. “Who the hell would do this to a kid?”

If only he knew.

Stacey and Dean stayed out of the way, letting the professionals do their work. His impatience grew with every second that ticked by. The backup was taking too long; every mile that passed beneath Seth Covey’s tires gave him an advantage.

“I know it seems like forever,” she said, “but it hasn’t been. The firehouse is a couple of miles closer, that’s all. We’re pretty secluded out…” Her voice trailed off.

“What’s wrong?”

“You don’t think he’d go to Dad’s place, would he?”

He immediately shook his head. “No way. He’s panicked and on the run.”

She didn’t look so sure.“You’d think if he was that panicked, he wouldn’t have stopped to take his camera.”

Not getting her at first, he followed her stare, noting that strangely empty tripod, the computer cables still tangled at the base, yanked free and dropped to the floor. Why would a serial killer lose precious minutes taking a damned video camera?

Unless he still intended to use it.

He swung around and stalked over to the desk, staring down at the desktop CPU. On the screen, nasty little people chattered and talked in excited gibberish. He clicked the mouse, running over the site, not wanting to go down the wrong vile rabbit hole, until he reached the drive-in movie theater he’d heard Lily and Brandon talking about.

“Oh, my God,” he whispered when his instincts proved right.

“What?” Stacey asked, stepping behind him.

He pointed to the sign, the marquee outside the theater. One word appeared on it, bold and large, demanding attention.

Hanging.

She gasped. “The camera.”

He’d taken it, and probably a laptop, for a reason.

“Where would he go?”

Dean had no idea. But it had to be somewhere close, in town, maybe. Someplace where Seth could quickly set up and hop online for his final performance.

The only question was, whom did he intend to hang? God, did he hope Stacey’s fears about her father didn’t bear fruit.

Desperate for more information, he clicked on the entrance to the drive-in. When asked to pay credits, he cursed the techno-psychos, then figured out how to spend some of the Reaper’s own currency.

As soon as he’d done so, the screen faded to black. Then, very slowly, a picture began to emerge. Not a cartoon, not a phantasmic world of garish light and exaggerated color. This was the real world. And a real person.

“Seth,” Stacey whispered, bending low to watch as the picture grew clearer.

When it did, he immediately realized it was already happening. All the excited people in the Playground were shelling out their gold.

The intended victim was the Reaper himself. He was going to commit suicide. Now. Right now, live on the Internet.

Utterly helpless, they watched as Seth Covey, dressed all in black, pulled a noose down from above, sliding it over his head. He stood on an old-fashioned wooden box; the walls surrounding him were rough-hewn and faded, the floor bare dirt.

Seth smiled at the camera. And, without hesitation, kicked the box.

Stacey flinched as the body dropped and began to writhe on the end of the rope. But rather than covering her eyes in horror at seeing her friend’s son end his life, she smacked her hand flat on the desk.

“He’s in Dad’s old barn! It’s within reach of the wireless.”

They stared at each other for a split second, then rose and ran like hell up the stairs. He could see the barn in the distance. The EMTs were getting ready to bring the boy out and needed the ambulance. A siren was coming up the road, drawing closer, but still at least a minute or two away. More precious seconds would be lost to a trip up the driveway, back down, then two miles up the road.

Straight across the fields was shorter. A mile at most.

Neither of them hesitated. They both ran, flying across the ground, oblivious to the weeds and rocks covering the rough countryside. They reached the bottom of the hill, pounded through a small stream, up the other side.

How long? He didn’t want to think about how many minutes it had been, whether Seth’s body still twitched and spun. And how many sick fucks around the world were tuning in to watch.

God knew, if there was anybody who deserved the death penalty, it was probably the Reaper. But Dean wanted him to face justice. Not to escape by his own hand, his own way, on his own terms.

He found a reserve of speed and picked it up, covering the final quarter mile a few seconds ahead of Stacey. The barn door was closed, but he burst against it, shattering the old wood, splintering the planks into pieces as he stumbled inside.

He spied the killer immediately. The man hung still. Completely still. But still Dean charged forward, tripping over something-the infernal camera. He kicked it away, dove for Seth’s dangling feet, lifting and trying to remove the pressure. Stacey was right behind him, shoving the wooden box back in place, and they both heaved up.

But even before they’d moved to cut him down, Dean knew they were too late. The body was deadweight. Covey’s face was purple, his neck bent at an odd angle. It had broken in the fall. And then he’d suffocated.