Stan froze.

“How do you know my name?” He asked stiffly, re-gripping the Glock in his hand.

I shrugged. “You fucked up.”

Simple words, but they really pissed him off.

“I did not fuck up!” he snarled. “I did everything right!”

See, serial killers had a certain way they did things.

They didn’t deviate.

Which was why I knew he wouldn’t shoot me until my ‘wife’ was here.

“What do you have against cops?” I asked calmly.

Stan’s eyes narrowed.

He had a hoody on, and it was covering his head, but since he was facing me, I could still get a pretty good indication of what he looked like.

About five foot ten, hundred and eighty five pounds. Brown or really dark green eyes. Brown hair. Tan skin. Small hands with no wedding band.

Black pants. Black lace up boots. Black hoody.

“You don’t need to know why. Just suffice it to say that this earth should be rid of you and every one of your kind,” Stan hissed.

My brows rose. “Really?”

He sneered. “Really.”

I laughed.

“Got it. How about I take a guess?” I asked.

I recalled the notes in the case.

The details of each doctor.

Stan’s page listed him as widowed.

Also listed him as not having any living children.

“Did we kill your wife?” I asked.

It was heartless, yes, but it was effective.

“Don’t you say her name!” He bellowed.

I refrained from saying that I ‘didn’t say her name at all.’

Bingo.

“Did a cop take your kid, too? Or did your kid take his own life because your wife died?” I continued cruelly.

Stan shook his gun at me, waggling it around as he started to scream at me.

“It was all you! You! She did nothing to you! All she did was get pulled over, and then one of you,” he hissed. “Shot her because he thought she was going for a gun. She didn’t even know how to shoot a gun!”

He ended that explanation on a shrill scream.

I felt sympathetic.

Of course I did.

Accidental shootings happened.

It sucked, extremely, horribly bad, but it happened.

Cops, on a daily basis, had to deal with so much shit from everyone that, at times, we expected everyone to be bad.

When we pulled someone over, we aren’t happy to do it.

We’re wary.

When we pull you over, are you going to be accepting of why we pulled you over?

Will you rant and scream at us for doing our jobs?

Will you pull your gun on us? Pull out a knife from some hidden place inside your car and stab us with it. Will your passenger do something?

A car to most people is just that, a car.

A car to a police officer is a weapon.

It can run over us. It can hide larger weapons. It can get you away from us and put other people, innocent people, in jeopardy. It can house more than one person who could potentially harm us.

So you see, there are multiple facets to look at when a police officer pulls someone over.

All of this is running through our brain.

We have to be extremely cautious, doing what we do.

Whether this was what happened with Stan’s wife or not, I would never know.

But even if it was or wasn’t, that didn’t give him the right to take out his hurt and pain on every single police officer that he came into contact with.

“I’m sorry, Stan,” I said seriously.

And I was.

I was sorry he had to experience something like that.

I would hope had the same thing happened to me that I would find the strength to move on.

To make this world a better place.

I wouldn’t, however, start shooting and killing innocent people.

Especially ones that were carrying our next generation like these innocent women were doing.

“You can shove your sorry’s up your ass,” Stan snarled. “Sit down in that chair right there. We won’t have to wait much longer. I called your woman’s mother. I know she gets home around this time.”

I closed my eyes very briefly, thankful that this time wouldn’t be one of those times.

She was safe at KPD headquarters.

Thank God.

Stall. That’s all I had to do.

It’d been thirty minutes since I left.

And I knew Luke had seen right through my hasty exit.

He was very aware of my shortcomings, and I’d made sure that he was up to date on my state of mind.

He was aware that something wasn’t right, and I knew he’d come to check on me if I was gone longer than thirty minutes.

My disease and conditions were all about checks and balances.

I was very open with everything about me…to the right people.

I needed those people in my life to keep me on the straight and narrow.

Luke. My parents. My sister and brother. A few doctors.

Nikki.

I smiled slightly.

She had no clue just how much she helped.

“Why are you smiling?” Stan asked, ruining my good thoughts.

I shrugged. “No reason.”

His eyes narrowed.

And to keep him talking, and me breathing, I continued to ask questions.

“Why the cop’s wives. Why babies?” I asked carefully.

He sneered.

“Why would I want to bring more of those bastards into this world? Not by my hands, no sir.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t aiding in any more births to people like you.”

I shook my head.

The degree of his hate was staggering.

To take his problems out on innocent children was just jaw dropping to me.

“What would your wife think about all of this?” I asked softly.

Stan’s eye twitched, and it was long moments before he answered.

“Well, I’m not sure why she would even matter anymore. She’s gone, and I’ll never need to know what my wife thinks about any of this,” Stan’s voice broke. “Because she’s so gone. Gone, gone, gone.”

“She’s not gone,” I said softly. “She lives on in your memories.”

Shit, now I was quoting Big Hero 6!

I knew I shouldn’t have watched that movie with Reggie!

“She tells me I should think before I act. I don’t know how to do that,” he admitted, looking down at his hand and dropping his gun to the floor.

I didn’t move.

Not time yet.

My heart rate picked up when I saw the movement in the side window of my place.

A distinctly blonde head popped into the side window before disappearing just as quickly.

Luke.

Good.

Only a little bit longer now.

“Women have a way about them. They think they’re right…but most of the time they are right. I’ve found that out myself just the other day,” I told him, thinking back to the night Nikki saw me with Lisette. “They’re smart creatures, women. They instinctively know what is best for us, and they move heaven and earth to make us happy.”

And Nikki did do that.

Every day.

I saw that now, with the threat of my life being taken from me from a man that felt such pain over the loss of his own woman.

Stan’s eyes moved to the table, and my breath caught in my throat when I caught sight of the sonogram picture that I’d dropped there when I arrived home.

I’d seen it in the cab of the truck, and on instinct had grabbed it to make sure it wouldn’t get ruined.

Now the man that wanted to take her away from me was staring at it like it was the lowliest of life forms.

“Cops don’t deserve to have a happy life,” he muttered darkly. “You don’t deserve to live.”

He dropped down scooping the gun up off the floor and pointing it for real this time and I knew my time was up.

He wasn’t going to wait, and if I didn’t do something, I’d be lying in a pool of blood.

“May you rot in he…”

Boom!

I closed my eyes, sick to my stomach.

The smoking gun still in my hand.

Stan was dead before his body even met the floor.

“Shit!” Luke said, rounding the corner of the back hallway with his gun in his hand. “You scared the shit out of me, man!”

I raised my head and looked at my boss, and one of the best friends I’ve ever had.