Free The Killing Hour by Lisa Gardner Page A

scare the bad guys into surrendering with your looks?”
    “Remember which one of us is better with a gun,” Kimberly muttered.
    “Yeah, and remember which one of us is better with a pitcher of water!” Lucy brandished her weapon triumphantly, then, with a final glance at the clock, replaced the pitcher on top of her desk and headed for the door. Then she paused. “Seriously, Kimberly, maybe you should curtail the midnight sessions for a bit. You have to be conscious to graduate.”
    “Have fun shooting,” Kimberly called after her exiting roommate while frantically lacing her sneakers. Lucy was gone. And in another second, Kimberly was also out the door.
             
    Kimberly was a lucky girl after all. She could pinpoint the exact moment when her whole career fell apart. It happened at eight twenty-three A . M . That morning. At the FBI Academy. With only seven weeks to go.
    She was tired, disoriented from too little sleep and a strange midnight chase with a Georgia special agent. She’d been pushing herself too hard. Maybe she should’ve listened to Lucy after all.
    She thought about it a lot. Later, of course. After they’d taken away the body.
    Things started out fine enough. PT training wasn’t so hard. Eight A . M ., they did some pushups, then some sit-ups. Then the good old jumping jacks everyone learns in grade school. They looked like a sea of blue-clad kids. All obediently standing in line. All obediently going through the motions.
    Then they were sent out to run three miles, using the same course Kimberly had jogged just last night.
    The PT course started in the woods. Not a difficult path. Hell, it was paved. That would be one hint of where to go. The signs were another hint. Run! Suck it in! Love it!
Endure.
    They started as a herd, then gradually thinned out as people found their individual paces. Kimberly had never been the fastest in her class. She generally wasn’t the slowest either.
    Except this morning. This morning she almost immediately fell behind.
    Vaguely, she was aware of her classmates pulling ahead. Vaguely, she was aware of her own labored breathing as she struggled to keep up. Her left side ached. Her feet were sluggish. She stared down at the blacktop, willing one foot to land in front of the other.
    She didn’t feel well. The world tilted dangerously, and she thought for a moment that she was honestly going to faint. She just made it off the path and grabbed a tree for support.
    God, her side hurt, the muscle stitched so tight it felt as if it had a vise-grip on her lungs. And the damn air was so hot already, filled with so much humidity that no matter how many times she inhaled, she couldn’t get enough oxygen.
    She headed deeper into the woods, desperately seeking shade. Green trees whirled sickeningly, while goose bumps suddenly burst out across her arms. She started shivering uncontrollably.
    Dehydration or heat sickness, she thought idly. Is that good enough for you yet, Kimberly, or would you like to take this self-destructive streak a step further?
    The woods spun faster. A faint roaring filled her ears while black dots spotted in front of her eyes. Breathe, Kimberly. Come on, honey, breathe.
    She couldn’t do it. Her side wouldn’t unlock. She couldn’t draw a breath. She was going to pass out in the woods. She was going to collapse onto this hard, leaf-strewn ground and all she wanted was for the dirt to feel cool against her face.
    And then the thoughts rushed her all at once.
    Last night, and the genuine terror that had seized her by the throat when she’d seen a strange man standing beside her. She had thought . . . What? That it was her turn? That death had come for every other woman in her family? That she’d barely escaped six years ago, but that didn’t mean death was done with her yet?
    She thought that she spent too much time with crime-scene photos, and though she would never tell anyone, sometimes she saw the pictures move. Her own face appeared