Torn (Second Sight) by Hazel Hunter

the bag. Reading the stethoscope was the last thing he wanted her to do but if the Chameleon had left any clue, anything at all, intentional or not, that could lead to his identification, his capture , then it had to be done.
    But Isabelle knew it too. Mac could see that. Though she’d put her back against the wall, she pushed away from it now. With her lips set into a thin line, she began to remove one glove.
    Forensics had already determined that the stethoscope and paper were devoid of prints, though the metal diaphragm appeared to have been damaged–like everything else in this place. Whatever mistake Mac was hoping the Chameleon would make, especially given the ‘operation,’ leaving prints was not one of them. As Isabelle tugged her glove free, Mac opened the bag. But the fact that he’d specifically left something behind was yet another indicator he was getting cocky– very cocky.
    As she reached her bare hand into the bag, it trembled. With one, last, hissing inhale, she touched one of the earpieces. Light from the floodlights set up by forensics spilled into the hallway and lit Isabelle’s face from the side. The one eye that Mac could clearly see unfocused immediately as though she were staring right through his chest.
    Suddenly her eyes widened, her eyebrows flew upward, her mouth dropped open, and then she screamed.
    “Isabelle!” Mac yelled, yanking the stethoscope from her grip.  
    Isabelle began to fall backward, her body as rigid as a board, the scream suddenly cut off. In an instant, Mac had flung the bag toward Dixon and lunged forward. He caught her in both his arms as she’d been about to collide with the wall behind her.
    “Isabelle!” he yelled again as he lowered her to the floor, her open eyes staring at the ceiling. “Isabelle!”
    Slowly, her eyes blinked and, as her entire body went limp, her head lolled back. An EMT had appeared at his side and supported her head as Mac gently laid her on the ground. All around them officers and agents were gathering.
    “Isabelle,” Mac said, leaning over her. “Can you hear me?”
    Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the EMT, a man in his mid-thirties pick up Isabelle’s arm and feel for a pulse at her wrist.
    “Don’t touch her hand,” Mac snapped at him, only to realize the man was wearing latex gloves.
    “Here,” Dixon said from behind him, extending Isabelle’s glove to the paramedic. “Put that on her.”
    “Mac?” Isabelle whispered shakily.
    “Right here,” he said, taking her other hand in his and leaning down close. Her eyes moved toward his voice and, as she blinked, he could see them focus. Just as they did, though, tears welled up. “What?” he said. “Isabelle, what is it?”
    “He’s coming for me,” she said in a choked voice that was barely audible. “I’m next.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

    Isabelle hadn’t been able to get into the shower fast enough. It was bad enough that she’d lain on the filthy floor of Linda Vista but what she really needed to scrub off was the stench of the operating room. As she turned off the hair dryer, she could hear Mac’s voice in the living room. He’d been on the phone almost non-stop: with Ben, with Sharon, with Sergeant Dixon. As always, he was in control, sure of himself, though clearly he’d been worried about her.
    As she set the dryer down and looked at her reflection, it wasn’t her face that she saw, nor even Angela’s–it was the Chameleon’s. His voice echoed in the bare operating room.
    “Next time, Isabelle,” he yelled as the pain in her hand radiated up her arm. “It’ll be you!”
    She gripped her wrist, staring down at the clenched fist and willed it to open. But her fingernails bit hard into her palm, building on the pain.
    “Oh god,” she muttered, prying each finger open, both hands shaking.  
    Though she’d half-expected a burn mark, only the red indentations of her nails were there.
    “Isabelle?” came Mac’s voice from just beyond the closed