The finale!

Ok Jaeshik had changed out of his perfect linen suit into dark green jogging clothes, an outfit that let him blend into his surroundings. His usual bland, carefully controlled expression was gone, replaced by sheer fury and determination.

He was here to kill her.

Dabin was halfway to her feet before he landed a solid chop to the back of her neck. It sent her back down, and her forehead crashed into the wood planking, hard enough to split her skin.

He had training. She should have known. Kim Seunghwan might have been middle-aged, but he'd played sports most of his life. And Kwak Hanbin had the pumped upper body of someone who'd hit the weight benches in prison. Ok Jaeshik was obviously stronger than he looked—or craftier.

She needed to focus, to get up fast and fight, while she still could. But her mind wouldn't slow down, sorting through all the things about Ok Jaeshik that didn't quite add up.

Why the hell was he trying to kill her? She wasn't the only one who knew the truth. Even if he got rid of her, Sehun could still name him.

The boy in the ocean. Was it a setup?

Panic for Sehun surfaced, but she tried to focus on her immediate problem as Jaeshik grabbed her under her arms and dragged her off the trail and into the trees.

Suddenly, his plan was very clear.

He intended to haul her off while she was still dazed, take her wherever he'd taken his other victims. Then he'd shoot her in the head and dump her in the ocean, too.

It would be pretty damn ironic if after a year and a half spent chasing serial killers for the NIS, she was killed on her vacation. By a psychiatrist.

The ridiculous thought ran through Dabin's foggy brain as he grunted, dragging her deeper into the bushes. Cattails slapped her arms and her legs left deep grooves in the sand Sehun would see when he came this way.

Off in the distance, she heard the boy's mom yelling at Sehun to save her son. At least they were out of the line of fire right now. But it meant there was no one to help her take down Jaeshik, a man who'd already killed twice this week.

She dropped her head back and met his gaze. It was direct and angry, but she saw remorse buried under his resolve to eliminate anyone who could stop him.

That startled her, but she got into her profiler mode, the way she did when staring into the eyes of too many serial killers. Except this time, she let her lips tremble and her eyes water.

"Please don't," she whimpered.

He stumbled, probably expecting her to be stoic, like a trained federal agent.

But she also had training like his—in psychology. It had always been her greatest strength.

She used his surprise to her advantage now, gripping the elbows that were locked under her armpits and forcing her whole body forward. The move propelled him back toward her, off balance, and she twisted and kicked until he was on the ground beside her.

Then she shot a fist into his nose, which spurted blood. She shoved herself to her feet, but he recovered fast, slamming into her and knocking both of them back to the ground. He scurried behind her, trying to lock his arms around her.

"You're not going to get away with this," she panted as he fought to slide his arms around her in the kind of hold she knew he'd learned to restrain psychotic patients. If he got his arm around her just right, he'd be able to put pressure on her neck until she passed out.

No way was she giving him the chance.

She twisted, and then st