Minutes later, a sound caught my attention. I pulled over and slammed down on the brakes. Then I listened, barely breathing. 

I flinched as a female scream sounded in my ears. A kid. The cry was high-pitched, as if pained.

An image of myself screaming in agony as a teenager flashed before my eyes. But the memory wasn't alone. It was accompanied by the images of Cassandrea, Miley, and Belinda lying on the ground; their killer on top of them, drawing the life from their bodies as they thrashed in his deadly grasp.

Could this be another victim?

My question was answered by another cry--this time a weakened scream.

If the killer had picked his next target, I was determined to see that he didn't succeed this time.

After whipping out my Sig, I jumped from my vehicle and sprinted to the alleyway the screams had originated from, adrenaline spiking through my veins. I had to focus.

Back against the wall, firearm in my hands, I made...