Cincinnati, Ohio,
Monday 21 December, 12.10 P.M.
He’d trekked across eleven backyards altogether, going around the cul-de-sac and down five more houses. He now leaned up against the back of the house that sat directly across the street from the home he’d shared with Rita for almost eight years.
He was tired and his arm burned like it was literally on fire. He didn’t want to check it. He’d probably popped a stitch or two, with all the vaulting over fences. He’d have to get an antibiotic soon, because it was probably infected. Fan-fucking-tastic.
Even worse, not one of his neighbors seemed to be home. There seemed to be no cars to steal in any of the houses all the way to the end of the street. Everyone was out. What busy neighbors he had, he thought bitterly. They were oblivious to the real world around them. Out working or shopping or at school pageants.
He felt a pang. Ariel’s Christmas pageant was today. She was going to be one of the reindeer. He’d miss it. He’d miss her. Forever. Because he couldn’t take her with him.
He’d had kids with Rita more as a cover than because he’d wanted them. He’d never thought he’d grow so attached to them. But it couldn’t be helped. He couldn’t take his family with him and he didn’t want them visiting him in prison.
There was no choice. I’ll do what I have to do to get out of here.
He considered breaking into one of the houses and holing up, but that was suicide. Once Novak discovered he wasn’t in Wainwright’s house, he, Kimble, and Bishop would begin a house-to-house search. He’d rather keep going and take his chances.
He peeked around the corner of the house where he’d stopped to rest and saw the wall of SUVs that Kimble had formed. In my own driveway, the bastard.
Yeah, they believed he was in Wainwright’s house. I can’t stay here. I can’t.
It was just as well that none of his neighbors were home right now. He’d be stopped before he cleared a stolen car from any of the driveways on his street. Too many fucking cops. He’d keep going, sticking to the backs of the houses until he got to the next block. Besides, nobody home meant no calls to 911 ratting him out.
He’d get to the next block and find a car there, before they realized he was no longer in Wainwright’s house. Because then they’d lock the whole neighborhood down.
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Monday 21 December, 12.10 P.M.
Meredith saw the thumbs up Deacon gave her as she was driven away, but Adam was fully engaged in talking to Linnie and he didn’t look back. She knew she shouldn’t want him to turn to her, because he was focused and doing his job. But she still did.
She’d been instructed to stay in the back and to stay down. Priding herself on not being stupid, she’d obeyed – even as she lost her mind with worry. Adam, out there unprotected save the tactical gear he wore, with a killer who could be hiding anywhere. Every second ticked in her mind like a crashing hammer.
She’d taken her entire daily dose of anti-anxiety medication after Adam’s near miss this morning in the church parking lot. And she felt utterly justified having done so.
God, how she wished for a coloring book! The scrap paper in her lap had been an envelope she’d found in her purse, but now it was torn apart, flattened, and covered in the complex designs she’d sketched while waiting. She gripped her pretty pink tactical pen so hard her fingers ached, but she couldn’t seem to relax her hold.
‘You okay back there?’ Nash Currie asked. ‘If you’re cold I can turn up the heat.’
‘No, I’m fine,’ she called back. ‘Did you draw the short straw?’ she added, because he’d been assigned with delivering her back to the hospital safely. AKA, babysitting duty.
He looked into the rear-view with a small smile. ‘And if I say yes?’
She made a face. ‘Then I’ll believe you’re not lying.’
He laughed. ‘Well played, Dr Fallon.’
‘Meredith,’ she corrected. ‘If Adam is allowing you to drive me, he must trust you a lot, so I think we should cut the formality.’
‘Meredith then,’ he said, sounding pleased. He was driving slowly and carefully, because the two news vans had been joined by six more in the few minutes she’d sat alone. Reporters had spilled into the street, vying for the best view of Hanson’s house. ‘You should stay down. These reporters will try to take your photo otherwise.’
Again she complied, folding herself into the tight space on the floor between the rear bench seat and the captain’s chair in the middle. ‘Done and done.’
He swore again. ‘These news vans are blocking the damn road. I’m going to zigzag around them. Hold on.’ He made an abrupt left turn and she winced when her head smacked the van’s wall. She scooted forward, resting against the chair’s arm rest.
‘I saw the video of you with the little Voss girl. Penny. I was impressed,’ Nash said.
‘She wanted to tell. I just smoothed it a little.’
‘I worked Personal Crimes for a long time. I was IT. Never led on a case, but I’ve watched enough victim interviews to recognize someone with a gift for communication.’
‘Thank you,’ Meredith said soberly. ‘You were on the case with Adam. Paula.’
‘I was.’
She drew a breath. ‘Why do you think Hanson did it?’
There was a long pause and another sharp turn, this time to the right. ‘I’ve been wondering that. And I remembered that right before Paula first made contact with Adam, he’d done this interview for Channel 12. One of those “Heroes Among Us” pieces.’
‘Because he’d been coaching the deaf kids. He told me.’
‘Yeah. Did he tell you that after the piece ran, he was pursued by all the networks? Even CNN. He has a face for TV, you know.’
Meredith smiled. ‘Yeah, I know.’
‘He was Mr Popular, but still nice. Never let it swell his head. Even when he was voted Sexiest Cop by a women’s magazine.’
‘I missed that,’ Meredith said dryly. ‘But I think I get your point. He was golden and Hanson was jealous. He wanted to pull Adam back. Humble him. Break him, even.’
‘Yes. And then Adam did solve a case. A big one. Two teenaged girls being peddled online. A local man was setting appointments and taking payment through a website.’
‘I remember that. I didn’t know that was Adam’s case.’
‘ICAC got credit, but Adam did a lot of the footwork. The brass knew. One day our boss kind of joked that Adam should mentor the rest of us. It was light-hearted praise and we all knew it. Except Hanson. He was not pleased.’
‘So he set Adam up, then ripped him apart. Adam and you.’
‘Yeah,’ Nash said gruffly.
‘Are you all right, Nash? I’m not asking as a therapist. I’m asking as someone who’s grateful you stood up for Adam.’
‘I’m okay. I mean . . . it was rough. My marriage couldn’t . . . didn’t take the strain.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘She couldn’t handle my depression. My kids pulled me out. Made me go to counseling. It— Holy shit. Hold on. I’m backing up.’ The van came to a hard stop, backed up and swerved to the left before coming to another hard stop. ‘Stay down.’
He jumped out of the van and Meredith edged back to the driver’s side wall, lifting herself enough to peek out the window. They’d stopped for a black SUV pulled onto the shoulder. She heard Nash curse, then he was back in the driver’s seat, radioing for help.
‘This is Detective Currie. I need backup and an ambulance for—’
The driver’s door was yanked open, and Nash was pulled out of the van. Meredith started to move but there was a terrible thud against the side of the van that made the vehicle shudder.
No. No, no, no. Meredith watched in shocked denial as Wyatt Hanson casually set a pistol in the cup holder.
Oh my God. Nash. Did he kill him? If Nash wasn’t dead, he was injured. If he finds me, he’ll kill me too. The thought of it yanked her out of her shock and she pulled her gun from the bra holster. Not going down without a fight.
Hanson slammed the van door, gunned the engine, and set off with a squeal of tires. He struck the steering wheel with his fist. ‘Motherfucking police van,’ he shouted angrily and she cringed until she realized he wasn’t talking to her. He was just mad. ‘Of all the fucking vans. Goddammit.’
He hadn’t intended to steal a police van, she thought. He hadn’t known this was a police van. So he probably doesn’t know I’m back here. God, please don’t let him know.
He grabbed the radio. ‘This is Detective Currie,’ he lied. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t need those emergency services after all. It was a false alarm.’
Meredith nearly shouted for help, but as soon as he detected her presence she’d be dead. So she kept quiet as he switched off the radio, pulled the handset out of the dashboard, and tossed it to the passenger seat.
Her body jerked when her phone buzzed in her hand with a text from Wendi. Shane talking to Linnie. Looks hopeful he can get her to surrender the baby. U ok?
A sob built in her throat and she swallowed it back. No. No, I’m not okay. Hands shaking, she replied. Help. Hanson has me. In the van. Alone. Nash Currie hurt.
She quickly checked that her phone was on silent. Hanson was driving faster than Nash had been. There was more car noise, so she doubted he’d hear her phone. It was worth the risk. She dialed 911 and slid the phone under the captain’s seat that still shielded her from view. She didn’t dare speak to the operator, but hopefully they’d be able to track her signal. In case she didn’t kill Hanson with the first shot.
She crunched her body close to the wall of the van on the driver’s side, stealing a look between the wall and the side of the chair. But her hands were shaking. Just like in the parking lot of the hospital when she’d fired and fired and the man had kept coming. The man. Wyatt Hanson’s uncle. Panic clawed at her throat and she dug deep for just a little calm.
Balancing the gun on the armrest of the captain’s chair in front of her, she aimed for his neck, the only piece of skin she could see from this angle. Relax. Pretend you are at the target range with Kate and Scarlett.
Who I’m never going to see again.
Stop it. Stop. It. Relax. For Adam. Don’t make him find your body.
She squeezed the trigger—
She was tossed to the right side when he made an erratic turn, her shot hitting the van’s wall. A second shot followed hers by a second. His shot. He’d seen her. God.
Fire burned up her right arm and she looked up to see his arm extended back from the seat, the gun still in hand. He’d deliberately swerved to toss her body between the seats.
Move. Get cover. She scrambled behind the captain chair on the right, able to get a better shot now, anyway. Except her arm was shaking. Because she was bleeding. A lot.
She hoped the dispatch operator hadn’t believed Hanson’s lies of a false alarm. But even if they did believe him, Wendi would have called the police by now and Isenberg’s people would be in pursuit. She knew that.
So stop Hanson. Give Adam time to catch up. Don’t make him find your body.
Gritting her teeth, she used the uninjured arm to pull herself to a sitting position, gripping the gun in her left hand. Because her right arm wasn’t moving. At all.
Closing one eye, she aimed and fired. A sharp cry was her reward. She fired again and the van lurched to the right, throwing her to the floor and sending her gun sliding to the front of the van as they came to an abrupt halt in a cacophony of squealing brakes and crunching metal.
There was quiet then. Absolute quiet for several beats of her heart.
Is he dead? Please, God, let him be dead.
She pulled herself to a sitting position once again. She had to blink hard, unable to see. She wiped her hand over her eyes and it came back red. She was bleeding from her head now. That sucks.
An acrid smell burned her nose. The airbag, she thought. Fuck it. The fucking airbag had probably saved his miserable life.
Then she heard a creak of vinyl a few feet forward. Sonofabitch.
He wasn’t dead. Goddammit. He’d climbed over the center console and was coming for her. His nose was gushing. At least the airbag had broken his nose.
But hell, all that blood . . .
‘Hope you didn’t have unprotected sex with Linnie,’ she found herself saying.
Even through the blood in her eyes, she could see the rage burning in his. ‘You fucking cunt.’ He spat a mouthful of blood toward her, but it hit the captain’s chair in front of her. ‘I am going to gut you.’
‘Like Butch gutted Paula?’ she asked and he grinned, revealing blood-stained teeth.
‘Just like her.’
She scrabbled back, frantically searching for something to use in her own defense. Where are you, Adam?
‘Why?’ she asked, running her hand over the floor, finding nothing. ‘Why did you kill her?’
‘To hurt him, of course.’ He loomed, staring down at her. ‘Why else?’
‘Why?’ Her fingers closed over something small, thin, and metal. Ah! She recognized it by touch. Smooth, except for brief etchings. They’d be hearts. The pen would be pink. Thank you, God. She gripped it in her fist, just as she’d practiced. ‘Why torment him?’
He shook his head and reached for her. Grabbing her bulky bulletproof vest in both hands, he dragged her to her feet. ‘I’m going to slit your throat and gut you and leave you for him to find.’
No. It will kill him. But she forced herself to smile. ‘He’s stronger than you think. He’s a lot stronger than you are.’
She cried out when his fist connected with her jaw. ‘Shut up,’ he snarled.
Now. Now. Gripping the pen in her left hand, she arced her arm upward with all the force she could muster. He grabbed her wrist, twisting away before she struck his throat, but his startled yelp told she’d hit something. More blood gushed from his face where the pen had ripped his skin, and he gripped her vest tighter, yanking her to the van door. He tore the pen from her hand, shoved the door open, and dragged her out into the cold air and down an embankment.
They’d gone off the road and hit a tree, the hood of the van crushed and mangled. It could have been worse, because fifty feet ahead was a bridge spanning the valley between two steep hills. If Hanson had been going a little bit faster, if he’d lost control a little bit later, they would have gone off the bridge. They wouldn’t have walked away from that.
New panic pushed away any relief when she looked up. The van blocked her view of the road. And, she assumed, blocked anyone’s view of her.
Nobody can see me down here. Nobody will know I’m here.
But they’ll see the van, she told herself. They’ll be looking for the—
With a loud growl Hanson tossed her pen aside and dragged her toward the underpass beneath the bridge, then threw her to the ground, her head hitting hard concrete. She blinked up at him, unable to see clearly. There was still too much blood in her eyes. Stay focused. Keep him talking. Give Adam time to find you.
‘Who was she?’ she demanded, scrabbling back. ‘Paula? Who was she?’
He advanced toward her and she ran, but tripped and went down. Her shoes came off, the cold concrete burning her stocking-covered feet. He grabbed at her but she rolled away, grabbing for one of her shoes, now covered in mud.
But with a stiletto heel.
‘Fucking bitch.’ Clutching her vest, he shoved her to her back, his fingers closing over her throat. Panicking, she sliced with one of the shoes.
He yelped and released her.
Yes. She’d caught his broken nose with the heel. But it didn’t hurt him enough. He grabbed the shoe and threw it away, then his boot came down on the hand that had wielded the shoe and she cried out in pain.
‘Who was she?’ she demanded again. If nothing else, she could find this out for Adam. Because he’d be coming for her.
Hanson leaned down, getting in her face. ‘She was nobody.’
‘No. She was a child. Where did she come from?’
His eyes gleamed. ‘You’ll die wondering.’
He disappeared and she fought to roll over, using her left elbow for leverage because her right arm was numb and her left hand was probably broken. She’d pushed herself to her knees when Hanson grabbed her hair and dragged her to her feet, but she fought, hot tears filling her eyes when her scalp burned.
‘It doesn’t matter if you fight or not. You’ll be just as dead.’
She felt the cold sting of the blade at her throat and knew that Adam would find her this way. I’m sorry, Adam. I’m so sorry.
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Monday 21 December, 1.10 P.M.
‘Please, Linnie, give me the gun,’ Adam repeated and watched all the emotions cross Linnie’s face. Fear, hate, sorrow. Hope.
She drew a deep breath and handed Adam her gun, handle first. Then she put Mikey Hanson in Scarlett’s arms and Adam’s shoulders relaxed. ‘Thank you,’ he said softly.
Scarlett unhooked the radio handset from her vest. ‘Hostage situation neutralized. Child is under our protection. Proceed with next step.’
Which was Deacon and Trip’s systematic search of the neighbor’s home.
‘Are you going to arrest me now?’ Linnie asked as a policewoman came through the front door to take the child from Scarlett.
‘No,’ Adam said quietly. ‘You will have to answer for the hostage situation, but we’re not putting you under arrest.’
There was movement at the corner of his eye. Rita pushing to her knees. ‘The hell you’re not! She kidnapped me at gunpoint. She held my son at gunpoint!’
‘Rita, lie down!’ Adam barked.
‘No! Give me back my son!’
‘Not at this time,’ Scarlett told her. ‘We’ll be calling social services for a temporary placement while we figure out how much you know, Mrs Hanson.’
Rita’s jaw dropped. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘On your stomach,’ Scarlett commanded, then gestured for another officer to come in. ‘Stand next to Mrs Hanson. Make sure she remains face down.’
Adam cleared his throat and gentled his voice as he turned back to Linnie. ‘Please stay here with Detective Bishop. The other detectives have to clear the neighborhood because Hanson is out there somewhere.’
‘The other detectives?’ Linnie asked. ‘Not you?’
The girl was perceptive. ‘No, not me. I’m no longer on the case. I only came now because you asked me to.’
‘Detective Kimble was shot at this morning,’ Scarlett explained and Linnie’s eyes widened in shock. ‘His friend was killed. We believe Detective Hanson was the shooter.’
‘No.’ A sob tore from Rita’s throat and she sank back down to the carpet.
Linnie bit at her lip. ‘I wounded him. I don’t know if it’s important, but tell the other detectives that I stabbed him in his left arm. Here.’ She pointed to the underside of her upper arm. ‘It was enough that he let me go. That’s how I got away on Saturday.’
Adam gave her a nod of gratitude. ‘Thank you. Detective Bishop will tell them.’ He glanced at Scarlett. ‘Call me when it’s all done.’ He left the Hansons’ house and ducked so that the line of SUVs in the driveway provided cover. At the bottom of the driveway a sedan waited, tucked behind the SUVs. The window rolled down, revealing Isenberg at the wheel.
‘Get in,’ she said. She waited until he was buckled in to add, ‘Well done. We’ll send a secure vehicle for Linnie and the little boy. It’s safer for them to stay inside until then.’
He leaned his head back on the headrest. ‘I am so tired, Lynda.’
‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘Get some rest. If you need to hit a meeting later, let me know. I’ll go with you.’
Adam’s throat grew thick. He’d started to say thank you when Isenberg broke into a barrage of cursing, so he chuckled instead. ‘What?’
‘The fucking reporters. It’s like an obstacle course. Slouch forward. I don’t want to give them any shots of your face for their rags.’
He complied, pulling his tactical helmet forward. He heard a shout from outside the car, but didn’t look up, even when Isenberg cackled quietly.
‘I figured they’d move,’ she said. ‘Those cameras look damn expensive. Wouldn’t want them run over because their owners won’t get out of the damn road.’
‘I’m surprised you didn’t want to stick around back there,’ Adam said. ‘It’s just about to get interesting.’
‘Nah. I trust Deacon and Scarlett. My job these days is to keep my team healthy. You are a valued member of my team and your career matters to me. Ergo, I’m making sure your ass is as far away from Hanson as I can possibly take it.’
Again his throat grew thick. ‘Thank you. For everything. For telling me about your sobriety. Because that shows me that I can still have a career.’
‘Yeah,’ she said gruffly. ‘It’s fine. All good.’
It is good, he thought, oddly comfortable with the idea that Scarlett, Deacon, and Trip would be the ones to bring Hanson in. It took Isenberg a few minutes to get past the media, but they were eventually free of the community.
‘You can look up now,’ Isenberg said. ‘No more— What the fuck?’
A black SUV was parked on the other side of the road, a familiar Subaru parked behind it. ‘That’s Marcus O’Bannion’s car. I guess the Ledger wants a bite of the story.’
Adam quickly saw what Isenberg meant. The owner of the Ledger was standing in the road, waving his arms for them to stop. Isenberg pulled her sedan in behind Marcus’s Subaru, then gasped.
‘Oh God. Is that Nash Currie?’ She jumped out of the sedan and Adam followed, conscious that he was vulnerable to another attack but uncaring.
Because Nash had been driving Meredith. And the van was nowhere to be seen.
Isenberg and Adam hurried to where Nash lay in a dirty snowbank. Stone O’Bannion knelt beside him, fingers on Nash’s wrist.
‘It is Nash,’ Adam said, dread squeezing his heart. ‘What happened?’
Stone O’Bannion gently put Nash’s arm by his side. ‘He’s alive, but his pulse is low. I don’t know. He’s got a huge bruise on his forehead and he’s not conscious.’
‘Oh my God. Lynda, he was driving Meredith,’ Adam said.
Isenberg squeezed his shoulder. ‘Keep it together, Adam. Will you stay with Detective Currie?’ she asked Stone.
‘Of course,’ Marcus said from behind them. He was finishing his call to 911. ‘Thank you. Yes, I’ll hold, but a detective and lieutenant arrived and I’m going to talk to them. I’ll put you on speaker.’
Isenberg frowned and quickly walked around the SUV and peered at the back window. ‘A bloody handprint.’ She huffed out a frustrated breath. ‘Because somebody’s in there. There’s an old man under that tarp. His hand is visible. Marcus, ask for a second ambulance. We have two victims.’
Without hesitation, she opened the driver’s door and hit the hatch release. A few seconds later she was leaning into the hatch. ‘Caucasian male, in his mid-sixties. His head is bashed in, but he’s alive. And conscious. Sir, what is your name?’
She leaned up abruptly and rushed back to Nash. ‘That’s Hanson’s next-door neighbor. Hanson lured him out here, then hit him and left him.’
Nash groaned and Adam, Lynda, and Stone gathered close to him. ‘Adam? I’m sorry. He took her. Hanson. I saw the bloody hand. Stopped. Started to radio location.’ Another smaller groan. ‘Hanson pulled me out of the van and took off. East.’
Adam ran for the sedan before Nash could say another word, Isenberg at his heels. ‘Nash’s gun was gone,’ Adam said as Isenberg pulled back onto the road like a shot. ‘Hanson is armed.’ And he’s got Meredith.
‘They can’t be that far ahead of us.’ Nevertheless, Isenberg punched the gas. This was an old road and curvy as hell. They rounded a bend in the road and there it was. The van had crossed the oncoming lane, gone off the road, and was wrapped around a tree. ‘I see the van,’ Adam said, his racing heart skipping a beat. ‘But I don’t see her.’ His reflex was to rush in, guns blazing. But that could get Meredith killed.
Think. This is critical.
Isenberg pulled the sedan onto the shoulder and together they made their way down the embankment to the van. Tightening his grip on his service weapon, Adam braced himself for what he’d see.
Don’t be hurt. Don’t be hurt. God, please don’t let her be hurt. He crept up to the van, gun raised.
But the van was empty. Both Meredith and Wyatt had disappeared. Don’t panic.
The airbag had deployed. On the passenger seat was Nash’s service weapon. He reached through the window to scoop up the gun. Quietly he dropped the clip from the magazine. Fully loaded. He pressed the clip back into place, making as little noise as possible, then dropped the gun into his coat pocket.
Isenberg gave him a sharp look. ‘Wait for backup,’ she mouthed.
But then an echoey voice drifted up from somewhere farther down the embankment.
‘It doesn’t matter if you fight or not. You’ll be just as dead.’
Hanson. Adam’s heart stopped. But he forced his feet to keep moving around the van. Oh God. He held back a curse. Because he didn’t see her. But he did see a trail of blood in the snow leading to the underpass. Fueled by instinct and sheer terror, he ran down the hill, sliding more than once, picking himself up to run again. And then he saw her.
Knee-buckling relief warred with mind-numbing panic. She was alive, standing on her own two bare feet on the icy concrete of the underpass, the flash of relief in her eyes mixed with abject fear. Because Wyatt Hanson stood behind her, the fingers of his right hand wrapped around a handful of her beautiful hair, pulling her head back. With his left hand, he held a knife to her throat.
Her head was bleeding and her right arm hung loosely at her side. Her left hand was bent into a claw. But her chin was steady, as were her eyes as she met Adam’s gaze. He wanted to run to her, but he didn’t dare.
Wyatt’s nose was bleeding, his right sleeve was soaked with blood, and he had an oozing gash in his cheek. With the wound Linnie had made in his left arm, he should be vulnerable.
Except for the knife in his hand. And the mocking smile on his face. ‘Detective Kimble,’ he said. ‘So nice of you to join us.’
Meredith’s mouth was moving, but no sound emerged. I love you. I’m sorry.
Adam’s heart broke into tiny pieces. She thought she was going to die. And she’s apologizing. To me. He gave her a steady nod, then made his lips curve.
‘Me too. And not today,’ he told her quietly, ignoring Hanson’s barb and hoping she understood.
‘How very sweet,’ Wyatt drawled. ‘You got here in time, Adam. You can watch her die. Just like Paula.’ He pressed the sharp blade against Meredith’s throat, drawing a thin line of crimson. ‘Drop your weapon.’
Meredith was leaning back, trying to get away from the sharp edge of the knife. Adam knew he couldn’t shoot Hanson like this – even if he’d been able to draw his weapon fast enough, an instant killshot would cause Hanson’s arm to jerk and Meredith could bleed out before help got there. He wondered where Isenberg was. Probably mobilizing a rescue crew. But Adam couldn’t have waited. Hanson looked like he’d been ready to kill Meredith right then, whether he’d had an audience or not. Maybe I can hold him off long enough for Isenberg to save the day. It was the best plan he had at the moment.
Adam made a show of dropping his weapon to the ground, grateful he’d pocketed the one he’d found in the van. ‘There. Let her go. You know it’s me that you want.’
‘True,’ Hanson agreed amicably. ‘But I also need to get away and she makes a most excellent hostage. The Dr Fallon, admired and respected by all.’ He lifted his brows. ‘And loved by you?’ Adam’s composure must have flickered because Wyatt smiled. ‘Thought so. I haven’t decided if she’s more valuable to me as a ticket over the border, or as my last fuck-you to you. What do you think, Adam? Do you think I should kill her now so that you can be a part of it – like sweet little Paula – or should I take her with me and leave you to wonder what I’m doing to her? Because there are so many things I’d like to do to her.’
Meredith’s eyes slid shut, her throat working as she tried to swallow. Hanson repositioned the knife, drawing another thin ribbon of red just under her chin.
He’s baiting you. Don’t rise to it. Adam tilted his head, making his expression impassive. He hoped. ‘Funny, I thought you only liked them young.’
Hanson laughed. ‘Well, I may not enjoy them as much when they get to be as old as your Dr Fallon, but that doesn’t keep me from being up to the task. Rita and I have two children, after all.’
‘If you kill her, you’ll still have to get through a roadblock.’
‘True.’ He shrugged. ‘So I’ll take her with me.’
Over Hanson’s shoulder, Adam saw Deacon slide down the embankment on the other side of the overpass. He was still thirty yards away – probably the first place he could safely descend.
Deacon began to run. Twenty yards, ten, running fast and soundlessly, slowing to silently approach the mouth of the overpass.
Adam just needed to distract Hanson long enough for one of them to pull the knife from his hand, because shooting him was still out of the question. I need a distraction. Think. And then he almost smiled because Deacon stood at the mouth of the overpass now, using sign language to communicate those very words.
I need a distraction. One fucking distraction.
And then Adam knew what to do. Money. Wyatt’s true love. ‘Then what?’ he said to Wyatt. ‘What’s your plan if you manage to get away?’ he asked, moving a few steps closer.
Wyatt smiled, revealing a mouthful of bloody teeth. ‘I intend to live very well.’
‘On what?’
Wyatt’s smile faltered for a second before becoming arrogant again. ‘I have enough.’
‘I’ll bet you do. But you have five million less than you think you do.’
Bingo. Yes. Wyatt visibly paled. ‘What are you talking about?’
Meredith’s gaze flew up to Adam’s, her eyes narrowing. Smart, she was. She knew something was coming. And she’d be ready. Please be ready, baby, he thought desperately.
He somehow kept the desperation out of his voice. ‘I’m sorry to tell you, but an unauthorized person recently changed your password. Your bank should really notify you of things like that.’
Wyatt shook his head. ‘You’re lying.’
‘No, I’m not.’ Adam lifted his brows. ‘KingTriton89.’
Wyatt’s left arm, weakened by Linnie, dropped momentarily in shock. Meredith took that moment to throw herself sideways, but he still had his hand tangled in her hair and she didn’t get far. She was on her knees and Wyatt was bent over her.
And raising his knife in the air.
Adam didn’t think. He just pulled Nash’s weapon from his pocket, aimed at Wyatt’s knife arm, pulled the trigger, then launched himself at the man he’d called friend for so many years. Wyatt’s scream echoed in the enclosed space, as did the clatter of the knife as he dropped it on the concrete.
Wyatt grunted when Adam’s shoulder made contact with his chest, knocking them both to the ground, Meredith’s agonized cry slicing through Wyatt’s cursing. The fucker had dropped the knife, but still had her by the hair.
Adam shoved the barrel of Nash’s service weapon up under Wyatt’s chin. ‘Let her go,’ he growled. ‘Now.’
Wyatt smirked. ‘You won’t kill me. Not in cold blood like this.’
Adam didn’t want to. Not because he thought Wyatt should live, but because he still had too many questions. Mostly why? And why Paula? Where had she come from?
But I’ll kill him if I have to. Of that Adam was certain.
Refusing to respond verbally, Adam grabbed Wyatt’s upper arm and dug his fingers into the man’s flesh. He wasn’t sure where the arm was wounded, but the sleeve was soaked in blood so he hoped he was close. Wyatt bucked as his body spasmed, his eyes rolling back in his head. Yes. Wyatt’s hand opened and Adam freed it from Meredith’s hair.
From the corner of his eye he saw Meredith roll free and struggle to stand, but failing, her knees buckling. He opened his mouth to call to Deacon to get her out of there when the flash of silver from the other side of his peripheral vision had him wrenching his full attention back to Wyatt.
But Adam was a blink too late. Hot, searing pain shot through his right leg and he instinctively jerked away, grabbing Wyatt’s coat in one hand to keep him from going after Meredith again. He rolled up onto his left knee and tried to put weight on his right, but the pain had him seeing double.
Wyatt had another knife. Which was embedded in Adam’s leg. Son of a fucking bitch.
Fury had him lashing out, swinging his fist into Wyatt’s jaw. Wyatt went down, his head knocking into the concrete with a sick thud. He lay there, blinking and dazed.
Deacon was there, weapon pointed at Wyatt’s head. Adam waved him toward Meredith. ‘I’ve got him. You get her out of here. Please. Please,’ he repeated when Deacon hesitated. ‘She’s hurt.’
‘I’ll be right back.’ Deacon scooped Meredith in his arms.
His gun pressed to Wyatt’s chest, Adam went for his cuffs. He snapped the first on Wyatt’s left arm then reached for the right—
Wyatt reared up and knocked his forehead into Adam’s. Unprepared, Adam pitched back on his ass, but immediately rocked to his knees and shoved his gun at Wyatt’s chest.
But Wyatt rolled to his knees. A split second later, Wyatt was jabbing the barrel of an old Glock between Adam’s ribs, his finger on the trigger.
Wyatt was smiling. He’d had another gun too, using the distraction to go for it.
‘You won’t kill me,’ Wyatt said smugly. ‘If you’d been capable of doing so, you’d have done it when you had the chance.’
That might have been true a week ago. Even a day ago. But not today. Wyatt had stolen too much from too many people. He’s not stealing Meredith’s happiness too. And I am her happiness.
With no fanfare, Adam pulled the trigger. Wyatt jerked backward, his eyes wide with shock. But he didn’t go down. Shock gave way to hate as Wyatt’s gun began to lift.
Adam fired once more, the bullet making a neat hole in Wyatt’s forehead. Dead center. Wyatt crumpled, dead before he hit the ground.
Just like Andy Gold had. Just like John Kasper had. Vicious satisfaction filled him.
A movement caught his attention and Adam looked up to see Trip walking toward him, holstering his weapons. Trip bent down to pick up the gun that had fallen from Wyatt’s hand, only after he was dead.
‘You okay?’ Trip asked quietly.
Adam looked at Wyatt’s face. And nodded. ‘Yes. I am.’ He really was. He pointed to the gun at Trip’s side. ‘You were going to shoot, but you didn’t. Why?’
‘I thought you should do it. But if you couldn’t, I was happy to.’
Adam’s mouth quirked. ‘Thank you.’
‘Not a problem. Sorry I got here late to the party. I stopped to check on Nash. Wyatt hit him hard with the butt of his gun. Nash was in some serious pain, but he was mostly worried about Meredith.’
Meredith. ‘Where is she?’
‘I helped Deacon carry her up the hill. She’s in my vehicle, waiting for the EMTs.’
Adam tried to stand, but his leg buckled beneath him. He grunted, pain radiating throughout his whole body. Fuck. He’d forgotten about the damn knife. He reached back to pull it out but Trip stopped him, kneeling beside him to examine the wound.
‘Don’t touch it, man. The medics are coming. Let them do it. You’re not bleeding too much. Yank it out and you might gush like a stuck pig.’
Better do what the rookie says, Adam thought, then blinked a few times to clear his vision when little black dots started to encroach. It wasn’t panic this time. Somehow he knew that. It was probably . . . shock?
Holstering Nash’s gun, Adam pushed to his knees, rotating a few degrees so that he didn’t have to touch Wyatt Hanson’s body. He had to close his eyes against another wave of pain. When he opened them, he was surprised to see Isenberg standing just outside the underpass, on the same side Adam had entered.
‘She came down the hill at the same time I did, but on the less steep side,’ Trip said in a nearly soundless whisper. ‘She was ready to shoot him too.’
Isenberg approached, reaching out her hand.
Right. The weapon. He’d fired it. And I’m not one goddamned bit sorry. He dropped the clip from the magazine and racked it to be sure there were no bullets chambered. He then placed the gun and clip on her palm. ‘Procedure,’ he murmured. ‘Got it. For the record, I’d do it again in a heartbeat. You can put that in your report.’
Isenberg gave him a look that was equal parts compassion and exasperation. And concern, he thought. A lot of concern.
She dropped the weapon and the clip in her coat pocket. ‘It was self-defense, Adam,’ she said. ‘Trip and I saw it.’ She extended her hand again and he realized she’d been trying to help him up.
‘Oh,’ he said numbly. He gripped her hand, groaning when Trip took his other arm, hefting him to his feet. Reality poured in – the iron smell of blood mixing with the sulfur of fired weapons, the sight of Wyatt’s body, the sound of shouting cops and the sirens of approaching emergency vehicles. He hoped at least one was an ambulance. For Meredith.
Now that it was over, he felt the adrenaline crashing and the panic rising. She was hurt and he needed to help her.
‘Need to get to Meredith,’ he said. He turned too fast and stumbled but Trip held him upright. He tried to yank free, but Trip held firm. ‘Let me go, Trip. Please.’
‘I don’t think so, old man,’ Trip said, his rumbly voice soothing in all the chaos. ‘Maybe you need to wait for the medics.’
‘I think he needs to see Dr Fallon,’ Isenberg said quietly, and Adam wanted to thank her. He wanted to weep. He wanted to scream. But he did none of those things.
‘Yes,’ he gritted out, hanging onto control by a thread. ‘Meredith. Please.’
Isenberg squeezed his arm. ‘Come on, Adam. Agent Triplett, let’s get him up the embankment. And make sure he doesn’t fall backward on that fucking knife.’
The two of them kept him steady as he combination hopped/dragged himself around the wrecked van, straight to where Meredith lay in the cargo bay of one of the SUVs. Deacon had begun administering first aid, wrapping a bandage around the arm that still sullenly oozed blood.
‘She’s lost a lot of blood,’ Deacon said quietly and Adam’s heart stopped once more.
‘How much?’
Deacon’s gaze told Adam that it was too serious to say out loud. ‘The medics are a minute out. Don’t move her other hand. I think it’s broken.’
‘I can hear you, y’know,’ Meredith whispered and opened her eyes. ‘You’re okay,’ she whispered. ‘Tell me that you’re okay. He stabbed you. I saw him stab you.’
He was lowered to his knees, aware of Isenberg and Trip stepping back to give him some privacy. Leaning into the SUV, he rested against the rear bumper, cupping her non-injured cheek. ‘I’m more okay than you are.’
‘I’m good,’ she said lightly, but it was so forced that it hurt him to hear it. ‘The doctors’ll stitch me up and send me back into the game.’
Adam brushed a kiss against her temple. ‘As long as the game is checkers or dominoes. Nothing more dangerous than that.’
‘Deal.’ Her eyelids fluttered closed. ‘Tell Papa that I’m okay. That I love him.’
Fear speared him. She sounded so weak and her words had slurred. ‘You’ll tell him yourself,’ Adam said firmly. ‘Meredith? Meredith!’
She wasn’t answering. She wasn’t conscious. His fear spread and a look up at Deacon told him the feeling was well founded.
‘Dani’s on her way to the hospital,’ Deacon said. ‘She’ll meet us in the ER and walk us through whatever the doctor says and does.’ He gripped Adam’s shoulder. ‘Meredith’s still here. And so am I. Don’t forget that.’
A sob rose in his throat and he battled it back. ‘I won’t.’