“I heard a shot.” His dark brows were drawn together, his eyes shining almost silver in the half-light. “I thought that—”
“Jeremy Bosner’s dead.” She cut through whatever he’d been about to say, recognizing the emotion in his eyes, and not ready to deal with it. “Two shots through the window. It came from over there.” She gestured toward the scaffolded building with her gun. “I was just going to check it out.”
“You’re sure you’re okay?” His gaze slid from her head to her toes, leaving a burning sensation following in its wake.
“I’m fine,” she assured him, fighting to keep her voice level. “We’re losing time.”
He nodded, his attention shifting to the building across the way. “You stay here, I’ll check it out.”
A surge of anger hit her broadside, and she struggled to maintain control. It was a rerun of a common story. Most men she worked with ultimately tried to protect her, it’s just that somehow coming from him it hurt all the more. “I’m coming with you. You need someone on your back.”
He started to argue, then apparently thought better of it. With a nod, he started across the street, gun drawn. She followed, sequestering her resentment. The building’s entrance was on ground level, and Gabriel motioned her to one side as they ducked under the scaffolding, the darkness intensifying.
She turned her back to him, the Glock trained on the street, her gaze vigilant. Nothing moved except the leaves rustling in the gutter and the trees bending in the wind, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
The light from Jeremy’s window spilled out across the sidewalk, giving the illusion that everything was all right.
“I’m in,” Gabriel called, and she turned to follow him into the hallway. Unlike Jeremy Bosner’s, this brownstone had been converted into apartments, one on each floor, with the staircase connecting the common space. There were drop cloths everywhere, paint cans and tools the only ornamentation. The building was obviously deserted.
Gabriel opened a door on the right and swung inside. “Clear,” he said emerging again into the hallway. Madison opened the next door following the same procedure, and they alternated until they’d checked the entire floor.
“You said the shot came from up there?” Gabriel gestured toward the ceiling with his gun.
Madison nodded, already moving for the stairs. “Just above us, the room facing the street.” She forced herself to climb slowly, pausing every couple of seconds to listen. Gabriel was right behind her, his eyes and gun on the hallway below.
Sirens wailed in the background, and Madison shot him an inquiring glance as they stepped out onto the landing.
“I called as soon as I heard the shot.”
She nodded, grateful suddenly to have him here, despite his antiquated notions about women on the job. There was only one door on the second floor, and it stood open, light from the street filtering through, giving a sense of movement to the shadows.
“I’m going in,” she whispered, steadying her hand on her gun.
Gabriel nodded once, his weapon trained on the landing, his eyes on the stairs, keeping watch. He had her back. There was an odd comfort there. And with a deep breath, she swung into the room.
The drapes rippled in the wind as it moaned through an open window. Shadows danced on the floor and wall, but other than their ghostly presence, the room was empty.
The killer was gone.
* * *
A tech zipped the body bag closed, and Madison shivered. Jeremy had deserved better. The little parlor had lost its cozy feel in wake of the forensics team, the fire gutted to embers, the overhead lights exposing fading upholstery and worn fittings.
She tipped back her head, rubbing her neck in an effort to relieve the tension radiating down her spine. It had been a long day. First the near miss at the apartment, and now again here in the brownstone.
Harrison hovered beside her, his concern written across his face. “You really ought to go home.” His voice was a whisper, but it carried anyway, and Gabriel, standing beside the fireplace, frowned.
With a conscious effort, Madison straightened her back, and shook her head. “I’m fine, Harrison.”
The twist of his mouth indicated that he didn’t believe a word of it, but thankfully, he held his tongue.
“Would you mind walking through it with me one more time?” Nigel asked, and she turned to face him, forcing herself to focus, exhaustion warring with emotion to leave her more than a little woozy. “I just want to be sure I have it straight.”
She’d already gone over it two or three times, but she understood the need to visualize, so she stood up, ignoring Harrison’s hand. “We were talking. Jeremy was over there by the fire.”
Gabriel continued to watch her, his eyes hooded, making it impossible to tell what he was thinking. They hadn’t said anything much since the others had arrived. In fact, she got the distinct feeling he was trying to avoid her.
Not that it mattered what he was doing.
She returned her gaze to Nigel and continued her explanation. “I was over on the sofa. We talked about this morning’s fiasco. I think, quite honestly, he was enjoying the excitement.”
“And then you walked over to the window?” Nigel cut in.
“Yeah. Well, more to the left of it, I guess. It was open, and I was cold, so I didn’t want to stand directly in front of it.” She shivered at the memory, and then squared her shoulders shaking it off. “I was looking out the window, watching the wind in the trees, when I thought I saw something.”
“And that’s when Bosner got up?” Nigel was standing by the wing chair now, moving in an approximation of Jeremy’s path. Harrison was watching him as he too tried to visualize the events leading up to Bosner’s death.
“Yes,” Madison said. “He offered me another drink.”
There was a cough from the direction of the fireplace, and Madison shot a look at Gabriel. His expression was impassive, but something glittered in his eyes, and Madison was pretty certain she knew what it was.
Blame.
Not that the sentiment wasn’t deserved. If she’d been paying attention instead of chatting over brandy, Jeremy Bosner might still be alive. It was her fault. All of it.
“Madison?” Nigel interrupted her thoughts, his gaze going from her to Gabriel and back again.
“I’m sorry.” She held up a hand. “It’s been a long night.” Gabriel moved again, this time turning his back on her, and she pushed all thoughts of him aside, focusing instead on Nigel. “I didn’t actually see him move because I was still watching out the window. I shifted front and center, so that I could see better, and that’s when I saw the flash.”
“The shot.”
She nodded. “From there, I reacted on instinct, diving for Jeremy and pushing him to the floor. There was another shot. It’s probably embedded in the wall somewhere. And then nothing.”
“Forensics found it.” Payton walked into the room, glancing down at the chalk lines marking the place where Jeremy had died. “Rifle cartridge. .223. Hopefully we’ll get something from ballistics.”
Madison nodded again, releasing another breath, trying to sort through all that had happened. Eight deaths. All of them murder. But definitely not by the same hand. Whatever was happening, the assassins were changing.
“This guy knew what he was doing.” She glanced back out the window, her gaze locking on the building across the way. “And he wasn’t worried about hiding his actions. He had to have known I was in the house, and that I’d come after him. But it didn’t matter, he killed Jeremy anyway.”
“You could have been killed.” Gabriel pushed away from the mantel, one fist clenched against his side.
“But I wasn’t.” She shrugged, avoiding his gaze.
“Only because he saw me coming.” He took a step toward her and then checked the movement. “You shouldn’t have come here on your own.”
“I did what needed to be done. It’s part of my job, in case you’ve forgotten.” She
clenched her jaw, hanging on to her control by a hair. “There was no way to know that the killer would strike tonight. My only mistake was reacting one second too slowly. If I had moved faster, maybe Jeremy would still be alive.” Tears threatened, and she choked them back, cursing under her breath.
“Your reactions were fine.” Harrison’s hand on her arm was meant as comfort, but just at the moment that’s the last thing she needed. She shook him off, still glaring at Gabriel.
Their gazes met and held, and she tried to read the expression in his eyes, but whatever he was thinking, it was well masked. With a sigh, she turned her thoughts back to the situation at hand. “Whoever the guy is, he’s done this before. Professionally. There’s nothing emotional going on here. No sacrifice for the cause, or anger at perceived wrongs. This guy calculated his every move.”
“You’re saying it’s different from the earlier murders.” Harrison sat on the arm of the sofa, the wheels in his head obviously turning as he, too, considered the situation.
“The first ones, certainly. There’s a degree of intimacy involved with injecting someone with a drug, particularly with Aston and Stewart as they were killed on home ground. It would take a certain amount of nerve, but the risk is only worth it if the killer knew them and therefore had easy access, or if he wanted them to know who he was before they died. That’s a far cry from a hit.”
“And that’s what you think Bosner’s and Patterson’s murders were.” It was a statement not a question, but Madison answered anyway, her gaze meeting Gabriel’s.
“Yes.”
“What about the others?” Nigel asked, his brows furrowed as he weighed her words.
“Even more personal than the injections. Especially Robert Barnes. If our theory of the crime is correct, the killer knocked him out before the fire. Possibly an act of passion. Anger or something else. But either way, again he was there facing his victim. We see the beginnings of the change with Dashal and Smith. Although both murders were still rigged to appear as accidents, there was the start of a move toward the impersonal.”
She stopped for a minute, gathering her thoughts, trying to see with the eye of the killer—or killers. “The killer wasn’t present when Dashal was electrocuted. Or if he was, it was secondhand. It’s doubtful Dashal saw him. And Bingham Smith was killed in a crowd.”
“Same M.O. though as Aston and Stewart,” Gabriel said, watching her with something akin to approval.
“Yes.” She nodded, her confidence growing as she trod on familiar territory. “But with a major difference. There was calculation here. A plan. Busy platform, quick jab. And the killer is gone long before Bingham even realizes something is wrong.”
“So our killer is learning?” Harrison offered the idea, but didn’t sound as if he believed it.
“No.” She shook her head for emphasis. “I think it means we’ve got more than one killer.”
“Which begs the question why.” Gabriel had shifted so that he could watch her, his expression inscrutable.
“It’s hard to say. Shift of motive seems most obvious.” She met his gaze full on, determined to hold her own. “Maybe whoever’s pulling strings got tired of getting their hands dirty.”
“Or maybe—” Payton picked up the thought. “—in the beginning he actually believed one murder would be enough to throw off the accord, and when it didn’t work, he tried again.”
“And failed again,” Gabriel added. “But if that’s the case, then we’re most likely talking about an individual rather than a group. Which would exclude our Chinese dissidents.”
“Not necessarily,” Payton said. “We’ve thought all along that they were using someone to do their dirty work.”
“Yes, but that would mean they switched killers midstream.” Gabriel frowned at his friend.
“It’s not that unusual.” Payton shrugged. “We’re talking about a span of nearly three years, and our intervention has certainly changed the name of the game. If whoever is pulling the strings is worried that we’ll get to the bottom of things, there’d be a need to escalate matters. That could easily explain the change of personnel and dropping any need to pretend the newest deaths were accidents.”
“That makes sense, Payton,” Madison said, her head starting to throb. “But it doesn’t feel right. If someone overseas is pulling the strings, why not just use a professional from the beginning?”
“We don’t know for certain that it wasn’t a pro,” Nigel said. “You said yourself that using potassium chloride isn’t easy.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I said it was personal. Shooting someone from a window across the street is impersonal. Looking them in the eye and stabbing them with a needle full of KC1 is pretty much in your face. And the personality that is capable of one may very well not be capable of the other.”
“So we’re at an impasse, with one or possibly two killers and eight victims. And no sign at all of an answer.” Harrison’s voice seemed to be coming from far away.
Madison struggled to hear what he was saying, but the lights seemed to flicker, dark then light again, and she reached for the windowsill to steady herself. “I’m sorry, I…” A wave of dizziness washed through her, robbing her of speech, the reality of the evening’s events suddenly hitting home with a vengeance.
Gabriel was at her side in less than a stride, his hard arms closing around her. She knew she should shake him off, assure him she was more than capable of standing on her own two feet, but just for the moment, she wanted nothing more than to let him hold her.
Damn it all to hell.
Chapter Eighteen
“I don’t want to go to the hospital. I want to go home.” Madison leaned back against the taxi seat and closed her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with me that a hot shower won’t cure.”
Gabe glanced over at her, not liking the pallor of her skin. “I think you should be checked out.”
She crossed her arms, her expression mutinous even with her eyes closed. “I said no.”
He’d never met a woman as stubborn. Or if he had, he’d obviously had the good sense to walk away without looking back. “So you’re telling me your collapsing in the brownstone was just an act? That Jeremy Bosner’s death didn’t touch you at all?”
“You know it did.” She acquiesced with an overly dramatic sigh. “But that doesn’t mean I need to go to the hospital. There’s nothing physically wrong.”
“That’s just the point, Madison. You watched a man die tonight.”
Her eyes fluttered open, her brows drawing together in a frown. “That doesn’t mean I need psychiatric help, either, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Maybe not, but it wouldn’t hurt to talk to someone.”
“Not right now.” The lights from the city illuminated her beautiful face, the pain etched there palpably visible. She might want to deny it, but Bosner’s death had hit her hard. Still, he couldn’t make her do something she obviously didn’t want to.
“All right. You can go home. But only if you let me stay with you.” He regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth. He had no interest in spending time with her. Especially not when she was so obviously vulnerable.
“I don’t need a baby-sitter.” She was so insulted she’d missed any sign of innuendo.
“No. You don’t. But you also don’t need to be alone. So here are the choices. Me or the hospital.”
If he’d been a sensitive man, he’d have found fault with the length of her pause, but finally she sighed. “All right, then. I choose you.”
He leaned forward to tell the driver, then sat back with a sigh. The undercurrent had returned, connecting them, the enclosed space of the cab adding to the intimacy. He shook his head, determined to ignore it, turning instead to her recent brush with death. “Have you ever seen someone die before tonight?”
“Not up close and personal.” She released a breath, the sorrow in her voice ripping at him.
“Well, it takes a toll.” His grip
tightened on the armrest, dark memories giving credence to his words in ways she couldn’t possibly understand.
“You’ve seen a lot of men die.” There was a finality about the statement that resonated through the car.
“More than I’d have liked,” Gabe admitted, uncomfortably aware that she was staring at him.
“Any of them your fault?” It was a fair question, but not one he particularly liked having to answer. Still, considering she was trying to deal with similar guilt, he felt compelled to do so.
“Most of them.” All of them, his mind whispered. “I think you always believe there was something you could have done. Some precaution or other you should have taken. But hindsight is harsh. All your actions and their results clear to see. Carved in stone. In the heat of the moment, though, when things are happening too fast to process, all you can do is trust your instincts, rely on your training and then try and live with the results.”
“And how do you do that?” Her voice was soft now, almost wistful.
“I don’t know.” He stared out the window, keeping his mind firmly on the present. “Day by day, I guess.”
She nodded, the accompanying silence almost peaceful, the fragile thread of connection strengthening between them. He found himself wishing it could last, but knew from experience it would not.
“I’d gone to warn him about security, there’s a laugh.” It was a non sequitur, and there was nothing resembling humor in her voice.
“I’m the one who told you to talk to him.”
“Not in the middle of the night.” She was looking out the window now, staring without really seeing. “But I was restless.”
“Madison, Jeremy would have died whether you were there or not.” He pointed out the fallacy of her logic, knowing that she wasn’t really listening, locked instead inside of her guilt.
“Oh, shit.” She blew out a long breath, her hands clenching, knuckles white.
They had pulled up in front of her building, and he reached for her hands, surprised at how cold they were. “What is it?”
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