by Karen Rose
‘Oh, and he wore a disguise. The roomie saw it peeling from his face while making a buy.’
His brows jumped up. ‘That I didn’t know.’
‘The roomie said most people didn’t. They were too busy buying to examine him closely.’
‘So . . . back to the parents,’ he said gently. ‘I’m guessing they took it hard.’
‘Very. After I sent the roomie into protective custody, I took the parents to the morgue.’
‘That was kind of you.’
She shrugged. ‘They loved her. It was really hard for them, especially after learning that their daughter was an addict who sold her body for pocket money and dealt for the Professor.’
Decker winced. ‘Hell.’
‘I know. I tried to help them find a hotel, but it was late and they didn’t have a lot of cash. I was planning to come here anyway, so I gathered up my stuff and let them have my room. It’s paid for through Tuesday. Someone should get to use it.’
Decker’s heart squeezed. ‘You’re a nice woman, Kate. But I won’t tell anyone.’
Her lips curved. ‘Thank you.’ She rolled her neck and Decker could hear it crack from across the small table. ‘I was going to go see Sidney’s advisor, but I decided it would have to wait until tomorrow. I won’t be able to pay proper attention until after I get some sleep.’
‘Come here,’ he said, patting the chair next to him.
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’
‘Just come here. Please.’
She was still suspicious, but she complied. ‘Why?’
‘You’re not supposed to crack your neck like that. Here. Let me.’ He twisted in his chair so that he could put his hands on her shoulders. He started massaging, using his thumbs to work the kinks from her neck. She moaned, the sound going straight to his groin.
‘That feels so good. Where did you learn to do that?’
‘Army. I had a friend who was a medic. She had good hands.’
Her shoulders stiffened. ‘Who was she to you?’
That she’d guessed wasn’t a huge surprise. She had a way of reading between the lines that gave her an edge at her job. ‘We dated for a while. About a year.’
She drew a breath, let it out. ‘Did you love her?’
‘I could have, if we’d had more time,’ he answered honestly. ‘I did a little.’
‘What happened to her?’
He swallowed hard, but kept up the massage. Somehow it was easier to talk about Beth when his hands were on Kate’s warm skin. ‘She died. IED hit her Humvee.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Me too. She was a nice woman. She didn’t deserve to die, much less that way.’ His voice had wobbled a little on the last few words.
Kate looked over her shoulder, her brown eyes sober and sympathetic. ‘What way?’
He couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to. But he didn’t want to answer her question either. Not completely. It was still too painful to actively recall. His flashbacks were bad enough, thank you very much. ‘She was . . . closest to the IED. There wasn’t much of her left.’
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but thoughtfully, as if she was trying to see inside his skin. ‘How do you know that?’ she asked, so gently that he wondered if she already knew the answer.
‘I was cleanup crew.’
Her eyes slid closed, her head bowing respectfully. ‘I’m so sorry.’
She had known. ‘How did you know?’ he asked.
She met his eyes again. ‘After this morning, Zimmerman bumped up the number of agents listening to your tapes. They’ve been transcribing all day, focusing on any conversation that included Alice. Zimmerman sent the files they’d finished to the team to read. I got stuck in the longest line at the grocery, so I read a few conversations. There was one among all the traffickers that included you. Alice’s father was angry because one of his people had instructed you to dispose of a witness. An innocent bystander, basically. You said you’d done it and gotten rid of her body already.’
The conversation returned to him in a rush. ‘I didn’t, by the way.’
‘I know. I interviewed the woman myself later. You posed as a federal agent and told her to go into hiding for a few days.’
He huffed a mirthless chuckle. ‘Yeah. I was a federal agent posing as a human trafficker’s gun-for-hire, posing as a federal agent.’
Her lips quirked up. ‘Hell of an identity crisis.’
‘You have no idea.’
She sobered. ‘No, I don’t. I can’t imagine being under for so long, cut off from everyone you knew. Having to keep all of the lies straight. I guess it helped to use a few truths.’
He nodded. ‘I needed them to think I didn’t mind taking care of the grislier details. They used . . .’ It was his turn to close his eyes, his stomach doing a nasty roll in his gut. ‘They used a chipper-shredder to dispose of the bodies. But you know that. You had to have found it.’
‘Yep,’ she said ruefully. ‘It was kind of hard to miss. The stench alone was awesome.’
He opened his eyes in time to see hers roll. ‘I know. They just mixed up all the victims and left them to compost. And even with as much as I’d seen in the desert, it really freaked me out. Couldn’t let them see that. So I told them about being on the cleanup crew.’
‘You sounded perfectly convincing.’ She was clearly impressed and it was all he could do not to preen. He had been perfectly convincing.
‘I wouldn’t have survived too long if I hadn’t been. Alice was a vicious shark. She was born and raised by a whole flock of soulless vultures and looked for deception everywhere. So, yes, it helped to throw in truth when I could. Made living the lie a little easier.’
‘And it let you retain some of Griffin Davenport. You, I mean. Although I suppose remembering your foster dad helped. Gave you a tether so you didn’t get too lost in the charade.’
She got it. She got him. ‘It made having to be an utter asshole a little more bearable. That was the worst part. People were dying all around me for three years, and I couldn’t stop it. I did what I could, but it was a piss-poor minimum.’
Her brows rose. ‘Did you enjoy it? Did you enjoy being an utter asshole?’
He recoiled. ‘No. Hell, no.’
‘My point exactly. You did things you didn’t want to do. You were cleanup crew to those GIs in the desert. You picked up the pieces and helped sort them as best you could. You put them in coffins so that their families would have something to bury. That was a good thing, a human thing. And that one of those GIs was someone you cared for . . . that was a superhuman thing. So was spending three years as an utter asshole and not losing the real Griffin Davenport.’
His cheeks heated. ‘We all have to do things we don’t want to do.’ His hands had stilled at some point during her speech, but he kept his thumbs resting against her skin. ‘You did, too.’ He drew a fortifying breath and confessed. ‘I looked you up. You and Jack and Johnnie.’
One side of her mouth curled up. ‘I figured you did. I wouldn’t have been able to resist doing the same thing in your place.’ Her mouth lost the little curve and went back to being sad. ‘I had cleanup duty when Jack did . . . what he did.’
He jerked, stunned. ‘Why? Why didn’t you hire someone to do that? I didn’t have a choice. I was the cleanup crew. But you could have hired a service.’
She seemed to deflate before his eyes. ‘Because it was the least I could do.’
He opened his mouth, then closed it, regarding her carefully. There was something here. Something important. Guilt, he realized. I’m sorry, Jack. I’m so sorry.
‘Why?’ he asked again, gentling his voice. ‘Why was it the least you could do?’
Her throat worked as she tried to swallow. ‘Because it was my fault,’ she whispered.
&n
bsp; Cincinnati, Ohio,
Thursday 13 August, 10.20 P.M.
Meredith sat at her kitchen table, sipping tea as she contemplated the box of colored pencils. ‘Purple,’ she murmured and began coloring the feather that belonged to what would become a magnificent peacock when she was finished.
‘You’re coloring.’
Meredith didn’t have to look up to know that Adam Kimble was standing in her kitchen doorway. He’d taken so long to shower and change that she’d been ready to call his cousin Deacon to come over and check on him. But she’d heard the shower shut off and had known the exact moment he’d filled the doorway. He’d been standing there for at least five minutes, just watching her while she colored.
‘Yes, I’m coloring. It’s very relaxing. You should try it.’
‘I don’t . . . I’m not . . .’ He hmphed. ‘Coloring books are for kids.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong.’ She looked up then, having fortified herself. Damn, he was a pretty man. Dark hair, dark eyes. All that stubble. Made him look like a pirate. ‘Coloring is one of the ways I’ve done therapy for years. It works better with kids because they’re less resistant to the idea, but adults are starting to glom on to it. Coloring books are the new best-seller.’
‘You’re kidding me.’
‘I don’t kid about coloring, Adam. It’s important. I’ve got a few designs here you might like.’ She spread out the pages she’d printed while he’d been in the shower. ‘Stained glass. A dinosaur. A babbling brook. And this one is just . . . shapes. Give it a try. I won’t tell anyone.’
‘No,’ he murmured. ‘You wouldn’t, would you? Thank you for that.’
‘You’re welcome. But if you really want to thank me, stop looming and color with me.’
He pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table, as far away from her as he could sit. He hesitated, then planted his butt in the chair and stared at the pages she’d pushed his way. ‘I feel ridiculous,’ he muttered, but he took the page with the stained glass and chose a red pencil.
‘Just color, Adam,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s all you have to do.’
‘Okay.’
Ten minutes later, he was still coloring with the red pencil. Every single panel was red. He was meticulously staying in the lines, but every piece of the stained glass was red. Don’t have to be a shrink to figure that one out, she thought sadly, remembering the night he’d reached out to her, nine long months ago.
Red was his nightmare. So much blood. He’d said it over and over as he’d fallen apart in her arms. He’d said it over and over in his sleep as he’d dreamed. Nightmares. She didn’t have to wonder if he still had them. It was written all over his face. And on the solid red page.
Gently she reached across the table and tried to pull the red pencil from his hand so that she could replace it with a blue one. His hand tightened on it, refusing to give it up.
He looked up at her then, eyes shiny with tears he refused to shed. Because men didn’t cry.
Bullshit! She wanted to scream it, but she didn’t. She took a tissue and dabbed his eyes with all the gentleness she could muster, controlling the shaking of her hands through sheer will. She wouldn’t fall apart. Not in front of him. She’d wait until he was gone and then she’d make a late-night run to the grocery store for more ice cream and ibuprofen, because she was sure to have one helluva headache tomorrow morning after crying herself to sleep tonight.
She tried to change the red pencil for blue again, but he held on to the red, not wanting to give it up. ‘I’m not finished,’ he said, his voice a hoarse rasp.
Blue wasn’t going to cut it, she realized. Not tonight. ‘Then I’ll sharpen this one for you,’ she murmured. He’d colored the red pencil down until the point was flat.
He nodded numbly, waiting until she’d done so, then took the red pencil back and continued coloring his stained-glass window solid red. Meredith got up to put the kettle on, waiting next to the stove until it whistled, letting the whistle stretch on a few more seconds than she needed to because it was so damn quiet in her kitchen. It was making her even more nervous than she’d already been. She finally made them both a cup of tea and set his at his elbow. He didn’t lift his eyes from the orderly mass of red, but his pencil did still.
‘Adam?’ she asked quietly.
He looked up, his eyes raw. ‘What?’
‘You’re not going back to ICAC again tomorrow, are you?’ Please say you’re not.
The sound of his swallow seemed to echo in her quiet kitchen. ‘No. It was a bad lead. All the pictures were at least ten years old.’
‘But you looked at them anyway?’
He put the pencil down and picked up the mug, cradling it in his hands like he was cold. ‘I didn’t know then. I didn’t know until we had our afternoon debrief. Diesel figured it out.’
‘Diesel? The guy who works for Marcus?’
‘Yeah. Big, hulking Brutus, covered in tattoos. He was the one who found the files on McCord’s computer, but he wasn’t able to look at the pictures at the time. He . . . I think he identified with the victims too closely.’
‘Oh.’ She leaned her hip against the table edge. ‘So many hurt people trying to make things right,’ she murmured.
‘Yeah.’ He gulped a swallow of tea, then winced when it burned his mouth, but he didn’t complain. ‘Anyway, he realized that the files he’d found were different from the ones the police confiscated. Two separate computers. The pictures I looked at today weren’t of recent victims. They probably weren’t made by either McCord or the guy we’re looking for.’
‘So you looked at them for nothing?’
He nodded grimly. ‘Pretty much.’
‘Your contact at ICAC didn’t know they were old?’
‘He hadn’t looked at them either. I guess he hadn’t looked at the dates on the files.’
Checking a file’s date is a damn basic thing, Meredith thought, annoyed. They’d put Adam through hell for nothing. ‘Fuck that.’
Surprisingly, he smiled. ‘It’s okay. I’m okay.’
‘No you’re not,’ she whispered.
‘Then let me pretend,’ he whispered back. ‘I need to believe it.’
She looked at the solid red sheet. ‘Okay, for now. But you are going to have to address that.’
He drew a breath, his shoulders sagging. ‘Not tonight.’
‘Okay. For now.’ She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Who was your contact at ICAC?’
‘Wyatt Hanson, but don’t be going all ballistic on his ass. Wyatt’s not a bad guy, just overworked and overwhelmed.’ One side of his mouth quirked up. ‘Maybe he should color, too.’
‘Maybe he should. Maybe you all should. Too much damn stress in you cops.’ She’d discuss it with Zimmerman. ‘If I can’t go all ballistic on Wyatt Hanson’s ass, then what can I do to help you with this case?’
Another half-smile, but this one was brittle. ‘You don’t have to phrase things so carefully. I’m not going to ask you for any help other than on the case. And maybe for the sharpener so that I can fix the pencil again.’
She returned to her chair with her own teacup and tossed him the sharpener. ‘Knock yourself out.’
He focused on the pencil, sharpening it with the attention to detail he seemed to give everything. ‘I will need your help in the morning. My assignment tonight was to find a possible suspect and her son. We had a uniform waiting outside his school – it’s a special needs summer program – but the kid is sharp and managed to give our guy the slip. The suspect, an ICU nurse at County, didn’t come home tonight, but the kid finally did when the rain started. I got him into emergency foster care, but we need to interview him in the morning. He’s not going to be cooperative. Zimmerman asked that you be there for the interview.’
‘What’s his
special need?’
‘Emotional. He was . . . fragile. On the edge of a major meltdown.’
‘Okay. Why won’t he be cooperative?’
‘His mother is the nurse that tried to kill Agent Davenport today. You heard about that, right?’
‘Yes. Zimmerman told me this afternoon when I called him to fire Agent Colby.’
Adam frowned. ‘I heard about that. Not smart, Meredith. We’ve got witnesses dropping all over the damn place. This mystery partner almost killed a federal agent in a hospital.’
‘I’m being careful. But thank you for your concern.’
He scowled at her. ‘I hate that prissy tone of yours. It’s just a ladylike way of telling me to fuck myself.’
Her lips twitched. Busted. ‘So, the kid. Mom’s a possible killer – will he try to protect her?’
‘Maybe. Mom’s an addict – coke and stolen hospital opioids. Her boyfriend, who’s not much older than her son, is an addict. Steroids and coke. Boyfriend got the mom addicted to coke, then leeched off her to feed his own habit. Kid’s been sneaking their leftovers.’
Meredith sighed. ‘That makes me want to slap the parents until they bleed.’
‘Me too. So kid’s lost his supply source and he’s gonna be needing a hit. I’m trying to get him a slot in rehab.’ He took another drink of the tea, giving the cup a considering look. ‘That’s not bad when it’s not scalding the taste buds off my tongue.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘It’s hot tea. How many people do I have to tell this to? Kendra said the same thing.’
‘That was Kendra? I thought she was Wendi Cullen’s sister.’
‘Fosters.’
‘Oh. Well.’ He went back to his coloring. ‘Why was Kendra here?’
Same reason as you, she thought sadly. ‘We had dinner.’
‘Then you did yoga?’ He shrugged when she stared at him. ‘I could see right through your front window. You need better drapes. Any creeper could be watching you.’
She shuddered. ‘I’ll pull the shades.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, then regarded his stained-glass picture. ‘I’m done.’