by Karen Rose
Mallory stiffened and Meredith sighed. “Wendi, stop. You’re scaring Mallory.”
But Colby just nodded as if Meredith hadn’t said a word. “She can stay at the big house,” he said. “I’ve got some vacation saved up. I’ll take a few days, stay with you, too.”
Meredith rolled her eyes when Wendi made goo-goo eyes at Parrish Colby like a lovesick teenager. But the man was sweet and he absolutely doted on Wendi.
I’m just jealous, she admitted. Adam Kimble had voiced no such worry about her welfare. Considering someone did just try to kill me. And the thought brought a new wave of nausea. God. Somebody tried to kill me . . . and a restaurant full of people.
Who? Who could have hated her that much? Who had that much disregard for human life? Well, lots of her clients’ parents. The court-referred ones, anyway. That was usually why those clients were her clients. The adults in their lives had been too selfish—or evil—to keep them safe.
“We have a free room on the third floor,” Wendi was saying. “Mer can sleep there.”
Wendi and Colby had been discussing her living arrangements while her mind had gone wandering, so Meredith made herself smile and take back at least some control of her life. “Thank you, Parrish. I really appreciate it, but I think it’s better if I don’t stay with the girls at Mariposa House. It will be disruptive to their routine.” She glanced at Mallory and swallowed hard. She might have been killed today. Because she was with me. “And it might put the girls in danger. I need to keep my distance until this . . . situation is resolved.”
“You didn’t cause this, Mer,” Wendi protested.
“I know.” And she did. Logically. “Doesn’t mitigate the risk I pose by staying there. Parrish, you stay with Wendi. Keep the girls safe. I’ll get Kendra to stay with me.” Kendra had only been a cop a little more than a year, but the woman could take care of herself. So can I, Meredith thought, but she didn’t want to be alone tonight.
Can I call you later? Tonight? Please. It had been the please that had left her undone. Dammit.
“Kenny’s on duty today,” Meredith added quickly, because Wendi looked ready to argue. “She’ll be free tonight.” She lifted a brow. “Oh, come on. Do you really think Kendra will let anyone in my house who shouldn’t be there?”
That might even include Adam. Like Wendi, Kendra had told her to move on. Neither of the Cullen sisters wasted any love on Adam Kimble.
“No, she won’t.” Wendi looked unhappy, but didn’t push it. “All right.” She looked up at Colby again. “Can we leave now?”
“I’ll find out,” Colby said. “Trip and Kimble are here somewhere. This is their case.”
Cincinnati, Ohio
Saturday, December 19, 5:00 p.m.
“He really did disarm it,” Adam murmured as he and Trip stood in the small meeting room that the hotel had provided for their use, watching the restaurant’s security tape on Trip’s laptop for the third time—but not the footage of the shooting itself. The dining room camera had gotten only a partial view of the young man’s face before he’d been shot. The most revealing footage had come from the camera mounted outside, specifically the three seconds when the man had crossed the street, approaching the restaurant’s front door.
“He unzips his coat right there,” Trip said, pointing at the laptop screen. “Then . . . right there he yanks the wires.” He paused the video. “You wouldn’t notice it if you weren’t watching. I missed it the first time I saw the tape. I thought he was adjusting his collar.”
“He knew someone was watching him,” Adam said. “Meredith thinks he was talking to someone, that he was wearing an earpiece.”
“He was,” a mild voice said from behind them.
Adam looked over his shoulder and had to fight not to scowl when Agent Quincy Taylor closed the door behind himself. “Did you find it?” Adam asked, trying to keep the anger from his voice. The man had been . . . What, Kimble? the voice in his head asked sarcastically. Patting her hand to calm her? Because you weren’t there to do so?
Agent Taylor blinked at him. “Yes,” he said, his wary tone indicating that Adam hadn’t hidden his anger all that well.
Even Trip was giving Adam a strange look. “Where was the earpiece?” Trip asked the forensic investigator.
“In a puddle of brain matter,” Agent Taylor answered flatly. “One of the bomb disposal techs saw it there and took a photo for me, because the crime scene isn’t cleared for my team yet. Did I hear you say the victim pulled the wires out of the bomb?”
Trip nodded. “Sure looks like it. The kid must have known what he was doing, to be that bold. One false move and he could have been blown to bits.”
Adam forced himself to pull his head out of his own ass and focus on his job. “Maybe he knew what he was doing. More likely he just didn’t care. If the bomb had detonated at the door, the impact would have been a lot less serious.”
“You think he was trying to save the people in the restaurant?” Trip asked.
“He tried to save Meredith,” Adam answered. “He told her to get down, to run, just before he was shot. That indicates to me that he was still afraid of the bomb.”
“So he wasn’t sure if he had disabled the device,” Trip said thoughtfully. “That boy knew he was gonna die either way. You can see it on his face. How he flinches right before he yanks the wire.”
Adam sighed, his chest tight with compassion for the kid. “He said ‘he’ was going to ‘kill her.’ We can start with the assumption that the person the kid was afraid of was the one who shot him and drove away. We’ve got a BOLO out on the black SUV, ads for ‘Plumber’s Helper’ on both sides.” Multiple witnesses had seen it driving away. “But it’s a fake company and nobody seems to have seen a license plate.”
“A witness caught the SUV on video,” Agent Taylor said. “I got a partial plate and added it to the BOLO. That’s the other thing I came in to tell you.”
Adam blinked in surprise, but at least Trip did, too, so Agent Taylor wasn’t keeping him out of the loop deliberately. “When did you get the video?” Trip demanded.
“Just now, when I went to check on the crime scene. That was after I finished cleaning Dr. Fallon’s hands,” Agent Taylor added pointedly. “And that’s all I was doing, Detective Kimble.”
“I know. She was pretty freaked to have her hands covered in human remains. Thank you for making the situation easier for her, Agent Taylor.”
The man nodded once. “Quincy.”
“Adam,” Adam returned.
“And I’m Trip,” Trip said sarcastically. “Why didn’t that witness bring the video to us when we first got here?”
Quincy seemed unruffled. “They’re kids. Brothers, ten and twelve. They were goofing off, play-interviewing their parents about what they’d find under their Christmas tree. They were two blocks away when the SUV passed through their picture. At first, they didn’t know they’d gotten anything valuable. The press put the BOLO in their ‘breaking’ report and the kids saw it. They walked up to me when I was outside, saw ‘FBI’ on my jacket, and showed it to me, then e-mailed it to me.” He tapped the screen of his phone. “I just e-mailed it to you, Trip. They’re waiting in the lobby with their parents.”
“Thanks,” Trip said. “We got any leads on who might want the doc dead, Adam?”
“Or why she was carrying a gun?” Quincy added.
“Really the same answer,” Adam said. “She had a gun because she’s been stalked and/or threatened by parents of her child clients.”
Trip frowned. “What kind of threat? Has she reported it?”
“She’s reported everything that’s a specific threat.” He scowled. “Apparently, at least one of her clients’ parents has been showing up when she runs in the morning and at the store where she shops. And whoever it is just smiles at her. There’s no explicit threat.”
“But p
lenty of implicit,” Quincy said, his jaw going hard. “She didn’t tell you who she was afraid of, did she?”
“No,” Adam admitted, wondering if he was relieved or even more jealous that Quincy seemed to be protective of Meredith, too. “She refused to tell and I didn’t push.”
“Why the hell not?” Trip exploded.
Adam gave him a bland look. Which was difficult because Jefferson Triplett was at least four inches taller than he was. “She was protecting her clients’ privacy. I didn’t push because she was close to breaking. I’ll get the information, one way or another.”
Trip’s returned look was more of a glare. “I’ll ask her. You treat her like spun glass. She’s tougher than she looks.”
Adam’s brows shot up. “How do you know that?”
“Because I Googled her when I arrived on the scene,” Trip said. “She’s faced down some nasty-assed characters in the last five years. Any of which could have put a contract out on her. Our suspect list is goddamn long.”
“What nasty-assed characters?” And why hadn’t he known this? God, Kimble, you’re a selfish, clueless bastard.
“At least three drug dealers, two pimps, and a corporate shark who vowed he’d see her pay for getting his kids taken away.”
Adam frowned at him. “You did not get all that off Google.”
Trip looked a little shamefaced. “Fine. I also asked Kendra. Officer Cullen, I mean.”
Kendra was Wendi’s sister. Both women were close to Meredith. “How would Kendra know?” Adam asked suspiciously. “And why would she tell you anything?”
“They run together in the morning sometimes. Kenny told me about the dealers and pimps when I got here. She was one of the first cops on the scene. She was the one who saw the bomb, actually.” Trip seemed to hear the pride in his own voice and awkwardly looked down at his enormous hands. “We’ve, uh, gone out a few times. Kendra and I.”
Quincy rolled his eyes. “Good God. Are you all panting after each other? Adam, you looked like you wanted to take off my damn head today and Trip’s getting the lowdown from her best friend’s sister.” He huffed out a breath. “Look, I’m going back to work. I just wanted to tell you about the earpiece and the video.”
“Thanks, Quince,” Trip said, embarrassed, then waited until the man was gone before continuing. “I’m going to the lab to follow up on the bomb. The lab techs are transporting it as we speak. I want to take a look at those wires the kid pulled out. If he was able to disarm it so easily, we’re not talking about a sophisticated bomb-maker.”
“How long before I can access the crime scene?”
“At least an hour. The disposal team has to make sure the threat’s eliminated.”
“I’ll interview witnesses, then. Deacon and Scarlett are on their way to assist.”
“Get Mallory’s statement first,” Trip said, his brow creased in worry. “She’s . . . fragile. This was her first day out after all that shit that went down last summer.”
When she’d been freed from a monster who’d abused her for six years, forcing her into online child pornography by threatening to abuse her younger sister, Macy. Macy was safe now, living with a loving foster family, but Adam knew that Mallory still lived in fear. “What happened today would rattle anyone.”
Trip hesitated. “She still has nightmares about a cop who participated in the rapes.”
“The cop we couldn’t track down,” Adam said grimly. No one doubted Mallory had been telling them the truth—as she knew it, anyway. She’d said the cop had shown up to investigate her captor, but had raped her in exchange for his silence. They’d investigated, of course, but there hadn’t been any evidence that the police had even been called. No record of a visit. Internal Affairs had gotten involved, but concluded whoever had raped Mallory had been pretending to be a cop. Which had been no comfort to Mallory.
“She was nervous about leaving the house today, afraid someone would recognize her from the porn. But she wanted to sign up for classes so she forced herself to leave. I just can’t believe this happened today. Poor kid. She’s never going to want to leave again.”
Adam figured that Trip had probably heard about Mallory’s fears from Kendra, who seemed to spend her spare time helping Wendi at Mariposa House. He himself had heard from his cousin Deacon, who’d heard it from his fiancée, Faith, who was Meredith’s partner.
Adam swallowed a sigh because it always seemed to circle back to Meredith, the linchpin of their circle of friends. “I’ll get Mallory’s statement so she can get back to Mariposa House. I’m sure that Wendi and Colby are in the hotel by now.”
“Good.” Another hesitation. “Look, Adam . . . I was there the day she told what had happened to her, when she was in the hospital.” Because her captor had tried to kill her to silence her. “I filmed her statement that day. She was so scared, but she told her story anyway. She was defiant. Full of rage. But today . . . she looked numb. Like nobody was home. Be careful with her. Not that you’d be harsh, but . . . just be careful with her.”
“I will.” Adam took no offense, because the big behemoth was clearly concerned. “You find out who made that bomb. I hear you’re the bomb wunderkind.”
Trip’s smile was almost shy. “Yeah. That’s me.”
“How’d you get to be that way, considering you’re barely out of diapers?”
Trip snorted at that. “Damn you guys. You’re not old men. And I’m not that young.” He faked a preen. “I just moisturize.”
“And then you buff to a shine.” And on that note, they went their separate ways, Trip back to the lab and Adam to find Mallory Martin.
Chapter Five
Anderson Township, Ohio
Saturday, December 19, 5:10 p.m.
He grunted when the needle pierced his skin. “Careful.” His uncle had been the one person he’d trusted to call when Linnea had raced off in his own damn SUV. Mike had arrived in his pickup truck with his first aid kit and now sat in the backseat prepping him for stitches. “Dammit, Mike, that hurts. Be careful.”
His uncle gave him a disgusted look, jabbing the hypo needle harder as he pressed the plunger. “You mean careful like you shoulda been? What were you thinking? Letting a girl get the drop on you? And then letting her get away? What the ever-lovin’ fuck, boy?”
He opened his mouth to protest, then realized anything he said would only be an excuse. Mike was right. He’d fucked up royally.
Linnea had fled. Now she was out there. And she knows my goddamn face. He closed his mouth with an audible snap.
“Yeah, I thought so.” Mike put the hypo aside. “This is gonna take at least ten stitches. I hope the lidocaine numbs it long enough for me to finish. That was all I had left.”
He gritted his teeth. “I’ll be fine. Just get it done.” He’d endured worse, after all.
Mike stitched awhile in silence, then asked, “Where is the SUV?”
“By now, on its way to the garage.”
Mike glanced up. “Which one?” he asked suspiciously. “Your house?”
“Shit no,” he snapped. “I’m not that stupid.”
“Dunno,” Mike muttered. “You let a girl—”
“Shut the fuck up about the girl,” he exploded, then hissed in pain when Mike yanked the sterile thread much harder than was necessary.
“You watch your tone, boy,” Mike warned. “You’re the one who fucked up. Not me.”
It was true. He knew that. And it pissed him off to high heaven. “Butch tracked the SUV and picked it up.” His assistant for more than a decade, Butch never would have given him grief about losing the girl that way. Unfortunately, Butch didn’t have skill with a needle and Mike did. “He took it to the garage in Batavia.” One of three Mike owned, doing enough legit business that nobody noticed a few late-night repairs here and there. “It’s gonna need new seats. She bled all over them.”
Except that he hadn’t and he’d have to fess up to that, too, because Mike would find out and would never let him hear the end of it. “Fuck it, Mike,” he hissed again, because the lidocaine hadn’t fully numbed his arm and each stitch hurt like a bitch. “I didn’t do anything to her. Butch did.” He thought about the driver’s seat, covered in blood. “He didn’t cut her, though. Just banged her pretty good last night.”
Mike grunted. “At least he had the right idea.”
He shuddered. “No way I’m dippin’ my wick in that cesspool. Nasty.”
“That’s why condoms were invented.”
He rolled his eyes. The gaggle of “college” hookers was one of his most profitable endeavors, but besides being way too old for his liking, they were for business. Not pleasure. And not one of them had seen his face. Until Linnea. Shit.
Mike knotted the last stitch, cut the thread, then sat back. “Done. Let me do the other arm. It’s not as deep. I can get by with a few butterfly bandages.”
He did as his uncle instructed, wincing when Mike cleaned it with peroxide. “The SUV is on its way to the Batavia garage now,” Mike said. “Where was it before?”
“The girl abandoned it at a restaurant near the Beechmont exit off 275. Place called Clyde’s.”
Mike growled. “She could have found transportation to anywhere from there.”
“Yeah. I know. Butch picked up the SUV himself. Took Jolee with him. Figured Linnea might trust her if they found her.” Jolee Cusack was the face of his college hooker business. All the girls thought she was the boss, but Jolee knew the truth.
And now so does Linnea, goddammit.
“So she’s still out there, somewhere.” Mike applied a bandage. “She hasn’t called the cops yet. Why not?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe she’s dead. She was bleeding a lot.” He hoped that was the case, but deep down he knew it wasn’t. “Maybe she’s getting out of town.”