by Karen Rose
“You’d better pray that’s true,” Mike spat. “She can bring you down and you are not taking me with you.”
He gave his uncle a cold look. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Mike moved from the backseat to the front, then looked over his shoulder with a scowl. “Get your ass up here. I’m not your fucking chauffeur.”
“Never said you were,” he muttered as he obeyed. Like a five-year-old. Except he’d never been a five-year-old. He was pretty sure he’d gone from two to twelve. Mostly because he’d blocked out the ten years in between. He buckled up. “I’m ready, Uncle.”
Mike huffed. “You’re a fucking asshole.”
“Had a good teacher,” he shot back.
Mike smiled at that. “And don’t you forget it. Where do you want to go?”
“To the Fairfield shop. They have an SUV that’s almost identical to the one the bitch bled all over.”
Mike put his truck in gear and started down the rutted, snow-covered road. “That way you don’t have to explain anything to Rita.”
“Exactly.” Not that his wife asked too many questions. He never gave her any reason to. His businesses never spilled over into his home life. And they wouldn’t start now.
Cincinnati, Ohio
Saturday, December 19, 5:25 p.m.
Mallory’s statement was basically a series of nods, head shakes, and monosyllabic responses to Adam’s questions. Trip had been right. Mallory was numb, her eyes vacant in an alarming way.
She’d trailed off mid-interview, staring into space. He’d called her name a little too loudly to get her attention and she’d flinched as if he’d struck her.
He glanced at Meredith, who sat next to Mallory, holding her hand. She appeared calm. Serene, even. But she wasn’t. There was a pinch to the side of her mouth that was rarely visible. He wondered how often Meredith really was serene and how often she masked her true emotions.
He wished she’d look at him, but she hadn’t met his eyes since he’d entered the small office where she and Mallory had been waiting with Wendi and Colby.
“I’m going to stop now,” he told Meredith quietly. “She’s been through enough.”
“Thank you,” she said, her voice a bare whisper. The sag of her shoulders was infinitesimal. He’d have missed it had he not been watching.
What else had he missed when he hadn’t been watching her?
He looked to Wendi and Colby, who leaned against the closed office door, Wendi’s head pillowed on Colby’s beefy upper arm. “Take Mallory home. I’ll come by Mariposa House tomorrow and try again.” The only point on which Mallory had been clear was that she’d never seen the young man before. Everything else had been disjointed or had gone completely unanswered.
“I hope Mallory doesn’t regress,” Colby murmured after Wendi walked her out, her arm wound protectively around the girl’s waist. “She’s come so far.”
“I hope so, too,” Adam replied. “But if she does, Mariposa is the best place for her.”
Colby’s nod was proud. “Wendi will make sure she’s taken care of and I’ll keep them all safe.”
“You’re going to stay there? In the house?” Adam was surprised. “Is that allowed?” Wendi always made sure any male volunteers were not working anywhere they might cause the girls discomfort and that included shooing them out before the girls sat down to dinner. That, like no swearing and no booze, was a house rule.
“Doesn’t matter,” Colby said gruffly. “If I can’t stay in the house, I’ll sleep in my truck or in a tent in the yard. Nobody’s getting in that house on my watch.”
“There’s snow on the ground,” Meredith protested. “You can’t sleep in a tent.”
Colby turned to Meredith. “I’ve slept on snow before. There’s also a shed on the property. I can set up a cot out there if I have to.”
“Thank you,” she said earnestly. “I’ll worry a lot less knowing you’re there.”
“And where will you be?” Adam asked her.
Her back visibly stiffened. “In my home.”
Hell no. Just . . . dammit. “Who’s going to watch over you?” Adam demanded. “You were the target, after all.”
She flinched and even Colby winced. Way to go, Kimble. Kick her while she’s down.
“Kendra’s coming to stay with me tonight,” she said. “As soon as she’s off duty.”
“That’s hours from now—hours you’ll be alone.”
“She won’t be alone,” Colby said with satisfaction. “Diesel Kennedy is currently waiting in your driveway, Meredith. He’ll stay with you until Kendra is able to get to your place. Faith has already rearranged the schedule at your office. She’ll take the clients that can’t skip a session. The others have been told you’re taking a few days off. You’ll have someone staying with you twenty-four/seven until this is resolved.”
“Who?” Adam asked sharply. “Who is ‘someone’?”
“Everyone,” Colby answered, unperturbed. “Faith’s contacted all the ladies in their breakfast group and the wine club. Between them and their respective husbands, boyfriends, partners, whatever? You’re covered for the next week.”
Meredith’s circle of friends had circled the wagons, protecting her. And I’m not included in that group, Adam admitted. Which was entirely his own fault. He had no right to guard her. He had no rights at all. But he could have had them. He could have been a member of her circle. He could have been the one she depended on, leaned on, but he’d fucked it all up. Him and his goddamned bottle. It was a hard reality to accept.
But she called me today. Me. It wasn’t too late. Not yet.
“I’m so tired, I’m not even going to fight the babysitter brigade,” she said, and, despite being tired, she stood fluidly, at ease on those ridiculously high heels that made her legs far too sexy. She started for the door, maintaining eye contact with Colby.
Not with me. She wasn’t being mean or rude. Adam understood that. She was simply at her emotional breaking point. And I’m about to push her further.
“Meredith, wait. I have a few more questions. Just another minute or two.”
She nodded reluctantly, lowering herself to the sofa as elegantly as she’d risen. “All right,” she said, but she held on to her handbag with a white-knuckled grip.
“You were seated by the window.” The coincidence of which was bothering him. “Had you requested the window?”
Her russet eyebrows scrunched. “Yes,” she said slowly. She stared at her hands for a moment before looking back up. Still not meeting his eyes. Her gaze was fixed somewhere over his shoulder. “I called ahead to reserve the window table, the day Mallory asked if I’d take her to register for GED classes. I wanted her to have . . .” Her voice trembled. “A perfect day,” she whispered. She swallowed hard, and when she spoke again, it was firmly. “But I was told they didn’t reserve specific tables anymore. We’d have to take whatever was open at the time of our reservation.”
“Yet the table was available when you came in.”
She nodded, frowning. “Yes. I figured we were just lucky.”
“Maybe,” Adam allowed. “But we need to make sure. Who knew you were taking Mallory to Buon Cibo?”
Meredith faltered. “The others. My friends.”
“The breakfast group,” Adam supplied. Meredith gathered the women together once a month for breakfast at her cousin Bailey’s house—Wendi, Kendra, Faith, and Scarlett Bishop, who was another member of the FBI/CPD joint task force—plus a few others, including Adam’s own cousin Dani. Every woman was trustworthy. Every one would protect Meredith with her life, Adam was sure of it. “Who else?”
“Um . . . I don’t know. Maybe the other girls at Mariposa House.”
Adam’s gaze flicked to Colby’s. “I’ll have to talk to them.”
Colby nodded. “I’ll have Wendi get them ready. Whe
n? It’ll be time for them to go to sleep in a few hours. We don’t want to disrupt their routine any more than we have to.”
Adam knew he had several more hours here and at the crime scene across the street. “I’ll probably come out there tomorrow morning, but I’ll call you either way.” He turned back to Meredith. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, “but I have to ask you again for the names of anyone who’s stalked you recently.”
Her jaw tightened. “I told you. I can’t tell you anything about the people who just happen to be running around the high school track at the same time I do every morning at five a.m., or just happen to be shopping for veggies at my local Kroger on Saturday mornings, or just happen to catch my eye across the crowd after Sunday mass at St. Germaine’s for the last three weeks.”
He frowned. She’d used the same words before. The same, exact— Shit. Understanding hit him like a brick. She was telling him where to search. And when and for whom. He’d bet that all three of those places had surveillance cameras. “Oh,” he said, feeling foolish. “Got it.”
She rolled her eyes. “Thank God,” she muttered, then sighed. “May I be excused, Detective Kimble?”
He winced at the formality. “Of course. But, um . . .” He dug a hotel key card from his pocket and handed it to her. “The hotel manager said to feel free to clean up in room 1254. Use the shower. If you want.”
Staring at the card, her throat worked as she tried to swallow. “He offered?”
“I asked.” It was the least Adam could do for her, when he wanted to do everything.
She hadn’t taken the card yet. “I don’t have any clean clothes.”
“There should be some in the room. I asked Scarlett to bring you some of your things.” Scarlett and Deacon had been walking into the lobby as he and Trip had been leaving the little meeting room.
“Scarlett’s here?” she asked, a hopeful note in her tone.
“Yes, but she’s interviewing the other restaurant customers.”
“I see.” She took the key card with trembling fingers, careful not to touch him as she did so. She still didn’t look up at him and he wanted to grab her chin and force her to, but he hadn’t earned the right to do that, either. “That was kind of you. Thank you.”
She rose again, then was through the door and gone. Colby gave him a sympathetic look. “We’ll make sure she’s safe. Not okay, just safe. I’m not sure we can make her okay.”
Adam nodded, his throat suddenly too thick to speak. Colby’s subtle nudge was right on the money. No, she’s not okay. Neither am I. And the blame for that lay squarely on Adam’s shoulders. So was the fix. Tonight. He’d fix it tonight. Or at least he’d start the process. For now, he’d make sure she stayed safe.
He sent a text to Isenberg. May have a suspect. Stalked Dr. Fallon recently. Pls obtain surveillance tape from high school running track—every a.m. for last 3 weeks + Kroger nearest her residence—last 3 Saturday a.m.’s. He added Meredith’s address from memory and hit SEND. Also St. Germaine’s, Sunday a.m. mass, last 3 weeks.
Isenberg replied immediately. On it. Do u have a name/description?
No. She won’t say. Confidentiality. But she told me where/when to look.
No legal protection for her. She’s not MD. Make her tell u.
Adam frowned, his fingers dialing Isenberg’s number before he realized that had been his intention. “You make her tell you,” he said to his boss when she picked up.
“Is she gone?” Isenberg asked.
“Yes. She’s gone to wash that boy’s brains from her hair,” he said acidly.
Isenberg sighed. “Do we have an ID on the boy?”
“No, not yet. The area hasn’t been cleared by the bomb squad. I’m about to start interviewing witnesses. Scarlett and Deacon should have already gotten started. Hopefully we can get a composite description or even photos.”
“The plates we got from the video the kids gave Agent Taylor were from a car reported stolen two years ago.”
“Figured they would be,” Adam said, but he was still disappointed.
“There’s a woman in the backseat of the SUV. The windows are heavily tinted so the driver’s face can’t be seen, nor can the woman’s, but we know she was there.”
“The ‘her’ the boy was worried about.”
“That’s my assumption, but she could be an accomplice.”
True, he thought, grateful for her objectivity. “How long will it take you to pull the videos I asked for? I’ll come to the precinct to review them.”
“I’ll assign someone to retrieve and review the footage ASAP. You stick to the scene. I’ll let you know when we have something solid on the stalker.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep you in the loop with the questioning.”
Cincinnati, Ohio
Saturday, December 19, 5:55 p.m.
“Miss Johnson? The doctor will see you now.”
Linnea blinked sleepily. The woman in scrubs was standing right in front of her. Calling her Miss Johnson? Oh. Right. She gave herself a little shake. Denise Johnson was the name on her fake ID. Useful little thing, a fake ID.
Good for hospitals, clinics, pharmacies. And the occasional arrest for prostitution. The charges hadn’t stuck, of course. He’d smoothed it all out and she’d been released—with an apology, no less. He had his fingers everywhere. He had eyes everywhere. Maybe even here, in the free clinic. So get this done and get out of here before he catches up to you.
Linnea rose unsteadily. So tired. Her grip on the here-and-now had started to fracture. She needed to sleep, but every time she’d closed her eyes she’d see Andy crumpling to the ground. Gone, gone, gone. Forever.
“Thank you,” she managed and started to follow the nurse.
“You left your bag,” the nurse told her.
Linnea turned slowly, feeling like she moved through molasses. Oh. Right. The plastic bag she’d taken from the little hotel she’d walked to after abandoning his SUV. She frowned at it. Oh. Right. It held her bloody jeans. She looked down. She was wearing polyester pants that were way too big. She’d found them in the hotel’s laundry closet.
The nurse picked up the bag. “Come with me. We’ll get you fixed up.”
“Nice,” Linnea murmured, her eyes stinging. “You’re being nice to me.” It had been so long since someone had. Someone other than Andy. He’s gone. I’m alone.
“I try, sweetie.” The nurse touched her back lightly. “This way.”
Linnea found herself in a room painted bright yellow with pictures of puppies and kittens. It made her smile. “This is new,” she said and could hear her words slur.
The nurse smiled back. “Dr. Dani wanted to brighten the place up when she took over as director.”
Linnea blinked again, harder this time, trying to focus when everything was swirly. Dr. Dani was the doctor she’d seen last time. “She’s still here?”
“Yep,” the nurse said cheerfully, and started to take her blood pressure.
Linnea jerked back. “Positive,” she said. “I am, I mean.”
The nurse held up gloved hands. “I know, honey. You’re in our system.”
Denise Johnson was in their system. Not me. Not Linnea Holmes. Nobody knows me.
Except Shane. Don’t forget about Shane. The third of their musketeers. Three kids, terrified in foster care, banding together. Promising to always be there for one another. Shane would help. If he knew.
But he wouldn’t know, because Linnea would never tell him. She’d been ashamed before, but now? She’d killed Andy. She’d all but pulled the fucking trigger. Shane would hate her forever and that she couldn’t bear. Then she really would be all alone.
“Hmm,” the nurse hummed. “Your blood pressure is low. Do you want to tell me what happened?”
Linnea shook her head, then realized she’d have to tell them if she wanted
help. “Rough sex,” she whispered.
The nurse nodded once, lips pursed. “Let me get Dr. Dani.”
A minute later the doctor came in. Her hair was the same, black with two bright streaks of white framing her face. Her much thinner face. “Hello,” Dr. Dani said.
“You got skinny,” Linnea blurted out. “What happened?”
The doctor slid onto a stool, her odd eyes assessing. One blue, one brown, they seemed to see way too much. Just like the last time Linnea had been here. “I got stabbed last summer,” Dr. Dani said matter-of-factly. “I’m better now, but still trying to regain a few pounds. What happened to you? You’ve lost more weight than I have.”
Linnea swallowed hard. “I’ve been . . .” Not stabbed. But messed up. Broken. Scared every damn minute of every damn day. “Okay,” she finally said lamely.
“All right,” Dr. Dani said with a shake of her head. “Tell me what happened, Denise.”
Denise. Linnea wondered if anyone would ever say her real name in kindness again. She pointed to the bag she’d taken from the hotel. “My pants are bloody.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Dr. Dani said, not taking her eyes from Linnea’s face. “The nurse said you’d had some ‘rough sex.’ Are you still bleeding?”
“A little.” But only because she hadn’t moved too much. If she had to move fast or run again like she had an hour and a half before? She might bleed out before she got to kill Andy’s killer.
Dr. Dani gestured to her polyester pants. “They look a little big.”
Linnea stared down at them, backtracking in her mind. “I got them from the hotel.”
“That hotel?” The doctor pointed to the bag, its name clearly printed. “Did someone give them to you?” she asked when Linnea nodded.
Linnea shook her head. “Found them. In the laundry closet.”
Dr. Dani smiled and Linnea’s stress receded. A little. “How did you get to the hotel?”
“Walked.” After abandoning the SUV. She remembered following a couple into the lobby, getting on the elevator with them, like she was with them, so the people at the desk wouldn’t throw her out. “Was going to ask them to call me a cab.” From a house phone. So it would look like she belonged there. “Then I saw the closet.”