by Karen Rose
The woman’s chin jutted up. “I fear for my life.”
Scarlett looked unimpressed. “Who do you fear?”
The woman shook her head. “I plead the Fifth.”
Scarlett huffed out an irritated breath. “Will you accompany me, Agent Novak, just in case Miss Escape Artist is in legitimate danger?”
“Of course,” Deacon said. “You’ll meet us there, Detective Kimble?”
“I’ll be a few minutes behind you.” He needed to check out the crime scene first.
Chapter Seven
Cincinnati, Ohio
Saturday, December 19, 7:20 p.m.
Adam walked into Buon Cibo and came face-to-face with the bar. He closed his eyes. Most days he could walk into a restaurant and ignore the bottles filled with . . .
He shuddered. Filled with everything he craved. His fingers twitched and he shoved his hands into his pockets. No booze. You just think you want it. You don’t need it.
Clenching his teeth, he turned for the dining room to find Quincy Taylor watching him so steadily, so knowingly, that Adam nearly looked away in shame. But he didn’t. Because he’d kept his hands in his pockets and had not reached for any of the bottles behind the bar. He’d take that as a small win.
Baby steps. Nearly a year of baby steps. But he was almost there. Almost to a year. And then . . . well, he’d planned to talk to Meredith then. But it looked like that conversation was going to happen sooner than he’d planned. Tonight. He’d tell her tonight.
Quincy had gone back to taking photographs of the overturned table closest to the shattered window. The dining room was a mess. Tables were overturned and flatware, dishes, food, and menus were strewn over the dining room floor, but the focal point was one white tablecloth, horribly askew and stained with blood.
“That’s where Meredith and Mallory were sitting?” Adam asked.
Quincy lowered the camera. “Yes.” He looked down, nodding when he saw Adam’s shoes covered in booties. “You can come over here, but be careful. There’s a puddle of vomit on the floor just to the right of the table there.” He lifted a brow. “Meredith was afraid she’d contaminated the scene. Said she tried to direct it away from the remains.”
Adam swallowed hard, not wanting to visualize her crouched on the floor, terrified and covered in human remains. “She’s . . . a responsible person.”
Quincy snorted. “Of all the adjectives, responsible was the best you could do?”
Embarrassed, Adam approached gingerly, watching where he placed his feet. “I’m sorry. I was out of line when I . . .” He faltered, not sure how to describe what he was apologizing for.
“For glaring at me like I was poaching on your territory?” Quincy was unamused. “I’ve had the chance to talk to Dr. Fallon a few times in the past and I’m acquainted with her play therapy techniques. I like her. She’s smart and has a kind heart. And that’s all. She’s nobody’s territory. Possessiveness is not an admirable character trait.”
“You’re right,” Adam said simply. “It’s not. Jealousy isn’t terribly attractive either. I apologize.”
Quincy gave him a sharp look. “Apology accepted.” He resumed photographing the scene around the table. “And if it makes you feel better, she is not my type.”
The last sentence was said in a way that made Adam clearly understand. And feel even more embarrassed and stupid. But also relieved. “Oh?”
Quincy snorted again. “Neither are you, Detective.”
Adam laughed. “Now I think my feelings are hurt.”
Quincy smiled wryly. “Pretty sure you’ll live.”
Adam sobered. “She might not have. How close did the second shot come?”
“Close as I can figure without running trajectories through my computer model? If Mallory hadn’t pulled her down, this scene would look very different.”
Adam’s chest seized up, his breath freezing in his lungs. He forced the breath out, told himself that she was all right. That she hadn’t been hit. He crossed around the table and found himself staring down at the body of the young man who’d told her to run.
Adam cleared his throat. “One of the diners caught him on video, so we have his face.” Which was extremely fortunate as there wasn’t much left of it. The victim lay on his back, arms positioned at his sides. “I assume this isn’t how the bomb squad found him?”
“No. The team used a robot to defuse the device. They had to get him into a position to safely remove the vest, but we have a 3-D photographic record of the scene, including the body before anyone moved it. The victim was crumpled in a heap. The bullet came from the curb, directly opposite the window. The bullet entered the back of the victim’s head, probably ricocheted inside the skull, and exited at the left temple. The ME will confirm that, of course. Dr. Washington is on her way.”
“Where is the bullet?”
“Found it outside. It passed through the already broken window and was stopped by the ground outside.”
Adam looked out the window to where a numbered marker sat on the snow. “So Meredith was lucky again. If it had gone straight through . . .” I would have lost her before I got the chance to tell her the truth. But the truth was that he’d had plenty of chances. Months’ worth. He’d wasted all of them because of his stupid pride. I’m an idiot. “Shit.”
Quincy nodded. “She was very lucky.”
“Are we certain that the body isn’t still a threat? Could whoever coerced this kid to walk in here with a bomb strapped to his chest have booby-trapped him somehow?”
“Not with anything visible. The team did a scan of the body after they removed the vest. The ME will do a CT scan of the body before beginning the autopsy.”
Gathering the tail of his coat under his arm, Adam crouched next to the body. “Did the X-ray show any ID in his pockets?”
“Nope. Sorry. Dr. Washington will take his prints when she gets him to the morgue. Hopefully he’s in the system.”
“Hopefully he’s local and someone will recognize him.” Adam noted the yellowed fingertips. “He was a smoker.”
“Doesn’t appear to have any cigarettes on him, though.”
Adam stared at the body for a long moment, willing something to show up, to tell him something more about the young man who’d told Meredith to run.
But there wasn’t anything. Not yet. He stood up, backing away carefully. “I’ve got an interview to do. You’ll let me know if you find anything?”
“Absolutely.” Quincy hesitated. “You have protection lined up for Dr. Fallon, right?”
“I’ve got two unmarked cars on her street. Right now she’s being guarded by Diesel Kennedy and her grandfather, who is apparently Diesel’s twin.” And Adam was apparently jealous of those two men, too, because he desperately wanted to be guarding her himself.
“Good. You got any suspects yet?”
“She was stalked, but she won’t say by whom. She’s protecting a client’s privacy.”
“Damn ethics,” Quincy growled.
Adam sighed. “Yeah, except I respect her ethics.” He truly did, especially because Meredith protected children. It was just one of the things that had drawn him to her from the very beginning. “But I don’t want her ethics to kill her either.”
Which was why if he hadn’t identified her stalker by nine p.m., he was going to press her again. Harder this time.
And will that be before or after you explain things and hope she still wants you?
He had no idea. He only knew he had to keep her alive or nothing else mattered.
Cincinnati, Ohio
Saturday, December 19, 8:15 p.m.
Adam got off the precinct elevator and went straight to Isenberg’s office. She was on the phone and held up a hand for him to wait, then pointed to the chair in front of her desk.
“Yes,” she said to whomever she was talking to
, “we have a few leads and we are following them up with all urgency. I have my best people working on this case . . .” She rolled her eyes. “The FBI is working with us. Special Agent in Charge Zimmerman and I have been in frequent contact. This appears to have been a targeted attack against a single individual.” She listened, wincing as the caller’s voice grew loud and shrill. “I am aware that a bomb was involved, but there’s no reason to believe the city is in any further danger. Look, I understand people are afraid.” Another wince and she held the phone away from her ear. “Yes, I am aware that it’s near Christmas. I’ll be better able to promise the downtown business owners uninterrupted holiday sales by catching the person or persons behind this. For that, I need to get back to work. I’ll keep you apprised. Good-bye.” She hung up, closed her eyes for the length of a loud sigh. “Hell.”
“The mayor, I take it?” Adam asked.
“Yeah.” She pushed a folder across the desk to Adam. “People are scared to shop downtown now.”
“I can understand that.” He opened the folder and went completely still. It was a photo of Meredith, a side view of her speaking to her priest in the middle of a crowd. Behind the priest stood a man, smiling at her. The priest couldn’t see him, but Meredith did. It was evident in the tightness around her mouth, the narrowing of her eyes. She was pissed off. And afraid.
Adam had to close his eyes for a moment, to battle back the roar of rage. Holding on to his control, he began flipping through the photos. There were at least a dozen, taken from surveillance footage at the church, the grocery store, and the running track. All featured Meredith and the man. In each one, he hovered an arm’s length away. Just close enough that she would know he was there. And in each photo, she knew.
The man was in his midforties, average height and weight. Handsome, with an arrogant smile that said he knew it and expected everyone else to know it, too. He was well dressed, the suit he’d worn to church fitting him like it had been made for him.
The last photo was grainier, taken by a security camera in the Kroger parking lot. The same man was getting into a Lamborghini. A fucking Lamborghini.
Adam made sure his voice was steady before he spoke. “Do we know who he is?”
“Yes. His name is Broderick Voss.” She leaned back in her chair, waiting.
“Am I supposed to know who he is?” Adam asked.
“Probably only if you read the financial pages. He’s the CEO of BuzzBoys. They went public a few years back. He orchestrated the IPO. Thus, the Lamborghini.”
“Whoa.” The company’s name he knew. BuzzBoys gathered consumer preference opinions, a necessary service in a city of consumer products manufacturers. “So someone connected to Voss is seeing Meredith for counseling. Do you know who?”
“Nope. Got the photos while I was talking to the mayor. Was going to text you, but you showed up instead. Ball’s in your court, Adam.” She studied him carefully. “Take someone with you when you question him. He’s very influential in this town. He could make allegations against you that were totally false but could still hurt your career.”
“What a prince,” Adam muttered, appreciating that his boss had his back. “I’ll take Agent Triplett with me. First I need to question the restaurant’s hostess. Scarlett’s got her in Interview 3. You wanna observe?”
Isenberg cocked a brow. “This is the woman whose combat boot is responsible for that bruise on Scarlett’s jaw? I think I will.”
“Good. In the meantime, do you have an address for Mr. Voss? I want to put a car outside his residence. Just in case he gets wind of our impending visit and tries to leave town. He could charter a private jet and slip out of our grip.”
“He doesn’t need to charter one,” Isenberg said grimly. “He owns one.”
Adam sighed. “Of course he does.”
Cincinnati, Ohio
Saturday, December 19, 8:15 p.m.
“Well, shit.”
Meredith looked up from the intricate Moroccan tile design she was coloring to see Diesel scowling at his laptop screen. “What?”
“Voss couldn’t have been in front of the restaurant today. He was speaking to a room full of donors at a thousand-dollar-a-plate fund-raiser.”
“Well, shit,” Meredith echoed. “What was the fund-raiser’s cause?”
“Let’s see . . .” He scrolled down, made a sound of disgust. “It was for a state senator’s reelection campaign. There are rumors that Voss plans to run.”
“Not a shock. He’s a rich and powerful narcissistic sociopath.”
“Fancy words for ‘asshole,’” Diesel muttered.
Meredith put her coloring aside and checked her list. Wendi had called and nagged her until she’d finally promised to write down the names of everyone who’d threatened her. The list was two pages long. Two pages. She’d had no idea there had been so many. “Should we mark him off and go to the next one?”
Diesel shook his bald head. “No, not yet. Just because he wasn’t there doesn’t mean he didn’t have someone else do it.” He met her eyes over his computer screen. “Today had ‘professional hit’ written all over it. You pissed off the mafia lately?”
“Shh,” Meredith scolded, looking at the door to her basement, where her grandfather napped in the spare bedroom. Declaring himself worn out from the travel, he’d excused himself to rest, but only because Diesel had promised not to leave Meredith’s side. “That’s the last thing Papa needs to worry about.”
“That wasn’t a no,” Diesel noted astutely. “Gimme the list.”
“No. We’ll work our way down. Half these people are dead or in jail anyway.”
“Cheerful thought.” He wasn’t being sarcastic.
“What are you doing now?” she asked to change the subject.
“Looking for Voss’s bank account.”
Meredith’s eyes popped wide. “You can do that?”
“I’m insulted.” Now he was being sarcastic. He actually preened at her awe.
“I don’t want to know how much money he has, when you find it.”
“Fine.” His cell phone buzzed with an incoming text. He took a second to type in a reply, then looked up with a surprising twinkle in his eyes.
“What did you do?” Meredith demanded warily, then gasped when he held up his phone. Adam had texted: Is she OK?
Diesel’s response was more to the point than he could ever know. Better than OK. We’re @ kitchen table. Drinking tea. Coloring.
That had been what she and Adam had done the last time he’d come to her, seeking comfort after a very difficult day at work. The night Adam had made a point of saying they wouldn’t end up the way they had the first time he’d come to her for comfort—in her bed.
“Diesel,” she groaned. He’s going to think that Diesel and I . . . “You lied to him.”
“I did not. We have tea and you’re coloring. I’m just keeping him on his toes. Can’t let him get complacent. Can’t let him think there’s no competition, after all.”
She rolled her eyes. “There isn’t. Everyone knows you’re so gone on Dani Novak that you can’t see straight.” Diesel’s grin abruptly vanished and Meredith wanted to kick her own ass. “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me. It’s your business. Yours and Dani’s.”
He dropped his gaze to his keyboard. “It’s all right. Go back to your coloring. I’ll tell you when I’m ready for the next name on your list.”
Meredith pinched the bridge of her nose. “For a therapist, I am an insensitive asswipe.” She splashed a few ounces of whiskey into her empty teacup. “You want a refill?”
He pushed his glass toward the bottle. “Yes,” he said, his voice like gravel. “Please.”
She obliged, then opened a new text window on her own phone. Adam would think she’d betrayed his trust. She needed him to know she hadn’t. For his sake and for mine.
Cincinnati,
Ohio
Saturday, December 19, 8:30 p.m.
Adam and Isenberg joined Scarlett and Deacon in the observation room, where they watched Colleen Martel through the one-way glass. The young woman sat handcuffed to the chair, her expression one of grim resignation.
“Her prints were on the envelope and the money,” Scarlett said. “Two hundred dollars, in unmarked, well-worn twenties.”
“She say where it came from?” Adam asked.
Scarlett shook her head. “She hasn’t said anything, except ‘I plead the Fifth.’”
“She hasn’t asked for a lawyer?” Isenberg asked.
“Not even once,” Deacon answered. “Not in the car and not since we’ve been here.”
That was interesting, Adam thought. “Has she gone through booking yet?”
“Not completely,” Scarlett said, handing him a folder. “We haven’t filed the paperwork to get her in the system, but it’s ready. She’s been Mirandized.”
“We might be able to use that,” Adam said. “She wanted to be taken away through the back. She’s afraid of something. Or someone. Once she’s in the system, she’s visible.”
Isenberg looked pleased. “You’re going to let her believe she can wiggle out of this. You think she’s that gullible?”
“She tried to escape the hotel through a heating duct,” Adam said dryly. “What I think is that she watches way too much television. She would have broken the duct the moment she put her full weight on it.” He looked at Scarlett’s jaw, where a bruise had started to darken in the pattern of the toe of Colleen’s boot. “I think I’ll save you for a Hail Mary,” he said to Scarlett, because the girl would not respond to her right away. Scarlett had put her hands on Colleen already, both to yank her out of the duct and to cuff her. It could be implied that she’d do it again, even if Scarlett had no intention of doing so. He’d use her for the uber-bad cop if he couldn’t get answers. “Deacon, has she seen your eyes?”
“No.” Deacon wasn’t wearing his wraparound shades at the moment. “You want me to spook her?”