by Karen Rose
“Okay, okay. Chill. Well, the way I heard it, some dude walked into a restaurant and pulled a gun on some lady. She’s some psychologist or something. Works with kids. She was packing, too, and pulled her gun. She’d gotten him to drop his gun, but then somebody shot the guy from outside in the street. Blew his head off.”
Shane’s breathing was choppy and he started to see little black dots swimming in his vision. He tried to talk, but he couldn’t form the words.
“Shane?” Kyle asked, even more slowly. “Did you know that guy or something?”
“Yeah. Yeah.” It was all Shane could get out. He could only stare at the photo that looked like a still pulled from a video. Unidentified victim, the caption read. But Shane knew him. It was Andy. “What . . . what else did the news say?” Because he couldn’t see the words anymore. They were all a blur.
“Um, okay. Let me look it up.” A few seconds of silence was followed by Kyle clearing his throat. “Okay. This says that witnesses say the victim didn’t want to be there. That he said something like ‘He’ll kill her.’”
Bile burned in Shane’s throat and he rolled to his knees, throwing up. He could hear Kyle’s panicked voice. “Shane? Shane?”
Shane huffed hard, trying to get his brain to work. He spat, then rolled back to sit, closing his eyes. “I need to get to Cincinnati. Now.”
“But . . . exams.”
Like that mattered anymore? “I . . . I have to get to Cincinnati. Now.”
“Okay, dude. Just . . . settle down, okay? Let me think a minute.”
Shane tried to stand, but his rubbery legs said no way and he slid back down to the concrete. “I need a car.”
“I know. I said give me a minute.” There were a series of quick dings in the background. “All right. This is what I need you to do. Go into the library, go to the john, and wash your face. Stay out of sight for fifteen minutes. Then come back out and I’ll be waiting for you at the curb.”
“But . . .” Shane was overwhelmed. “You have exams, too.”
“Not till Tuesday. I can drive you down tonight and be back in plenty of time.”
“Your car is a piece of crap, Kyle. We’d never make it out of Illinois. I appreciate you offering, but . . .”
“I’m borrowing Tiff’s car. I was texting her. She says if you puke in her car I can never borrow it again, so make sure you’re done with the puking, okay?”
Shane chuffed a stunned laugh, able to see Kyle’s girlfriend saying exactly that. He shook his head, putting the logistics of travel aside to focus on what was more important. “If that guy’s looking for me and he knows we’re friends? That puts you in danger, too.”
“All the more reason for me to leave town for a few days,” Kyle said seriously. “Now get your ass out of sight for fifteen minutes. Tiff is meeting me at Burger King and we’re doing the car switch there.”
“Thank you, Kyle. I mean it.”
“Thirty, dude. Be ready.”
Shane ended the call and forced his body to rise, locking his knees so that he remained upright. And then he did exactly what Kyle had told him to do.
Cincinnati, Ohio
Saturday, December 19, 9:20 p.m.
Adam had to park across the street and several driveways down from Meredith’s house when he arrived because there were already five vehicles parked in her driveway and on her curb. His and Trip’s vehicles made seven. He got out of his Jeep, scanning the street, immediately seeing the two unmarked cars providing surveillance.
“Meredith got a party goin’ on or something?” Trip asked.
Adam shrugged. “It was pretty inevitable that the crowd would gather here.” Meredith Fallon inspired loyalty in everyone who knew her. Including me.
Trip eyed the cars in the driveway as they approached, a slight smile tipping his lips up. “Kendra’s here. That’s her Toyota.”
“And Diesel’s truck and Bailey’s minivan,” Adam added, glad Meredith’s cousin had come to support her, too. And then he had to smile. “And Delores’s car.” It was a hunk of junk, but Delores insisted she could get a few more miles out of it. All of Delores’s money went into her animal shelter. “That means Angel is here.” Because the giant hound accompanied Delores everywhere she went.
Trip’s smile became a happy grin. “I love that dog. I’ve been thinking of getting one.”
“Drinking the canine rescue Kool-Aid,” Adam said, shaking his head, because just about everyone in their circle of friends had adopted a dog or cat from Delores’s shelter. At Trip’s arched eyebrow, Adam chuckled. “Me, too. But not a puppy. I’ve watched Deacon throw away too many shoes training his.”
Trip stopped at the car parked at the top of the driveway. “Whose car is that?”
“Probably her grandfather. Deacon says he’s okay, so I’m not worried.”
Trip gave him a pointed stare. “What’s this with Diesel asking us to come?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. I called him again on the way out here and he was stubborn. He can be a little paranoid,” Adam allowed. The guy was his friend, but Adam wasn’t blind to his faults.
“And a lot rogue,” Trip added with a frown. “He’s hacked something. You know it as well as I do.”
“Figured it. And?”
“And it’s illegal for him to do it. It’s illegal for us to know about.”
“I know. I also know that somebody tried to kill Meredith today.”
“And you’re willing to break the rules to protect her?”
I’d break every rule in every goddamn book in the world to keep her safe. He returned Trip’s pointed stare. The man didn’t have too many nightmares to live with. Yet. “I know there have been times—when things went to hell—that I wished for inside info before walking into a disaster.”
“So if Diesel has ill-gotten information, you’ll look at it,” Trip pressed.
Adam let out a breath that temporarily fogged the air between them. “And if I say yes? Will you report me?”
Trip hesitated a long moment. “No. I just needed to know how things are.”
“I’ll protect you from fallout,” Adam promised. “It’ll be on me.”
Trip’s face hardened. “If I walk into this with you, I’m doing it on my own and I’ll take my own damn consequences. You guys treat me like ‘the kid.’ I’m not. You got me?”
“I do,” Adam said levelly, because Trip’s point was fair. “You get that everyone here will know we’ve talked to Diesel? Everyone will know why we’re here. Kendra will know why.”
“I figured that out myself,” Trip said, as if Adam were the kid. “It changes nothing.”
Adam nodded once, respect swelling. “Got it.”
Trip gestured to the door. “Then lead on.”
Meredith met them at the door, her eyes wary as she studied them both. “Gentlemen, please come in. Pardon the noise, it’s a little crowded in here.”
The sheer life of the house hit Adam squarely in the face as soon as he crossed over the threshold. Amazing scents came from the kitchen. Gingerbread, maybe. Conversations were being shouted over the television where a video game battle raged between Bailey’s husband, Ryan Beardsley, and an older man with a bald head and a tat peeking out of his collar. Bailey’s daughter, Hope, sat in the older man’s lap, but her presence wasn’t impacting the old guy’s performance at all, because he was clearly winning.
Adam remembered what Deacon had told him. “The grandfather is some video game developer,” he murmured, and Trip’s brows shot up.
“And Diesel isn’t here playing with him? He must have something really good.”
“Papa,” Meredith called over the din. “Can you pause it?” The noise immediately quieted, then silenced as the conversations halted.
Ryan Beardsley gave them both a wave, then tugged on his daughter’s ponytail. �
�Hope, come sit with me. Let Papa meet Aunt Meredith’s friends.”
Hope slid off the older man’s lap, but remained standing next to him as she gave Adam and Trip a narrow-eyed perusal. “Did you catch him yet?” she asked. “The man who tried to kill Aunt Meredith?”
“Not yet.” Adam answered her question as gravely as she’d asked it. “We’re working on it, very hard.”
“Good,” Hope said with a frown. “This was a bad day.”
“Yes,” Adam agreed. “But it could have been far worse. Your aunt is okay, right?”
“Yes,” Meredith said dryly. “She is fine and she is standing right here. Hope, can you go to the kitchen and check on the cookies? We should be able to ice them soon.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Hope said glumly. “You just want to get rid of me.”
Bailey appeared in the doorway. “I wonder why that is? Come on, kiddo. Let’s see if we can figure out how to decorate gingerbread men with tattoos for Papa and Diesel.”
“And gingerbread girls with tats,” Hope said, leaning up to kiss the old man’s cheek. “Because I’m getting one as soon as I’m eighteen.”
The old man rose as Hope walked away. “You will do no such thing, young lady.” He chuckled when Hope made a face before joining her mother in the kitchen. “So you’re the cops on Merry’s case. Good. I’m her grandfather, Clarke Fallon.”
Merry. Yes, that fit Meredith to a T. “I’m Detective Kimble.” Adam shook the old man’s hand and found himself biting back a wince. There was clearly a warning there.
“Special Agent Triplett.” Trip shook hands as well. “When did you arrive, sir?”
The old man didn’t even blink. “My itinerary,” he said, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket. “Thank you for asking.”
He didn’t sound sarcastic. He actually sounded approving. Trip reviewed the page and handed it back to him. “Thank you, sir. We needed to check. Your arriving on the same day as an attempt is made on your granddaughter’s life is . . . coincidental.”
“Providential,” Ryan corrected and Adam remembered the man had been a chaplain.
Meredith smiled indulgently up at her grandfather. “A gift.”
Adam tore his eyes away from her face. “Where—” He had to clear his throat, because he wanted her to look at him like that. So damn badly. “Where is Diesel?”
“Basement,” Meredith said, pointing. “It got too crowded up here.”
“Door’s through the kitchen,” Clarke said. “I’ll show you down.”
“Adam knows the way,” Meredith said quietly.
Adam couldn’t stop himself. His gaze flew back to her face, remembering the last time he’d been in her house. It had been pouring down rain and he’d stood out in the street, getting soaking wet as he fought with himself on whether he should go inside. She’d spied him standing there, beckoned him in. Her face had been resigned that evening. Like she knew he needed her, but that she couldn’t trust him not to hurt her.
Because the first time he’d been here, he’d left her sleeping in her bed without a word. No note. No good-bye. No thank-you. Because I’m a coward. Time to change that.
“Yes. I had gotten caught in a rainstorm,” Adam said, watching her grandfather from the corner of his eye. The old man knew. Adam wasn’t sure how much he knew, but he knew enough, because Clarke Fallon’s eyes narrowed. “I was dripping all over her carpet, so I changed downstairs. I know the way. Agent Triplett?”
The kitchen was filled to bursting with three women, a child, an enormous dog, trays of baked gingerbread men, and something bubbling in a pot on the stove that smelled like heaven. Adam’s stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since the protein bar Deacon had given him.
Behind him, Trip groaned. “Damn, that smells good. I could eat an entire cow.”
Bailey was pulling another tray of cookies from the oven, Delores was peeling potatoes at the sink, and Kendra chilled at the kitchen table, looking more relaxed than Adam had ever seen her. He knew the feeling. He’d found peace at Meredith’s table, too.
“No, Angel,” Hope scolded the dog, who was nosing the plate in her hands. Adam couldn’t blame the dog, because there were three un-iced gingerbread men on the plate. “They’re for the detectives.” She crossed the kitchen with her offering. “They’re warm.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “But naked. Sorry.”
Trip couldn’t control his laugh, and it came snorting out. “Naked cookies? Miss Kendra told you to say that, didn’t she?”
Kendra grinned up at Trip. “Not gonna lie.”
Bailey just shook her head. “Hope,” she said, exasperated.
Hope waggled her brows. “I’m going to get punished later, but it was worth it. One is for Mr. Diesel, okay?”
Adam took the plate. “I’ll make sure he gets it,” he promised with a smile. “Thanks.”
Hope gave him a long, long look, her smile fading. “Please find the shooter soon.”
“I’ll do my very best,” Adam promised again, far more gravely, because she looked so worried and because she’d said “the shooter”—a term no nine-year-old should ever know.
“Have you guys eaten?” Delores asked them.
“No,” Trip said before Adam could get out a word.
“But we can’t stay,” Adam said, wishing it weren’t so.
Delores waved them toward the stairs with a smile. “Then I’ll fix you both a plate to take with you.”
Thanking her, they went down the stairs that Adam remembered so damn well. The wall was paneled in light wood, giving the narrow stairwell a much larger feel. It opened to a great room, paneled the same way. There was a comfortable sofa and two love seats arranged like a smile, all facing the giant flat-screen on the wall. This was where Meredith and her girlfriends watched movies once a month. It was cozy. Welcoming. Just like her.
“Finally,” Diesel said, looking up from his laptop, sitting behind a desk in the far corner of the room. “Took you long enough to get here. Hurry up. I smell food upstairs.”
Adam crossed the room. “What did you find out?”
Diesel lifted a dark brow. “You have a chance to view footage of the school track, church, and grocery store?”
“Yes,” Adam said. “I know who I’m looking for. Obviously, you do, too.”
“She could tell me,” Diesel said quietly, responding more to Adam’s arch tone than his words. “I’m not a cop.”
Adam sighed. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”
“Nah. I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have sent that text. That was asshole-ish of me.”
Noting Trip’s curious gaze, Adam huffed a chuckle. “Yes, it was. So, tell us what you found before Trip grows old and I grow older.”
Diesel grew abruptly grim. “Voss is being blackmailed.”
“By whom?” Trip asked.
“Dunno. But it’s a hefty sum. I mean, the bastard can afford it, but still. It has to rankle to pay fifty grand. A month.”
Trip sucked in a surprised breath. “Holy shit. A month?”
“Wow,” Adam said, blinking. “That’s some chunk of change. Where’s it going?”
Diesel turned his laptop so that it faced them. “Voss keeps PDFs of his bank statements. This is his computer’s hard drive, not his bank account, but the information is the same.” He’d highlighted several transactions. “Money’s going to an offshore account. Turks and Caicos.”
“Of course,” Adam murmured. He didn’t ask how Diesel had gained access to Voss’s hard drive. He did not want to know. “When did the payments start?”
“Six months ago,” Diesel said.
“When did Meredith start seeing his kid?” Trip asked.
“About three weeks ago,” Diesel said. “I had to ask Faith. Meredith wouldn’t tell me.”
“Faith did?” Trip asked, clearly surprised. �
�Isn’t she a therapist, too? I thought she’d follow the same rules.”
Adam shrugged, not nearly as surprised. “Faith was stalked by a murderer a year ago. It’s how she and Deacon met. I think the experience made her a little more pragmatic about bending the rules.” He frowned, thinking. “Was Meredith the child’s first therapist?”
“Damn, you boys are smart,” Diesel drawled. “Nope. Merry’s her third therapist.”
Adam scowled at him. “‘Merry’?”
Diesel attempted an innocent look, but didn’t come close to pulling it off. The ass was just yanking Adam’s chain. “That’s what her gramps calls her.”
“Yeah,” Adam said. “Whatever. Her third therapist, huh. Where does Mrs. Voss fit in?”
“Dunno. Didn’t ask. I mean, hell, do I have to do all your work for you?”
Adam found himself chuckling. “I’ll ask Faith myself. Does, uh, does Meredith know about any of this?”
“No,” Diesel said flatly. “She showed me a photograph of him on her cell phone. She took it when he was getting into his Lamborghini after following her around the grocery store. The photo got his license plate, too. Vanity tag. Not like there are a million Lambos out there, but you can prove Voss’s was there.”
She’s smart. Adam had to school his face so that he didn’t smile with grim pride. Grim, because she shouldn’t have had to be smart in that way. That asshole should never have tried to intimidate her. “And nobody will know you’ve hacked in?”
“Nope. Nobody ever knows when I do.”
“God,” Trip muttered. “Remind me to never piss you off.”
“You wouldn’t be worth my trouble,” Diesel said. “You don’t break the law.”
“Pfft.” Trip looked pretty grim himself. “I’m here, talking to you.” Then he shrugged. “At least we know what evidence we need to get legally.”
A muscle twitched in Diesel’s cheek. “Innocents suffer because the bad guys have no qualms about breaking the law. Think of me as a middleman. A confidential informant.”
“A CI who’s an evil genius,” Trip said and Diesel seemed to relax.
Adam sorted through the details in his mind. “At least we know where to start.”