Edge of Darkness

by Karen Rose

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Trip said. “Did Andy ever say Shane’s last name?”

  Johnny considered it for several seconds. “No. Sorry. Wish I’d asked.”

  Adam gave him an encouraging smile. “You couldn’t have known to. Agent Triplett is right. You shouldn’t blame yourself. Can you tell us what brand of cigarettes he smoked?”

  Johnny relaxed a little. “Camels.”

  “Great, thank you,” Adam said, then he and Trip gave him their cards. “You’ve been a big help. If you remember anything more, please call.”

  The door suddenly flew open, revealing a stunned Shorty. “Come here.” He led them to the TV over the bar, where the news was reporting a fire. “That’s the house Andy was living in.” He showed them his laptop, Andy Gold’s employee information filling the screen. “It’s the same place.”

  Fucking shit! Adam wanted to scream, but he kept his calm. “Thanks, Shorty. We’ll check it out.” He gave him one of his cards. “Can you e-mail me the addresses of the staff who were working last night with Andy? We gotta run.”

  “Sure. Hey, Adam,” Shorty called when he and Trip had turned for the door. “Be careful, okay? Just . . . be careful.”

  The tremble in Shorty’s voice had Adam walking back to his old boss, clasping his shoulder. “Absolutely. I have a lot to live for, Shorty.”

  Shorty shuddered. “I’m so glad to hear that. I was afraid for a long time that . . . Well. I’m glad to hear you say that now.”

  Adam gave Shorty’s shoulder a hard squeeze. “Thanks. See you soon.”

  “Shit,” Trip said when they were outside. “A bomb attempt and now a fire? Somebody doesn’t want any trace of this kid to remain.”

  “You’re right,” Adam agreed. “It also means Voss is either not connected or he had someone else set the fire.”

  Trip’s nod was grim. “Because he’s trapped in his house.”

  “Yeah.” Adam bit back his frustration. Voss was connected to Meredith, but he might not be who they were looking for. He needed to keep his mind open. “See you there.”

  But first . . . He climbed in his Jeep and started it to get the heater going. Then texted Meredith. Something came up. B another hour. Maybe 2. Can come tmw if u r tired.

  Her reply buzzed seconds later. Am awake. Waiting to talk to u. He drew an easier breath, but his next hitched in his chest at her next text. Be careful. Be safe. I’m waiting.

  He wanted to whoop even as his eyes stung. She was waiting. He didn’t deserve it, but he was thankful just the same. Blinking hard, he pulled out of the Pies & Fries lot and headed for the house currently burning down.

  Chicago, Illinois

  Sunday, December 20, 12:35 a.m. CST (1:35 a.m. EST)

  Tiffany Curtis checked her cell phone when it buzzed, sighing in relief. A text from Kyle. Finally. She’d been frantic since handing him her keys at the Burger King.

  Actually the text wasn’t from Kyle, but from Shane. K driving now. We r OK. He says we r abt 2 hr away from Cincy. He will call u when we stop. Snowing hard now. Needs to focus on road. Eye roll emoji. Srsly.

  Tiffany had to roll her own eyes at the “seriously” addition because Kyle was an awful driver. She’d thought twice about lending him her car, but he’d sounded so unnerved, and so worried about Shane, that she’d agreed.

  A second text had her sighing again, this time in pity. Thank u. Srsly. U don’t know what this means to me.—SB

  Shane Baird was always so serious. It had become Kyle’s mission to make the guy smile and Tiffany was on board with that. She made a mental note to ask her mother to pack an extra box of Christmas cookies for her to take back to campus for Shane. His friend was dead—killed in that shooting, which had to be the worst thing ever. Cookies wouldn’t make it better, but it would at least show him that he wasn’t alone.

  Because in all her life, she’d never met anyone as alone as Shane Baird.

  NP, she texted back. Here for u. Hugs. She added a heart emoji and hit SEND.

  A creak in the floorboard was the only warning she got before strong hands grabbed her from behind. Her phone clattered to the floor.

  No! She opened her mouth to scream it, but a rag was shoved into her mouth and it came out a muffled . . . nothing.

  Nothing her mom could hear, especially with her CPAP machine going.

  Fight. Tiffany twisted wildly, catching her foot on a hard knee, but he didn’t even make a grunt. She continued to twist, trying not to sob, not to panic, but he yanked her to her bed and forced her face into her pillow, shoved his hard knee into her lower back.

  Breathe. She couldn’t breathe. He was suffocating her on the pillow. She struggled, lashing one arm back to grab him, grab something. Scream. But her protests were barely a whimper.

  He caught her wrists in one of his hands, dug his other into her hair, yanking her head back. “Fight me,” he taunted in a low voice. “I like it.”

  He flipped her to her back, one wrist in each hand now, trapping her hands on either side of her head. A sob caught in her throat and her eyes filled with tears, blurring the dark form now hovering above her.

  She blinked hard. Keep it together. Be able to describe him. He wore a ski mask that showed his mouth and his eyes. His eyes . . . even in the dark they scared her shitless, too.

  “I’m going to ask you a few questions,” he said and she flinched back. His breath was foul. “How you answer me will determine how bad it will be for you. Tell me what I want to know and I promise not to hurt you. Much. Blink if you understand.”

  She blinked, too terrified to do anything else. More tears filled her eyes, replacing the ones she’d blinked away.

  Catching her wrists in one hand again, he plucked the rag from her mouth, making her cough loudly. Mama, please hear me.

  But don’t come! she wanted to scream. Just call 911. Don’t come. He’ll hurt you, too.

  “Where did your boyfriend go?”

  She blinked rapidly, the answer on the tip of her tongue. Something kept the words frozen there. “I don’t know,” she said, pushing the words out loudly with a great huff of air. Hear me, Mom. Please.

  She cried out when his fist slammed into her face.

  “Don’t you lie to me, bitch,” he growled, yanking her hair hard and shaking her head until she thought she’d vomit.

  Vomit. Yes. That’s what you were supposed to do. Vomit on them and they’d leave you alone. But he held her hands. She couldn’t get her fingers near her mouth.

  Help me. Somebody. She sucked in a breath and let out a loud scream, but he cut it off by clamping his hand over her mouth. Latex. He was wearing gloves.

  “Shut up,” he hissed, smashing his palm into her teeth until she whimpered again, “or I will permanently shut you up.” His eyes suddenly gleamed, his mouth curving cruelly. “Your mama can’t hear you.” He leaned in closer. “Because Mama is dead.”

  Her breaths grew shallow. Faster. Until her vision swam. He’d killed her mother.

  No. She shook her head, denying it. He was lying. He had to be lying.

  “Oh, it’s true,” he mocked. “Found her sleeping in her bed, that mask over her face. She didn’t wake up when I slit her throat. She didn’t suffer. But if you don’t start telling me the truth, you will. Where did your boyfriend go?”

  Fury blazed through her, giving her strength. Baring her teeth, she sank them into his hand and he roared, trying to yank his hand free, but she bit down harder. He jerked his hand free and flicked it, trying to shake off the pain.

  “You fucking cunt.” But she’d tuned out his words because she’d felt the pressure on her wrists lessen. He was going to hit her again.

  She jerked out of his grasp in the moment he let her go. She tried to roll out from under him, but he grabbed her by the throat with the hand she’d bitten. She grabbed for his wrist, trying
to pull him off her, the pressure on her windpipe cutting off her air.

  All she did was manage to rip the glove. He flung it aside.

  Then he smiled and she knew. She was going to die.

  “Yeah,” he muttered. “You’re gonna die. And it’s gonna hurt.”

  He abruptly went rigidly still, head cocked, listening.

  A police siren. Getting louder. Help. Someone is coming to help. His hand tightened on her throat and black spots began to speckle her vision. Getting bigger until blackness was all she could see.

  Hurry, she wanted to scream. Please hurry.

  “Fuck,” he snarled and pulled his hand away.

  Leaving. She gasped, the air scraping her lungs as she took it in. He’s leaving. She heard a rustle, felt the bed give as he got off. It’s going to be okay. I’m going to be okay.

  She started to roll, to get to her mother. Mama. Opening her eyes, she looked up in time to see the knife in his hand.

  Cincinnati, Ohio

  Sunday, December 20, 3:15 a.m.

  He’s coming. He’s coming. The words beat in Meredith’s mind in time to the racing of her heart. Adam had texted that he was on his way. She stared down at her phone again, checking the time. It was less than a minute later than the last time she’d looked.

  “Try to relax,” Kate murmured from the living room sofa where she sat knitting, the old dog at her feet. But Meredith knew that Kate was aware of every creak of the house. Fully armed, she was ready to defend. “Adam will be here when he gets here. Go clean something. That always calms you down.”

  Meredith did as she was told, but Bailey and Delores had done a thorough job earlier and there was nothing left to be done. With a sigh, she put on the kettle and sat down to wait.

  At least her house was relatively empty. Diesel was sleeping in the basement bedroom and her grandfather was upstairs in the room that had once been her father’s.

  They’d sent Kendra to stay with Wendi at Mariposa House. The old mansion was far bigger and required more eyes and ears than Meredith’s little house. That had been Kate’s idea and Meredith was grateful.

  She loved Kendra like a sister, but the woman did not like Adam Kimble. Kate, on the other hand, seemed to know something that made her softer toward him, but all she’d tell Meredith was that she knew he was “working shit out” and that he was stressed. Which made him no different from any of the other law enforcement officers she knew.

  The stress and strain of their jobs was more wearing than any of them let on.

  She jumped when her phone buzzed in the pocket of jeans, reading the text with a calmness she did not feel. At the door downstairs. U awake?

  Her fingers trembled as she typed her reply. Yes. Coming down now.

  She turned off the stove, stuck her head in the living room to let Kate know that she was going downstairs, then took the stairs two at a time to let him in.

  To hear his explanation. And hopefully to kiss him again.

  He was standing with his back to the door when she got there, studying the backyard and the houses surrounding hers. Always vigilant, she thought.

  She tapped the window, her breath catching when he turned. In the moonlight he was utterly beautiful, hard jaw, soft mouth, and dark eyes that made her desperate to know all his secrets. Quietly she opened the outside door, her finger over her lips.

  “Diesel’s asleep,” she whispered, pointing at the closed bedroom door. She stepped back to let him in, all six feet, two inches of broad-shouldered . . . mine. He closed the door behind him, and she caught the scent on his coat.

  “Fire?” she whispered. Gripping his shoulders, she turned him so that she could study his face. He was grim. “What happened?”

  He pointed down the hall to the TV room where she and her friends gathered for their wine and movie nights. “Let’s talk there.”

  He took her elbow and walked her forward as her brain scrambled to make sense of his mood shift. There was no tenderness. No want. Just hard . . . business.

  Once they were in the TV room and away from the room where Diesel slept, she switched on the overhead light. The shoulders of his black wool overcoat were covered in a light layer of snow. She brushed it off, then reached for the top button of his coat.

  Then stopped, her hands stilling. “Are you staying?”

  He nodded once. Swallowed hard. “Yeah. For a little while.”

  Frowning, she unbuttoned his coat and slipped it from his shoulders while he stood like a statue. She sniffed at his coat and blinked hard, her eyes watering at the harsh burned odor. “What happened?”

  He’d tugged at his tie at some point, loosening it enough to undo the top button of his shirt. He looked exhausted.

  Warily she lifted her hands to his face, cupping his cheeks. “Adam?”

  He shuddered out a harsh breath and dragged her against him, his arms tightening so hard that it almost hurt. But relief kept her from protesting. This was where she’d wanted to be. Right here, in his arms.

  Lifting on her toes, she wrapped her arms around his neck and stroked his hair, not saying a word. He buried his face against her neck, his breaths ragged. He was shaking.

  Just like the last time he’d come to her.

  Finally, he loosened his arms enough for her to catch her breath. Then he took it away again when his mouth took hers in a kiss that was nothing like the one in the kitchen. It was hard. Bruising. Almost punishing. Full of anger? No, she realized. Not anger.

  It was fear. What the hell happened, Adam?

  Abruptly he pulled away. “Dammit. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  “You didn’t,” she murmured, brushing her fingertips over his lips. “You wouldn’t.”

  He closed his eyes. “I’d die first.”

  “Adam.” She pressed her palms to his cheeks, his stubble prickling her skin. “What happened? You have to talk to me, baby.”

  He stiffened, then dropped his head to her shoulder, his body sagging. “I like that.”

  She frowned, but then realized what he meant. “When I call you baby?” It made her smile. Gently she went back to stroking his hair.

  “When you call me anything other than a selfish jerk.”

  She kissed his ear. “Sit down before you fall down. You look exhausted.” He obeyed, dropping onto the sofa like he was a puppet whose strings had just been cut. She was happy she’d purchased well-made furniture for this room, because the man was as solid as a rock. “Can I make you some tea?”

  He grabbed her hand and tugged her to sit beside him. “No. I need to tell you some things before I get called away again. I’m going to do case stuff first because I need you to understand what’s happening there. So you’ll keep yourself safe. If I have time, I’ll tell you what I’d originally planned to discuss.”

  “All right.” Still holding his hand, she twisted so that she could see his face. “I’m listening.”

  “The boy. We know his name now. Andy Gold.”

  Meredith’s heart hurt for the boy whose last act was to try to save her life. “Oh. Poor Andy.”

  “He worked at Pies & Fries.”

  “I love that place,” she said. “Shorty’s a good man. He must be devastated.”

  Adam’s forehead creased in a frown. “You know Shorty?”

  “I grew up here, too, Adam. My dad absolutely loved Shorty’s pizza. We went there every chance we got. What did Shorty say about Andy Gold?”

  “That he was a good person. Hardworking. What we kind of figured, considering he told you to run and pulled the wires on the bomb before he even walked into the restaurant.”

  Meredith blinked. “He did? I didn’t know that. Wasn’t that dangerous?”

  Adam nodded. “He might have blown himself up. But I’m guessing he didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. We got a lead on the woman he wa
s worried about, but that’s less important to your safety at the moment.” He took a deep breath. “While we were talking to Shorty’s staff, he got us Andy’s address.”

  A piece of the puzzle fell into place in Meredith’s mind with an almost audible clink. “His house was burned down.”

  He stared at her for a few seconds. “I always forget how smart you are because you’re so damn pretty.” He pursed his lips. “Dammit. I wasn’t supposed to say it that way.”

  She smiled at him. “I still liked hearing it, so thank you.” She lifted his hand to her lips for a soft kiss, then held it on her knee. “It was arson?” she asked, stroking his hand.

  He nodded. “Andy rented a basement apartment from a family.” He rubbed his free hand over his eyes. “It was a bad fire. The firefighters ran into a house that nobody should have entered, but . . .” He shrugged. “Those guys are insane.”

  “I know. I’m glad you’re not a firefighter. Cop is bad enough.”

  He shook his head hard. “No. I mean . . . Shit, Meredith.”

  She slid her hand over his cheek and turned his head so that he looked at her. “Adam, this is just me. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.” She smiled ruefully. “First, because I live here and second, because none of you will let me leave.”

  “That’s the goddamn truth.” He let his head drop to the sofa back, the picture of weariness. “I’m not saying this right.” He turned his head so that he met her gaze head-on, and what she saw there made her heart break. So much pain. “Trip and I got there as they . . .” Another deep breath. “We got there as they were bringing out the bodies. The family died, Meredith. All of them. Mother, father.” He swallowed hard. “And two children. One was a baby in a crib.”

  Her lungs went suddenly flat, as if she’d been hit by a truck. She shoved the heel of her hand to her breastbone, trying to relieve the pressure on her chest. “Oh God. Adam. I’m so sorry. How horrible for them. How horrible for you to have to see.” More horror that he’d never be able to unsee.

  “Goddammit, Meredith.” He jerked his gaze to the ceiling, then back at her. His eyes were so dark they bored into her. “Listen to me. He tried to get Andy Gold to kill you and then Andy was supposed to blow up. There would have been nothing left. No evidence.”