Edge of Darkness

by Karen Rose

  “Then you should. Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be ready to go.” She started for the bedroom, but a thought struck her hard and she turned back to Adam. “Who knows about that video, Adam? The one of Paula?”

  He’d cut the music and had started to dial a number on his phone, but he stopped and frowned at her. “Wyatt and Nash. They were standing with me when it went down.” He grimaced. “It was Nash who made me think of this again.”

  “He was looking at the photos before we left the briefing room,” she said quietly.

  Adam’s expression became suddenly unreadable. “He couldn’t be . . . No, Meredith. He can’t be involved. Nash is a good man.”

  “I’m not saying he’s bad. But even if Tiffany’s and her mother’s murders are only related to upset you and throw you off your game, it means somebody had to know. You need to find out who’s had access to that video. Maybe it was someone you know. Maybe someone you don’t.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Call your old department. Maybe they’ll have records of who’s viewed it other than Wyatt and Nash.”

  He sank back into the chair, looking like he’d been hit with a mallet. “Shit.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “No, no. You’re right. Of course you’re right. But . . . shit.” He looked up at her bleakly. “I’m just . . . Damn, Meredith, who do I trust?”

  “Isenberg, Deacon, and Scarlett, for starters.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Well, of course I trust Isenberg, Deacon, and Scarlett.”

  Meredith considered carefully. “And Trip.”

  He held her gaze. “Because your gut says so? I mean, I’m inclined to agree, but I haven’t known him long enough to be sure.”

  She shrugged. “It’s not just because I like him, even though I do. I trust Trip. But the fact is, the man who raped Mallory was white. The man who attacked us last night was about seven inches shorter and probably a hundred pounds lighter than Trip. And I happen to know he was still training in Quantico around the time Paula was killed.” She rose. “Call Isenberg. I’ll get your things together while you do.” She was halfway to the bedroom when he called to her.

  “Meredith? Thank you.”

  He looked a little lost, so she retraced her steps to stand behind his chair. Leaning down, she wrapped her arms around his broad, strong shoulders. She pressed her lips to his temple. “You’re welcome,” she murmured in his ear. “I’m not going to say it’ll be okay, but I will remind you that you are not alone. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Cincinnati, Ohio

  Monday, December 21, 6:15 a.m.

  Linnea woke with a start, mind fuzzy, aware she was in a strange place. She slept under soft blankets and her head rested on one that was folded into a pillow. Her hand covered a gun and her stomach was only a little growly.

  The Gruber Academy’s little bus. She stretched, wincing when her muscles ached. She’d walked a long way yesterday. But she was still alive and that meant something.

  It was dark, so it wasn’t seven yet, which was good because parents started dropping off their kids at seven thirty. It had said so on the school’s Web site.

  Cautiously she pushed to her knees and peered out the window, relieved to see the parking lot exactly as it had been the night before. She needed to fold the blankets, then find somewhere to freshen up.

  She was relieved to see she hadn’t bled on their blankets, so Dr. Dani’s stitches were holding. The woman might be a terrible person, but she was a decent doctor.

  Linnea pocketed the gun, wondering exactly what she’d do when she found little Ariel. She wasn’t going to shoot the child, that much she knew for sure. And she still wasn’t sure that Ariel’s daddy was the man she sought.

  But this was her best lead and she had to follow it through.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Cincinnati, Ohio

  Monday, December 21, 7:02 a.m.

  Adam drew a deep breath of the cold air as he left St Agnes’s after his meeting. Normally the bracing air would smack him into alertness, but he was already too alert, his mind racing with all he’d already accomplished that morning. And all he still had to do.

  He’d started before leaving the condo, waking his team—Isenberg, Deacon, Scarlett, and Trip—but they’d all agreed to the significance if he was indeed right about the kill style being duplicated. And they’d also agreed that he wasn’t overreacting, given he’d been the target of the gunman the day before.

  Which made him feel better, if he were to admit the truth.

  He’d sent them the video of Paula’s murder that he’d kept on his laptop for nearly a year and a half. They’d review, assess, decide, and then they’d meet thirty minutes earlier than they’d told Nash and Wyatt to arrive.

  That gave him time to get Meredith safely into the hospital and up to her grandfather’s room and to get to his meeting.

  Adam figured with two cops posted at the hospital, it was the safest place for her. One stood guard in the ICU, protecting the two agents who were still unconscious. Nobody knew if they’d seen their assailant’s face, but Isenberg and Zimmerman were taking no chances. The other cop was posted outside Kate’s room, conveniently placed next to Clarke Fallon’s. So Meredith would be covered.

  Yes, Adam knew that she hadn’t been the original target, but the second shot at Buon Cibo on Saturday had been aimed at Meredith. Mallory had already been out of sight.

  The second shot might have been fired out of rage because Meredith had convinced Andy to drop his gun or maybe out of frustration that his bomb had not detonated. Either way, Adam was going to make sure she was protected so that he could think, goddammit.

  Unless one of the cops was bad, which had him second-guessing himself while standing in her grandfather’s hospital room, hesitant to leave her there. She’d clasped his hands in hers and brought their joined hands between her breasts, where something decidedly not soft was nestled. She was armed. Again.

  At which point he’d blurted out, “How many of those things do you have?” making her grandfather choke on a laugh, which in turn made Adam blush like a teenaged boy, because he’d meant guns, but his hands were still nestled between her breasts. But Meredith had laughed and he hadn’t cared that he’d looked ridiculous.

  Then she’d wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on her toes to whisper in his ear, “I’m good. Don’t worry about me.” She’d kissed him on the mouth, which brought a low whistle and the flash of a camera phone from the open doorway because her cousin Bailey had picked that moment to leave Kate’s room to get herself a cup of coffee.

  Which meant that the photo of them kissing would be shared with their circle of friends before breakfast. Which didn’t make Adam feel ridiculous at all.

  Just happy.

  Kate had been feeling well enough to hassle him for a status update, but he’d put her off, saying he was in a hurry, and by that point he had been. He’d made his AA meeting on time, though, and John had been waiting for him, grouchier than normal, but it had only been six a.m., and John was not a morning person.

  The meeting went much as all the others had gone. Adam could never say much. His demons were always someone else’s secrets. It was usually after the meeting when he and John grabbed coffee that Adam could unload some of what haunted his nightmares. And his waking hours. John had always understood. He’d been a cop. He knew the drill.

  They walked out together, shivering in the predawn darkness. “You got plans for Christmas, Adam?” John asked as they pulled on gloves and walked toward St. Agnes’s parking lot. “Because you’re welcome to join my family if you’d like.”

  Touched, Adam felt his heart squeeze a little. “Thank you, but I do have plans. I’ll stop by my folks’ for a little while, but I’ll be spending most of the day with Meredith.” They’d discussed it in the car on the way to the hospital th
at morning. “Her cousin’s coming in from Georgia and her other cousin’s making a feast.”

  The cooking was apparently Bailey’s forte, but everyone would be pitching in this year. Meredith’s little house would be bursting at the seams, which was how she liked it.

  John frowned. “Movin’ a little fast, aren’t you?”

  “Not at all. Making up for lost time. I shouldn’t have isolated myself from her all year. It hurt us both.” He said this gently, because it had been at John’s insistence that Adam had stayed away. “At least I should have told her why.”

  John huffed out a weary breath. “I shouldn’t have given you the advice that I did.”

  “You believed you were doing the right thing. And now I’m going to do the right thing and tell my family what’s been going on with me. My mom’s got a right to know and my cousins—Deacon, Dani, and Greg—they’ve been worried about me. They haven’t deserved my silence.” He stopped next to his Jeep. “So, I’m coming up on a year.”

  John gave him a “duh” look. “Yeah, I know. And?”

  “You said we’d reevaluate at the end of the first year. Just wondering if you wanted to continue being my sponsor.”

  John sucked in a breath, his eyes growing abruptly bright. “I . . .” He bit his lower lip and shuddered the breath out. “I—I need to tell you. Why—” His eyes darted to the right, then froze. A second later he was shoving Adam to the ground with all his might. “Get d—”

  The crack of a rifle split the air. From where he’d been knocked to his ass on the pavement, Adam watched in horror as John jerked backward, his head thudding against the roof of his SUV. Someone screamed. Several people screamed. Adam barely heard them.

  “John!” Coming up on his knees, Adam grabbed at him, easing him to the pavement between his Jeep and John’s SUV.

  John’s black SUV. John was an ex-cop. Could he be . . .

  Adam pushed the thought away. No. Not now. Focus. “John! John!”

  But John wasn’t answering. Because the side of his head . . .

  Adam pivoted on his knees and lost the breakfast he’d eaten on the way to the meeting. No. God, no. On his hands and knees, shaking like he had the DTs, Adam hung his head and tried to breathe. John was dead. Just like Andy Gold and Bruiser.

  Get a grip. Now.

  Adam sucked in air, then shouted to whoever was listening, “Someone call 911! And stay the hell down!”

  “I did!” someone shouted. Sounded like the meeting leader. “Is everyone okay?”

  Shaken yeses came from all over the parking lot.

  Careful not to disturb John’s body, Adam eased over until he sat with his back to his Jeep. He pulled his service weapon from its holster, then took his phone from his pocket. “Call Isenberg cell,” he commanded, because his hands were shaking too hard to hit the buttons on the screen. Almost too hard to hold the fucking phone to his ear.

  “Adam?” Isenberg said, picking up on the first ring. Sounded like she was in her car.

  “Lynda.” It was all he could get out. He huffed and huffed, but he couldn’t breathe. Not a panic attack, please. Not now. God, not now.

  “Where are you?” she asked quietly. Competently. No drama. He was so grateful.

  “St. Agnes’s. Parking lot.”

  “Breathe. Tell me what happened.”

  “Nine-one-one’s been called. Sniper.” He clamped his lips shut and breathed through his nose, trying to slow the cannon fire in his chest. His heart beat so hard it hurt. John. God.

  “Are you hit?” Isenberg asked, still sounding calm.

  “No. My sp— My friend. He’s dead. Only one shot. Nobody else is hurt.”

  “Hold on. I need to make sure the first responders know the situation. Don’t hang up.”

  “I won’t.” He clutched the phone in one hand, his gun in the other, his gloves covered in blood and . . . He grimaced. Brain matter. He didn’t dare close his eyes. The gunman was out there and there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t finish the job up close and personal.

  So Adam sat and breathed and waited for Isenberg to come back on the line.

  “Are you still there?” she asked.

  “Yeah. We’d just exited the church and stopped at our cars and were talking. He saw something right before the shot. Pushed me out of the way.” He coughed, trying to keep the tightness in his chest from suffocating him. “He said, ‘I need to tell you why.’ Then he shoved me and the bullet hit him. He’s dead. Like Andy Gold and Bruiser.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “On the ground. Sitting on the ground.” He clamped his lips together again and breathed through his nose, holding the air in for a few seconds before exhaling slowly. “I’m sitting between my Jeep and his black SUV.”

  “Oh.” The word came out hushed. “What’s your friend’s name, Adam?”

  “John Kasper. He’s a retired cop.” He let out a weary breath. “He’s my sponsor.”

  “I figured as much. St. Agnes’s has hosted AA meetings for thirty years.”

  Adam blinked. “What?” How did she know that? Why did she know that? Wait. His brain stuttered, unable to keep up. Lynda’s attended meetings? He shook his head, unable to process that information. Later. He’d think about it later. Because she was talking again.

  “Adam,” she said, so gently it almost hurt. “I would be the last person to judge you. And now that I’ve seen the video you sent me? Knowing that you saw it happen live? I’ll fight to make sure nobody else judges you either. That any of you who saw that girl murdered are still sane is a fucking miracle. And testament to your personal strength.”

  He was without words. He struggled, finding two that worked. “Thank you.”

  “No thanks necessary. I’m on my way to St. Agnes’s. You stay put and I’ll take care of everything. I’m going to call Deacon for backup, okay?”

  “Um . . .”

  “I take it that he doesn’t know?”

  “No. I was gonna tell him when this was over.”

  “Well, Detective, I think your timeline was just taken out of your control. You want me to give him the heads-up?”

  “No. I’ll call him. Right now.”

  “All right. I’m about ten minutes out. You should be hearing sirens any second.”

  They were faint but audible. “I do. Thank you, Lynda. I won’t mention about you and . . . St. Agnes’s.”

  “I appreciate it. I’ve been sober for thirteen years. Still hit the meetings from time to time. I’m honestly surprised we haven’t run into each other already,” she added wryly.

  “Just lucky, I guess.” God. He was lucky. He was alive. But John was not. He leaned his head back against his Jeep. “I’m gonna go now and call Deacon.”

  “All right. Call me back if you need to. Tell Deacon to come to where you are. I’ve instructed first responders to secure the scene and surround the parking lot, but not to approach you. I’m not taking any chance that our shooter or one of his associates is driving any of the squad cars. You stay put with your head down until either Deacon or I come to get you. Got it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He ended the call and breathed for a minute, then . . . temporarily detoured. Full disclosure. And he needed to hear her voice more than he needed air. “Call Meredith cell,” he instructed his phone.

  “Hey,” she answered warmly when she picked up.

  He exhaled in a rush. “I’m okay,” he said and wondered which of them he was trying to convince. “I’m okay.”

  “Adam?” Her voice pitched a little higher. “Where are you?”

  “Still at St. Agnes’s. My sponsor is dead. He took a bullet for me. But I’m alive and I wanted you to hear it from me before you heard it on the grapevine.”

  For a few seconds all he could hear was her breathing, fast and shallow. “Okay. Okay.” She made a noise li
ke a choked sob. “You’re sure? You weren’t hit?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “Are you inside where it’s safe?”

  He drew a breath. It would be so easy to lie, to tell her what would keep her from worrying. “Full disclosure? I’m sitting outside in the parking lot, between two large vehicles, next to my sponsor’s body.”

  “Adam.” She packed an astonishing number of emotions into his name. Fear, horror, compassion. Caring. And something else. He hoped. Oh God, how he hoped.

  I need to tell her how I feel. I need her to know. But he hadn’t wanted to tell her like this. Not like this.

  “Look, I have to go. Isenberg is coming and I need to call Deacon. I need to tell him why I’m here before he learns the way I don’t want him to.”

  “Okay. Adam? Not your fault.”

  “I know.” He chanced at glance at John. His stomach lurched. That could have been me. I would have been dead and she’d never know the truth. “Meredith?”

  “Yeah?” She whispered it into the phone and he could tell that she was crying but didn’t want him to know.

  She’s so damn brave, he thought. She needs to know. Deserves to know. “I know I shouldn’t tell you this yet, but . . .” He swallowed hard. “I’ve loved you since we colored at your kitchen table. I don’t want anything to happen and you not to know that.”

  Her sob broke free. “Adam.”

  “Now you know. I need to—”

  “Don’t you hang up on me yet,” she interrupted in as close to a snarl as he’d ever heard come from her mouth. “I get to say something, too.”

  He found his lips curving, despite everything. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” she said, the word a sob she couldn’t hold back. “I thought I loved you when you showed up on Saturday with glitter in your hair, just because I said I needed you. Even though I didn’t think you felt the same way.”

  She thought? he thought, his heart constricting so hard it hurt. But this was Meredith. She would never hurt me. “And then?” he whispered.

  “And then you held Kyle when he cried and you held me when I cried and you told Mallory that she was ours—and I knew. No doubts. I love you.” Her voice broke. “Don’t ever think anything different, okay? And come back to me so I can tell you in person.”