by Karen Rose
Yes. She’d caught his broken nose with the heel. But it didn’t hurt him enough. He grabbed the shoe and threw it away, then his boot came down on the hand that had wielded the shoe and she cried out in pain.
“Who was she?” she demanded again. If nothing else, she could find this out for Adam. Because he’d be coming for her.
Hanson leaned down, getting in her face. “She was nobody.”
“No. She was a child. Where did she come from?”
His eyes gleamed. “You’ll die wondering.”
He disappeared and she fought to roll over, using her left elbow for leverage because her right arm was numb and her left hand was probably broken. She’d pushed herself to her knees when Hanson grabbed her hair and dragged her to her feet, but she fought, hot tears filling her eyes when her scalp burned.
“It doesn’t matter if you fight or not. You’ll be just as dead.”
She felt the cold sting of the blade at her throat and knew that Adam would find her this way. I’m sorry, Adam. I’m so sorry.
Cincinnati, Ohio
Monday, December 21, 12:10 p.m.
“Please, Linnie, give me the gun,” Adam repeated, and he watched all the emotions cross Linnie’s face. Fear, hate, sorrow. Hope.
She drew a deep breath and handed Adam her gun, handle first. Then she put Mikey Hanson in Scarlett’s arms and Adam’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you,” he said softly.
Scarlett unhooked the radio handset from her vest. “Hostage situation neutralized. Child is under our protection. Proceed with next step.”
Which was Deacon and Trip’s systematic search of the neighbor’s home.
“Are you going to arrest me now?” Linnie asked as a policewoman came through the front door to take the child from Scarlett.
“No,” Adam said quietly. “You will have to answer for the hostage situation, but we’re not putting you under arrest.”
There was movement at the corner of his eye. Rita pushing to her knees. “The hell you’re not! She kidnapped me at gunpoint. She held my son at gunpoint!”
“Rita, lie down!” Adam barked.
“No! Give me back my son!”
“Not at this time,” Scarlett told her. “We’ll be calling social services for a temporary placement while we figure out how much you know, Mrs. Hanson.”
Rita’s jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”
“On your stomach,” Scarlett commanded, then gestured for another officer to come in. “Stand next to Mrs. Hanson. Make sure she remains facedown.”
Adam cleared his throat and gentled his voice as he turned back to Linnie. “Please stay here with Detective Bishop. The other detectives have to clear the neighborhood because Hanson is out there somewhere.”
“The other detectives?” Linnie asked. “Not you?”
The girl was perceptive. “No, not me. I’m no longer on the case. I only came now because you asked me to.”
“Detective Kimble was shot at this morning,” Scarlett explained and Linnie’s eyes widened in shock. “His friend was killed. We believe Detective Hanson was the shooter.”
“No.” A sob tore from Rita’s throat and she sank back down to the carpet.
Linnie bit at her lip. “I wounded him. I don’t know if it’s important, but tell the other detectives that I stabbed him in his left arm. Here.” She pointed to the underside of her upper arm. “It was enough that he let me go. That’s how I got away on Saturday.”
Adam gave her a nod of gratitude. “Thank you. Detective Bishop will tell them.” He glanced at Scarlett. “Call me when it’s all done.” He left the Hansons’ house and ducked so that the line of SUVs in the driveway provided cover. At the bottom of the driveway a sedan waited, tucked behind the SUVs. The window rolled down, revealing Isenberg at the wheel.
“Get in,” she said. She waited until he was buckled in to add, “Well done. We’ll send a secure vehicle for Linnie and the little boy. It’s safer for them to stay inside until then.”
He leaned his head back on the headrest. “I am so tired, Lynda.”
“I know,” she said softly. “Get some rest. If you need to hit a meeting later, let me know. I’ll go with you.”
Adam’s throat grew thick. He’d started to say thank you when Isenberg broke into a barrage of cursing, so he chuckled instead. “What?”
“The fucking reporters. It’s like an obstacle course. Slouch forward. I don’t want to give them any shots of your face for their rags.”
He complied, pulling his tactical helmet forward. He heard a shout from outside the car, but didn’t look up, even when Isenberg cackled quietly.
“I figured they’d move,” she said. “Those cameras look damn expensive. Wouldn’t want them run over because their owners won’t get out of the damn road.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t want to stick around back there,” Adam said. “It’s just about to get interesting.”
“Nah. I trust Deacon and Scarlett. My job these days is to keep my team healthy. You are a valued member of my team and your career matters to me. Ergo, I’m making sure your ass is as far away from Hanson as I can possibly take it.”
Again his throat grew thick. “Thank you. For everything. For telling me about your sobriety. Because that shows me that I can still have a career.”
“Yeah,” she said gruffly. “It’s fine. All good.”
It is good, he thought, oddly comfortable with the idea that Scarlett, Deacon, and Trip would be the ones to bring Hanson in. It took Isenberg a few minutes more to get past the media, but they were eventually free of the community.
“You can look up now,” Isenberg said. “No more— What the fuck?”
A black SUV was parked on the other side of the road, a familiar Subaru parked behind it. “That’s Marcus O’Bannion’s car. I guess the Ledger wants a bite of the story.”
Adam quickly saw what Isenberg meant. The owner of the Ledger was standing in the road, waving his arms for them to stop. Isenberg pulled her sedan in behind Marcus’s Subaru, then gasped.
“Oh God. Is that Nash Currie?” She jumped out of the sedan and Adam followed, conscious that he was vulnerable to another attack but uncaring.
Because Nash had been driving Meredith. And the van was nowhere to be seen.
Isenberg and Adam hurried to where Nash lay in a dirty snowbank. Stone O’Bannion knelt beside him, fingers on Nash’s wrist.
“It is Nash,” Adam said, dread squeezing his heart. “What happened?”
Stone gently put Nash’s arm by his side. “He’s alive, but his pulse is low. I don’t know. He’s got a huge bruise on his forehead and he’s not conscious.”
“Oh my God. Lynda, he was driving Meredith,” Adam said.
Isenberg squeezed his shoulder. “Keep it together, Adam. Will you stay with Detective Currie?” she asked Stone.
“Of course,” Marcus said from behind them. He was finishing his call to 911. “Thank you. Yes, I’ll hold, but a detective and lieutenant arrived and I’m going to talk to them. I’ll put you on speaker.”
Isenberg frowned and quickly walked around the SUV and peered at the back window. “A bloody handprint.” She huffed out a frustrated breath. “Because somebody’s in there. There’s an old man under that tarp. His hand is visible. Marcus, ask for a second ambulance. We have two victims.”
Without hesitation, she opened the driver’s door and hit the hatch release. A few seconds later she was leaning into the hatch. “Caucasian male, in his midsixties. His head is bashed in, but he’s alive. And conscious. Sir, what is your name?”
She leaned up abruptly and rushed back to Nash. “That’s Hanson’s next-door neighbor. Hanson lured him out here, then hit him and left him.”
Nash groaned and Adam, Lynda, and Stone gathered close to him. “Adam? I’m sorry. He took her. Hanson. I saw the bloody hand. Stopped. Started to rad
io location.” Another smaller groan. “Hanson pulled me out of the van and took off. East.”
Adam ran for the sedan before Nash could say another word, Isenberg at his heels. “Nash’s gun was gone,” Adam said as Isenberg pulled back onto the road like a shot. “Hanson is armed.” And he’s got Meredith.
“They can’t be that far ahead of us.” Nevertheless, Isenberg punched the gas. This was an old road and curvy as hell. They rounded a bend in the road and there it was. The van had crossed the oncoming lane, gone off the road, and was wrapped around a tree. “I see the van,” Adam said, his racing heart skipping a beat. “It’s crashed into a tree. But I don’t see her.” His reflex was to rush in, guns blazing. But that could get Meredith killed.
Think. This is critical.
Isenberg pulled the sedan onto the shoulder and together they made their way down the embankment to the van. Tightening his grip on his service weapon, Adam braced himself for what he’d see.
Don’t be hurt. Don’t be hurt. God, please don’t let her be hurt. He crept up to the van, gun raised.
But the van was empty. Both Meredith and Wyatt had disappeared. Don’t panic.
The airbag had deployed. On the passenger seat was Nash’s service weapon. He reached through the window to scoop up the gun. Quietly he dropped the clip from the magazine. Fully loaded. He pressed the clip back into place, making as little noise as possible, then dropped the gun into his coat pocket.
Isenberg gave him a sharp look. Wait for backup, she mouthed.
But then an echoey voice drifted up from somewhere farther down the embankment.
“It doesn’t matter if you fight or not. You’ll be just as dead.”
Hanson. Adam’s heart stopped. But he forced his feet to keep moving around the van. Oh God. He held back a curse. Because he didn’t see her. But he did see a trail of blood in the snow leading to the underpass. Fueled by instinct and sheer terror, he ran down the hill, sliding more than once, picking himself up to run again. And then he saw her.
Knee-buckling relief warred with mind-numbing panic. She was alive, standing on her own two bare feet on the icy concrete of the underpass, the flash of relief in her eyes mixed with abject fear. Because Wyatt Hanson stood behind her, the fingers of his right hand wrapped around a handful of her beautiful hair, pulling her head back. With his left hand, he held a knife to her throat.
Her head was bleeding and her right arm hung loosely at her side. Her left hand was bent into a claw. But her chin was steady, as were her eyes as she met Adam’s gaze. He wanted to run to her, but he didn’t dare.
Wyatt’s nose was bleeding, his right sleeve was soaked with blood, and he had an oozing gash in his cheek. With the wound Linnie had made in his left arm, he should be vulnerable.
Except for the knife in his hand. And the mocking smile on his face. “Detective Kimble,” he said. “So nice of you to join us.”
Meredith’s mouth was moving, but no sound emerged. I love you. I’m sorry.
Adam’s heart broke into tiny pieces. She thought she was going to die. And she’s apologizing. To me. He gave her a steady nod, then made his lips curve.
“Me, too. And not today,” he told her quietly, ignoring Hanson’s barb and hoping she understood.
“How very sweet,” Wyatt drawled. “You got here in time, Adam. You can watch her die. Just like Paula.” He pressed the sharp blade against Meredith’s throat, drawing a thin line of crimson. “Drop your weapon.”
Meredith was leaning back, trying to get away from the sharp edge of the knife. Adam knew he couldn’t shoot Hanson like this—even if he’d been able to draw his weapon fast enough, an instant kill-shot would cause Hanson’s arm to jerk and Meredith could bleed out before help got there.
He wondered where Isenberg was. Probably mobilizing a rescue crew. But Adam couldn’t have waited. Hanson looked like he’d been ready to kill Meredith right then, whether he’d had an audience or not. Maybe I can hold him off long enough for Isenberg to save the day. It was the best plan he had at the moment.
Adam made a show of dropping his weapon to the ground, grateful he’d pocketed the one he’d found in the van. “There. Let her go. You know it’s me that you want.”
“True,” Hanson agreed amicably. “But I also need to get away and she makes a most excellent hostage. The Dr. Fallon, admired and respected by all.” He lifted his brows. “And loved by you?” Adam’s composure must have flickered, because Wyatt smiled. “Thought so. I haven’t decided if she’s more valuable to me as a ticket over the border or as my last fuck-you to you. What do you think, Adam? Do you think I should kill her now so that you can be a part of it—like sweet little Paula—or should I take her with me and leave you to wonder what I’m doing to her? Because there are so many things I’d like to do to her.”
Meredith’s eyes slid shut, her throat working as she tried to swallow. Hanson repositioned the knife, drawing another thin ribbon of red just under her chin.
He’s baiting you. Don’t rise to it. Adam tilted his head, making his expression impassive. He hoped. “Funny, I thought you only liked them young.”
Hanson laughed. “Well, I may not enjoy them as much when they get to be as old as your Dr. Fallon, but that doesn’t keep me from being up to the task. Rita and I have two children, after all.”
“If you kill her, you’ll still have to get through a roadblock.”
“True.” He shrugged. “So I’ll take her with me.”
Over Hanson’s shoulder, Adam saw Deacon slide down the embankment on the other side of the overpass. He was still thirty yards away—probably the first place he could safely descend.
Deacon began to run. Twenty yards, ten, running fast and soundlessly, slowing to silently approach the mouth of the overpass.
Adam just needed to distract Hanson long enough for one of them to pull the knife from his hand, because shooting him was still out of the question. I need a distraction. Think. And then he almost smiled because Deacon stood at the mouth of the overpass now, using sign language to communicate those very words.
I need a distraction. One fucking distraction.
And then Adam knew what to do. Money. Wyatt’s true love. “Then what?” he said to Wyatt. “What’s your plan if you manage to get away?” he asked, moving a few steps closer.
Wyatt smiled, revealing a mouthful of bloody teeth. “I intend to live very well.”
“On what?”
Wyatt’s smile faltered for a second before becoming arrogant again. “I have enough.”
“I’ll bet you do. But you have five million less than you think you do.”
Bingo. Yes. Wyatt visibly paled. “What are you talking about?”
Meredith’s gaze flew up to Adam’s, her eyes narrowing. Smart, she was. She knew something was coming. And she’d be ready. Please be ready, baby, he thought desperately.
He somehow kept the desperation out of his voice. “I’m sorry to tell you, but an unauthorized person recently changed your password. Your bank should really notify you of things like that.”
Wyatt shook his head. “You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not.” Adam lifted his brows. “KingTriton89.”
Wyatt’s left arm, weakened by Linnie, dropped momentarily in shock. Meredith took that moment to throw herself sideways, but he still had his hand tangled in her hair and she didn’t get far. She was on her knees and Wyatt was bent over her.
And raising his knife in the air.
Adam didn’t think. He just pulled Nash’s weapon from his pocket, aimed at Wyatt’s knife arm, pulled the trigger, then launched himself at the man he’d called friend for so many years. Wyatt’s scream echoed in the enclosed space, as did the clatter of the knife as he dropped it on the concrete.
Wyatt grunted when Adam’s shoulder made contact with his chest, knocking them both to the ground, Meredith’s agonized cr
y slicing through Wyatt’s cursing. The fucker had dropped the knife, but still had her by the hair.
Adam shoved the barrel of Nash’s service weapon up under Wyatt’s chin. “Let her go,” he growled. “Now.”
Wyatt smirked. “You won’t kill me. Not in cold blood like this.”
Adam didn’t want to. Not because he thought Wyatt should live, but because he still had too many questions. Mostly why? And why Paula? Where had she come from?
But I’ll kill him if I have to. Of that Adam was certain.
Refusing to respond verbally, Adam grabbed Wyatt’s upper arm and dug his fingers into the man’s flesh. He wasn’t sure where the arm was wounded, but the sleeve was soaked in blood so he hoped he was close. Wyatt bucked as his body spasmed, his eyes rolling back in his head. Yes. Wyatt’s hand opened and Adam freed it from Meredith’s hair.
From the corner of his eye he saw Meredith roll free and struggle to stand, but failing, her knees buckling. He opened his mouth to call to Deacon to get her out of there when a flash of silver from the other side of his peripheral vision had him wrenching his full attention back to Wyatt.
But Adam was a blink too late. Hot, searing pain shot through his right leg and he instinctively jerked away, grabbing Wyatt’s coat in one hand to keep him from going after Meredith again. He rolled up onto his left knee and tried to put weight on his right, but the pain had him seeing double.
Wyatt had another knife. Which was embedded in Adam’s leg. Sonofafuckingbitch.
Fury had him lashing out, swinging his fist into Wyatt’s jaw. Wyatt went down, his head knocking into the concrete with a sick thud. He lay there, blinking and dazed.
Deacon was there, weapon pointed at Wyatt’s head. Adam waved him toward Meredith. “I’ve got him. You get her out of here. Please. Please,” he repeated when Deacon hesitated. “She’s hurt.”
“I’ll be right back.” Deacon scooped Meredith in his arms.
His gun pressed to Wyatt’s chest, Adam went for his cuffs. He snapped the first on Wyatt’s left arm then reached for the right—
Wyatt reared up and knocked his forehead into Adam’s. Unprepared, Adam pitched back on his ass, but immediately rocked to his knees and shoved his gun at Wyatt’s chest.