Endgame

by Dee Davis

  Someone had fired a gun, the silencer only partially muffling the sound.

  He sprinted across the street toward the house belonging to Bosner, his imagination going into overdrive, his concern not for the man who lived there but for Madison. His heart twisted at the thought that she could be hurt, and suddenly he found himself empathizing with her father. Anything could happen in a profession like theirs.

  Old memories fused themselves with the present to escalate his fear, his mind blanching at the thought of her dead, lying on Bosner's carpet, a bullet through her brain. He pushed the thought aside, not letting it find purchase. It couldn't happen again.

  He simply wouldn't let it.

  Madison hit Jeremy at waist level, her forward motion sending them both sprawling backward to the floor. She shifted to cover him as a second bullet slammed through the open window, this time shattering glass.

  "Jeremy? Are you all right?" The whisper sounded louder than a cannon, and she waited, heart pounding for another shot. "Jeremy?"

  There was no answer, and nothing more from the window except the shush of the wind as it slid through the broken glass, setting the curtains swaying. Carefully rolling to her side, she turned so that she could see the old man, her heart twisting at the sight.

  Blood stained the front of his smoking jacket, the thick fluid darkening the velvet, matting it like old fur. Coming to her knees, she reached for his neck, her fingers confirming what she already knew.

  Jeremy was dead.

  Pulling her gun from its holster, she moved toward the window, careful to stay below sill height. Counting to ten, and satisfied that there had been no more shots, she inched up until she was level with the bottom of the window, staring out into the night, trying to locate the shooter.

  The buildings across the way were still dark, and except for a swirl of dead leaves in the wind, nothing moved. No light. No flash. No gunshot.

  She estimated no more than a few minutes had passed all told, which meant the shooter might still be there. Judging from the flash, her guess was that he'd been waiting in the abandoned building, his shot clear the minute Jeremy paused in front of the window.

  In her mind's eye, she saw him standing there holding out the brandy glass. Her brandy glass. Ruthlessly she pushed all emotion away. There'd be time enough later.

  Still holding the Glock ready, she moved quickly through the room and out into the foyer. The front door was closed, and on the other side she knew she'd become a target. She thought about calling for backup, but knew that it would take too long. If there was any hope of apprehending Jeremy's killer she had to move now.

  She jerked open the door, staying behind it until she was certain there was no accompanying gunshot. Then, leading with the Glock, she swung out onto the stoop, keeping to the shadows, moving quickly down the steps, her gaze locked on the building across the way.

  As she pulled open the gate, a shadow moved, and she swung her gun to the left, holding it carefully in her sights. For a moment nothing moved, and then suddenly the shadow stepped into the light.

  "Gabriel." She released her breath, her lungs collapsing like an accordion. "What the hell are you doing here?"

  "I heard a shot." His dark brows were drawn together, his eyes shining almost silver in the half-light. "I thought that—"

  "Jeremy Bosner's dead." She cut through whatever he'd been about to say, recognizing the emotion in his eyes, and not ready to deal with it "Two shots through the window. It came from over there." She gestured toward the scaffolded building with her gun. "I was just going to check it out."

  "You're sure you're okay?" His gaze slid from her head to her toes, leaving a burning sensation following in its wake.

  "I'm fine," she assured him, fighting to keep her voice level. "We're losing time."

  He nodded, his attention shifting to the building across the way. "You stay here, I'll check it out."

  A surge of anger hit her broadside, and she struggled to maintain control. It was a rerun of a common story. Most men she worked with ultimately tried to protect her, it's just that somehow coming from him it hurt all the more. "I'm coming with you. You need someone on your back."

  He started to argue, then apparently thought better of it. With a nod, he started across the street, gun drawn. She followed, sequestering her resentment. The building's entrance was on ground level, and Gabriel motioned her to one side as they ducked under the scaffolding, the darkness intensifying.

  She turned her back to him, the Glock trained on the street, her gaze vigilant Nothing moved except the leaves rustling in the gutter and the trees bending in the wind, but she wasn't taking any chances.

  The light from Jeremy's window spilled out across the sidewalk, giving the illusion that everything was all right.

  "I'm in," Gabriel called, and she turned to follow him into the hallway. Unlike Jeremy Bosner's, this brownstone had been converted into apartments, one on each floor, with the staircase connecting the common space. There were drop cloths everywhere, paint cans and tools the only ornamentation. The building was obviously deserted.

  Gabriel opened a door on the right and swung inside. "Clear," he said emerging again into the hallway. Madison opened the next door following the same procedure, and they alternated until they'd checked the entire floor.

  "You said the shot came from up there?" Gabriel gestured toward the ceiling with his gun.

  Madison nodded, already moving for the stairs. "Just above us, the room facing the street." She forced herself to climb slowly, pausing every couple of seconds to listen. Gabriel was right behind her, his eyes and gun on the hallway below.

  Sirens wailed in the background, and Madison shot him an inquiring glance as they stepped out onto the landing.

  "I called as soon as I heard the shot."

  She nodded, grateful suddenly to have him here, despite his antiquated notions about women on the job. There was only one door on the second floor, and it stood open, light from the street filtering through, giving a sense of movement to the shadows.

  "I'm going in," she whispered, steadying her hand on her gun.

  Gabriel nodded once, his weapon trained on the landing, his eyes on the stairs, keeping watch. He had her back. There was an odd comfort there. And with a deep breath, she swung into the room.

  The drapes rippled in the wind as it moaned through an open window. Shadows danced on the floor and wall, but other than their ghostly presence, the room was empty.

  The killer was gone.

  A tech zipped the body bag closed, and Madison shivered. Jeremy had deserved better. The little parlor had lost its cozy feel in wake of the forensics team, the fire gutted to embers, the overhead lights exposing fading upholstery and worn fittings.

  She tipped back her head, rubbing her neck in an effort to relieve the tension radiating down her spine. It had been a long day. First the near miss at the apartment, and now again here in the brownstone.

  Harrison hovered beside her, his concern written across his face. "You really ought to go home." His voice was a whisper, but it carried anyway, and Gabriel, standing beside the fireplace, frowned.

  With a conscious effort, Madison straightened her back, and shook her head. "I'm fine, Harrison."

  The twist of his mouth indicated that he didn't believe a word of it, but thankfully, he held his tongue.

  "Would you mind walking through it with me one more time?" Nigel asked, and she turned to face him, forcing herself to focus, exhaustion warring with emotion to leave her more than a little woozy. "I just want to be sure I have it straight."

  She'd already gone over it two or three times, but she understood the need to visualize, so she stood up, ignoring Harrison's hand. "We were talking. Jeremy was over there by the fire."

  Gabriel continued to watch her, his eyes hooded, making it impossible to tell what he was thinking. They hadn't said anything much since the others had arrived. In fact, she got the distinct feeling he was trying to avoid her.

  Not
that it mattered what he was doing.

  She returned her gaze to Nigel and continued her explanation. "I was over on the sofa. We talked about this morning's fiasco. I think quite honestly he was enjoying the excitement."

  "And then you walked over to the window?" Nigel cut in.

  "Yeah. Well, more to the left of it, I guess. It was open, and I was cold, so I didn't want to stand directly in front of it." She shivered at the memory, and then squared her shoulders shaking it off. "I was looking out the window, watching the wind in the trees, when I thought I saw something."

  "And that's when Bosner got up?" Nigel was standing by the wing chair now, moving in an approximation of Jeremy's path. Harrison was watching him as he too tried to visualize the events leading up to Bosner's death.

  "Yes," Madison said. "He offered me another drink."

  There was a cough from the direction of the fireplace, and Madison shot a look at Gabriel. His expression was impassive, but something glittered in his eyes, and Madison was pretty certain she knew what it was.

  Blame.

  Not that the sentiment wasn't deserved. If she'd been paying attention instead of chatting over brandy, Jeremy Bosner might still be alive. It was her fault. All of it.

  "Madison?" Nigel interrupted her thoughts, his gaze going from her to Gabriel and back again.

  "I'm sorry." She held up a hand. "It's been a long night." Gabriel moved again, this time turning his back on her, and she pushed all thoughts of him aside, focusing instead on Nigel. "I didn't actually see him move because I was still watching out the window. I shifted front and center, so that I could see better, and that's when I saw the flash."

  "The shot."

  She nodded. "From there I reacted on instinct, diving for Jeremy and pushing him to the floor. There was another shot. It's probably embedded in the wall somewhere. And then nothing."

  "Forensics found it." Payton walked into the room, glancing down at the chalk lines marking the place where Jeremy had died. "Rifle cartridge. .223. Hopefully we'll get something from ballistics."

  Madison nodded again, releasing another breath, trying to sort through all that had happened. Eight deaths. All of them murder. But definitely not by the same hand. Whatever was happening, the assassins were changing.

  "This guy knew what he was doing." She glanced back out the window, her gaze locking on the building across the way. "And he wasn't worried about hiding his actions. He had to have known I was in the house, and that I 'd come after him. But it didn't matter, he killed Jeremy anyway."

  "You could have been killed." Gabriel pushed away from the mantel, one fist clenched against his side.

  "But I wasn't." She shrugged, avoiding his gaze.

  "Only because he saw me coming." He took a step toward her and then checked the movement. "You shouldn't have come here on your own."

  "I did what needed to be done. It's part of my job, in case you've forgotten." She clenched her jaw, hanging on to her control by a hair. "There was no way to know that the killer would strike tonight. My only mistake was reacting one second too slowly. If I had moved faster, maybe Jeremy would still be alive." Tears threatened, and she choked them back, cursing under her breath.

  "Your reactions were fine." Harrison's hand on her arm was meant as comfort, but just at the moment that's the last thing she needed. She shook him off, still glaring at Gabriel.

  Their gazes met and held, and she tried to read the expression in his eyes, but whatever he was thinking, it was well masked. With a sigh, she turned her thoughts back to the situation at hand. "Whoever the guy is, he's done this before. Professionally. There's nothing emotional going on here. No sacrifice for the cause, or anger at perceived wrongs. This guy calculated his every move."

  "You're saying it's different from the earlier murders." Harrison sat on the arm of the sofa, the wheels in his head obviously turning as he, too, considered the situation.

  "The first ones, certainly. There's a degree of intimacy involved with injecting someone with a drug, particularly with Aston and Stewart as they were killed on home ground. It would take a certain amount of nerve, but the risk is only worth it if the killer knew them and therefore had easy access, or if he wanted them to know who he was before they died. That's a far cry from a hit."

  "And that's what you think Bosner's and Patterson's murders were." It was a statement not a question, but Madison answered anyway, her gaze meeting Gabriel's.

  "Yes."

  "What about the others?" Nigel asked, his brows furrowed as he weighed her words.

  "Even more personal than the injections. Especially Robert Barnes. If our theory of the crime is correct, the killer knocked him out before the fire. Possibly an act of passion. Anger or something else. But either way, again he was there facing his victim. We see the beginnings of the change with Dashal and Smith. Although both murders were still rigged to appear as accidents, there was the start of a move toward the impersonal."

  She stopped for a minute, gathering her thoughts, trying to see with the eye of the killer—or killers. "The killer wasn't present when Dashal was electrocuted. Or if he was, it was secondhand. It's doubtful Dashal saw him. And Bingham Smith was killed in a crowd."

  "Same M.O. though as Aston and Stewart," Gabriel said, watching her with something akin to approval.

  "Yes." She nodded, her confidence growing as she trod on familiar territory. "But with a major difference. There was calculation here. A plan. Busy platform, quick jab. And the killer is gone long before Bingham even realizes something is wrong."

  "So our killer is learning?" Harrison offered the idea, but didn't sound as if he believed it.

  "No." She shook her head for emphasis. "I think it means we've got more than one killer."

  "Which begs the question why." Gabriel had shifted so that he could watch her, his expression inscrutable.

  "It's hard to say. Shift of motive seems most obvious." She met his gaze full on, determined to hold her own. "Maybe whoever's pulling strings got tired of getting their hands dirty."

  "Or maybe—" Payton picked up the thought"—in the beginning he actually believed one murder would be enough to throw off the accord, and when it didn't work, he tried again."

  "And failed again," Gabriel added. "But if that's the case, then we're most likely talking about an individual rather than a group. Which would exclude our Chinese dissidents."

  "Not necessarily," Payton said. "We've thought all along that they were using someone to do their dirty work."

  "Yes, but that would mean they switched killers midstream." Gabriel frowned at his friend.

  "It's not that unusual." Payton shrugged. "We're talking about a span of nearly three years, and our intervention has certainly changed the name of the game. If whoever is pulling the strings is worried that we'll get to the bottom of things, there'd be a need to escalate matters. That could easily explain the change of personnel and dropping any need to pretend the newest deaths were accidents."

  "That makes sense, Payton," Madison said, her head starting to throb. "But it doesn't feel right. If someone overseas is pulling the strings, why not just use a professional from the beginning?"

  "We don't know for certain that it wasn't a pro," Nigel said. "You said yourself that using potassium chloride isn't easy."

  "No," she said, shaking her head. "I said it was personal. Shooting someone from a window across the street is impersonal. Looking them in the eye and stabbing them with a needle full of KCl is pretty much in your face. And the personality that is capable of one may very well not be capable of the other."

  "So we're at an impasse. With one or possibly two killers and eight victims. And no sign at all of an answer." Harrison's voice seemed to be coming from far away.

  Madison struggled to hear what he was saying, but the lights seemed to flicker, dark then light again, and she reached for the windowsill to steady herself. "I'm sorry, I..." A wave of dizziness washed through her, robbing her of speech, the reality of the evening's events sud
denly hitting home with a vengeance.

  Gabriel was at her side in less than a stride, his hard arms closing around her. She knew she should shake him off, assure him she was more than capable of standing on her own two feet, but just for the moment, she wanted nothing more than to let him hold her.

  Damn it all to hell.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  "I don't want to go to the hospital, I want to go home." Madison sat back against the taxi seat and closed her eyes. "There's nothing wrong with me that a hot shower won't cure."

  Gabe glanced over at her, not liking the pallor of her skin. "I think you should be checked out."

  She crossed her arms, her expression mutinous even with her eyes closed. "I said no."

  He'd never met a woman as stubborn. Or if he had, he'd obviously had the good sense to walk away without looking back. "So you're telling me your collapsing in the brownstone was just an act? That Jeremy Bosner's death didn't touch you at all?"

  "You know it did." She acquiesced with an overly dramatic sigh. "But that doesn't mean I need to go to the hospital. There's nothing physically wrong."

  "That's just the point, Madison. You watched a man die tonight."

  Her eyes fluttered open, her brows drawing together in a frown. "That doesn't mean I need psychiatric help, either, if that's what you're getting at."

  "Maybe not, but it wouldn't hurt to talk to someone."

  "Not right now." The lights from the city illuminated her beautiful face, the pain etched there palpably visible. She might want to deny it, but Bosner's death had hit her hard. Still, he couldn't make her do something she obviously didn't want to.

  "All right. You can go home. But only if you let me stay with you." He regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth. He had no interest in spending time with her. Especially not when she was so obviously vulnerable.

  "I don't need a baby-sitter." She was so insulted she'd missed any sign of innuendo.