She pulled herself to her knees.
Salem’s hands stopped pummeling, and she heard his breath grow raspy as he wrapped his bloody hands around Kyle’s throat.
Her hand shaking, Bella reached what felt like an impossible distance to the gun at her side. It slid into her hand, as if doing its best to remind her what she was here for. It sang through her stiff muscles. This was it—this was what she’d wanted all along.
Feeling the weight of the weapon in her hand, Bella forced herself to stand. She felt her vision clear and her head halt its spinning. The tight pain in her body disappeared, and she crossed the room with an effortless glide.
The first shot she aimed right for Salem’s heart. The gun kicked back in her hand, but she continued forward. She watched his body stiffen and fall, barely a second between her pulling the trigger and the explosion of his blood against the wall.
It wasn’t enough.
The second shot was in the heart again, only this time closer. Blind to where Kyle gasped beneath Salem’s still body, she pressed the gun to the back of his skull where he’d bruised her moments before and pressed the trigger again.
Kyle cried out, one side of his face splattered with bits of Salem. She didn’t care—she was already bloody, and her ears filled with fluid to protect themselves from the assault of noise that every bullet she put in Salem brought. It wasn’t enough. There weren’t enough rounds. Not enough blood.
She kicked his body, rolling him over to put two more rounds in his chest. Most of what had been Salem’s face was gone now; the thing she stood over was mangled and lifeless, only moving as the force of another bullet caused the limp body to jolt.
Game over. Game. Over.
The slide locked back as she emptied the last round of the magazine into his body. Her face determined, she tossed Kyle’s useless weapon down and turned back to where Salem had dropped his earlier. She wasn’t done yet. Her turn wasn’t up. He’d had plenty of turns with her. She needed as many bullets as there was marks on the wall behind that god-awful mattress.
She was about to grab it when she felt Kyle’s warm hand on hers. She watched through blank, staring eyes as he held her wrist and took the pistol from her hand. She blinked as her vision blurred again, trying to find Kyle’s face, Salem’s gore bright against the shocked pallor of his skin. Her eyes stung. She felt tears streaming down her face. When had she started crying?
She couldn’t remember starting, but now she didn’t know if she’d be able to stop.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The pile of newspapers on Brooks’s desk was impressive. Normally such a tidy man, she was shocked to see the splay of pages and inserts that were threatening to take over the entire area.
She flicked through them with her good hand, holding the cast on her other wrist stiffly at her side. Most of the papers were from Portland, but there was the odd few from New York and Los Angeles. They all had the same shot on the front cover. She paused and looked at it again. It was still hard to recognize herself—her head bowed and her dark hair loose, returning to the station with her partner, the two of them holding each other up and covered head to toe in injuries and blood. It was dramatic, that was for certain. She had a feeling she’d be seeing that picture for a while.
“Local celebrity now, I suppose.” Brooks walked into his office after her. She could smell the fresh coffee as he entered, closing the door behind him with far less anger than she’d seen in a while. “That’s fourteen different papers with you and Gray on the front page.”
“Well, who doesn’t like a good revenge story?” Bella said, unimpressed. She took the paper cup that Brooks handed her. It felt good in her hands, a nice hot cup of average working-day comfort.
“They all do, it seems.” Brooks sat down behind his desk, taking a noisy sip from his cup. He surveyed his desk, shaking his head. “You have no idea the requests for interviews we’ve been fielding. The public loves you. Girl detective finally kills the Portland Predator. Don’t be surprised if they start offering you book deals and that kind of nonsense.”
Bella sat across from him. Her hip ached where she’d torn the muscles running, and according to the physiotherapist, she’d put an end to her running for a month or two. Not that she felt like doing it lately. She didn’t feel like doing much except for sleeping. “I’ll pass on the interviews. There’s only one thing I’m interested in doing right now.”
Brooks nodded, starting to organize the papers on his desk. Bella had been wondering how long he could stand that kind of mess. “Resting,” he said. “I don’t blame you. You’re cleared for an entire month off if you want it.”
“Just a few days will be fine.”
Watching her father sort through the papers, she was struck again by his age. In the same way that Salem hadn’t been capable of seeing the years on her, she’d been blind to the evidence of time’s passage in her father. He’d always be that stumbling, balding man that’d coaxed her from the darkness. He looked just as tired as she was, unable to stop himself from making order out of chaos, even if it was just a few errant newspapers.
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
He stopped his shuffling and looked up. “For what?”
Bella smiled, peering up at him over the rim of her paper cup. “For disobeying orders. For putting officers in danger. For jeopardizing the mission. All of it. I was so far invested in myself that I forgot to worry about how you were feeling. How are you feeling?”
Brooks smiled, more to himself than anyone else, and continued with his organization. He nodded to the door behind Bella, stacking the final paper and giving the whole pile a strident tap to even them out. “I’m fine. Someone out there is waiting to give you a ride home. I don’t want you driving with that cast on.”
Bella shrugged, unaffected by her father’s quick gloss over her apology. It wasn’t like she’d expected hugs, tears, or anything of that nature. That was never how they had worked. But something would have been nice—anything to suggest he’d come out of his shell.
“I’ll take a taxi.” She put the coffee on his desk and lifted her sore hip to check for her house keys.
“I don’t think so.” Brooks grunted and stood up. He hurried to the door behind her, opening it and allowing the busy tapping and ringing of the outside world in. He nodded to where Kyle stood by his desk. He’d pulled his oversized jacket on and was doing his best not to look like they’d caught him waiting. “Just do him a favor, okay? He’s been hanging out here for hours. He’s not even supposed to be in today.”
Bella rolled her eyes, hoping the flush she felt on her cheeks wasn’t as visible as it felt. She was about to walk out of the room when she felt her father’s hand on her arm. Before she could understand what was happening, she felt her face mushed into his shirt. He was hugging her. He smelled like coffee and toner. He smelled like her father. The hug was brief, but it was alarming enough to render her speechless. When he released her, the entire homicide department had joined Kyle in his attempts to look like they hadn’t been watching.
“Come over for dinner this weekend. Maybe I’ll buy some ice cream,” Brooks said, closing the door on her as if nothing had happened.
Bella’s heart warmed. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a hell of a start.
Chapter Forty
Blue bubble-gum surprise dripped over his fingers, running into the pressed white of his cuffs. Even from where she sat on the park bench, she could see the way the heat was sending the ice cream coursing down his hands and wrists. He was smiling though. He was always smiling these days—a warm, harmless smile that had nothing hidden behind it.
The other smiles had things behind them though. Things she didn’t trust. The social workers had a smile when they spoke to her that looked like they were trying not to cry. The foster families she had lived with the past year smiled more at the government checks than at her. The doctors and therapists, with their stupid puppets and overheated rooms, barely smiled, and when they did, there wa
s disgust hiding just behind their teeth. Bella frightened them. What she’d been through scared them more than she cared to know. They only had puppets to fight it off, posters with dangling kittens, and pills she had to put under her tongue when she couldn’t control her shaking.
She didn’t need a pill though. Or the anatomically correct doll her therapists were always shoving in front of her.
She needed him.
She needed her father.
George Brooks noticed the melting ice cream on his hands as soon as he sat beside her. Handing her a cone, he laughed under his breath and swiped at the mess with a thin napkin. “Good luck explaining that when I get back to work.”
Bella sank her teeth into the slippery cone. She still had a few baby teeth left, and they sang out as the cold wrapped around them. “Do you have to go back to work?” Bella asked, the blue ring around her mouth in stark contrast to the seriousness of her deep, brown eyes.
Brooks nodded. He looked over to where the patrol car they had driven to the park was waiting. “Not for long, honey. I’ll drive you back to my—” He stopped, his truer than true smile brighter than the sun above them. “I mean, our house. I wanted to celebrate, and I think some ice cream in our favorite place seems like the best way. Don’t you think?”
Bella stopped eating.
“You okay there, kiddo? You look worried.” He’d stopped eating as well. The wind from the river picked up his comb-over. It flickered around his head like a halo.
“I don’t have to go back,” she stated more than asked. “You’re my dad now.”
Brooks took the napkin he’d used to wipe his hand and ran it across her stained lips. She raised her face to him, fighting against every nerve in her body telling her to shrink from his touch. He placed the napkin between them and then rested his hand on her thin shoulder. “You got it, honey. I’m your dad. On paper and in here.” He tapped where his strong heart beat beneath his suit. “Always will be.”
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Adam Nicholls
GOOD AS DEAD
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About the Author
Adam Nicholls has been creating stories since before he could legally drink. Inspired by the works of Stephen King, Karin Slaughter and Gillian Flynn, Adam starts writing each new book by asking himself how best to shock his readers.
In his non-writing life, Adam is a bibliophile and avid collector of anything made from paper (utility bills included). He loves hot showers, good wine and the sound of rain hitting the window. Whenever possible, he likes to get out and see the world, visiting one European city at a time in search of inspiration for his next great novel.
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Kill Game: An Unforgettable Serial Killer Thriller Page 18