This is my livelihood. Hell. This is my life.
He’d waited and watched and had finally picked the perfect time and place . . . only to watch it all fall apart. Now both Fallon and the girl would be on guard. The cops would circle their wagons around them and he didn’t know when he’d get another chance.
Dammit. He’d really believed Andy would follow through, especially given the boy’s background. The kid had killed for Linnea before, after all.
Regardless, he hadn’t planned for there to be anything left for the police to investigate. The bomb concealed beneath Andy’s coat should have blown everything into smithereens. His uncle Mike had made two, side by side, as he always did. He’d tested one, as he always did, and it had detonated perfectly – as they always did.
He had no idea why the second bomb had not. He wouldn’t have to wait long to find out. CSU would figure it out and someone on the inside would give him the details.
‘You . . . You killed him.’ Linnea captured his attention from the back seat. Her body was rigid, the bruises extra dark on her face, which had grown dangerously pale.
‘He fucked up,’ he said simply. ‘He had to fire one shot. That’s all.’
‘He’s not a killer.’ Her emotionless words were delivered with no affect whatsoever. She was probably going into shock. Which wasn’t a big deal. She wasn’t going to live much longer anyway. As soon as he got out of the city, he’d put a bullet in her skull and dump her body where it wouldn’t be found until spring.
‘Yes, he was a killer. He didn’t kill today, but he was a killer.’
‘He was younger then. And scared.’ Her voice trembled. Broke. ‘It’s not the same.’
‘It’s exactly the same, but it doesn’t really matter, does it? Especially with him being dead,’ he added, fully intending the words to be as cruel as possible.
Her only reaction was to close her eyes. Two tears slipped down her cheeks. She looked like exactly what she was – a used-up whore who’d finally given up.
Still, he’d be careful. All he needed was for her to scratch his face or do something equally annoying that he’d have to explain away when he got home. He headed south, toward the river. He’d take care of Linnea and still make it home in time for dinner.
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Saturday 19 December, 4.20 P.M.
‘Get the hell out of my way,’ Adam muttered to the long line of cars in front of him. He’d made good time from Mariposa House until he’d hit downtown. Everyone was coming in to see fireworks and traffic was stalled.
He was tempted to use his emergency flashers to cut through the snarl of cars, but he wasn’t technically on duty – just on call – and Meredith was okay, physically, at least. The threat had been eliminated and the first responders were there, securing the scene.
She was physically okay. But her hands were covered by a young man’s brains and the very thought made his foot tap the accelerator in frustration.
Fuck it. He reached for the dash flasher switch, damning the consequences. The worst that could happen was a reprimand and that was unlikely. But his phone started playing Darth Vader’s theme and he checked his movement, reaching for his cell instead.
‘Hey, Loo.’ His lieutenant, Lynda Isenberg, had always had his back through good times and bad. His choice of ringtone was pure bullshit teasing on his part and she knew it. The list of people he trusted implicitly was very short and she was near the top.
‘Detective,’ she said curtly, which meant she had an audience. In the last year she’d taken to calling him by his first name. ‘Have you heard about the shooting on the square today?’ Her voice had the tinny quality of being on speaker, which meant she had an audience who was listening to every word.
Brass, probably, he thought. That meant this was bigger than ‘just a shooter,’ although it had never been a routine crime for him. That shooter had aimed at Meredith.
‘I heard it was at the Buon Cibo Café,’ Adam told her levelly.
‘You heard right. I need you to get to the scene,’ Isenberg said. ‘You’ll be joined by Special Agent Triplett. The two of you will co-lead this investigation.’
Permission granted. Adam flicked the flasher switch and cars began trying to pull over. Not easy with such gridlock, but a lane was slowly opening up.
That Jefferson Triplett would be his partner was a bit of a surprise. Not an unpleasant one, of course. Adam liked Trip. The rookie was young, but had seemed to be good at his job every time their paths had crossed.
‘Is Zimmerman there?’ he asked, inching his Jeep forward. The special agent in charge of the local FBI field office often loaned his staff to Isenberg’s Major Case Enforcement Squad, the FBI/CPD joint task force that was Isenberg’s baby.
‘He is,’ Zimmerman said. ‘Hello, Detective Kimble.’
‘Sir,’ Adam said politely. ‘What’s the situation? Why is the FBI working this one?’
‘Because,’ Isenberg said, ‘the would-be shooter, who ended up being the victim, was wearing a bomb.’
Adam sucked in a shocked breath. Holy shit. A bomb. In a crowded restaurant on a street filled with holiday shoppers. ‘Why? Where?’
‘“Why” is what we need you to find out,’ Isenberg said, ‘and “where” is the vest he wore under his parka. He pulled the zipper of his coat seconds before he was shot from someone outside on the street. The first cop on the scene noticed the explosives.’
Adam recalled Meredith’s shaken words. He told me to get down, to run. Right before the young man’s head exploded. ‘He wanted Meredith to know. He told her to run.’
‘You’ve heard more than we have,’ Isenberg said dryly. ‘Deacon and Scarlett have recused themselves as lead because of their friendship with Dr Fallon, but said they’d be able to support you. You’re next in line for a new case. Should I recuse you as well?’
‘No,’ Adam said, hoping he hadn’t snapped it out too fast. ‘I’m . . . entanglement-free.’ For now. He’d keep it that way if it meant keeping the case. He didn’t trust Meredith’s safety to anyone else. ‘Has the restaurant been evacuated?’
‘Yes, to the hotel across the street.’ Isenberg sighed. ‘We have a lot of very traumatized witnesses. It was . . . intense. Which I’m sure you’ve also heard.’
‘Meredith told me,’ Adam said honestly. ‘She was as close to hysterical as I’ve ever heard her.’
‘Why did she call you, Detective?’ Zimmerman asked mildly.
Adam could picture the older man’s face, his brow wrinkled in concern because he knew the answer to his question already. ‘I don’t know. Maybe because my name starts with A and I was the first cop in her contact list?’
Isenberg’s snort held disbelief, but her words carried quiet promise. ‘I’ll remove you in a heartbeat, Adam. You got me? Do not become . . . entangled.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ He could picture her face too, unsmiling, framed with gray hair she kept as short as his own, her sharp eyes narrowed. ‘I’m nearly there.’ He winced a little, knowing in his heart that the statement could be correctly interpreted more than one way. Yeah, he was nearly at the scene, but he was also very nearly entangled. ‘Anything else?’
‘Yes,’ Zimmerman said. ‘Agent Triplett is lead on anything having to do with the bomb itself. He has extensive experience with incendiary devices.’
Adam blinked. ‘Trip? Where did he get bomb experience?’ Arriving at the scene, he parked his Jeep behind the line of cruisers and ambulances. Trapping his cell between his ear and shoulder, he opened his back hatch and quickly suited up, shrugging into his bulletproof vest. ‘He didn’t serve in the military, did he? He’s barely out of college.’