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 the 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. Son of a fucking bitch.
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.
But Wyatt rolled to his knees. A split second later, Wyatt was jabbing the barrel of an old Glock between Adam’s ribs, his finger on the trigger.
Wyatt was smiling. He’d had another gun too, using the distraction to go for it.
‘You won’t kill me,’ Wyatt said smugly. ‘If you’d been capable of doing so, you’d have done it when you had the chance.’
That might have been true a week ago. Even a day ago. But not today. Wyatt had stolen too much from too many people. He’s not stealing Meredith’s happiness too. And I am her happiness.
With no fanfare, Adam pulled the trigger. Wyatt jerked backward, his eyes wide with shock. But he didn’t go down. Shock gave way to hate as Wyatt’s gun began to lift.
Adam fired once more, the bullet making a neat hole in Wyatt’s forehead. Dead center. Wyatt crumpled, dead before he hit the ground.
Just like Andy Gold had. Just like John Kasper had. Vicious satisfaction filled him.
A movement caught his attention and Adam looked up to see Trip walking toward him, holstering his weapons. Trip bent down to pick up the gun that had fallen from Wyatt’s hand, only after he was dead.
‘You okay?’ Trip asked quietly.
Adam looked at Wyatt’s face. And nodded. ‘Yes. I am.’ He really was. He pointed to the gun at Trip’s side. ‘You were going to shoot, but you didn’t. Why?’
‘I thought you should do it. But if you couldn’t, I was happy to.’
Adam’s mouth quirked. ‘Thank you.’
‘Not a problem. Sorry I got here late to the party. I stopped to check on Nash. Wyatt hit him hard with the butt of his gun. Nash was in some serious pain, but he was mostly worried about Meredith.’
Meredith. ‘Where is she?’
‘I helped Deacon carry her up the hill. She’s in my vehicle, waiting for the EMTs.’
Adam tried to stand, but his leg buckled beneath him. He grunted, pain radiating throughout his whole body. Fuck. He’d forgotten about the damn knife. He reached back to pull it out but Trip stopped him, kneeling beside him to examine the wound.
‘Don’t touch it, man. The medics are coming. Let them do it. You’re not bleeding too much. Yank it out and you might gush like a stuck pig.’
Better do what the rookie says, Adam thought, then blinked a few times to clear his vision when little black dots started to encroach. It wasn’t panic this time. Somehow he knew that. It was probably . . . shock?
Holstering Nash’s gun, Adam pushed to his knees, rotating a few degrees so that he didn’t have to touch Wyatt Hanson’s body. He had to close his eyes against another wave of pain. When he opened them, he was surprised to see Isenberg standing just outside the underpass, on the same side Adam had entered.
‘She came down the hill at the same time I did, but on the less steep side,’ Trip said in a nearly soundless whisper. ‘She was ready to shoot him too.’
Isenberg approached, reaching out her hand.
Right. The weapon. He’d fired it. And I’m not one goddamned bit sorry. He dropped the clip from the magazine and racked it to be sure there were no bullets chambered. He then placed the gun and clip on her palm. ‘Procedure,’ he murmured. ‘Got it. For the record, I’d do it again in a heartbeat. You can put that in your report.’
Isenberg gave him a look that was equal parts compassion and exasperation. And concern, he thought. A lot of concern.
She dropped the weapon and the clip in her coat pocket. ‘It was self-defense, Adam,’ she said. ‘Trip and I saw it.’ She extended her hand again and he realized she’d been trying to help him up.
‘Oh,’ he said numbly. He gripped her hand, groaning when Trip took his other arm, hefting him to his feet. Reality poured in – the iron smell of blood mixing with the sulfur of fired weapons, the sight of Wyatt’s body, the sound of shouting cops and the sirens of approaching emergency vehicles. He hoped at least one was an ambulance. For Meredith.
Now that it was over, he felt the adrenaline crashing and the panic rising. She was hurt and he needed to help her.
‘Need to get to Meredith,’ he said. He turned too fast and stumbled but Trip held him upright. He tried to yank free, but Trip held firm. ‘Let me go, Trip. Please.’
‘I don’t think so, old man,’ Trip said, his rumbly voice soothing in all the chaos. ‘Maybe you need to wait for the medics.’
‘I think he needs to see Dr Fallon,’ Isenberg said quietly, and Adam wanted to thank her. He wanted to weep. He wanted to scream. But he did none of those things.
‘Yes,’ he gritted out, hanging onto control by a thread. ‘Meredith. Please.’
Isenberg squeezed his arm. ‘Come on, Adam. Agent Triplett, let’s get him up the embankment. And make sure he doesn’t fall backward on that fucking knife.’
The two of them kept him steady as he combination hopped/dragged himself around the wrecked van, straight to where Meredith lay in the cargo bay of one of the SUVs. Deacon had begun administering first aid, wrapping a bandage around the arm that still sullenly oozed blood.
‘She’s lost a lot of blood,’ Deacon said quietly and Adam’s heart stopped once more.
‘How much?’
Deacon’s gaze told Adam that it was too serious to say out loud. ‘The medics are a minute out. Don’t move her other hand. I think it’s broken.’
‘I can hear you, y’know,’ Meredith whispered and opened her eyes. ‘You’re okay,’ she whispered. ‘Tell me that you’re okay. He stabbed you. I saw him stab you.’
He was lowered to his knees, aware of Isenberg and Trip stepping back to give him some privacy. Leaning into the SUV, he rested against the rear bumper, cupping her non-injured cheek. ‘I’m more okay than you are.’
‘I’m good,’ she said lightly, but it was so forced that it hurt him to hear it. ‘The doctors’ll stitch me up and send me back into the game.’
Adam brushed a kiss against her temple. ‘As long as the game is checkers or dominoes. Nothing more dangerous than that.’
‘Deal.’ Her eyelids fluttered closed. ‘Tell Papa that I’m okay. That I love him.’
Fear speared him. She sounded so weak and her words had slurred. ‘You’ll tell him yourself,’ Adam said firmly. ‘Meredith? Meredith!’
She wasn’t answering. She wasn’t conscious. His fear spread and a look up at Deacon told him the feeling was well founded.
‘Dani’s on her way to the hospital,’ Deacon said. ‘She’ll meet us in the ER and walk us through whatever the doctor says and does.’ He gripped Adam’s shoulder. ‘Meredith’s still here. And so am I. Don’t forget that.’
A sob rose in his throat and he battled it back. ‘I won’t.’
Thirty-one
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Tuesday 22 December, 10.15 A.M.
‘You need to go home, son, and get some rest.’