by Karen Rose
Everything should have happened, but there had been nothing. No explosion, no shattering glass, no flying debris. Nothing had happened.
Throwing the SUV back into park, he grabbed his binoculars and focused on Andy once again. The kid was still pointing his gun at Meredith, who pointed hers right back. He was still alive. Goddammit. He checked the number he’d dialed. It was correct. He dialed it again, to be sure. Still . . . nothing.
“Fuck,” he muttered. Through the radio he could barely hear the kid’s whispers. He’ll kill her. Andy was about to spill all to Meredith Fallon. Sonofabitch.
“Hell no.” That was not going to happen. He reached for the rifle he’d stored under the seat, ignoring Linnea’s shocked gasp from the backseat.
“No!” she cried. “You can’t.”
But he could and he would. No more loose ends.
Chapter Two
Mount Carmel, Ohio
Saturday, December 19, 3:55 p.m.
“A smidge to the left. It’s too far to the right.”
From his perch atop the ladder, Adam Kimble gave the shiny aluminum-foil-covered star a critical look, then glared down at Wendi Cullen, the petite director of Mariposa House, where victims of sexual trafficking came to heal. Wendi looked like Tinker Bell, but Adam knew that she had a spine of steel and a will of solid titanium.
He bit back a wince of mild alarm because he knew she was hiding fierce annoyance behind a perky smile. He was a seasoned homicide detective, thirteen years with Cincinnati PD. He shouldn’t be so intimidated by Tinker Bell, Adam thought sourly. Yet he was.
He hadn’t asked her why she was so annoyed with him because he knew why and he really wanted to avoid that conversation. Because Wendi was right.
I’m a selfish sonofabitch, he thought wearily, and not for the first time. Not the first time that day or even the first time that hour. He thought it every time he came to this house, where he could see her everywhere he looked, even though she wasn’t here today.
Which was why he was. He always made sure to schedule his volunteer hours at Mariposa House for whenever Meredith Fallon would be somewhere else. Anywhere else.
It hurt, not seeing her face, hearing her voice. But it hurt so much more to see the look in her green eyes. Disappointment. Regret. And shame. The last one sent a spike into his chest every damn time. She had no reason to feel ashamed. She’d done nothing wrong.
It was me. It’s all on me. Every failure, every weakness, every regret. And he had so many. But he also had a plan to make it right. To make himself into the man she deserved.
A plan he did not intend to share with her ferociously formidable friend while he stood on a sixteen-foot ladder, adjusting the Christmas tree topper that had already covered his hands with glitter.
The girls who’d made the star had been quite liberal with the glitter. He wiped his hand on the seat of his jeans, wishing they’d been a little more liberal with the glue.
“A second ago it was a smidge to the right,” he grumbled.
“That’s because a second ago it was too far to the left,” Wendi told him sharply, and Adam wondered if she was simply giving him a hard time.
His suspicions were confirmed by twin snorts from the two men preparing the trimming for the fifteen-foot Christmas tree that dominated the living room of the old house that now sheltered twenty young women in various stages of recovery and renewal. Stone O’Bannion was stringing popcorn and Diesel Kennedy was sorting through boxes of antique ornaments that had been discovered in the attic of the old house.
Both men worked for the Ledger, the local newspaper. A year ago Adam would have sneered at the thought that he’d be in the same room with reporters unless he was arresting them, but it had been a crazy year and now he counted these two men among his closest friends. They’d worked together for months, swinging hammers, sanding, painting, and polishing until this old house had been transformed from a spooky old mansion harboring the memories of past victims of abuse into a shiny, warm, welcoming haven.
Adam had thrown himself into the work because it was necessary and important, because he’d needed the distraction of physical labor, but mostly he’d done it for Meredith. Because she and Wendi had devoted their lives to the residents of Mariposa House—girls and young women who weren’t ready to be streamed into foster care. Victims of brutal sexual abuse or rescued from the sex trade, the girls ranged in age from nine to eighteen, but most were in their teens. This place was a halfway house, every aspect engineered to transition the residents back into society.
He could see Meredith’s touch in every corner of the house. It was as homey as her own. He wanted to give her her dream, even if he couldn’t give her anything else. Not yet.
He jolted back to attention at the lazy amusement in Stone’s voice. “The star itself is fine, Kimble,” he said. “The real problem is the tree. It would look better moved by the window. What do you think, Wendi? Don’t you want him to drag the tree over there?”
“No,” Adam answered firmly before Wendi could get that thought into her head.
“No,” Wendi said at the same time, distinctly unamused.
Stone laughed. “Oh, come on. It’ll be perfect! Think how it’ll catch the light.”
“Shut up, O’Bannion.” But Adam’s words were all for show. Stone was laughing and it looked good on him. The guy had nearly died from gunshot wounds back in the summer and still hadn’t fully regained his health or stamina. His balance was unsteady at times, which was one of the reasons why Adam was on top of the ladder and not Stone.
Diesel lifted his eyes to Adam’s perch. “I think you should have listened to me before climbing the ladder to fix what ain’t broken,” he said, raising one dark brow in challenge. He’d been the one to originally mount the tree topper.
“It was crooked,” Adam insisted.
“Of course it was,” Diesel said. “It’s crooked because it was handmade by kids. It’s okay that it’s crooked. Not everything has to be perfect.” He eyed Wendi cautiously. “If you want a perfect star, go buy one from the store.”
With his extensive body art, shiny bald head, and pierced ear, Diesel Kennedy looked like a sinister Mr. Clean. At six-six, he towered over them, scary looking as hell. Until he smiled. Then the small children he coached in the pee wee leagues would run to hug him. He was a good guy wrapped up in a thug’s skin.
Wendi sighed. “Not using it would hurt the younger girls’ feelings. If you’d just—”
“It’s fine, Wen. Leave it alone.”
The growl came from behind him and Adam looked over his shoulder to where FBI Special Agent Parrish Colby sat on the floor cross-legged, fighting to untangle a string of lights. The lights were definitely winning. The bulldog of a man seemed the least likely match for the pixielike Wendi, but they’d been a bona fide couple since summer.
“You’re not even looking at the star,” Wendi protested.
Wearing a red Santa cap and tangled up in the lights, Colby looked like a disgruntled, pugilistic elf who’d gotten into way too many fights with the other elves. The man looked up at Wendi with an exasperated eye roll. “It’s fine,” he repeated. “The fucking star is fine.”
“Parrish,” Wendi scolded. “Language.”
“They’re not here,” Colby shot back, referring to the girls.
It was true. Through a miracle of planning, all the girls who lived at Mariposa House were somewhere else for the day, leaving the house empty so that Wendi could decorate and wrap presents. She’d recruited volunteers, both to chaperone the girls and to decorate.
Adam’s cousin Deacon had been roped into chaperoning with his fiancée, Faith. Better them than me. Setting up the tree and hanging lights was far more his speed. And it allowed him to help out at a time when Meredith would definitely not be here.
Staff and the other volunteers had taken some of the girls h
And their oldest resident, Mallory Martin, was registering for GED classes. He also knew that Meredith had taken her there, because Special Agent Deacon Novak, his partner on the Major Case Enforcement Squad, had told him so.
Deacon hadn’t shared this in an official capacity, however. He’d shared it as Adam’s first cousin and oldest friend, having heard it from his fiancée. Deacon was engaged to Dr. Faith Corcoran, who was Meredith’s friend and fellow therapist in the pediatric and adolescent psychology practice that Meredith had started from scratch.
They were all intertwined, Adam’s friends and family. It made things awkward at times, everyone knowing everyone else’s business.
Well, not everything. There were things Adam kept even from Deacon, because . . . I don’t want him to know. Because I’m ashamed.
Secrets aside, the one thing that had united them all was the need to provide safe haven for the girls who lived here at Mariposa House. Guiding them in building a life was their ultimate goal, so the GED class was a huge personal milestone for Mallory.
And for me. Because he, Deacon, and the rest of the Major Case Enforcement Squad had taken down the vile piece of shit who’d assaulted Mallory and many others. It had been a rare win and he savored it.
For once Adam hadn’t been too late. He hadn’t failed. And kids were alive who might not otherwise be. He’d held on to that truth in the months since. Sometimes he held on harder, like at three a.m. when the ones he hadn’t saved haunted his nightmares and he woke drenched in sweat, his heart racing and his throat burning from his screams.
And needing a fucking drink so damn bad he thought he might die from it.
The remembered need from early that morning became urgent and present, hitting him so hard that his vision went momentarily wavy and his body trembled. He clutched the edge of the ladder, the sharp press of the metal against his skin providing just enough pain to disrupt the sudden craving that he’d nearly allowed to ruin his life.
He closed his eyes, willing his thoughts to detour away from the well-worn path lined by the faces of every victim he’d ever failed. Forced himself to see instead the faces of the victims he’d saved. There weren’t as many of those. But they existed. They lived.
So no. You do not need a drink. You might want one. But you don’t need one.
He drew a breath and focused on the clean pine scent of the tree he and Diesel had set up in this house. This house that was a safe haven for the victims who had been rescued.
He drew another breath, his body and mind back under his control, and was relieved to find he’d been out of it for only a few seconds because Wendi was still scolding Colby.
“It doesn’t matter if the girls are here or not,” she was saying. “You leave your bad language and habits outside. You know that.”
“Sorry,” Colby grunted.
A brief silence was followed by Wendi’s chuckle. “No, you’re not.”
Colby’s answering chuckle sounded like a rusty saw blade. “Maybe a little.”
Adam glanced over his shoulder, watching Wendi drop a quick kiss on Colby’s mouth. “You’re going to strangle yourself,” she told him fondly, tugging at the strings of lights that wound around his arms, legs, and even his neck. The resulting smile that bent Colby’s lips was startlingly sweet. Worshipful, even.
Adam abruptly turned away, ignoring the lump in his throat and denying the fact that his eyes stung. That, he thought, is what I want. That tender moment he’d just witnessed. Except he didn’t want just one moment. He wanted a lifetime of them. A kiss and a smile from the someone who cared about only him. Even if he didn’t deserve it.
Because he didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve her. Not yet.
But I will. I just need a little more time, that’s all.
Adam’s restless gaze swept the room, freezing on Diesel’s stricken expression as he also watched Colby and Wendi. Diesel lurched to his feet, muttering that he’d left something in his truck. He was out the front door before anyone could say a word.
Well, shit. It was pretty common knowledge among their circle of friends that Diesel had a thing for Adam’s cousin Dani, but hadn’t done a blessed thing about it. With a sigh, Adam descended the ladder to find Stone watching him, a concerned look on his face.
“You okay?” Stone asked. “You looked like you got dizzy or something up there.”
Dizzy. Yeah. It was an easy out and Adam grabbed at it. “I think I need something to eat. It’s been a long time since breakfast.” He shrugged. “Blood sugar must have dipped.”
“Then eat, stupid.” Stone shook his head. “I brought a ton of food.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “And there’s beer in Diesel’s truck. Just don’t tell the warden.”
Adam flinched. He couldn’t help it. He shoved down the voice that echoed through his mind. It’s only beer. Just one won’t hurt. But one became two, then a six-pack, and before he knew it he was waking up hungover and missing hours of memory.
Adam had opened his mouth to give his standard answer—No, thank you, he was on call this weekend. If a body popped up, he’d have to go to work.
But Wendi jumped back into the conversation. “I heard you,” she snapped, still sitting on Colby’s lap. “Dammit, Stone. You can’t have beer here.”
“There’s no beer in here,” Stone said. “It’s in the truck. Outside.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Wendi sprang to her feet, fists on her hips. “And don’t give me that look. You know the rules. You’re just being an asshole.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right.” Stone managed to appear contrite for all of two seconds before a smirk quirked his lips. “But you swore.” He held up two fingers. “Twice.”
“Ffffff . . .” Wendi stifled another swear word and lightly smacked Colby’s arm when he choked back a laugh. “Hush, you. Fine, whatever. Take a break for a snack, but no beer. And don’t dawdle. It’s already four o’clock, and we haven’t started on the outside lights. I’d like the outside lights ready for the girls when they come home, and it’ll be dark soon.”
Adam blinked. He hadn’t realized it was so late. He’d specifically timed his tasks so that he could be gone before Meredith returned with Mallory. A sense of panic skittered through him. “I . . . I can’t stay much longer. I can come back later.”
Wendi frowned, her chin lifting in clear warning. “We’re not finished.”
“I told you I had to leave by three,” Adam said.
She skewered him with a glare. “Yeah, you did. Because you’re a coward.”
Adam set his jaw, bracing himself for the rebuke he deserved, but still hoping he could avoid it. “If I am or not, it’s not your business.”
From the corner of his eye he saw Stone settle into a chair and grab the bowl of popcorn, his expression one of rapt fascination that the bastard didn’t even try to hide.
Wendi’s approach was quick and furious. She stopped when the toes of her shoes hit Adam’s. “You’re right. It’s not my business, except when it affects my friend.”
Her friend Meredith, who he’d wanted since he’d first laid eyes on her. The face he pictured when the cravings got so bad that his chest tightened until he couldn’t breathe.
Colby sighed wearily. “Wendi, honey. You promised her you wouldn’t. You promised me you wouldn’t.”
Anger flashed in Wendi’s eyes. “I know,” she said to Colby without breaking eye contact with Adam. “But I can tell him that she’s not going to be back for another two hours at least. She took Mallory for an early supper downtown so they could see the fireworks.”
Adam’s panic dissipated and he drew a breath. He’d known about the supper. Had heard Wendi mention it earlier that week. Had known Meredith wouldn’t be back for a while. He’d wanted a buffer, but it didn’t look like he’d get as big of one as he’d hoped.
“Fine. I’ll do the outside lights.” He backed up a step, but Wendi matched it, staying with him, tears abruptly filling her eyes.
“She cries, Adam,” Wendi whispered hoarsely. “She’s sad and lonely because she’s waiting for you. If you don’t want her, let her go. Let her have a life with someone else.”
His chest was abruptly concrete. Hard, heavy, and immovable. No. He wanted to say the word, but he couldn’t make his mouth function. No. He couldn’t let her go. He couldn’t let her have a life with someone else. She’s mine. Mine, goddammit.
Air. He needed air. He shoved his breath out, sucked in another that felt like broken glass. He spun around and stumbled through the front door, just as Diesel had minutes before. God, aren’t we fucking peas in a pod?
The outside air was cold enough to shock him into drawing another breath, dry and cold. Bending at the waist, he braced his hands on his thighs and tried not to throw up.
Mine, mine, mine. The steady chant inside his head helped him regulate his breathing. Panic attack. He recognized it now that it was over. He hadn’t had one in months.
Not since the last time he’d had to walk away from Meredith Fallon.
She’s sad and lonely.
But I’m not ready. Not good enough. Not yet.
Cincinnati, Ohio
Saturday, December 19, 4:00 p.m.
“Let me help you,” Meredith said once again. Sensing the boy wavering, she held her breath, waiting until his gun hand opened wide and the weapon fell to the floor. His shoulders sagged as a sob tore from his throat. Tears ran down his face.
“I’m sorry, Lin.” He fumbled with the zipper of his coat. “He’ll kill her. He’ll kill her.” He looked up, his ravaged eyes meeting Meredith’s. “Get down. Run, for God’s sake. Run.”
The glass window shattered. And the boy’s head . . . exploded.
Meredith froze in shock, staring as the café erupted into screams and overturned tables. Already on the floor, Mallory grabbed Meredith’s jacket and yanked her down.
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