by Karen Rose
“He’s headed this way,” Trip said quietly.
“Yeah.” Adam glanced at Isenberg and raised a brow in question. “Kyle?” he asked. She nodded, so he continued. “Kyle works the desk at Lamarr Hall, a dorm at Kiesler University. He said a man came looking for Shane last night. He was very big and threatening, and Kyle hit the panic button under the desk. The campus police have a photo of this guy from the security cameras.”
“Give me a minute to call the university police,” Mitchell said, and rolled her chair out of camera range.
“What else did Kyle and Shane say?” Reagan asked, while his partner made the call.
Isenberg quickly relayed most of what Shane had shared, holding back the murder that Andy had committed and that Shane had covered for. “There might be a third person, a young woman, who was in their tight little circle of friends. We’ve put her photo out on the wire as a person of interest, possibly missing.”
Mitchell rolled her chair back into view. “The university police are sending us their surveillance video. I was listening about the missing girl, so let’s move on. What’s this have to do with Broderick Voss?”
“Voss has been stalking the target of today’s attack,” Isenberg told them.
“And Voss connects to Narcotics?” Mitchell pushed.
“Maybe,” Isenberg said. “His wife says she caught him with illegal drugs and barely legal prostitutes in their home, when their six-year-old daughter was present. The wife got slapped around when she confronted him, so she took their daughter and went to live with her sister.”
“Mrs. Voss has tried to get her daughter psychological therapy,” Trip added, “but we believe Voss scared off the first two therapists and wants to scare off Dr. Fallon—today’s target. Mrs. Voss told us that her daughter’s been seeing Dr. Fallon for the last few weeks.”
Both Chicago cops’ faces had darkened. “If it’s true, that child has to be keeping one hell of a secret that Mr. Voss doesn’t want getting out,” Mitchell said, her eyes gone narrow and steely. “He was willing to kill a restaurant full of people today and he did kill two innocent people tonight.”
“Seven actually, including Andy Gold,” Adam said, his stomach giving a nasty lurch as he remembered the scene of the fire. “The house where Andy rented a room was burned to the ground earlier tonight. The family of four who lived there didn’t make it.” He swallowed hard. “Mother, father, two kids. One still in a crib.”
Beside him, Trip sighed heavily. “I’ll never forget that sight,” he said quietly.
Adam gave Trip’s shoulder a hard squeeze. “I’d be worried if you could. But, um, make sure you deal, okay?” he added in a nearly soundless whisper. “Don’t do what I did.”
One side of Trip’s mouth quirked up and he nodded once, sadly. “Understood.”
On the screen, a muscle ticked in Reagan’s cheek, grown taut with unhidden fury. “This Voss needs to be put down.”
“Easy,” Mitchell murmured, patting Reagan’s clenched fist with unmistakable affection. “Papa Bear here has three daughters of his own. His youngest is still in a crib.” Her tone was mild, but her eyes remained as angry as Reagan’s. “My son Jeremy’s fourteen, but he witnessed his birth mother being abused before she was murdered. It took years of therapy before he was . . . healed, at least. I hope this Dr. Fallon can help Voss’s little girl.”
“Fallon’s good,” Adam said simply. “She’s helped a lot of kids.”
“How does she connect to yesterday’s victim?” Reagan asked, flattening his hands on the table, palms down. His eyes remained angry. “To Andy Gold, I mean.”
Adam was glad to see that Reagan’s anger hadn’t subsided, because neither had his own. “We don’t know.” He lifted his eyes to look out the window again, found her smiling at Hanson, who’d taken the seat next to her. She was giving him back something small and square, something that Hanson put back into his wallet. A photo. Adam thought he knew which one. He had the other copy in an album in his apartment. He returned his gaze to the two detectives on the screen. “But I think it’s safe to assume that our cases are connected. We’ll keep you up to date as we investigate.”
Mitchell rubbed her eyes. “I read Tiffany’s texts on her iPad. She’d told her best friend—we assumed they were best friends from their text history, anyway—that Kyle told her that he’d bought her something special for Christmas. That he had an important question for her. She’d written ‘Tiffany Davis’ over and over on a notepad on her desk.”
“Oh no.” Adam slumped, as did Isenberg and Trip. “She was expecting a proposal.”
“That was our take,” Mitchell said sadly. “We thought you should know.”
Adam rubbed his tired eyes. “Thanks. Dammit, this day has sucked ass.”
Isenberg gave his knee a quick pat. “Maybe have Dr. Fallon ready. Just in case.”
Both Reagan and Mitchell straightened. “Your target?” Reagan asked. “Why?”
Recognizing her slip, Isenberg winced a little, but answered. “Dr. Fallon is one of our consulting psychologists. Highly respected by anyone who’s worked with her. Our plan was to keep her far from this investigation, for obvious reasons, but Shane demanded to meet the woman who his friend had tried to shoot. She was willing and established an instant rapport. Her specialty is children and adolescents who’ve suffered emotional trauma. Shane shared more with her than we would have anticipated.”
Mitchell’s eyes narrowed once again. “What have you not told us?”
Isenberg sighed. “It might not be related to this case. There was a crime committed in the foster home where the three kids lived. It was integral to their becoming . . . family. He was a minor at the time.” She looked at the Chicago cops directly. “I don’t know you. I don’t want to risk this kid’s future when it may have nothing to do with this case.”
Reagan and Mitchell gave each other a long, long look, communicating the way long-standing partners often did. “All right,” Reagan finally said. “We don’t know you, either, so . . . I’m not going to say we’ll trust you. But we’ll work the case based on what we currently have. For now. You’ll share this information if it becomes germane?”
“The very next second,” Isenberg said soberly.
Trip cleared his throat. “I suppose this might be a bad time to ask if you’ll send us your crime scene photos,” he said with his aw-shucks grin.
Reagan’s chuckle was deep and rich. “Well, yeah, your timing is pretty bad, but I’ll tell you the same thing I would have told you before you admitted to withholding information.” He sounded genuine. Adam wanted to believe the two cops were as genuine as they seemed. His gut said they were.
“Which is?” Adam prompted.
“That we have to run it by our boss,” Mitchell said. “If Lieutenant Murphy okays it, then you’ll have them”—her lips curved into a reluctant smile—“the very next second.”
Isenberg smiled, and it changed her whole face. Made her look years younger. Made Adam wonder how old she actually was. Made him wonder what had happened in her life to make her look so . . . well, old the rest of the time. “Fair enough,” she said. “Thank you.”
Mitchell nodded. “My husband was raised in foster care. He was one of the lucky ones. He got a good family first thing, and they adopted him. I take it that Shane Baird’s experience was not as good.”
“You take it correctly,” Adam told her. “Thanks. We’ll be in touch.”
Ending the call, Isenberg turned to Trip. “What did you really find at the lab?”
“Andy Gold’s fingerprints came up in AFIS,” Trip said. “His legal name was Jason Coltrain. He was born in Indianapolis. Was arrested for the murder of a man named Cody Walton. Never charged. The victim’s wife was found guilty and is serving a fifteen-year sentence.”
“That’s consistent with what Shane told us,” Adam said, and he
told Trip the rest of Shane’s story of the murder, Linnie’s rape, and how Andy had been set free and made his escape with Linnie Holmes.
Trip’s eyes widened and he looked at Meredith, who was intent on whatever she was writing. No, Adam thought, she’s coloring. Shading whatever she’d drawn with the pink pen in her hand.
Of course she’s coloring. But Adam kept his smile inside, because it would have been too fond and Isenberg would have known he was compromised in a hot second.
“She got Shane to confess to covering up a murder?” Trip asked, wide-eyed.
“She did,” Isenberg said. “I think Shane wanted to tell, but she made it easier for him. What else do you know, Triplett? Because the lab could have just called you with the fingerprint results.”
“We took the bomb apart.”
“When?” Adam asked, surprised.
“When you were questioning the restaurant hostess.”
“The team did?” Adam pressed, wondering how extensive Trip’s skills really were. “Or you did?”
Trip shrugged. “I did,” he said, adding quickly, “but I told you it was a simple device. Anyway, Latent got a partial print, one that wasn’t Andy Gold’s. So far it doesn’t match anything in AFIS.”
“But if Chicago comes up with something at their new crime scene . . . ,” Isenberg said.
Trip grinned. “Exactly.”
She rubbed her hands together. “What else you got?”
“Finally,” Trip drawled, “saving the best for last, we got a ballistic match on the bullet that killed Andy Gold. The same rifle was used in a robbery in 1988.”
Isenberg’s expectant glee became a frown. “That was thirty years ago.”
“But we may be able to trace the rifle’s ownership,” Adam said. “It’s possible.”
“Zimmerman’s already got someone on it,” Trip said. “That’s all I got.”
“Me, too.” Adam checked the time on his phone and inwardly groaned. “I’m going to drop Meredith at the safe house, then I’ll grab some sleep myself.”
“Gather back here by noon,” Isenberg told him. “We need to figure out what we have and where we go from there.”
“Oh shit,” Adam said, the sudden burden of dread stopping him in his tracks. “Kyle. We need to tell him about Tiffany and then we need to find a safe place for them to stay. Whoever killed Tiffany and her mother is clearly looking for Shane. And he’s on his way back to Cincinnati. I think we can assume he’d kill Kyle to get to Shane. Neither is safe.”
Isenberg sighed. “I’ll find them a place.”
“What about the condo?” Trip asked. “Can’t they stay there, too? At least for tonight. We’ve already got a duty roster set. We can take precautions. Maybe get an additional guard for their door and make sure they don’t know where we’re taking them so they can’t share the condo’s location.”
Adam considered it. “They got no priors. They don’t seem dangerous, but I’m not taking chances. Kate’s on inside duty tonight.” He would be, too, right outside Meredith’s room, but if he needed to leave for any reason, he wanted the young men contained should they be more than they appeared. “Lynda, if you can get me a uniform to stand outside their bedroom door, it’ll work.”
Isenberg nodded wearily. “I’ll take care of it.” She checked her watch. “Given that you have to get Kyle and Shane settled—”
“And eat,” Trip inserted.
Isenberg looked amused. “And eat,” she allowed. “Be back by three. Get some sleep, gentlemen.” She glanced at the window where Hanson and Meredith still sat at side-by-side desks. Hanson was fiddling with his phone and Meredith continued to color with a focus Adam both envied and hated. He hated that she’d needed the solace of her coloring tonight, wishing Meredith was home in her soft bed, safe and happy. With me.
“Adam?” Isenberg’s voice broke into his thoughts and he looked at her with lifted brows, hoping his eyes hid the truth of his feelings.
“Boss?” he replied.
“Tell Detective Hanson to give me a minute or two. I’ll get that extra guard before I brief him on Broderick Voss and the college hookers.”
“Will do.”
“And please tell Kyle how very sorry I am.”
He nodded briskly, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat. “Yeah. I will.”
Chapter Fourteen
Cincinnati, Ohio
Sunday, December 20, 6:00 a.m.
“Do you want me to go in with you?” Meredith asked Adam as she walked between him and Trip toward the interview room where Kyle and Shane waited.
“Not at first. Watch from the observation room. I’ll motion to you if I need you.”
He said the last words gruffly and all she could think of was that moment in her TV room. You are what’s kept me going for the last godawful year.
God. All these months he’d suffered. Alone.
I didn’t know. I hate that you’re hurting. I’m mad that you stayed away, that you needed me but didn’t trust me enough to tell me. I needed you, too.
“How much are we going to tell them about how Tiffany and her mother died?” Trip asked, his deep voice a quiet rumble in the deserted hallway.
“That it was quick,” Adam said grimly. “That she didn’t suffer.”
Trip sighed. “So we lie?”
Because from what little the two had told her, Meredith knew the mother had lived long enough to dial 911. Bleeding out and in agony, her last act had been to get help for her daughter.
“Yeah.” Adam bit the words out. “We lie like fucking rugs.”
“For now,” Meredith said softly. “Go light on the details. They’ll ask for more when they’re ready.”
“Will they ever be ready?” Trip whispered and Meredith’s heart broke a little more.
She patted his massive shoulder. “Some people never are. And that’s okay. These guys . . . God. They’re so young.” Something in the set of his mouth set off an alarm in her mind. “Trip? Is this your first notification?”
He kept his gaze stoically forward. “Yeah.”
Adam’s sigh bounced off the walls. “God, Trip. I’m sorry. They’re never easy, but this one’s . . .” He sighed again. “I’ll do the talking. You be ready if either of them detonates.”
“Emotionally,” Meredith added when Trip’s spine went abruptly stiff. “Not like with a real bomb. They’re both wound super tight.”
They’d arrived at the interview room where a uniformed officer stood guard beside the closed door. The officer took one look at their faces and his own fell.
“They’ve been asking,” the officer said. “Every three minutes. Kyle tried to make a break for it once. Said he needed to get outside to get an Internet signal.”
“How did you get him to stay put?” Adam asked.
“I didn’t. Shane did. Dragged him bodily, but Kyle let him.”
With a nod, Adam opened the observation room door for Meredith. On the other side of the glass, Kyle paced frantically. Shane sat on the floor, his back to the wall, knees to his chest, his expression one of exhausted, quiet anguish.
“Jesus,” Adam whispered, his throat working convulsively, his hands fisted at his sides. Letting her instincts guide, she leaned into him, resting her forehead against his upper arm, his muscle so tight it felt like she leaned against stone.
He shuddered out a breath, tilting his head so that his cheek rested on the top of her head. “I do not want to do this.”
“I’ll go in with you. For you.” She found his hand, gave it a brief squeeze. “It’s all right to need someone, Adam. It’s all right to need me.”
He stiffened for a second, then drew a huge breath. “I have to do this now. I can’t keep those kids waiting any longer.”
She stepped back and followed the two into the room, where Kyle froze, midpace, then sp
un on his heel to face them, his face registering instant understanding. And horror. “No.” He staggered back a few steps, shaking his head. “No. No.”
Shane lifted his head from his knees in slow motion. His gaze locked with Meredith’s, then his eyes closed in weary acceptance.
Adam took a breath. “This is my partner, Special Agent Triplett. I’m sorry. Tiffany is dead.”
Kyle was still shaking his head. “She went to her mother’s house. She was safe.”
Adam squared his shoulders. “Her mother is also dead.”
“No.” Kyle backed up until he hit the wall, then lunged at Adam, fists swinging. “No.”
Trip started to intervene, but Adam caught Kyle and dragged the young man close, wrapping his arms around him, holding him upright when Kyle’s knees buckled. Kyle’s fists banged against Adam’s back weakly, his tortured sobs the only sound in the room.
Adam held on tight, his hand visibly shaking as he smoothed it over Kyle’s hair, then cupped the back of the younger man’s head, holding him against his shoulder. His own shoulders sagging, he tipped his head up so that he stared at the ceiling. “I’m so sorry,” he said quietly. “So damn sorry.”
“She was supposed to be safe,” Kyle sobbed. “Safe.”
“I know,” Adam murmured. “I know. It’s not your fault this happened.”
Shane’s head hit the wall hard, the crack audible. “It’s mine.”
Trip went to him, kneeling at his side. “No,” he said firmly. “Not your fault either.”
“Why?” The single word exploded from Kyle, but was muffled by Adam’s shoulder. “She was sweet. Tiny. Did he hurt her?” His voice dropped to a whimper. “Please tell me he didn’t hurt her.”
“It was quick,” Adam said roughly. “She would have felt no pain.”
Kyle choked on another sob, his body shaking pathetically, his fists now clenching Adam’s suit coat. Adam continued to hold him, letting him cry.
