Edge of Darkness

by Karen Rose

She hugged his arm again. “Give Adam a chance. He wears a mask, too. But under it is a . . . really nice heart.”

  He kissed her temple. “For you. I’d do almost anything for you, you know.”

  “Then I’m going for broke. I have videos of Mom and Dad. I haven’t been able to watch them. Not in all this time. Will you watch them with me? Next week? On the day?”

  On the anniversary of the day their lives changed.

  His chest expanded, held, then fell. “Yes. But, um, maybe not with Kimble around. I don’t think I can without a stiff drink and I don’t want to drink in front of him.”

  “Okay,” she whispered, understanding.

  Behind them, a voice cleared. They whipped around to find the man in question standing there awkwardly.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Adam said gruffly. “I need to leave. We know where Linnie is. I wanted to make sure you were okay before I went to get her.”

  Meredith released her grandfather, standing uncertainly. He’d clearly overheard something, although she wasn’t sure how much. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Just a minute,” he said. “We don’t want her to leave where she is.”

  Together, they went to stand by Isenberg’s office window. “Are you all right?” she asked. “I don’t know how much you heard, but Papa means well.”

  “I don’t care that you were talking about me. Are you all right?”

  She stared up at him. “Yes. Why?”

  “Your parents died, right?”

  She swallowed. “Yes. It’ll be seven years next week.”

  “Is that why everyone comes to . . . support you at the holidays?”

  “Partly, yes. But that’s not a conversation I want to have here, if that’s okay. Later?”

  “Yes.” He leaned a little closer. “Wish it was later already. I really need to hold you.”

  “I wouldn’t mind it either. But I’m okay. Are you?”

  “I am. Isenberg says she’s going to observe you when you interview Penny Voss. She has some photos that I’d like Penny to see, just to see if any of them look familiar.”

  “Of course.”

  “Okay. I have to go. I’ll be back soon.” He started walking backward, toward the elevator. “Kate and Trip are on their way in from Mariposa House. They’ll figure out how to get you all back to the safe house.”

  “Thank you. Adam,” she called when he turned to go. “Be careful.”

  His smile was blinding. “I will. Because, you know. Later.”

  He disappeared into the elevator and not even her grandfather’s arched brows could wipe away her own smile.

  Cincinnati, Ohio

  Sunday, December 20, 5:45 p.m.

  Linnea had stayed out far longer than she’d planned. Getting a weapon was harder than she’d thought it would be. Andy had given her the switchblade that she’d left in his arm. Wish I’d stabbed him in the heart.

  Andy had made everything look so easy. It had taken her hours to find someone to sell her a gun on the street and had suffered near heart failure when the dealer she’d chosen had pointed the gun at her.

  But he’d just been “kidding.” Or so he said. More likely that he didn’t want to have to explain why the dead girl on his street corner had keeled over from a heart attack.

  Which didn’t sound like a bad way to go. It would be over with. No muss, no fuss. Because she was in for a shitload of that if she did manage to survive the next few days.

  Not that her body would withstand too much suffering. She was too weak and she knew it. And now, she was exhausted and cold. She hoped the nuns would still let her in. She had no idea what time it was, but it had to be close to six. It was dark already and—

  She turned the corner and stopped abruptly, her mouth falling open in shock. What the actual fuck? The church was surrounded with cops. Four squad cars lined up on the street. Busted. But how? She’d been so careful not to show her face. Then she saw a familiar face and had her answer.

  Dr. Dani stood off to the side, her arms crossed over her chest. A woman and a man, both in black wool coats, stood on the stoop, having a conversation with Sister Jeanette, whose posture mirrored Dr. Dani’s. The nun was shaking her head no, very emphatically.

  Dr. Dani had given her up, but Sister Jeanette was preventing the cops from entering. Thank you, Sister. But fuck you, Dr. Dani. How stupid was I to trust you?

  Linnea took a step back. She’d have to find somewhere else to sleep. Hopefully somewhere warm, because it was going to drop into single digits tonight. She’d prefer not to freeze to death before she killed him.

  She spun around and slammed into a brick wall. Except it wasn’t brick. It was solid muscle. Her heart stopped. Just . . . stopped. She looked up. And up.

  She couldn’t breathe. Just . . . couldn’t breathe. Her hand, still shoved in her pocket, found the gun all on its own.

  Butch smiled down at her, terrifyingly. “Well, hello there,” he drawled. “We’ve been looking for you all over the place. The boss is going to be so happy to have you safe and sound.” His grin broadened, showing off his crooked teeth . . . and suddenly it was Friday night again and he was hurting her and she couldn’t make him stop.

  Except now she could. She didn’t break eye contact as she drew the gun from her pocket and pulled the trigger. Again. And again. And once more because he was still fucking standing.

  He reached for her, but she shoved him hard and he went down, landing on his knees. She edged back, her ears ringing because the gun was loud.

  People were screaming. She could hear them . . . barely. She took another step back, staring at Butch, who looked . . . pissed. And he wasn’t staying down. He was getting back up.

  The gun she held in both hands was shaking. Because her hands were shaking. She was shaking, head to toe. As she watched in horror, he gritted his teeth and was lurching to his feet when a sharp crack penetrated the fog in her brain. Then Butch’s head exploded.

  Just like Andy’s.

  More screams. People were running.

  You should, too. The cops will come. They’ll take you away. Run.

  Shoving the gun in her pocket, Linnea turned and fled.

  Cincinnati, Ohio

  Sunday, December 20, 5:48 p.m.

  The phone in his pocket buzzed with Mike’s text alert. He’d better have good news. Surreptitiously, he checked the incoming text. Finished off Butch, just like u told me to do. Girl got away.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered. He’d told Butch where to look for Linnea and then he’d told Mike where to look for Butch. Butch should have killed Linnea, and Mike should have shot Butch from the rooftop where he’d told his uncle to lie in wait.

  At least Butch was no longer a liability. But Linnea was still out there, dammit.

  A second set of texts came through from Mike. She was armed. She shot him before I could. Had a bead on her, but Butch decided to be a hero and stand up to grab her one more time. Hit him first instead of her and she took off.

  Find her, he typed back, his thumbs like hammers on his screen.

  Mike’s reply was fast and terse. On it.

  Cincinnati, Ohio

  Sunday, December 20, 5:48 p.m.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. One minute Adam and Scarlett had been arguing with Sister Jeanette. The next, they were running toward gunfire at the end of the block.

  What they found was not pretty. And too damn familiar.

  A man was lying on his back on the sidewalk, legs bent awkwardly beneath him. Blood pooled on the concrete and was spattered against the dirty snow piled against the curb.

  “Shit,” Adam muttered under his breath to Scarlett. “Just like Andy Gold.” Because the victim’s head was partially gone, shot from behind. “Except for that.” He pointed at the blood darkening the victim’s chest and abdomen. “Andy didn’t
have that.”

  He crouched down, shined his Maglite on the man’s face, and swore again as recognition hit him. “Goddammit. It’s Bruiser.”

  “You’re right.” Scarlett huffed a frustrated sigh, then crouched on the other side of the victim, the two of them shielding the body from the small group of people behind them.

  Fortunately, they’d brought four squad cars’ worth of backup in their quest to retrieve Linnie, and those officers were quick to establish a perimeter and string the crime scene tape. The cameras continued flashing, but at least the photos would be grainy and less valuable to the media. Adam had to take satisfaction where he could find it.

  Scarlett tilted Adam’s Maglite so that the beam hit the victim’s chest. “Four shots to the chest and abdomen, fired from in front of him. One shot to the head, fired from behind.”

  “Two different shooters. The head wound came from a rifle.”

  “Large-caliber to the head. Holes in his shirt aren’t that big. Location of the rifle?”

  For the second time that day Adam found himself doing a slow three-sixty, searching for the glint of a rifle, nearly impossible now that darkness had fallen. Not that the shooter was still there, not in the same place, anyway. The bastard was good at getting away fast.

  “Based on the spatter, he was facing east.” Adam scanned the windows and rooftops to the west. He pointed to the most likely building. “Shooter was up there.”

  “We need to get Forensics here, to get us a trajectory.” Scarlett swore under her breath. “If that’s even possible now. He’s been moved. Rolled over.”

  She was right. Bruiser’s right cheek had an even coating of blood that could have only come from resting in the pool of blood currently on the left side of his body. “Shit. It only took us a minute to get here.”

  Most of the people gathered around them were wide-eyed and shocked, though a few appeared avid and greedy. A few wore coats, but a handful were shivering in their shirtsleeves. They must have come out of the various businesses still open along the block.

  “Who moved him?” Adam asked. Nobody answered. He managed to keep his temper. “Did anyone here see anything?”

  “I did.” An older woman came forward, her phone in her hand, but as an offering. “I took a picture when he went down.” She looked at the people behind her with an irate frown. “Because somebody did roll him over, but they ran after taking a picture of . . . his face. I thought you’d need to see how he fell.”

  Sometimes TV crime shows did work in their favor. “That was good thinking, ma’am. I’m Detective Kimble, that’s Detective Bishop over there. You are?”

  “Erinn Brinton, Missus. Two n’s in Erinn,” she said. “I work at the coffee shop.” She indicated the storefront with her head. “I came out to take my smoking break, so I saw it. The one who shot him was a skinny girl. Really skinny, like I wanted to take her home and feed her. But he started it. She was minding her own business and he tried to grab her. I was about to call 911, because she looked scared and he looked mean. But she had a gun in her pocket. Pulled it out and shot him. Sorry, I didn’t think to video it. It happened so fast.”

  “That’s okay,” Adam said and gave her a nod of encouragement, because despite her rapid speech, she was alarmingly pale and trembling. “What happened then?”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “He tried to get up. It was crazy. He was bleeding out of his stomach and . . . But he got up like a robot or a monster or something.” She swayed on her feet and Adam grabbed her elbow to keep her upright.

  He looked over at one of the uniforms. “Can you get this lady a chair, please?” Because Mrs. Brinton did not look good at all. A man in the crowd offered a water bottle.

  “Give it to her,” the man said. “It’s not been opened.”

  “Thank you.” Adam saw the unbroken seal and opened it. Sliding his arm around the old woman to hold her up, he put the bottle in her hands. “Drink, ma’am. Try to breathe.”

  She nodded and visibly got ahold of herself. Her adrenaline rush was clearly wearing off, plus the reality of what she’d just witnessed was sinking in. “I’m okay,” she said, more like she was trying to convince herself. “Anyway, the girl, she got this look of horror on her face and I thought she’d shoot him again. But then he got to his feet, and then, boom.”

  “The last shot,” Adam said.

  “Yeah. Knocked him forward.” She flicked at her phone and a photo appeared—the man lying on his stomach, right cheek to the pavement, one arm outstretched.

  “Did you see where the skinny girl went?” Adam asked gently.

  “She ran toward that corner.” She pointed. “I think she knew him. I’m thinking abusive spouse, and that she got a restraining order, but he ignored it. I’ve seen it happen before.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Why won’t they just listen when the lady says no?”

  “I don’t know, ma’am,” he told her truthfully as an officer brought her a folding chair.

  “I called for an ambulance,” the officer said to Adam quietly. His name tag said KHAN. “Coffee shop owner says she’s got a bad heart.”

  “Thanks.” Adam lowered the woman into the chair. “Look, Mrs. Brinton, I’ve got to go now, but stay here, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, clutching the water bottle.

  “Officer Khan is going to stand nearby. Tell him if you feel worse. I’ll be back, but if the EMTs get here first, you go with them.”

  That she nodded without argument spoke volumes. “What if you need to ask me more questions?”

  “Officer Khan will tell me where to find you. For now, let him help you call a family member or a friend. Then afterward, if you can, I’d like to have that photo.” He gave her his card. “My e-mail and my phone numbers are on here. Call me if you remember anything else.” He patted the woman’s hand, then moved to where Scarlett was just finishing a conversation with one of the uniforms.

  Deacon and Hanson ran up to join them. “What the hell happened?” Deacon asked, frowning at the scene. “Shit. That looks like Bruiser.”

  “It is.” Adam told them what the woman had said. “The really skinny girl sounds like Linnie.”

  Scarlett sighed. “She was on her way back to the shelter, but we got there first.”

  “And scared her away,” Hanson added grimly. “It’ll be harder than ever to find her.”

  “It’s super cold tonight,” Scarlett said. “She’ll have to find shelter somewhere. We’ll check all the usual places.”

  Deacon gave Adam a pitying look. “Isenberg needs to know we lost her.”

  Adam did not look forward to that call. “So does Trip. He’s going to be escorting Shane and the Davises to a safe house. He needs to know that a gunman is still active.”

  “Are Shane and the Davises staying in the condo?” Deacon asked.

  “No. There’s room for Kyle and Shane, but not for the Davises once Meredith and her grandfather go back there tonight. We want to keep Shane and the Davises together. I’ll call Isenberg and Trip. We’ll lock the area down, do a door-to-door search.”

  “I’ll get the search started,” Hanson offered.

  “I’ll call Quincy to do the forensics since he did the Gold scene,” Scarlett said.

  “Thanks.” Stepping away from the scene, Adam dialed Trip.

  “What’s up?” Trip answered. “You bring her in?”

  “No.” Adam told him what happened.

  Trip swore. “So Linnie wounded him, but somebody else killed Tiffany’s killer?”

  “Basically. The head shot was just like Andy Gold’s.”

  “You got the bullet yet?”

  “Not yet. Scarlett’s calling Quincy. Look, if this is the shooter who killed Andy and shot at the van today, you need to make sure you’re covered when you transport Shane and the Davises to that safe house.”

 
“I’ll make sure. How’s Troy?”

  “I’m not sure, but he may still be at the ER. I’ll let you know if I hear anything, and you do the same for me.”

  “Where is Meredith?”

  “I left her with Isenberg. They were going to interview little Penny Voss.”

  “Poor kid,” Trip said sadly. “When I’ve got Shane and the Davises settled, I’ll meet you at Isenberg’s. Hopefully we’ll have a warrant for Voss’s house by then.”

  Adam ended the call, drew a breath, and dialed his boss. This ain’t gonna be fun.

  Cincinnati, Ohio

  Sunday, December 20, 6:05 p.m.

  “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here,” Corinne apologized as she exited the elevator to Isenberg’s floor. “I brought a little of everything.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Meredith told her assistant, taking one of the boxes of art supplies from Corinne’s arms. “I wish I’d known you’d been sitting outside our office for so long. I would have told Isenberg sooner.”

  “Hey, I’m just glad you’re okay.” Corinne’s face lit up when she saw Meredith’s grandfather sitting at the unoccupied desk. “Mr. Fallon! Merry Christmas!”

  Clarke smiled. “Corinne. How are you?”

  “Better now that I know you guys are okay. I got that call from Agent Troy a few hours ago asking me to get the art supplies. He said he’d meet me at the office after he drove you all here to the police station. But then I didn’t hear back, so I called Lieutenant Isenberg and she sent a van for me.” She smiled. “It was Trip, Kate, and Mallory. Oh, and Cap. They’re on their way here from Mariposa House.” Where Corinne also volunteered. “They got held up in the lobby talking to Lieutenant Isenberg. They should be coming up.”

  At that moment the elevator door dinged and Lynda Isenberg strode out, a cellophane-covered piece of pie from the cafeteria in her hand. She was accompanied by Trip, Kate, a tail-wagging Cap, and Mallory.

  Isenberg, Trip, and Kate looked grim, but Meredith didn’t get the chance to ask why because Mallory ran to hug her so tightly that Meredith couldn’t quite breathe.

  “Hey,” she soothed, looking at the others over Mallory’s shoulder. “What’s all this?”