She huffed bitterly. Like they’d believe me? A whore?
Besides, a call to the cops could get her arrested. And she wouldn’t last a single night inside. He had his fingers in the jail too.
For now, the only people who knew she was involved in this morning’s shooting were him and his staff. For now, she could hide. And wait for her chance to kill him herself.
Then she’d go to the cops. Then she’d take whatever she had coming. Because then Andy would be able to rest in peace. And so will I.
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Saturday 19 December, 4.30 P.M.
‘Just a little more, Dr Fallon.’ Special Agent Quincy Taylor’s hands were gentle, his voice incredibly kind as he knelt on one knee in front of her. ‘I’m finished scraping under the nails of your right hand. I’ll finish your left and then you can wash up.’
Meredith flinched. Wash up? Like she’d gotten her hands dirty tending her garden or painting a bedroom wall? One washed up from activities like those. But not from this.
Agent Taylor had cleaned the bulk of the mess from her hands when he’d arrived, only minutes after the first cops, then he’d asked her to wait while he attended to the scene.
And then they’d been evacuated – an utter nightmare. At least Kendra Cullen had been on patrol duty in the square. Mallory knew Wendi’s sister and trusted her. That Mallory was safe and being cared for was one thing Meredith didn’t need to worry about.
Because there was still a bomb in Buon Cibo. The boy had been wired to blow them all sky-high. The look on his face when he’d told her to run . . . Meredith’s heart hurt. He’d been so damn frightened.
And still he’d told her to run. And then . . . In her mind she heard the shot, felt the . . .
No. Not going there. Not again. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, willing herself not to look at her hands. Not to gag. Again. It hadn’t been pretty the first time.
She’d thrown up hard after ending her call to Adam and she’d been glad he hadn’t been there to see that. But she needed him now.
The hotel’s revolving door swished, indicating someone had either entered or exited. She’d lifted her eyes to that doorway each time she heard the sound, hoping to see Adam’s face. Not caring if he wanted her or not. Not caring why he’d held himself so rigidly distant. Not caring if she looked pathetically needy.
She was pathetically needy. This time she told herself to keep her eyes closed, that it wouldn’t be him, but her eyes were rebellious and looked anyway.
And then everything seemed to settle. He’s here. He came. Just like he’d promised.
Adam came through the revolving door looking around the crowded lobby and . . . found her. His body stilled and his shoulders sagged. He carefully sized her up, then lifted one gloved finger, wordlessly asking her to wait.
She’d waited for Adam for months. ‘What’s a few more minutes?’ she muttered.
‘I’m done,’ Agent Taylor announced.
‘Thank God.’ She lifted her eyes to find Adam again. He was talking to Agent Triplett and both men were looking at her, but she couldn’t tell what they were saying.
Agent Taylor looked over his shoulder, then back at Meredith. ‘They’re the lead investigators. That’s why he didn’t come straight over. He’s got to attend to the scene first.’
Meredith’s cheeks heated. ‘Whatever.’ Great. She sounded like her adolescent clients. She straightened primly. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Agent Taylor.’
Agent Taylor’s grin turned a little cheeky. He was really cute in a nerdy, young kind of way. ‘Call me Quincy, if you want to,’ he said and pulled a box of antiseptic wipes from his kit. ‘Let me get your hands clean, so that you can do whatever when he comes over.’
‘Get them clean so I can hide behind them.’ She swallowed a groan. ‘I know I’m not that obvious. Am I?’
Quincy bristled in mock offense. ‘I’m a trained observer, Dr Fallon. I have degrees in psychology, chemistry, and forensic anthropology.’ He chatted as he cleaned her hands with gentle efficiency. ‘And I’m trained in deception detection. Not that I needed it,’ he added, grinning again. ‘If you meant not to be obvious, you should work on that. Just a little.’
She ignored his final words. ‘You can’t have all those degrees. You’re too young.’
His brows lifted above the rims of his black horn-rimmed glasses. ‘I’m thirty-four.’
Two years younger than me. I guess I just feel older. ‘That is so not fair,’ she grumbled, making him chuckle.
‘I might have agreed with you when I was twenty-five and looked seventeen,’ he said, inspecting her clean skin. ‘You don’t have any open cuts, so that’s good news, at least.’ He gathered the discarded wipes into an evidence bag before rising to his feet with a fluidity that seemed equally unfair because Meredith felt creaky. ‘I’ve got to get back to the scene.’ He gave her his card. ‘Let me know if you need anything. I mean that.’
‘But—’ She grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. ‘The bomb. Have they defused it?’
Quincy pointed to Agent Triplett, then patted her hand. ‘If that big guy over there is here, the bomb is defused and on its way somewhere secure. He’s the team’s bomb expert.’
Forcing her fingers to let go, Meredith considered the enormous man standing next to Adam. She knew Jeff Triplett personally because he’d recently joined their circle of friends. He was a really nice guy. Smart, funny, and a great dancer. But here, on the job, he was an imposing figure, arms crossed over his broad chest and his bald head a gleaming dark umber under the lobby’s bright lights. Trip dwarfed Adam, who was no slouch at six-two.
‘Interesting,’ she said. ‘You’d think Trip’s fingers would be too big to deal with those little wires.’
‘You’d be wrong,’ Quincy said seriously.
‘Okay, fine, but he is young.’
Quincy smiled down at her. ‘Yeah, he’s disgustingly young.’ His smile faded. ‘I’m glad for him, you know? He’s not all hard and jaded like the rest of us. Yet, anyway.’
Meredith narrowed her eyes at him, hearing a vulnerability in his voice that pushed her warning buttons. ‘Are you all right, Quincy?’
He looked a little startled, but nodded. ‘I almost forgot you’re a psychologist. I guess I’m as all right as any of us,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Seen too much. Too many nightmares. Today is just one more. You know the drill.’
‘I worry about you guys,’ Meredith said, thinking of the anguish Adam had gone through nearly a year ago, when he’d reached out to her for comfort. And then again, four months before, when he’d sat at her table and colored with her. He’d used an entire colored pencil on one picture, every bit of it red. Too many of the cops she knew suffered from PTSD, but too few sought the help they so desperately needed. ‘I’d be happy to—’
‘I’ve got to be going,’ Quincy interrupted. Then, with a tight smile, he was gone.
Meredith stared after him, not realizing she’d stood up, hands on her hips, until she felt a blast of warmth at her elbow. She looked left, then abruptly up, catching her breath. ‘Adam.’ Her heart began to thunder. Adam Kimble was, under any circumstance, the most beautiful man she’d ever known. ‘Hi.’
But it was like he hadn’t heard her. He was scowling. ‘What did he do to you?’
Meredith blinked rapidly. ‘Please?’ She followed Adam’s glance to the revolving door. The forensic investigator had pushed through and now stood outside, shrugging into his winter coat. ‘You mean Quincy?’
Adam’s dark brows lifted sarcastically. ‘Quincy?’
She cocked her jaw in irritation. Oh, for God’s sake. Was he angry? Possibly. Jealous? Unlikely. Still, this was macho posturing if ever she’d seen it. Which, of course, she had. Many times. ‘Agent Taylor? You know,’ she added sweetly, ‘the nice guy on your team?’