Kimble and the others thought they were looking for a cop. So give them a cop. And then get rid of Kimble. The guy was smart. Too smart. Especially now that his brain had dried out from the booze. He was getting too damn close to the truth. Eliminating him would also provide a much-needed distraction. The death of one of their own would demoralize their little joint task force, derailing it long enough to give him time to fix all of Mike’s fuckups so that they couldn’t be traced back to him.
There was still the issue of Linnea, but she hadn’t come forward yet when she could have, nor had she fled town when she should have, so she obviously had an agenda of her own. Probably wants me, he thought with a smile. Little spitfire. She’d surprised him at every turn. He’d use her single-minded focus to draw her in and end her, permanently.
Maybe he should give her an opportunity she couldn’t refuse. She wants me? Come and get me, little girl. But on my terms.
Cheered by the thought, he turned off the engine and got out of the SUV. Only to be assaulted with the smells and sounds of a barnyard. A peek into his neighbor’s backyard revealed a donkey, a cow, and sheep in a pen.
Mr Wainwright had received the permit for his nativity scene. Wonderful, he thought acidly. Except it would make Ariel and Mikey happy, so he’d deal as best he could. It was only for a few more days, anyway.
It was almost Christmas. He knew what he wanted from Santa – Mallory, Linnea, and Kimble . . . gone.
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Monday 21 December, 4.45 A.M.
The throbbing in her hip woke her, but the emptiness in her bed had Meredith fully alert. She ran her hand across the sheet next to her, finding it still a little warm. Adam hadn’t been awake long. I’ll be here when you wake up, he’d said, so she knew he was still in the condo somewhere. He wouldn’t have left without telling her.
She slipped out of bed with a groan. Her hip was yelling at her for lying to the ER doctors about her parking lot injuries, yet in hindsight she regretted nothing. Yes, she might have a prescription for some nifty painkillers, but she’d have missed the hours in Adam’s arms. Totally worth it.
She pulled on the purple PJs he’d pulled off her the day before, sighing contentedly at the feel of silk on her skin. Yes, she was a hedonist and no, she didn’t apologize. It was one of the small things she did to keep herself centered. And because it was cold, she layered with the sweatshirt lying on top of Adam’s open duffel bag. It hung past her hips and it smelled like him.
She heard the music as soon as she opened the bedroom door, something low and bluesy. He was a jazz fan too, which made her ridiculously happy.
She followed Ella Fitzgerald to the kitchen where she found him at the table, frowning at his laptop. Shirtless, hair tousled, the pair of thin gray sweats he’d worn earlier the only thing covering his skin. God, he’s something. No, not just something. Everything. For a moment, she let herself look. And was then busted when he looked up. His frown softened, becoming worry.
‘I didn’t mean to wake you up,’ he said, closing his laptop and turning down the volume on his phone.
‘You didn’t. You don’t have to turn it down.’ She closed the distance between them, dropping a kiss on his upturned face. ‘I like this album.’
His slow smile warmed her. ‘I’m glad. Ella helps me think.’
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she said. ‘You want some tea?’
He cupped her cheek and pulled her in for a longer kiss that curled her toes. ‘Yes, please,’ he murmured against her mouth, then released her. ‘Tea would be nice.’
I could get used to this, she thought. Being kissed like this in the middle of the night.
‘I could get used to this,’ he said out loud as she moved about the kitchen, taking comfort from her things. ‘Seeing you like this.’
She smiled over at him. ‘Making tea while swimming in your clothes?’
The look he shot her was positively molten. ‘Doing anything. Wearing anything. Wearing nothing.’
Oh my. A delicious shiver tickled her skin. Then he grinned, his dimple coming out to play, and her heart stuttered in the best of ways. She put the kettle on and took the chair next to his. ‘What are you doing up so early?’ she asked. ‘I thought I’d tired you out.’
His smile faded and her heart sank. ‘I couldn’t sleep either,’ he confessed.
She rested her chin on his hard biceps and looked up at him. Full disclosure. ‘I couldn’t sleep because my hip hurt. I fell harder than I admitted tonight when he threw me off Mallory. Why couldn’t you sleep?’
One side of his mouth twitched up. ‘Spirit of full disclosure, huh?’
‘You’re the one who made that rule,’ she said lightly.
‘Yes, I did. All right then, I had a nightmare. It happens.’
‘I figured. Was it Paula?’
He nodded, eyes troubled. ‘I dream of her often, usually of the moment she dies. But tonight . . .’ He blew out a breath. ‘It was her body, laid out on a bed, throat slit. Eviscerated.’
She swallowed hard, needing to comfort but unsure of what to say. So she kissed the tensed muscle of his biceps instead.
‘And when I woke up I realized I’d never seen her that way. I know those things happened to her, but I didn’t see her body until it turned up in my trunk, burned.’
The thought of him discovering the girl’s body that way . . . It hurt. But on this she could give some perspective, at least. ‘Our dreams aren’t always representative of what we’ve actually seen.’
‘I know. But I realized that I had seen that picture. On the whiteboard tonight.’
The photos of Tiffany Curtis and her mother lying dead in their beds. ‘I couldn’t look at the photos. I’m not that brave.’ Then she understood and reared back, staring at him. ‘Wait. What?’ She shook her head hard, not sure she had actually understood. ‘Are you saying that Paula was killed in the same way as Tiffany and her mother?’
He lifted sardonic brows. ‘Maybe. Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?’
‘Yeah, but nothing about this case seems terribly sane, Adam.’
He scrubbed his palms over his face. ‘Ain’t that the truth.’
The kettle whistled, so she got up to make the tea. Setting it on the table, she tapped his laptop. ‘Were you looking at the Chicago crime scene photos?’
He closed his eyes. ‘Yes. And the video.’
‘The Chicago detectives sent you video?’
‘No. I accessed a copy of the recording of Paula’s murder.’
Meredith couldn’t control the flinch, but stopped herself from completely recoiling from the laptop, knowing that it contained the thing that had nearly crushed Adam. She focused on his word choice instead. ‘“Accessed”? Does that mean you had permission, got permission, broke into a server, or that you kept it all along?’
‘The last one. Kind of. I had a DVD of old case videos in the stuff I’d cleaned out of my desk when I went on mental health leave. One was Paula’s murder.’
‘But you kept it? Why?’
‘It was my pill. My razor.’
Oh, Adam. ‘You wanted to know if you could view it without falling apart. Did you?’
He nodded. ‘Yeah,’ he said gruffly. ‘Barely.’
She leaned in to kiss his cheek, his stubble tickling her lips. ‘What did you see?’
He swallowed hard. ‘I closed my eyes after her attacker slit her throat, you know, the first time. When it really happened. I made myself watch the rest later, but my dream always stops at her throat. I kind of willingly blocked out the rest, I guess.’
‘Understandable.’ She had to force herself to ask the question. ‘Paula was cut open, like Tiffany and her mother?’
‘Yeah. It’s all there. He held her up for the camera when he did it. He was big enough that he held her like a doll. His body type is the same as Bruiser’s. Exactly.’
Meredith sat back in her chair, staring up at his face, stunned. ‘I believe you, you know? But I’m having trouble processing all this.’
‘Trust me, so am I.’
She reached across him to turn the volume up on his phone and Ella Fitzgerald’s voice filled the kitchen. ‘So think, Adam. Think and tell me what you see the options to be.’
He set his jaw grimly. ‘Well, option one is that Paula and Tiffany were not killed by the same man and it’s all a grand coincidence.’