I need to call Deacon. Prepare him for the whole twelve-step thing. It’s only fair.
And that confessing his sins to Deacon was suddenly the preferable task just showed how completely and utterly fucked this entire thing was.
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Monday 21 December, 7.05 A.M.
For a moment he could only stare in disbelief. John was dead. Not Adam Kimble.
Goddamn asshole. Throwing himself into a fucking bullet. Who did that? Heroes and fools, that’s who. John was definitely among the latter.
Fuck. Fuck John and his last-minute change of heart. Fuck Mike for making me kill him, because I didn’t sleep at all last night. Fuck Adam Kimble for making me kill Butch.
Fuck it all. He wanted to scream it, but he couldn’t. He had to get away. The police would be coming and he had to get away. He had a rifle to discard. A cop to set up.
A hooker-on-the-run to reel in like a fish on a hook.
Mallory Martin couldn’t ID him. If she could have, she would have by now. He was going to have to let her go. For now. Let things die down. Let her regain her confidence about coming out into public. Then he’d end her.
And Kimble? He’d be more careful than ever now. And he’d wonder who’d known he’d be at the AA meeting. Kimble had most of the pieces of the puzzle, even if he didn’t know it yet. The hero would bring in his traitorous cop. Not the right one, of course, but it would be enough for now. And later? If Kimble kept pushing? Investigating? Trying to find the cop who’d raped little Mallory? He’d have to shut the man up. Permanently.
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Monday 21 December, 7.15 A.M.
‘Call Deacon cell,’ Adam said, hearing defeat in his own voice. He’d put off this call too long. And with his sponsor’s dead body lying next to him, it had suddenly become important that his cousin know the truth. It could have been me lying there, and I never would have gotten to apologize and make amends.
Deacon’s line rang four times. ‘Yeah?’ Deacon answered, his voice thick.
God. Deacon either had a cold or he was crying. Adam couldn’t deal with any tears right now, not after hearing Meredith’s sobs. ‘You okay, D?’
‘No.’
Yep, Deacon was crying. Shit. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘I should have told you.’
‘Told me what?’ Deacon demanded.
‘Did Isenberg call you?’
‘Yes. Told me to head to St Agnes’s. That there’d been a shooting.’
Isenberg hadn’t told Deacon anything. And the significance of that was not lost on Adam. His boss had trusted that he really would call his cousin. That he’d really come clean. So man up, Kimble. Do the right thing.
But his words still hadn’t gotten there yet. ‘Then why are you upset?’ Adam asked.
‘You mean why am I crying like a fucking baby?’ Deacon snarled.
‘Yes,’ Adam said slowly. Warily.
‘Hell, Adam. I’ve been a fucking mess since I watched that video. Faith practically had to scoop me off the floor. Damn you. I didn’t know that’s what happened. That that’s what’s been eating at you for the past year. Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you carry that around inside for a year? Alone? Why didn’t you let me help you? Goddammit, Adam. I thought you trusted me more than that.’
‘Oh,’ Adam breathed. He hadn’t truly considered the full impact on the people to whom he’d sent the video of Paula’s murder. He’d known they’d be shaken. What human being with a soul could watch that happen and not be shaken?
But not driven to tears. Those tears are for me. Because I saw it and it messed with my head. ‘I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to think about it. It made it not be real if I didn’t talk about it. And I should have. But that’s not why I’m sorry.’
Deacon grew quiet. ‘There’s more?’
Oh yeah. ‘You might need to pull over for a minute or two.’
‘Hold on.’ Deacon muttered obscenities at traffic and the universe in general before huffing out a sigh. ‘All right. I’m pulled over. Hit me.’
Just get it out. But his brain still wasn’t listening, taking the roundabout way instead. ‘You’re coming to St Agnes’s for a shooting. I was the target. My . . . friend died instead.’
Careful silence. Because Deacon was no fool. ‘Why are you at St Agnes’s at seven in the morning? Do they even have Mass that early?’
‘No.’ Adam sucked in air until he couldn’t take in any more. Do this. Just do it. He closed his eyes tight and gritted his teeth. Because telling Deacon was somehow harder than telling Meredith. ‘I was at an AA meeting,’ he said on a rush. ‘I’m an alcoholic.’
Silence. Complete and total silence.
‘You still there, D?’
‘Yes.’ The clipped reply emanated waves of anger. ‘All this time?’
‘Yes.’ And then the words came, all tangled and tripping over each other. ‘I was ashamed. I wanted one year sober before I told anybody, but then all this happened and I needed to tell you sooner. And I was going to, as soon as we got a second to breathe on this case. But then this happened and my sponsor’s dead. Just like Andy Gold and Bruiser.’
‘You were the target?’ Deacon asked flatly.
‘Yes. John – that’s my sponsor – I mean he was my sponsor, he pushed me out of the way.’ He glanced over at John’s body, then ripped his gaze away. ‘Bullet hit him instead.’
‘You’re unhurt?’
‘Yes. I wanted you to know before you walked on the scene and got surprised. I . . . I’ve fucked everything up. I’ve been so damn jealous of what you and Faith have built together. It was hard to watch. And . . . I didn’t want you to hate me. But I especially didn’t want you to pity me. John thought it would be better not to tell you until I had a year of sobriety under my belt, that it would be easier for me to hold my head up.’
More silence.
‘D?’
‘I’m thinking,’ Deacon snapped. ‘Give me a minute. I have to enter traffic.’ More muttered obscenities, then a giant sigh. ‘I can see St Agnes’s steeple from where I am, so I’m close. I’ve got extra tactical gear in the back of my SUV. I’ll bring it to you and we’ll secure the scene. Did you give Isenberg all the particulars? Victim’s name, et cetera?’
‘Yes, she knows.’ Somehow this wasn’t how Adam had expected his cousin to react. He hadn’t expected the anger. Not like this. But Deacon had a right to his feelings and Adam knew that Deacon loved him. So he’d give him time and space.
‘Then I’ll hang up now,’ Deacon said. ‘I’ll be there in a few minutes.’
Sure enough, two minutes later Deacon’s black SUV slowly drove by. Deacon rolled his window down when he saw Adam on the ground, flinching at the sight of John’s body beside him. ‘I’m going to back up and lift the hatch, so that you can get to the gear without coming out into the open.’ He did this, the SUV’s hatch slowly rising.
Adam duckwalked to the open cargo area, taking care to avoid his own vomit. Yay me. Wasn’t he the strong one?
He found a helmet and a flak jacket. He put them on, then grabbed a second set and handed them to Deacon through the window.
‘Get in the back seat,’ Deacon ordered and when Adam had complied, he drove them to the overhang, where parishioners were dropped off in inclement weather.
Or in the event of a sniper attack.
Deacon turned off the engine and got out of the car. ‘Come on,’ he barked.
Adam followed him into the church, preparing himself for anything from a cold shoulder to being cursed out.
‘Ugh.’ It was all he had opportunity to utter before Deacon tackled him in a bear hug so tight Adam feared for his ribs.
‘You fucker,’ Deacon snarled brokenly, hanging on so tightly a crowbar couldn’t have separated them. ‘I am so fucking mad at you.’
Adam’s arms rose uncertainly to hug him back. Deacon tightened his hold convulsively and Adam patted his back. ‘I know. You should be.’ He hooked his hands over Deacon’s massive shoulders and . . . clung to the man who’d been his closest, most supportive family for most of his life. ‘I fucked up. I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry, D.’
‘Part of me wants to kick your ass.’