Saturday 19 December, 4.03 P.M.
Still bent over, Adam stared at the brown grass of the mansion’s front yard while he brought his breathing under control. Panic attacks sucked ass. He was seriously considering calling his AA sponsor when a pair of huge feet in steel-toed boots shuffled into his field of vision. Schooling his features, Adam straightened and lifted his eyes to Diesel’s.
Diesel had also schooled his features, no surprise there. He gripped a Xerox paper box that appeared to be at least twenty years old. ‘You okay?’ he asked.
Adam nodded. ‘What’s in the box?’
‘Menorah. First day of Hanukkah’s coming up.’
Adam forced himself to smile. ‘I didn’t think of that. Are any of the girls Jewish?’
‘Dunno. But it seems like we should have one as long as we’ve got a tree. This one belonged to my mother. I was going to put it on the mantel inside.’
Adam’s smile became real. ‘That’s really nice, Diesel. I’m . . .’ He pointed to the boxes of lights someone had stacked under one of the big oak trees. ‘I’m going to hang the lights out here. I could use the help.’
Diesel looked relieved. ‘I’ll put the menorah on the mantel and be right back out.’
‘Thanks, man.’ He started to step aside so that Diesel could get to the front walk when Cyndi Lauper started singing ‘True Colors’ from his phone and Adam froze. He hadn’t heard that ringtone since the day he’d installed it.
For Meredith. He snatched at the phone, his heart rocketing in his chest. ‘Hello?’ he asked cautiously because there was no freaking way Meredith would be calling him. Not unless something was wrong.
Something was wrong. In the background, he heard screams and loud voices and sobs. ‘Meredith?’ he said sharply, his imagination immediately filling in the blanks with terrifying images. ‘Are you there?’
Diesel went still, his eyes on Adam’s, but he said nothing. Just waited.
‘Meredith?’ Adam pressed, his panic returning. ‘Tell me you’re there.’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was thin and brittle. ‘I . . . Can you come, please? I need you.’
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ He tried to keep his voice calm, to tamp down the terror that had grabbed him by the throat. A strong hand gripped his upper arm, hard enough to hurt. Grounding him. Adam looked up at Diesel’s steady gaze gratefully, then pointed to the house. ‘Get Colby, please,’ he said and Diesel took off at a run. ‘I’m here,’ he said into the phone. ‘Tell me where you are, sweetheart.’
Meredith sobbed once, quickly swallowed. ‘At Buon Cibo.’
Right. He knew that. He’d heard Wendi say that days ago when he’d been fixing a leaky pipe in the kitchen. He dug his keys out of his pocket as Colby, Wendi, and Diesel came running, Stone following behind more slowly.
‘I know the place,’ Adam said, pushing through the old mansion’s wrought iron gate to his Jeep, the others following. ‘I’m almost in my Jeep. Tell me that you’re okay.’
Wendi’s hand covered her mouth, her face gone pale. Colby had his arm around her shoulders protectively.
‘I’m . . .’ Meredith’s swallow was audible. ‘I’m okay. Mallory’s okay. There was a shooting. A man is dead. I didn’t fire, I swear I didn’t.’ Her voice broke at the end.
Adam clenched his eyes shut and made himself breathe. ‘She’s okay,’ he told the others and climbed behind the wheel of his Jeep. ‘So is Mallory, but there was a shooting at the café where they were having supper. Buon Cibo.’
‘We’ll follow behind you,’ Colby said and urged Wendi back toward the house when she tried to run to Colby’s sedan. ‘You need a coat, Wen. I promise we’ll hurry.’
Colby’s voice seemed to calm her and Wendi sagged against him, nodding weakly.
‘Call us if you need us,’ Diesel yelled as Adam fired up his engine and drove away with a squeal of tires.
Adam raised his hand, then focused on Meredith. ‘Have you called 911?’
‘Everyone did,’ she said, breath hitching. ‘Other customers.’
‘That’s good,’ he said soothingly. ‘Where are you right now, honey?’
‘In the café. Under the table.’ Her breaths were fast and harsh. ‘I had my gun out, Adam. But I didn’t shoot him.’
Adam frowned, the scenario unclear. And . . . Wait. Meredith carried? He hadn’t even known she owned a gun. ‘All right. Who did shoot him?’
‘I don’t know.’ Another swallowed sob. ‘He was pointing his gun at me but I’d talked him down. He’d dropped it. And then . . .’ She was crying and Adam’s hands tightened on the wheel in frustration that he couldn’t already be there.
I should have been there. For the millionth time, he cursed his own weakness. If I hadn’t been so fucked up, I’d have been with her, where I belong. I’d have been there, and she’d be all right. ‘And then?’ he asked softly.
‘His head . . . It just exploded.’ She gagged a little, then dragged in a deep breath. ‘I’m . . . Oh, God. I’m covered in . . . God, Adam.’
‘Got it,’ Adam said quietly. She was covered in a dead man’s brains. He navigated the curvy back road as fast as he dared, then stepped on the gas when he hit the highway. ‘I’m on my way, Meredith. Put your weapon down on the floor. They’ll be able to tell it wasn’t fired, but you don’t want the police to have to disarm you. Did you put it down?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘That’s good,’ he said smoothly. ‘Where is Mallory?’
‘Sitting next to me.’
‘Under the table?’
‘Yeah. She pulled me down after the guy’s head—’ Her voice broke again. ‘Adam, he was just a boy.’
Mallory had acted quickly, just not quickly enough to keep Meredith from being covered in a dead boy’s brains. ‘But she’s okay?’
‘In shock, I think. The window’s broken.’
‘In the café?’
‘Yes. I didn’t know there was a second shot.’
Adam had to force his lungs to function. ‘What happened?’
‘The first shot, it broke the window. The big window near where we were sitting. The second shot . . . It hit a man, a customer. Sitting behind me. He’s bleeding.’ The whispered words were almost a whimper. ‘One of the other customers is doing first aid. I can’t. I’m . . . My hands are . . .’
‘Got it,’ he said again, unclenching his jaw. ‘They may want to swab your hands, so I’m sorry, but you can’t go wash them. Not just yet.’
‘I know. He said he was sorry. The boy. He told me to get down, to run. Right before his head . . .’ The sob took over and she didn’t say any more.
‘Sweetheart,’ Adam said helplessly, then hardened his tone a fraction. ‘Meredith.’
‘Y-yes?’
His heart was pounding to beat all hell. ‘Are the cops there yet?’
Her sobbing grew muted, then she was back again. ‘Yes. They just got here.’
‘Fine. That’s good. When they get to you, give them your phone. Better yet, put it on speaker. I want to talk to them first.’
Three
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Saturday 19 December, 4.04 P.M.
Sonofamotherfuckingbitch. He slid behind the wheel, one hand slamming his car door closed while the other crumpled the remnants of the removable vinyl decals that had covered the doors and the license plates of his SUV. Today he’d been a plumber. He pulled back into the heavy downtown traffic, then glanced in his rear-view mirror a final time.
A crowd was already gathered around the restaurant and a cruiser passed him with its lights on. In minutes the police would have the area cordoned off with crime scene tape and they might even lock down the city. He was getting out, just in time.
There should have been so much chaos that getting away shouldn’t have even been an issue. Meredith Fallon and her young companion should have been dead. Dammit. This had been the perfect opportunity and now it was gone. He hadn’t trusted anyone with this kill, not even the two men he normally trusted with his life. It was too important.