Only one account had been set up with an easy-to- remember password, because it was the one he used the most, but the other accounts used longer passwords he’d written in the notebook he kept in his safe. Part of him wished he’d kept the records on his phone, that he hadn’t been so paranoid about hacking. But it didn’t matter anyway. He’d used his alternate identities to open the other accounts, so he needed his other passports.
He needed to get into his house. And out again, otherwise what was the point?
Ah. He had it. Wainwright. He called the man on his cell, hoping he picked up. And that Wainwright had not been watching the news.
“Hanson, this is a surprise,” Wainwright said warmly.
“Oh, jeez,” he said, feigning embarrassment. “I should call you more often to shoot the breeze instead of just when I need something.”
“I hope nothing’s wrong. What do you need, son?”
“My SUV broke down. I’m only a mile from home, but it would sure be nice not to have to walk in the snow. I’d call Rita, but I’ve got her Christmas present in the back. It’s a new computer, so it wouldn’t be good to leave it in the freezing cold.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes,” his neighbor promised. “Sit tight.”
“Thanks. I’ll owe you one.”
“Nonsense. The missus is out with her quilting group and I’m just puttering around the house alone. Besides, what are neighbors for?”
Indeed. He explained where he was, then ended the call and checked his phone for news. And ground his teeth in frustration and impotent rage. A video had gone viral. Shane, pleading with Linnea to turn herself over to the police.
He rolled his eyes. Oh, for God’s sake. It was even trending on Twitter—under two separate hashtags. At least he wasn’t trending. Yet.
He was still a “person of interest.” They must not have a warrant for his arrest. Yet, anyway. He’d scoff at them from a beach somewhere. For now he had to keep his cool.
Within a few minutes, Wainwright’s truck rolled past him, did a U-turn, and parked behind him. He got out, faking a grateful smile. “I’m sorry to get you out in this weather.”
“No problem!” Wainwright peered into the SUV. “Where’s Rita’s present?”
“In the back. I’ll show you.”
“Hey, you’ve got a little company back at your house,” Wainwright offered cheerily. “A car with two guys sitting out in front. Looked like cops, maybe friends of yours?”
Shit. “They are. They’re waiting for me to get home so we can go out together. I didn’t think they’d be there already, though. I hope they haven’t been waiting long.”
“Don’t know when they arrived. I just saw them out there when I came to get you.”
“Well, as soon as I get this present inside and hidden from Rita, we’ll be on our way.”
“Excellent.” The old man grinned. “I passed two news vans on my way to get you. I think they want to interview me about my nativity scene. I e-mailed the local affiliates and newspapers this morning. It’d be better if they came at night to see the lights, but I’m still thrilled!”
News vans? Shit. That Wainwright thought they were here for him would have been naively sweet under other circumstances. They’re here for me. Dammit.
“Congratulations!” he said, then popped the hatch and waited until his neighbor leaned into the cargo area. Then he grabbed his tire iron and swung it down on the old man’s head. Wainwright went instantly limp, falling into the SUV. He hefted his body the rest of the way, wincing when his arm twinged. Damn Linnea and her switchblade. Biting his lower lip to manage the pain, he removed the old man’s coat and scarf.
He covered the body with a tarp and closed the hatch, then jogged to Wainwright’s truck. He put the coat on over his own coat and wrapped the scarf around his neck, jumped into the truck’s cab, and headed to Wainwright’s garage.
He’d slide right in, under their noses.
Cincinnati, Ohio
Monday, December 21, 11:25 a.m.
“You ready to blow this joint, Doc?”
Meredith spun around at the sound of Adam’s voice in the doorway of her grandfather’s hospital room. He leaned on the door frame, his pose casual, but his eyes held such pain. Two steps and a leap and she was in his arms, hers around his neck. Lifting her, he tightened his hold around her back. Her feet dangled, her toes not touching the floor.
But she didn’t care.
He’s alive. And mine. She buried her face against his neck. “You’re okay.”
“Yeah.” The single syllable was gruff.
She drew a breath, taking him in. Anchoring herself by the feel of his hands on her back, the sound of his harsh breathing in her ear, the smooth skin of his jaw against her temple, his scent that filled her head, all simultaneously grounding her and leaving her lightheaded. “You smell so good,” she whispered in his ear.
He shuddered. “I had to shower. After. I was covered in . . . Well, you know.”
“Yes, I know.” He’d been a foot away from a man whose head had blown apart. Just as she’d been with Andy. Except the man he’d seen die wasn’t a stranger. He was someone Adam had trusted with his secrets. Turning her head, she kissed his jaw. “I meant what I said this morning,” she whispered in his ear and felt him shudder again, harder this time.
“So did I.” He swallowed hard. “God, so did I.”
“I’d like to say it again,” she murmured, suddenly remembering where they were. “But not here. We kind of have an audience.”
She thought he’d let her go then, but he held on, his face in her hair. “Deacon was right. I needed this. Needed you.”
“Did you finally tell him?”
“I had to. Had to explain why I was at St. Agnes’s at seven a.m.”
She had to keep from clenching her jaw in rage, because that wouldn’t help him now. But goddammit. He’d been forced to share the secret he’d been terrified to tell his closest friends and family. A killer had stolen that from him, too.
The killer who now had a name. Wyatt Hanson. She hated the bastard. Hated him.
“I want him to die,” she choked out against Adam’s neck. “I want him to die a thousand painful deaths.”
Adam stilled, then pulled back to kiss her cheek. “Deacon?”
She snorted a surprised laugh. “No. Should I hate him, too?”
“Nah.” Adam lowered her until her feet were firmly on the floor again. He loosened his hold, but he didn’t let her go, just kept staring at her face. “At first he was hurt and mad that I hadn’t told him, but supportive.”
Looking up, she studied his face. “What else, Adam?”
“I . . .” He drew a huge breath. “Would you mind if we don’t talk about it just yet?”
“Whatever you need.”
His eyes changed then, growing somehow darker. “Really?” His whisper was like warm velvet brushing her skin.
She shivered. “Yes. But . . . audience, Adam. Audience.”
He looked behind her, his cheeks reddening. She watched his eyes dart right, then left. Diesel sat in the chair and her grandfather lounged in the bed. Both were knitting.
Adam cleared his throat. “How are you, Mr. Fallon?” he called.
Meredith turned in time to see her grandfather exchange soft amusement for mock ire. “You planning to actually come into the room, Kimble? Because I won’t have you showing up to whisk her away like some teenaged hooligan blowing his car horn outside.”
Meredith rolled her eyes. “Papa. His name is Adam.”
“I’ll stop calling him Kimble when he stops calling me Mr. Fallon.”
“Fair enough,” Adam said. Gripping Meredith’s hand in his, he went over to the bed and shook her grandfather’s hand. “How are you, Clarke?”
“Better. They say I can go home this afternoon.
”
“Maybe,” Diesel grunted. “They said maybe.”
Adam sat in the other chair and pulled Meredith to sit on his knee. “I heard you two were busy this morning,” he said. “You sure you don’t secretly want to be a cop, Diesel?”
Diesel’s look of horror made them all laugh. “Hell, no. Stone and I are just getting used to making nice with Scarlett at holidays and family functions. It was hard enough having one cop in our midst. Now we’re overrun. The very thought of it . . . No, thank you.”
Adam laughed again, his mood seeming lighter than it had been when he’d first come in. Or maybe Meredith just wanted so badly for him to be happy.
“Seriously, though,” Diesel continued, “we, uh, found something else we didn’t tell your lieutenant about.”
Adam straightened, instantly alert. “Okay. And?”
Diesel told him about finding the e-mail detailing the ten-thousand-dollar deposit to the former social worker’s bank account and Adam grew grimly thoughtful.
“I knew about that, actually. Isenberg said it was in the information she received from that detective in Indianapolis. He also sent her the caseworker’s phone logs. Hanson called her just before her bank sent her the e-mail about the deposit.”
Meredith and Diesel exchanged smug glances, telling Adam there was more.
“I don’t suppose there’s any way you could access Hanson’s bank account?” Adam asked.
Diesel’s brows shot up. “For what purpose?”
“Not to move funds. I don’t want to touch the money. I would like to make it so that he can’t access a single penny. Can you find his password, then change it? It’s plausible deniability if we’re led to the account by another leg of the investigation.”
Diesel grinned. “Already found his password. Give me two seconds to get in again.” He set his knitting aside and opened his computer, his huge hands flying over the keyboard.
Adam nudged Meredith off his knee so he could look at Diesel’s computer, and sucked in a shocked breath. “Holy God. He’s got five million dollars in this account.”
Diesel’s expression darkened. “He may have others. That’s the only one I found. What do you want the password changed to?”
“What is it now?”
“KingTriton89.”
Adam frowned, then nodded. “His daughter is Ariel.”
“I put The Little Mermaid into my software as a possible source,” Diesel confirmed.
Jaw tight, Adam turned from the laptop. “Part of me wants the new password to be a combination of the names of all of his victims, but he might figure that out. So make it completely random. Letters and numbers. I don’t want to know what you call it.”
Diesel nodded. “I can do that. But if you don’t know, you can’t be sure I’ll tell you the new password. I could steal all that money for myself.”
“But you won’t. If I’ve learned anything through this, it’s that actions are the real demonstration of truth. Your actions have always been above reproach.”
Diesel did a small double-take, his mouth opening and closing before saying simply, “Thanks.” And if his eyes got suspiciously bright, nobody mentioned it.
Adam reached for Meredith’s hand again. “Is it okay if I borrow her for a little while, Clarke? I need to . . . process.”
“Sure,” her grandfather said, sounding truly pleased. “You’ll take care of her.”
“With my life.” Adam tugged her hand. “Come on. I’ve got Deacon and Scarlett waiting in a van downstairs. They’re being extra careful with me today.”
She leaned up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Good. It’s high time someone was.” Then she kissed her grandfather’s cheek and surprised Diesel with a little peck as well. “I’ll be back later, Papa. If they release you, call me right away.”
“I’ll make sure he’s not alone,” Diesel said.
“I know you will. Thank you, Diesel.”
Clarke waved his hand. “Go, Merry. Make some merry.” His eyes widened comically. “No, wait. Nix that. No Merries. Make no Merries.”
She and Adam left on a laughing groan, which was what he’d wanted.
They started toward the elevator, then came to a dead stop at the sight of Kate’s Decker leaning against the wall outside her door. Every muscle in his face was taut, his head tilted back, eyes closed.
“I just stopped in to check on Kate,” Meredith whispered to Adam. “She was fine.”
The two of them cautiously approached Special Agent Decker Davenport. “Decker?” Meredith murmured to the big man who looked so miserable. “What’s happened?”
He didn’t startle, because of course he’d known they were there. The man had amazing instincts that had kept him alive during the three years he’d spent working undercover with a dangerous human trafficking gang.
“She’s okay,” Decker said in a quiet drawl. “I just needed a minute. I’m so fucking angry. I want to find the man who hurt her and rip his fucking head off.”
Adam squeezed Decker’s arm. “You don’t have to. He’s dead.”
Meredith’s eyes widened. She hadn’t heard this yet and wondered what else had happened that put the sadness in Adam’s eyes.
“Did he suffer?” Decker asked gruffly.
“Not enough,” Adam replied. “He was killed by his partner. Snipping off loose ends.”
Meredith thought of Adam’s near miss that morning and her heart stuttered. Adam was not a loose end. He’s mine. Possessiveness welled within her, along with the fierce need to protect this man. She’d keep him safe—his heart and every other part of him. Whatever that took to do.
“Is the partner still alive?” Decker asked, very quietly.
“Yes, but we know who he is now,” Adam said.
Decker’s eyes opened, narrowing. “Who?” The menace in that single word sent chills racing over Meredith’s skin.
Adam’s gaze flicked away for the briefest of moments, before returning to meet Decker’s solidly. “Wyatt Hanson. My old partner.”
Decker’s eyes registered instant understanding. “Not your fault, Adam. People who live double lives get very good at manipulating what you see.”
“People will still wonder if I knew. Or think I’m stupid because I didn’t suspect.”
Meredith wanted to refute this, but she knew he was right. So she slid her arm around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. It was sympathy and support. And respect. “Some people are gonna suck, Adam. You can’t let their voices into your head.”
He nodded. “I know. I know. But . . . goddammit.”
Decker pinned him with a hard look. “Did his bosses in CPD suspect? No. Are they stupid? No. Now, granted, not all of them are as smart as you are,” he added lightly.
Adam chuckled. “I’m sure they’d disagree with that statement.”
Decker raised a blond brow. “And they’ll take no blame for not seeing it, either.”
Meredith grinned at him. “Well played, Decker.”
Decker’s smile was weary. “Thanks. Now you guys go. I’m going back in there to tell Kate the fucker’s dead so she can stop plotting how to kill him with knitting needles.”
They obeyed, hurrying to the lobby and out into the air, cold but fresh. “God. I was going so stir-crazy in there. I needed some fresh air.”
“Sorry, but you’ll have to wait a while longer to enjoy it,” Adam said because the van was pulling up to the overhang. The door slid open, revealing Deacon behind the wheel and Scarlett riding shotgun. Adam helped Meredith into the van, then handed her a flak jacket while the door slid shut. “Suit up.”
“I’ll be so glad when this is over. Tactical wear does not go with my shoes.”
Deacon laughed. “I can’t wait until that’s your biggest concern again, Mer.”
Adam put on his own vest then hel
ped her with hers. “We’re going to the condo,” he said. “Isenberg posted a guard, which I told her was not necessary.”
“Except that someone’s tried to kill you twice,” Meredith said tartly. “Someone only tried to kill me once and I didn’t complain about a guard.”
Adam put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am. Now, it seems a lot’s happened since we last spoke. Tell me, please.”
Deacon started driving and Adam started talking and Meredith’s heart broke a little more with every revelation. Jim Kimble was an ass. Dale Hanson? Complicit.
But the thought that Wyatt had been involved in the murder of Paula . . . “Why?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Why would he do that to you? To Paula?”
Adam shrugged. “I’ve been wondering that all morning. I came into Personal Crimes with something of a reputation. A good one.”
“One of the highest percent of closed cases in Homicide,” Scarlett inserted loyally. “Adam was the homicide department’s boy wonder.”
Adam shrugged again, his cheeks growing dark from the praise. “Apparently Hanson’s hated me since we were kids. I think he wanted to knock me down a few pegs.” Meredith didn’t realize her fists were clenched until Adam brought one to his lips and kissed it. “So I think you know most of it now,” he told her. “Isenberg’s taken over and—” He was interrupted by the Darth Vader ringtone on his phone. “Speak of the devil.”
Scarlett barked a laugh. “I thought you changed that.”
“She told me not to. Gives her cachet,” Adam said with a grin, then answered. “Yeah, boss,” he said. “We just picked up Meredith. Can I put you on speaker?”
Isenberg must have agreed because he did.
“Linnie called the switchboard,” she said without preamble. “She saw Shane’s video and asked for you. Patching her through now.”
A few seconds passed before Isenberg spoke again. “Linnie, I’ve connected you to Detective Kimble. Detective, this is Linnie Holmes.”