Kristen was hanging on to her own control by a slim, fragile thread.
Gingerly he sat next to her, put his arm around her shoulders. But she didn’t melt into him. She sat rigid, staring straight ahead. “Kristen, what can I do for you?”
“I don’t know.” Her eyes closed. “I am so tired, Abe.”
“I know you are, honey. But he’s made a bad mistake this time. We’ll catch him soon and this whole thing will be over.” He rubbed her back with the flat of his palm. “We’ll go someplace warm and forget any of this happened.”
She said nothing and he groped for a new topic, for anything that would reanimate her face. She was scaring him. “The service was beautiful, wasn’t it?” he murmured. “Sean and Ruth were so happy.” If anything she stiffened. “I thought about my son today.” She turned at that, looking up at him, her eyes so full of pain, it nearly broke his heart. “I guess you were thinking about your daughter. Savannah.”
“Abe …”
He cupped her face, gently sweeping his thumb along the curve of her cheek. Back and forth. “Then I thought about us, standing in front of the church, holding our child.”
But what he’d thought would give her ease had the opposite effect. She lurched to her feet and backed away from him, her eyes panicked. “Stop.”
Standing, he reached for her, but she took another few stumbling steps back. “Abe, stop.” She closed her eyes. “I need to tell you something and I need you to listen because it’s hard to say.”
They were the same words she’d used last night, before revealing the truth about her child. His heart chilled and he slowly lowered his hands. “All right.”
She visibly schooled her features, straightened her posture and clasped her hands behind her back and all at once she was the woman he’d met ten days before. Her protective shields reerected. Untouchable. “I won’t have any more children.”
Her dispassionate words were a kick to the gut, sucking the air from his lungs. He could say nothing at first, then made himself breathe. “Kristen, I know you feel guilty about placing your daughter up for adoption, but that doesn’t mean you won’t be a good mother.”
Her eyes flickered wildly and for a moment he thought she’d laugh hysterically. But her control was secure and when she spoke it was calmly. “No, Abe, you don’t understand. I’m unable. I’m …” She swallowed hard. “After the baby was born, they took her away and I thought my life was over. I’d given away something so precious… But I told myself that I was still young. I might have another someday. Then six weeks later I came back for the follow-up exam and they found I’d developed a growth.” Her lips twisted, but her posture remained controlled. “Kaplan had done more than rape and impregnate me. He apparently gave me a nasty little STD that over the months of my pregnancy had become cancerous.”
His face must have shown his shock because she threw him a brittle smile. “Don’t worry. It’s all gone, along with half of my cervix.”
Abe blindly felt for the sofa behind him and sat on the arm. He drew a breath and searched for the words that she would believe. That he believed himself.
It doesn’t matter. Of course it did.
We can adopt. The irony there was just too much.
For a moment he grieved the loss. He’d never see her round and full with his child. He’d never splay his hands over her round belly and feel his child kick. He’d never stand beside her as she battled through labor. He’d never stand in front of the church holding his own child while his family and friends looked on in joy. All the things he’d watched Sean and Ruth do over the years. All those things he’d never do. They’d never do.
Because in the end, it would still be the two of them. Whether they had a house full of children or not. Because in the end, he loved her, and she’d said she loved him.
Kristen watched him, watched the truth sink in. Watched his dream slowly die in his eyes. And as he sat there, saying nothing, she could watch him no longer. She turned and walked to the bedroom to stare out the window.
Abe watched her go, so terribly afraid he’d say the wrong thing that he was unable to say anything at all. His cell phone trilled, echoing in the dreadful quiet.
“Reagan.”
“Detective Reagan, this is the nurse from the ICU at County.”
His heart sank. Vincent must have died. He didn’t know how Kristen could take yet another blow. “I remember you. What’s happened to Vincent?”
“Mr. Potremski’s condition is unchanged. The reason I’m calling is that young man has returned. Timothy. He wants to see Vincent.”
Abe jumped to his feet. “Can you keep him there for a half hour?”
“I’ll try.”
Abe ran back to the bedroom, then halted abruptly. Kristen stood at the window, hunched over, her arms wrapped around herself. From where he stood he could see the violent trembles that wracked her body. She was at the end of her rope. She didn’t need to be dragged all over the city in this state. He knew by now how important control was to Kristen. The appearance of control, anyway. She needed to stay here, where she could regroup. He’d talk to this Timothy himself, then he’d come back and they’d talk and he’d make her believe that everything would be all right.
“Kristen, I need to go out for a little while.” He made his voice as gentle as he could. “I’ll call Aidan to come stay with you until I come back.” He crossed the room and stood behind her, wishing he knew what to say or do. In the end he just drew her into his arms and held her there while she trembled and quaked. “Lie down and rest. And then we’ll talk.”
She nodded and allowed him to lead her to the bed, where she sat. So quietly. He tipped her face up and brushed a kiss across her lips and left her staring after him.
Saturday, February 28, 2:15 P.M.
Of course it mattered. Kristen had only to look at the desolation on his face to know it mattered. Still she’d waited for him to say it was all right. That he loved her anyway, that they could still be happy. But he hadn’t said any of those things.
He didn’t say it was over, either. Logic started to break through, but logic was a poor substitute for the words she’d so desperately needed to hear. With a sigh she got up and walked through the house. It was so quiet. For the first time in a week, she was alone in her own house. It was unnerving.
“Here, kitty, kitty,” she said, just to hear the sound of her own voice. It had always been this quiet before she’d met Abe Reagan, but she hadn’t realized before just how much she despised it. She wished she was back at Kyle and Becca’s, with its blaring TVs and constant activity. She jumped when Nostrodamus rubbed against her legs. She hadn’t seen either cat since she’d torn down the wall. “Let’s go get you some dinner.”
But she had no kitchen. She looked around and for the first time wondered what had become of her dishes. She supposed Annie had stored them somewhere. So she cleaned out a potpourri dish and filled it with cat kibble. Then wondered what to do next.
The muted strains of her cell phone caught her ear and she grabbed it from her purse, her heart stuttering. The last call to her phone had been a threat, and even though the church hall was filled with cops, the Reagans would be at risk until this whole nightmare was over. “Kristen Mayhew.”
“Miss Mayhew, you don’t know me, but my name is Dr. Porter. I’m with the Lake County Coroner’s Office. I was told you were searching for Leah Broderick.”
Her pulse scrambling, Kristen sat down at her desk and pulled out a notepad. Lake County was where they’d found the Worth shack along with the sniper’s practice paraphernalia. “Yes, we are. What can you tell me?”
“Well, I signed her death certificate on December 27 of last year. It was a suicide.”
Kristen sighed. “That doesn’t surprise me at this point. Can you tell me who made the identification and arranged for burial?”
“It was her father, I remember that.” Kristen heard a file cabinet opening in the background. “I’ll check his name.” That was s
trange, she thought. She distinctly remembered Leah’s mother as a single parent. Still, it was worth a try…
“Was it Robert Barnett by chance? Or maybe someone named Worth?”
“No, I know that wasn’t it. Hold on… Here it is. Owen Madden.”
Kristen’s hand went limp, the pen rolling out of her grasp. Instant denial sprang from her lips. “No, that can’t be right.”
“I can assure you it is.” He sounded offended. “I remember him well. I did the ID by closed-circuit video because the body was so disfigured. He stood there as stoic as a Marine.”
For a moment Kristen could only stare, her breath coming fast and shallow. Owen. It simply wasn’t possible.
My God. “Um, thank you, Dr. Porter. I’m sorry, this is just a bit of a shock.” A bit? She struggled not to hyperventilate. “Thank you.”
“I made a copy of his photo ID,” Porter said. “I can fax you a copy if you like.”
“Yes, thank you.” She gave Porter her fax number. “Thank you for calling me.”
Her heart now pounding frantically, Kristen closed her phone. I have to think. Think.
Owen. How could it be true?
At this point, how could it not?
“I have to call Abe,” she murmured and flipped her phone open with shaking hands.
“Maybe later,” a gravelly voice said from behind her and before she could scream, one large hand had covered her mouth while another grabbed her cell phone and pulled her back against a rock-hard body. “For now, just shut up and do as I say.”
Kristen struggled, but the man was big and strong. She thought of Vincent and Kyle and knew she would be next. Where was McIntyre?
“Stop struggling,” he bit out, “or you’ll be sorry.”
She thought of her new gun, safely stored in her desk drawer. She might as well not have it at all. She wrenched, trying to kick backward and the hand lifted from her mouth and cuffed the side of her head.
Blinking, she saw stars. Still, she drew a breath and screamed as loud as she could. Miraculously, the front door opened and there stood Aidan, key in hand. His face registered shock, then he leaped, pulling the man to the floor and setting her free. Kristen backed away, stopping when the edge of her desk bit into her back. Horrified she watched the men fight.
Police. Call the police. The man had her cell phone so she grabbed the land line. It was dead, the cord cut, so she grabbed her gun instead. The two men rolled across the floor, grappling for control, then Aidan gave a mighty shove and pushed the intruder into a wall. Not thinking, she acted. She squeezed the trigger, again and again and again and the man slumped to the floor. Aidan raised up on all fours and stared, breathing hard. She seemed frozen in place, her arms still extended, the gun still pointing at the wall where a line of blood now streaked her blue-striped wallpaper.
“My God.” Aidan pushed himself to his feet and came to her, gently taking the gun from her hands. He pulled her into his arms and together they took great shuddering breaths. Then his body jerked and Aidan crumpled to the floor. As if disconnected from her body, she watched him fall, then looked up, taking in shoes, trousers, an overcoat. A hand holding a small club. And the annoyed face of Drake Edwards.
“If you want something done right,” he muttered. Bending, he scooped her gun from the floor, pulled Aidan’s from its holster, then rolled the dead body and took the intruder’s gun from the waistband at his back. “Miss Mayhew, you’re coming with me.”
“No.”
He looked amused. “No? And how do you propose to stop me?”
Her heart hammering like a wild thing, she took a step back, then cried out when he grabbed her arm. The phone rang, the double ring of her fax machine, and they both turned. The first man had disabled her phone, but not her fax. Fascinated, Edwards watched as the printer spit out the page.
Kristen’s stomach turned over. It was Owen’s driver’s license. Edwards’s brows shot up in surprise and his mouth curved in a wicked smile. “Working overtime, Miss Mayhew? Is this someone special?”
Her mouth dry, Kristen couldn’t think of a reply.
“I knew you were close, but is this the cigar? The grand prize?” He folded the paper and slid it in his pocket. “Come. I make a practice never to kill cops. A dead cop makes me a lot of enemies and cops never forget. However, if you make so much as a peep, I’ll make an exception for him.” With a last desperate look at Aidan’s unconscious form, she helplessly walked out of her house to the cruiser parked at the curb. Behind the wheel sat a stranger in uniform. The stranger saluted her with a mocking smile. Where was McIntyre?
Drake Edwards was kidnapping her in broad daylight in a police cruiser. Her eyes shot up to his face in disbelief, finding his mouth curved in genuine amusement. “So many comings and goings at your house lately, Miss Mayhew. So many bodyguards. Nobody will notice one more.” He was right. Nobody noticed anything. Edwards opened the rear driver’s side door, and she saw the slumped form of McIntyre in the front passenger seat, blood trickling from one ear. But his chest rose and fell, so at least he was still alive. Edwards bent down, his mouth next to her ear. “Don’t try anything or those two little boys riding bicycles down the street will die.” She watched the children ride by and knew Edwards would do as he promised. He was Conti’s main henchman, rumored to be a sick bastard. But the authorities had never been able to find evidence to make a charge stick. She wondered if they would now, or if she herself would become just one of the rumors.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked when he climbed in.
“You have an appointment, Miss Mayhew. I’m sure you don’t want to be late.”
Saturday, February 28, 2:15 P.M.
Mia returned to the church hall, Miss Keene’s high school annual under her arm, seeking Spinnelli. “Abe’s not back from talking to that man at the hospital?”
Spinnelli shook his head. “Not yet. He said he called you and gave you the update on the latest.” He shook his head. “Poor Kristen.”
Yeah, after everything else, and now a shock like this. She looked around with a frown. “Where is Kristen?”
“Back at her house resting. Abe’s brother went over there to sit with her.”
“Well, at least she’s not alone.”
“What did you find out at the hat lady’s? You were gone forever.”
Mia sighed, opening the annual to the page she’d marked. “This is him. Robert Barnett. I stopped by the art department and got them to mock up a picture of what he might look like forty years older.” She showed him the sketch. “I’ve never seen him.”
“Neither have I,” Spinnelli frowned. “I was hoping it would be the big ah-ha.”
“Me, too. We know he’s Genny O’Reilly’s son and the nephew of Paul Worth, the old guy in the nursing home, but other than that, I’m still stymied on the connection.”
“Hi.” A young girl bounded up to them, a social smile on her face. “I’m supposed to mingle and make sure everyone has enough to eat. I’m Rachel.” She scrutinized them. “And I bet you’re Mia and you’re Lieutenant Spinnelli.”
Mia needed no introduction to recognize Abe’s little sister. They had the same eyes. “It’s nice to meet you, Rachel. This is a nice party your family’s put on.”
“It’s okay. It would have been better with pizza.” She looked curiously at the annual, then bent closer, her expression intent on the sketch. “Is that Kristen’s?”
Startled, Mia glanced up at Spinnelli, then back at Rachel. “Why would you ask that?”
She shrugged. “That looks like her friend.”
“You’ve seen this man?” Mia exploded and Rachel’s eyes widened in alarm.
“I think so. Why?”
“Where did you meet him, honey?” Spinnelli asked soothingly.
“He brought her a sandwich last week. I’d gone to see her at work and he was just leaving. His name was Owen something.” She looked anxious. “Why?”
Mia grabbed her phone. “I need to call
Abe.” She grimaced when it went right to his voice mail. “He’s still in the ICU ward talking to Kristen’s friend Vincent. His phone’s off.”
“Call Kristen.” Spinnelli was gesturing for Todd Murphy.
Kyle Reagan approached, frowning. “What’s wrong?” He was a retired cop. He knew when something was up.
Mia clenched her teeth. “It’s just ringing. Dammit. Kristen’s not answering.”
Kyle grabbed the phone. “I’ll call Aidan.” A few moments later, he paled. “He’s not answering either.”
Spinnelli pulled out his own phone and punched numbers furiously. “Send a unit out to ASA Mayhew’s house. Full sirens, as fast as possible.”
Spinnelli looked at Murphy and Kyle Reagan. “Keep everyone calm and keep them here. Mia, let’s go.”
Saturday, February 28, 2:45 P.M.
The phone rang, surprising him. No one ever called him at home, except for telemarketers. In fact, the last legitimate call he’d received had been from the Lake County Sheriff’s Office about Leah’s suicide. Setting aside his pen, he answered. “Hello?”
“Mr. Madden, this is Zoe Richardson. I take it you’ve heard of me?”
His jaw clenched, his hand tightening over the telephone. “I have.”
“Well, the jig’s up, Mr. Madden. I know who you are.”
Don’t panic. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She chuckled throatily. “That’s fine. I just wanted you to know I’m preparing tonight’s report. I’ve uncovered evidence that ASA Mayhew has a personal relationship with the vigilante killer and she’s directing his efforts. It should be a fascinating piece.”
In spite of his fatigue, his blood started to pound. “You know that’s ludicrous. Kristen has done nothing wrong.”
“Perhaps, but her career was in jeopardy before. After this, no courtroom in the country will have her.” Her voice grew clipped. “I’ll have a report on the air tonight, Mr. Madden, one way or another, if you catch my meaning. I can hide your face and disguise your voice. You can go right on doing your deeds, I just want an exclusive when you do. Do you have a pen?”