The doc’s face was lined, his gray eyes bloodshot. Max knew that he should probably say something but he just felt so numb.
“Your stepbrother…” The doctor swallowed. “He’s still in surgery, but it looks like he’ll be all right. As soon as he’s in recovery, I-I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Samantha said. She stood beside Max, quiet and calm. She’d been there just moments after he’d arrived. She’d come in right after the doctors had run down the hallway, screaming orders, and he’d seen Frank’s pale hand fall off the gurney.
He’d known then. Dead.
Max stared in silence as the seconds ticked by. After a while, his breath heaved out, and he turned away, stalking for the door.
“Max!”
He didn’t stop at Samantha’s call. What was he supposed to be feeling? Frank—dead. And Quinlan. Oh, damn, Quinlan.
His palms slapped against the emergency room doors. He hurried out as the security beep sounded behind him.
“Max, stop!” Samantha caught his arm and swung him back to face her. “Max, I’m sorry.”
So was he. Sorry he’d trusted the FBI. “Why was he there, Samantha?”
She shook her head. Her curls bounced against her shoulders. “I don’t know. Ramirez is working on that. We think—we think Frank must have gotten a call from the kidnapper, telling him where to go.”
And he would have gone. The bastard would have walked right in there without telling him.
“We’ll pull his phone records, see what we can find—”
He stepped away from her, breaking her hold. Can’t let her touch me, not now. “And what about Quinlan? What’s going to happen to him? Samantha, he killed Frank!”
A man standing in the hallway shot him a wide-eyed look and hurried off. His footsteps rapped against the floor.
“Quinlan’s going to survive, that’s what he’s going to do.”
So easy to say. “You ever killed someone?” With her job, yeah, maybe, but…
“No.”
“There’s not really any coming back from that.” He knew. Some things you could never forget.
He could still feel that baseball bat in his hands. The smooth wood. The hard strength. He could see that bat swinging through the air, hear the faint whistle of sound, and see the bastard’s eyes as he realized what was going to happen to him.
What had Frank realized in those last few moments? Max closed his eyes, not wanting to see the line of cars buzzing outside. Life going on, while his family lay shattered. “He just wanted to save Quinlan.”
“Frank did. Quinlan’s—”
“They tortured him.”
“He survived. Give him a chance. Your stepbrother can get past—”
Max’s control snapped, and he whirled to face her. “You don’t know! You forced your way in here. You forced yourself into my life, and now Frank’s dead!” Tell the cops, and you’ll get him back in pieces. Rage churned in him and exploded on the closest victim—her. “They’d already gone to work on Quinlan. They were cutting him up. Know why, baby? You know why they were cutting my brother apart?”
Because of you.
It hung between them, stark and painful. The kidnappers had changed their plans because they’d known that the FBI was involved. Samantha and her team had broken those stupid rules.
She swallowed and eased toward him. “Yes, I know why.” A brief pause, then, “Because they were freaking psychopaths who got off on hurting other people, that’s why.”
Red stained her cheeks, and her chin lifted. “There was escalation from these guys, right after the initial abduction. The first guy came back unharmed, but the second vic—they made sure he suffered. They sliced his chest. Carved his back. Yes, he came back alive, but they had fun with him first, and they got a taste.”
What? “You never said—”
“Because I was trying to protect you. What? Did you want me to tell you that the bastards who’d took your brother liked to torture? That they got off on pain? Well, they did.”
Frank’s face, eyes wide, lips dripping blood.
“They killed the third victim. The parents broke their rules, sure, but, like I said, the kidnappers were already escalating. The fourth victim went down, too. They could have given the Briars more time. They didn’t want to. Monica’s profile showed the attacks weren’t just about the money. Based on the way the bodies were carved, the killer enjoyed hurting the victims.”
Max stared at her and struggled to process everything she was admitting to him.
“I couldn’t tell you,” Samantha said, her voice softer, sadder. “You already had enough on your mind. And Frank—what? Was I supposed to tell a father that the bastards who had his son were slowly slicing him apart?” She gave a slow, negative shake of her head. “I couldn’t do that.”
His shoulders fell. “Leave me alone.”
Her hand lifted, reached for him.
He stepped back. “Just—go, now, okay?” His hand raked through his hair. Too much. It was all too much. “You’ve done enough. Just… go.”
Her eyes didn’t waver, but her hand dropped. “I’ll give you some time alone.”
A ragged laugh broke from his lips. “Yeah, yeah, you do that.”
“But I’m not leaving you. If you need me, I’m here.”
Didn’t she get it? The rage inside was so strong. He wanted to strike out, and she was too close.
“Go.” Before he said something that he couldn’t take back.
Sam paced along the hospital corridor. Kevin Milano was still alive. He hung by the barest of threads while Frank’s body was already cold one floor down.
It didn’t seem fair. But then, life had a way of twisting and turning on you. Sometimes, the good guys didn’t win.
The doctor came out of surgery, her lips tight and her gaze steady. “He’s still with us,” Dr. Joyce Bradshaw said, “but I can’t say for how much longer.”
Sam sucked in a sharp breath. “Is he conscious?”
“Barely.”
Good enough. “Then I want to talk to him, now.” Because there wasn’t any time to lose.
The doctor’s blue eyes widened. “Uh—excuse me?”
Sam edged nearer to the closed operating room door. “I need to talk to the suspect.” While she still could.
“I don’t think you understand.” The doctor shook her head. “The man has sustained massive internal injuries. He’s not—”
“He’s my prime suspect in at least four murders.” Sam crossed her arms. This was her job. She’d do it. “Before he goes and talks to God about the shit he did, he’ll be talking to me.” Her eyes burned as she stared at the doctor.
“I-I don’t know—”
“I do.” She’d pinned her ID to her belt. She knew the doc could see it. “I know that I’ve got a pile of dead bodies, and I’m about to add one more.”
The lines around the doctor’s eyes deepened. “He might not even be able to answer you.”
Sam forced a shrug. “I’m still asking my questions.” She took another step toward the recovery room.
The doctor moved aside and shoved open the door. “Fine.”
The hiss and beep of machines greeted Sam as soon as she stepped inside. The suspect lay on the bed, his face ashen, his breath rasping.
A groan broke from his lips, and her gaze lifted to his face. A young face. Handsome, or it had been. High brow. Strong cheekbones. A dimple in his chin.
Sam leaned over the bed and touched his cheek. “Can you hear me?”
Kevin flinched. His skin was ice cold beneath her touch. The machines beeped louder, faster.
“Special Agent Kennedy,” Dr. Bradshaw began.
“Open your eyes,” Sam sharpened her voice, “and look at me.”
His eyelids twitched, but didn’t open. His breath rasped out. The nurse on the left-hand side of the bed looked up from the chart, her eyes wide.
Sam leaned in closer. “Why did you do it?” she demanded. “Why did you take those men?” But she knew, of course: money. Everyone had a price.
His head moved in the faintest of negative shakes.
Her eyes narrowed.
Chalky lips moved, but no sound emerged.
“Kevin, why did you kill them?”
Nothing.
And that beeping… it wasn’t so fast now. Slow, slowing down.
His breath eased in. Out.
“Why did you kill them?”
His mouth moved again. She couldn’t read his lips because the movement was too faint so she put her head right next to his mouth as she tried to hear the words. “Why?” She demanded again.
“Not… m-me…” Kevin’s whisper ended on a sigh.
A long, constant shriek pierced the room.
“He’s coding!” The nurse yelled, lunging for her patient.
The doctor grabbed Sam’s arm and hauled her back. “You have to leave, now!”
Blood gurgled from Kevin’s mouth. Red bloomed across the bandages on his chest. His breath wheezed out.
Sam backed up, but didn’t leave.
Two more nurses ran into the room. Another doctor. They huddled over the bed.
“Clear!”
She couldn’t even see Kevin anymore. Just a jumble of green scrubs.
“No pulse!”
Sam stared at the mass of bodies.
“Again!” Dr. Bradshaw’s order.
Kevin was someone’s son. Maybe someone’s lover.
And a killer.
The whine of the machines continued to blast, and the doctors kept working. Sam stayed there, watching.
They worked on their patient, voices tense. The minutes ticked past.
She watched, and when the nurses and the doctors stepped back, their gloves covered in blood, Sam was still there.
“Calling it,” Bradshaw said, yanking off her gloves. “Time of death, one fifty-eight a.m.” She stormed toward the door but stopped to glare at Sam. “You didn’t even get anything from him. His last few moments, and you didn’t get a damn thing.”
Maybe.
Not… m-me…
Maybe not.
Max stared at Quinlan’s still body. The bandages covered him from neck to foot. So many wounds. Some small and light, designed just to tease, to let him know that the pain was coming. Others deep. Meant to hurt. Meant to make Quinlan suffer.
The door behind Max opened with a soft swish, but he didn’t glance back.
“I wanted you to know,” Samantha said quietly, “the suspect died about five minutes ago.”
His eyes were on the thick bandages that covered Quinlan’s left hand. “Good.”
“Two slugs were pulled out of him. We’re going to run a ballistics test and see if they match up with Frank’s gun.”
Quinlan barely appeared to breathe, but then, the doctors had pumped him so full of drugs that he would seem dead to the world. Painkillers. Max had been told Quinlan would be out the rest of the night. “What’s going to happen to him?”
Jesus, what a mess. A sick, sad mess.
“The team will run a full investigation of the scene before determining anything.”
Max rose from the bed and turned to pin her with his stare. But she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes, narrowed, distant, were on the bed.
He stepped in front of her, blocking her view of Quinlan. Making her see him. “He’s not going to jail.” Jail wasn’t for his brother. The guy wouldn’t survive there, and dammit, Quinlan didn’t deserve to be there. “He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know—” Not like me.
“It appears he thought the kidnapper was coming back.” Now her eyes were on him. “And he attacked. In the dark, he couldn’t see what was happening—or who was coming for him—not until it was too late.”
Blood soaking Frank’s clothes. The knife embedded in his throat.
Max drew in a long breath. “The press is going to be all over this.”
“We’re taking care of the press. Agent Kenton Lake is on top of it.”
He’d better handle them. “My family has been through enough.” With more to come. The funeral. Quinlan’s treatment.
“I know.”
His gaze traced her face. Damn but she was lovely. Staring at her made him ache.
“He’s not going to jail,” Max said again, aware that his voice was too rough. Behind him, the machines hooked up to Quinlan steadily hissed and beeped.
Samantha didn’t speak. Her stare darted to the bed, then back to him. “I’m sorry about your stepfather. If there’s anything I can do…”
He stiffened at the familiar spiel. The same refrain that everyone always offered.
She swallowed and turned away. “We’re going to keep two guards outside of your brother’s room.”
“What? Why?” All the kidnappers were dead.
Her hand was on the door. “We have to be absolutely certain that the people who took your brother are—”
“They’re dead. They’re all f**king dead.”
Samantha wasn’t looking at him. “We haven’t determined that yet, and until we know exactly what we’re dealing with, the guards stay.” She glanced over her shoulder. “And that’s my order.”
Tension had his temples throbbing. “You really think someone else could still be out there? Someone who might want to hurt Quinlan?”
“I think it’s a possibility, and I’m not going to leave your brother unguarded until we know for sure.”
“Your stepbrother…” The doctor swallowed. “He’s still in surgery, but it looks like he’ll be all right. As soon as he’s in recovery, I-I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Samantha said. She stood beside Max, quiet and calm. She’d been there just moments after he’d arrived. She’d come in right after the doctors had run down the hallway, screaming orders, and he’d seen Frank’s pale hand fall off the gurney.
He’d known then. Dead.
Max stared in silence as the seconds ticked by. After a while, his breath heaved out, and he turned away, stalking for the door.
“Max!”
He didn’t stop at Samantha’s call. What was he supposed to be feeling? Frank—dead. And Quinlan. Oh, damn, Quinlan.
His palms slapped against the emergency room doors. He hurried out as the security beep sounded behind him.
“Max, stop!” Samantha caught his arm and swung him back to face her. “Max, I’m sorry.”
So was he. Sorry he’d trusted the FBI. “Why was he there, Samantha?”
She shook her head. Her curls bounced against her shoulders. “I don’t know. Ramirez is working on that. We think—we think Frank must have gotten a call from the kidnapper, telling him where to go.”
And he would have gone. The bastard would have walked right in there without telling him.
“We’ll pull his phone records, see what we can find—”
He stepped away from her, breaking her hold. Can’t let her touch me, not now. “And what about Quinlan? What’s going to happen to him? Samantha, he killed Frank!”
A man standing in the hallway shot him a wide-eyed look and hurried off. His footsteps rapped against the floor.
“Quinlan’s going to survive, that’s what he’s going to do.”
So easy to say. “You ever killed someone?” With her job, yeah, maybe, but…
“No.”
“There’s not really any coming back from that.” He knew. Some things you could never forget.
He could still feel that baseball bat in his hands. The smooth wood. The hard strength. He could see that bat swinging through the air, hear the faint whistle of sound, and see the bastard’s eyes as he realized what was going to happen to him.
What had Frank realized in those last few moments? Max closed his eyes, not wanting to see the line of cars buzzing outside. Life going on, while his family lay shattered. “He just wanted to save Quinlan.”
“Frank did. Quinlan’s—”
“They tortured him.”
“He survived. Give him a chance. Your stepbrother can get past—”
Max’s control snapped, and he whirled to face her. “You don’t know! You forced your way in here. You forced yourself into my life, and now Frank’s dead!” Tell the cops, and you’ll get him back in pieces. Rage churned in him and exploded on the closest victim—her. “They’d already gone to work on Quinlan. They were cutting him up. Know why, baby? You know why they were cutting my brother apart?”
Because of you.
It hung between them, stark and painful. The kidnappers had changed their plans because they’d known that the FBI was involved. Samantha and her team had broken those stupid rules.
She swallowed and eased toward him. “Yes, I know why.” A brief pause, then, “Because they were freaking psychopaths who got off on hurting other people, that’s why.”
Red stained her cheeks, and her chin lifted. “There was escalation from these guys, right after the initial abduction. The first guy came back unharmed, but the second vic—they made sure he suffered. They sliced his chest. Carved his back. Yes, he came back alive, but they had fun with him first, and they got a taste.”
What? “You never said—”
“Because I was trying to protect you. What? Did you want me to tell you that the bastards who’d took your brother liked to torture? That they got off on pain? Well, they did.”
Frank’s face, eyes wide, lips dripping blood.
“They killed the third victim. The parents broke their rules, sure, but, like I said, the kidnappers were already escalating. The fourth victim went down, too. They could have given the Briars more time. They didn’t want to. Monica’s profile showed the attacks weren’t just about the money. Based on the way the bodies were carved, the killer enjoyed hurting the victims.”
Max stared at her and struggled to process everything she was admitting to him.
“I couldn’t tell you,” Samantha said, her voice softer, sadder. “You already had enough on your mind. And Frank—what? Was I supposed to tell a father that the bastards who had his son were slowly slicing him apart?” She gave a slow, negative shake of her head. “I couldn’t do that.”
His shoulders fell. “Leave me alone.”
Her hand lifted, reached for him.
He stepped back. “Just—go, now, okay?” His hand raked through his hair. Too much. It was all too much. “You’ve done enough. Just… go.”
Her eyes didn’t waver, but her hand dropped. “I’ll give you some time alone.”
A ragged laugh broke from his lips. “Yeah, yeah, you do that.”
“But I’m not leaving you. If you need me, I’m here.”
Didn’t she get it? The rage inside was so strong. He wanted to strike out, and she was too close.
“Go.” Before he said something that he couldn’t take back.
Sam paced along the hospital corridor. Kevin Milano was still alive. He hung by the barest of threads while Frank’s body was already cold one floor down.
It didn’t seem fair. But then, life had a way of twisting and turning on you. Sometimes, the good guys didn’t win.
The doctor came out of surgery, her lips tight and her gaze steady. “He’s still with us,” Dr. Joyce Bradshaw said, “but I can’t say for how much longer.”
Sam sucked in a sharp breath. “Is he conscious?”
“Barely.”
Good enough. “Then I want to talk to him, now.” Because there wasn’t any time to lose.
The doctor’s blue eyes widened. “Uh—excuse me?”
Sam edged nearer to the closed operating room door. “I need to talk to the suspect.” While she still could.
“I don’t think you understand.” The doctor shook her head. “The man has sustained massive internal injuries. He’s not—”
“He’s my prime suspect in at least four murders.” Sam crossed her arms. This was her job. She’d do it. “Before he goes and talks to God about the shit he did, he’ll be talking to me.” Her eyes burned as she stared at the doctor.
“I-I don’t know—”
“I do.” She’d pinned her ID to her belt. She knew the doc could see it. “I know that I’ve got a pile of dead bodies, and I’m about to add one more.”
The lines around the doctor’s eyes deepened. “He might not even be able to answer you.”
Sam forced a shrug. “I’m still asking my questions.” She took another step toward the recovery room.
The doctor moved aside and shoved open the door. “Fine.”
The hiss and beep of machines greeted Sam as soon as she stepped inside. The suspect lay on the bed, his face ashen, his breath rasping.
A groan broke from his lips, and her gaze lifted to his face. A young face. Handsome, or it had been. High brow. Strong cheekbones. A dimple in his chin.
Sam leaned over the bed and touched his cheek. “Can you hear me?”
Kevin flinched. His skin was ice cold beneath her touch. The machines beeped louder, faster.
“Special Agent Kennedy,” Dr. Bradshaw began.
“Open your eyes,” Sam sharpened her voice, “and look at me.”
His eyelids twitched, but didn’t open. His breath rasped out. The nurse on the left-hand side of the bed looked up from the chart, her eyes wide.
Sam leaned in closer. “Why did you do it?” she demanded. “Why did you take those men?” But she knew, of course: money. Everyone had a price.
His head moved in the faintest of negative shakes.
Her eyes narrowed.
Chalky lips moved, but no sound emerged.
“Kevin, why did you kill them?”
Nothing.
And that beeping… it wasn’t so fast now. Slow, slowing down.
His breath eased in. Out.
“Why did you kill them?”
His mouth moved again. She couldn’t read his lips because the movement was too faint so she put her head right next to his mouth as she tried to hear the words. “Why?” She demanded again.
“Not… m-me…” Kevin’s whisper ended on a sigh.
A long, constant shriek pierced the room.
“He’s coding!” The nurse yelled, lunging for her patient.
The doctor grabbed Sam’s arm and hauled her back. “You have to leave, now!”
Blood gurgled from Kevin’s mouth. Red bloomed across the bandages on his chest. His breath wheezed out.
Sam backed up, but didn’t leave.
Two more nurses ran into the room. Another doctor. They huddled over the bed.
“Clear!”
She couldn’t even see Kevin anymore. Just a jumble of green scrubs.
“No pulse!”
Sam stared at the mass of bodies.
“Again!” Dr. Bradshaw’s order.
Kevin was someone’s son. Maybe someone’s lover.
And a killer.
The whine of the machines continued to blast, and the doctors kept working. Sam stayed there, watching.
They worked on their patient, voices tense. The minutes ticked past.
She watched, and when the nurses and the doctors stepped back, their gloves covered in blood, Sam was still there.
“Calling it,” Bradshaw said, yanking off her gloves. “Time of death, one fifty-eight a.m.” She stormed toward the door but stopped to glare at Sam. “You didn’t even get anything from him. His last few moments, and you didn’t get a damn thing.”
Maybe.
Not… m-me…
Maybe not.
Max stared at Quinlan’s still body. The bandages covered him from neck to foot. So many wounds. Some small and light, designed just to tease, to let him know that the pain was coming. Others deep. Meant to hurt. Meant to make Quinlan suffer.
The door behind Max opened with a soft swish, but he didn’t glance back.
“I wanted you to know,” Samantha said quietly, “the suspect died about five minutes ago.”
His eyes were on the thick bandages that covered Quinlan’s left hand. “Good.”
“Two slugs were pulled out of him. We’re going to run a ballistics test and see if they match up with Frank’s gun.”
Quinlan barely appeared to breathe, but then, the doctors had pumped him so full of drugs that he would seem dead to the world. Painkillers. Max had been told Quinlan would be out the rest of the night. “What’s going to happen to him?”
Jesus, what a mess. A sick, sad mess.
“The team will run a full investigation of the scene before determining anything.”
Max rose from the bed and turned to pin her with his stare. But she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes, narrowed, distant, were on the bed.
He stepped in front of her, blocking her view of Quinlan. Making her see him. “He’s not going to jail.” Jail wasn’t for his brother. The guy wouldn’t survive there, and dammit, Quinlan didn’t deserve to be there. “He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know—” Not like me.
“It appears he thought the kidnapper was coming back.” Now her eyes were on him. “And he attacked. In the dark, he couldn’t see what was happening—or who was coming for him—not until it was too late.”
Blood soaking Frank’s clothes. The knife embedded in his throat.
Max drew in a long breath. “The press is going to be all over this.”
“We’re taking care of the press. Agent Kenton Lake is on top of it.”
He’d better handle them. “My family has been through enough.” With more to come. The funeral. Quinlan’s treatment.
“I know.”
His gaze traced her face. Damn but she was lovely. Staring at her made him ache.
“He’s not going to jail,” Max said again, aware that his voice was too rough. Behind him, the machines hooked up to Quinlan steadily hissed and beeped.
Samantha didn’t speak. Her stare darted to the bed, then back to him. “I’m sorry about your stepfather. If there’s anything I can do…”
He stiffened at the familiar spiel. The same refrain that everyone always offered.
She swallowed and turned away. “We’re going to keep two guards outside of your brother’s room.”
“What? Why?” All the kidnappers were dead.
Her hand was on the door. “We have to be absolutely certain that the people who took your brother are—”
“They’re dead. They’re all f**king dead.”
Samantha wasn’t looking at him. “We haven’t determined that yet, and until we know exactly what we’re dealing with, the guards stay.” She glanced over her shoulder. “And that’s my order.”
Tension had his temples throbbing. “You really think someone else could still be out there? Someone who might want to hurt Quinlan?”
“I think it’s a possibility, and I’m not going to leave your brother unguarded until we know for sure.”
