Winter Kill, стр. 45

A hand locked in Adam’s hair, dragging him upright. He winced against the pain, half-blinded by the glare of headlights, the flashing halogenic red and blue bars. Yes, Rob, positioned behind the open door of his SUV, weapon trained on Adam. On Berkle, who was using Adam as a shield.

Not that Berkle planned to walk away. His exit strategy would be to inflict as much pain and damage as possible by whatever means available.

“Berkle,” Rob said, “Last. Warning.”

“Say goodbye,” Berkle told Adam. He sounded easy, relaxed.

Adam closed his eyes. The winter night erupted in gunfire.

Chapter Fifteen

“I hope you’re kidding,” Adam said.

He was propped against a mound of pillows in Rob’s bed. Battered, bruised, bandaged—and still the most beautiful thing Rob had ever seen.

Not a good patient though. That was for sure.

“I don’t see how you think you’re going to use a fork.” Rob indicated Adam’s still red and swollen hands.

“You’re sure as hell not feeding me.”

It was Tuesday afternoon. Adam had been released from Klamath Falls Medical Center only a couple of hours earlier. He’d started the day being interviewed by local law enforcement and the FBI about the events of the previous evening. He’d given a quiet, precise accounting, and maybe he really was as calm as he seemed.

That made one of them.

Rob had not slept in forty-eight hours. He was not sure if he would ever relax enough to sleep again. The night before, he’d spent sitting beside Adam’s hospital bed watching every slow, peaceful, sedated rise and fall of Adam’s chest. Even if he hadn’t been afraid to leave Adam’s side…he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing himself emptying his pistol into Bert Berkle.

Berkle had not given him a choice. There was no question he would have killed Adam, and when he failed, no question that he hoped Rob and the Nearby Sheriff’s Office would kill Adam for him. Rob did not regret his choice. He was never going to forget the horror of seeing Adam come stumbling out of the night, drenched in gore—or the sight of Berkle stalking him, unhurried and purposeful, knife in hand and infrared goggles in place. Every cop in Southern Oregon could have surrounded him, and Berkle wouldn’t have cared. He was like a wild animal scenting blood. His only aim was to kill Adam—or die trying.

So, no. Rob had no regrets. He was deeply thankful that he had a good eye, a steady hand, and had faithfully logged all those hours on the gun range though he had never imagined he would have to put his training to use. He would have slaughtered a hundred Bert Berkle’s to save Adam. But when he’d opened fire last night…something had changed inside him. Life would never go back to the way it was. He couldn’t have explained how or why. But it was kind of like the first time you saw butterflies covering carrion. Or noticed soft, white snow angels in a graveyard.

That sounded stupid and maudlin, and it wasn’t what he meant anyway. He didn’t know what he felt. Except that anything was worth it to have Adam sitting there, whole and in one piece. Mostly whole. He could barely flex his fingers and he couldn’t lift his arms without the muscles shaking badly, but he had been lucky. No nerve damage according to the doctors. He just needed rest and a little time to recover.

Neither of which were in his nature. He planned on flying back to L.A. the following day.

“Well, if you’re not hungry,” Rob said.

Adam looked indignant. He gazed helplessly at the tray Rob had prepared. The delicious aroma of garlic and oregano wafted from the lasagna. Grocery store lasagna, but still.

“You could always try licking the plate,” Rob suggested helpfully.

“You’re a crack up, Haskell.”

“No one says ‘crack up’ anymore,” Rob told him. He sat down on the edge of the bed, companionably close to Adam, and picked up the fork. “Aw, come on. Let someone take care of you, for a change. It’s not going to cost you anything.”

Adam flicked him an uncertain look. “It’s not that.”

“Really? What is it?” Rob used the fork to break off a piece of lasagna. He lifted the fork to Adam’s lips and Adam wrinkled his nose and took a bite. He chewed, swallowed.

“See, not so bad,” Rob said.

“No, it’s good.” Adam licked his bottom lip self-consciously.

Rob smiled faintly. Not an easy guy to know, Adam. But Rob would have been willing to try. Was still willing. It wasn’t going to happen.

When Adam had asked Rob how he’d guessed that Berkle had snatched him, Rob had shown him the photos of Dove Koletar. Adam had studied the photos for a long time and then he’d asked Rob to get Sam Kennedy back to the hospital. When Kennedy had arrived—wearing the expression of one who knows it’s his job to humor the injured-in-the-line-of-duty—Adam had asked Rob to show him the photos of Dove Koletar.

Like Adam, Kennedy had pored over the photographs for a long time.

“What?” Rob had asked, finally, irritated with all the mystery. “What are you two looking at?”

“Koletar’s tattoos,” Adam said. “It’s cuneiform for bird.”

“Oh. That’s interesting.” Rob knew he shouldn’t be surprised that Adam’s mind was already back on work, back on chasing the next mankiller.

“These are also the symbols the Roadside Ripper carves into the chests of his victims.”

“Maybe,” Kennedy cautioned. “We can’t be positive yet. But…” He eyed Adam thoughtfully. “I think you’re correct.”

Some of the color had come back into Adam’s face. He smiled at Rob, though Rob had no part in any of this. Not his world. They were welcome to it.

After that, Kennedy and Adam had a pleasant little chat about serial killers, and finally Kennedy had offered Adam a place on the BAU4 squad. Or rather, he had said a position would be coming up and he wanted Adam to consider it. And Adam said he would. He’d still been a bit groggy with pain meds, but Rob had no doubt Adam would take the job, and if L.A. had seemed a long way away, Quantico felt like the ends of the earth.

Hello goodbye. When Adam had opened his eyes that morning and seen Rob sitting beside his bed, he’d smiled a tired smile and twitched his fingers in Rob’s direction. It had felt like the start of something. But he had been smiling at Rob after Kennedy offered him a job, and that was definitely the end of Rob’s tentative hopes.

In the meantime… “Open,” Rob said.

Adam gave him a much put-upon look, and opened.

Rob’s cell phone rang. He put the fork down, rose, and answered Frankie’s call.

The news was not good.

His face must have shown it because when he returned to Adam’s bedside, Adam said, “What’s wrong?”

”Bill Constantine killed himself last night.”

“What?” Adam sat up, nearly knocking over the tray. He tried to save it, but his hands still weren’t cooperating, and he knocked over the water glass. “Hell. How? What happened?”

Rob lifted the tray with the now soggy lasagna off the bed and set it on the floor. He needed a couple of seconds to get his face under control. “Eden found him this morning.”

“Eden…” Adam repeated doubtfully, watching him.

“Ed Eden. He’s the director of Mountain Mortuary where Bill worked the last couple of years. He came in on Tuesday and found him in the Preparation Room. Bill was lying on the metal autopsy table.” Rob stood up. “Bill was wearing the raven mask stolen from the museum and a…a garment made of raven feathers. Like giant wings.” He gestured vaguely to his own shoulders.

He could see Adam thinking it over, putting two and two together. “How did he do it?”

Rob said flatly, “He stabbed himself through the heart with the raven knife he stole.”

Adam released a long, slow breath. “I didn’t realize he worked at the mortuary.”

Rob said, “There’s a reason some of the kids around here called him Creepy Billy.”