Deadly Dreams (32 page)

“Do you know how many surgeries I had after I escaped and killed LeCroix?”

She could only shake her head in bemusement. Adam rarely spoke of anything remotely personal. And she couldn’t remember him ever offering information about the most intensely traumatic event of his life.

“Thirteen. I was in and out of hospitals for months. Completely helpless part of the time. Dependent on others for my care and feeding.” The fierceness of his tone told her better than words just how much he’d despised that. “There’s no way I could have gotten through it if I’d thought about it in terms of how long it was going to take. Worried about the end result. I just took it one surgery at a time. It’s a process, Marisa. Healing doesn’t happen all at once.”

She hoped he couldn’t tell how desperately she wanted to believe him. Needed to. “We had another victim today.” Her throat dried out. It took a moment to manage the rest of the words. “I knew who it would be. Dreamt the whole thing last night. And there wasn’t a damned thing I could do to stop it.”

His gaze went watchful. “Did you see the killer’s face?”

“No.”

“Did you check on the potential victim?”

She knew exactly where this was going. It didn’t lessen the guilt. “I couldn’t reach him.”

“It was already too late.”

Risa looked away, sick at the knowledge that the dream probably occurred at the same time Mark Randolph was burning to death.

Adam remained silent for several moments. There was nothing to say. Both of them knew it. Finally he spoke. “You know from experience there will be more. And when there are, you’ll use every detail at your disposal to help progress this case. But it’s you and the rest of the task force who will solve it. With or without help from your psychic subconscious. Now.” He used the cane to help him rise. “Walk me to the car. You can fill me in on the details.”

They went out the front door and down the steps, the security light providing a soft pool of illumination as they crossed the front yard. His driver turned on the car headlights as they approached. Adam listened intently as she reported the events of the day. She’d forgotten how satisfying it was to get his view on a case she was working. Risa was by no means alone in believing there was no finer criminal mind in the country.

A car started and moved slowly up the street. “Whatever the detectives were involved in, it was highly illegal; hence, the profits you’re talking about,” Raiker was saying. “My guess would be drugs, unless you have reason to believe they could have been . . .”

Several things happened simultaneously then. The car screeched to a stop. Caution reared even before comprehension filtered in. Raiker’s driver opened his car door. Adam lurched in front of Risa, his hand going for his weapon.

Three loud reports filled the air. Risa hit the ground hard. A weight pinning her. There were several more gunshots. The sound of a car accelerating. A crash.

The weight on top of her didn’t move.

“Adam!” She grasped him and gave a huge shove. Turned him over and leaned above him. “Adam, are you . . .” It was only then that she saw the blood soaking the white shirt he wore beneath his suit.

She ripped open his shirt to find the source of the wound. Nearly wept when she saw three bullet holes. “Hold on.” Risa pulled off her jacket and wadded it up into a makeshift compress and pressed it against the wounds, maintaining constant pressure.

“Adam, stay with me.” She checked his pulse. Found it irregular. “Hang on until we can get you help.”

“Risa, what the hell’s going on? Are you hurt?”

She jerked in the direction of the familiar voice. Jerry Muller was tearing across her lawn toward them. “Call nine-one-one.”

He stopped, peered at her uncertainly. “Who’s there with you?”

“Jerry, get an ambulance now!” She watched until he turned to hurry back to his house before turning back to Adam, her heart in her throat.

His eye was narrowed in fierce concentration. “So much . . . for . . . fed . . . surveil . . . lance.”

A sob shuddered out of her. “You’ll have some major asskicking to do when this is over.”

His breathing altered. “Adam?” Panic flooded through her. “Adam, look at me. Dammit, don’t you die!”

But his eye closed. And no matter how many times she called his name as she applied first aid, he didn’t respond again.

Risa sat in a darkened corner of the surgical waiting room staring blindly at the floor. The first hour after the shooting had been a frenetic blur of activity. After the EMS ambulance crew had taken over, her first call had been to Morales, who’d promised to alert the commissioner. A second ambulance had to be summoned for Adam’s driver, who’d been wounded when he’d exchanged fire with the occupant in the other vehicle.

The shooter had been killed. Raiker’s driver was in stable condition.

Adam hadn’t regained consciousness.

She was too weary to stem the bleak tide of dread at the thought. Glancing at the clock, she saw that two hours had passed since they’d wheeled him into surgery. No one had been out with an update. But no one had come to tell her he was dead either, and Risa was clinging to that fact with all the optimism she could muster.

It hadn’t taken long for the local FBI field agents to make an appearance. Had taken even less time for her to demand how they could have so thoroughly screwed up. The ensuing conversation hadn’t been pleasant, hence the three agents’ stance across the room, all studiously ignoring her.

The commissioner and his deputy had come and gone after conferring with both her and the federal agents. Impossible to believe that in all the activity, time still insisted on dragging.

Someone approached to stand next to her. She heaved a mental sigh. She really couldn’t summon the energy to contemplate another go round with one of the federal agents. But when something was placed around her shoulders, she did look up. Found Nate.

“You looked cold.” He nodded toward the suit jacket he’d draped around her.

Risa stood, unwilling to admit to the thread of relief filtering through her. “They keep these places freezing.” Noticing the direction of his gaze, she looked down. Saw her bloodstained tank. “It’s not mine.”

“Gave me a bad start at first. But Morales said you were uninjured.”

“Raiker survived four attacks on his life. The only reason he was here was because the bureau claimed to have the guy responsible. He was under surveillance, they said.” She aimed another resentful look toward the three agents talking in low tones on the other side of the room. “I’ve yet to hear an explanation for how someone under surveillance managed to put three bullets into my boss.”

Her voice cracked on the last words and Nate reached out. Hauled her into his arms. “He’s going to be okay.” The assurance was whispered in her ear.

Risa closed her eyes and swallowed hard, willing it to be true. “You can’t possibly know that.”

“As a matter of fact I do. Me and the big guy,” he jabbed a finger skyward. “We’re really tight. He called me a just a minute ago and gave me the news.”

She let out a helpless laugh that a moment ago she would have sworn was beyond her. “I’m pretty sure that’s considered sacrilegious in almost every religion.”

“Only if it’s not true.”

Letting out a long sigh, she rested against him for just a moment. “It’s been a helluva day.”

She could feel his lips in her hair. And his arms remained tight around her. “That it has.”

Somehow the next hour passed more quickly than the previous three. And that had everything to do with the man at her side, who kept her hand clasped tightly in his the entire time.

“Risa.” She looked up to see Paulie Samuels and Kellan Burke hurrying toward her. Disentangling her fingers from Nate’s, she immediately missed the warmth of his touch.

Caught in a bear hug by the effusive Samuels, she clung for a moment, before he was shoved aside so Burke could take his place. “Glad to see you in one piece.”

“I’m not the one they’ve spent the last few hours putting back together.” She stepped back, gave the men a wan smile. “No news yet. Nothing since they took him in for surgery.”

“I can’t believe they haven’t sent anyone out to update you.” Paulie’s tone was irate, but his eyes were worried.

Belatedly, she remembered a semblance of manners. “Lieutenant Detective Nate McGuire, PPD.” She gestured to Nate, who’d risen. “Paulie Samuels, Adam’s right arm, and Kellan Burke, a fellow investigator for Raiker Forensics.” She caught Kellan’s sidelong glance and realized what she’d said. Of course he would have gotten wind of her resignation. Probably had heard of Raiker’s refusal to accept it. Burke knew Adam better than most of them, second only to Paulie. There was some sort of history between the two men that had never been fully explained.

“Had a heck of a time getting away without Macy, but she flies to LA for a big trial tomorrow.” Kellan’s fiancée was a forensic linguist who also worked for Raiker Forensics. “If I know her, she’ll find a way to swing by here on her way home.” None of them mentioned the obvious. That if Adam didn’t make it, there’d be no reason for the trip.

“Did they give you any idea how they could have screwed up with Jennings so badly?” Paulie inclined his head toward the federal agents.

“Our conversation didn’t exactly end on good terms. They were a lot more interested in asking questions than answering them. Commissioner Lawton didn’t mention anything either.” She sent a quizzical look at Nate, which he interpreted correctly.

“Morales only told me about the shooting and that you were here.”

There was something indiscernible in his tone. Something that had Kellan looking at Nate more carefully, and then at Risa.

“They’ll damn well tell me something.” Paulie strode across the waiting room. Risa silently wished him luck. It wouldn’t be wise for the FBI agents to underestimate the man, even if he was wearing a tie sporting decks of cards and poker chips. Samuels still had a lot of contacts in the bureau. If he didn’t get the answers he was seeking from the field agents, he’d be on the phone demanding them from someone much higher on the bureau’s food chain.

It was nearly fifteen minutes later before Nate’s low voice alerted her.

“Risa.”

Turning, she saw one of the surgeons she’d seen earlier coming out of one of the interior doorways, looking about the room.

“Adam Raiker?”

She and Kellan nearly tripped over each other as they lunged across the room. “How is he?” they asked simultaneously. Holding her breath, she examined the woman’s expression. It was grave, which told her absolutely nothing.

“He’s made it through surgery.” Her next words stemmed the relief flowing through Risa. “We lost him once but were able to stabilize him and continue.” Finally, she offered a small smile. “He’s made of strong stuff.”

“You have no idea,” Kellan said feelingly.

“His condition is critical.” The doctor’s look encompassed Paulie, who had hurried up to them. “We were able to remove the bullet fragments. Unfortunately, one of them nicked his heart, and the repair gave us a few bad moments in there. He’s stable at the moment. If he makes it through the next twenty-four hours, his chances will improve dramatically.”

Kellan’s pale green eyes beneath the trendy-framed glasses were unusually sober. “So you’re telling us after waiting for the last several hours . . . we need to wait.”

The doctor nodded, not without sympathy. “Praying might be a good way to pass the time.”

An hour later, Risa, Paulie, Kellan, and Nate were huddled over coffee. They’d moved to the ICU waiting room, but the only change was the location. Same décor. Same endless passage of time. Adam was still in recovery and hadn’t been brought to a room yet. When he was, he’d be allowed only one visitor for fifteen minutes every hour.

“Jennings beat the feds at their own game,” Paulie was telling them with barely reined fury in his voice. “Raiker and I had been holed up in a hotel while some lookalike stood in for Adam trying to lure Jennings out. The op was a total bust. Jennings never took the bait. So we flew back to DC. Barely got there before we got a call from the bureau saying they’d closed in on him. Their intelligence was solid. They’d trailed him to a known acquaintance’s of his, and he didn’t leave again.”

“Someone didn’t leave again,” Risa put in. “But it must not have been Jennings they had surrounded at that house.”

“No, he was found dead in the vehicle in front of your place. I don’t know the identity of the man they arrested, and he isn’t talking yet. But they share a better than passing resemblance. Jennings must have paid him off to distract the feds by heading to a place he knew they’d be watching while he made one last attempt on Adam’s life.”

“With his death, our chance of learning who he was working for dramatically decreases,” Kellan said with disgust.