Until Dark - Mariah Stewart [130]
“And how many IDs did you check, the night of the fire? Did you ask to see any?”
Adam met his boss’s stare with silence.
“That’s what I thought.”
“So you think it’s okay, that Fletcher just let Zach walk off with Kendra?”
“Of course not. But at the same time, I think the circumstances need to be taken into consideration. There were several law enforcement agencies at the scene. I doubt that anyone checked anyone else’s ID. Who would have thought the killer would walk into the midst of them, pretend to be one of them? Brilliant on Smith’s part, if you ask me.”
“Kendra could have been killed, John.”
“Well, then, consider this. We not only caught our killer, but Kendra has finally found peace of mind. She knows now what really happened not only to her brother, but to her mother, as well. Ask her if she’d rather it had played out any other way.”
Adam looked over his shoulder at the woman sleeping on the bed behind him. He knew without asking what her answer would be.
“You go on down,” he told John. “I’ll join you in just a few.”
John patted Adam on the back and said, “She’s going to be fine, Adam. I know it’s tough when it’s someone you care about, but she’s going to be fine.”
Adam nodded, and returned to the side of the bed where Kendra lay, her breathing more regular, her vital signs as recorded by the monitors above her bed just fine. He watched her for several long minutes, fussing over her slightly, moving a branch or two from her face, straightening her blanket out just a bit.
“I’ll be back,” he whispered to her sleeping form, “and then we’ll talk about Nags Head. For starters, anyway. We have a lot to talk about, you and I. . . .”
How long did they think they could keep him tied up like this? Where the hell was his lawyer, anyway? Isn’t this cruel and unusual punishment, shackling a guy to the bed? Where did they think he was going to go?
He smiled to himself. He knew where he’d like to go.
She was still here, right up two floors from him. He’d heard the nurses talking about her. How brave she was; how she’d broken both her hands trying to get away from her attacker.
Bullshit.
She was lucky, that’s all. She wasn’t brave, she was scared shitless. And she broke her hands beating the crap out of him. So why all the sympathy for her when he’d clearly gotten the worst of it all?
Bitch. Did she think she was going to get away with this? Damn near killed him, that’s what she did. Beat him till he could barely move, couldn’t run, though he’d tried. Took him nearly ten minutes to slip the ropes she’d tied him with. Tough to make ground with a broken leg. He’d tried swimming but he’d been disoriented and he swam right into the arms of the three police officers sent to bring him back.
One could say that his stars had been poorly aligned last night. He’d certainly had a run of bad luck.
Of course, he reminded himself, he shouldn’t complain. After all, look at all the good luck he’d had over the past few years. He pondered this for a while. He had been inordinately lucky. Why, he’d never even come close to being caught. Until now. And if it hadn’t been for her, he’d still be free.
Free.
How long, he wondered, before he’d be free again?
Maybe never, he whispered softly.
Maybe, he smiled, pulling on the cuffs that bound him to the bed. They couldn’t keep him locked to the bed forever. Sooner or later they’d have to uncuff him.
Maybe sooner than later. A good lawyer, a good plea. Was insanity a defense in this state? In any of the states that would want to try him? He thought about this. If he could plead . . . and get himself into the right facility . . .
If one was very, very clever and very, very alert, well, who knew if—and when—the right opportunities might present themselves? He’d just have to be alert, that’s all. Alert and smart and willing to take a chance or two.
Just like he’d been doing for the past ten years.
Smiling, musing on the possibilities that could come his way, he closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.
BY