any kind. Risa imagined it came from being on the receiving end of drunken violence meted out by Raymond. She followed Raiker around the counter and nimbly hoisted herself up on it to reach the highest cupboard over the sink.
Retrieving the bottle tucked behind dusty vases and warped Tupperware, she bent her knees and jumped to the floor again, presenting Adam with the bottle.
He studied the label, raised one dark brow. “No Scotch?”
She turned to take three juice glasses out of the cupboard next to the sink. “Did it look like I was well stocked up there?”
“Quit your bitching, Adam. At least it’s Crown.” Paulie beamed broadly and poured an overly generous splash in each glass. Adam reached out and took one of the glasses, tipped two-thirds of its contents into another, and nudged the glass with the remainder toward his colleague.
“You’re driving.”
Paulie looked woeful but picked up the glass to sip.
Risa took one of the glasses and leaned against the counter. “To what do I owe the unexpected company?”
Adam was adept at dodging direct answers. He did so now. “How’s the case progressing?”
“Three days since the last victim was found. We’ve covered a lot of ground but haven’t found a link between the three men yet, other than their occupations.”
“It’s there,” Adam said surely. He took a healthy swallow of whiskey. “The connection might not be obvious so you’ll have to look for something more nebulous. That case Ryne and Abbie worked last year, the serial rapist in Savannah? Offender was a temp nurse targeting women he came in contact with through his various jobs.”
She recalled the case. She also recalled the link hadn’t been discovered until after they’d caught the offender. But she wasn’t going to waste an opportunity to bounce the details of the case off the most brilliant forensic mind in the country either.
Nearly twenty minutes later, her boss was regarding her with a slight smile. “Sounds like you’ve settled back into the job without much problem.”
Tension shot through her muscles. She sipped from the glass, welcoming the liquor’s scalding slide down her suddenly tight throat. “I’m not at the forefront of this. And it’s early days yet.”
“Any more dreams?”
“One.” She used the tip of her nail to draw an imaginary line down the back of the glass. “Pretty much the same as the first.”
“They’re back. And they’ll come whether you’re involved in the work or not. They always did.” The words were inexorable. Irrefutable.
And true.
Although it was difficult to meet that laser blue gaze, she forced herself to do so. “I’m dealing. Taking it a day at a time.”
“That’s all anyone can ask for. Isn’t it, Adam?”
But Paulie’s not so subtle remark was lost on their boss. His glass made a small sound as he set it against the counter. Then he reached into his suit jacket to withdraw something, which he extended toward her. “You’ll need this.”
Her slight gasp mingled with Paulie’s exasperated, “Shit, Adam.” She barely heard him. Her mind was frozen. Her eyes rooted on the gun he held out to her. The one she’d handed in, via a third party, along with the resignation he’d chosen to ignore.
“You know my rule. None of my operatives work unarmed. I got a permit issued in your name the day I spoke to the chief.”
She made no move toward it. Couldn’t have forced herself to if she wanted. She hadn’t touched her weapon since—
The earthen walls were cold. Dank. The makeshift lighting flickered. On one moment. Dissolving into absolute darkness the next. A boy’s thin, desperate whisper. “Risa, don’t leave me!”
She tried to swallow. Felt like she was drowning.
Adam set the weapon on the counter next to her. She could feel its nearness, as if it radiated a human heat.
“I can’t even pick it up,” she managed.
His good eye glinted. “You’ll have to, won’t you? At least to put it away.” Downing the rest of the liquor, he set the glass on the counter in a gesture of finality. “I’ll be in touch.”
She didn’t answer. Didn’t respond to Paulie’s last commiserating look before he followed his boss from the kitchen. Out the back door.
Her attention was rooted on the weapon. The black Beretta 90 nine millimeter was nestled snugly in its leather shoulder harness. It was just a gun. The emotions attached to the sight of it had nothing to it with the weapon.
And everything to do with the memory of the greatest failure in her life.