“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.
Chapter 15
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