She shook her head. Her curls bounced against her shoulders. “I don’t know. Ramirez is working on that. We think—we think Frank must have gotten a call from the kidnapper, telling him where to go.”
And he would have gone. The bastard would have walked right in there without telling him.
“We’ll pull his phone records, see what we can find—”
He stepped away from her, breaking her hold. Can’t let her touch me, not now. “And what about Quinlan? What’s going to happen to him? Samantha, he killed Frank!”
A man standing in the hallway shot him a wide-eyed look and hurried off. His footsteps rapped against the floor.
“Quinlan’s going to survive, that’s what he’s going to do.”
So easy to say. “You ever killed someone?” With her job, yeah, maybe, but…
“No.”
“There’s not really any coming back from that.” He knew. Some things you could never forget.
He could still feel that baseball bat in his hands. The smooth wood. The hard strength. He could see that bat swinging through the air, hear the faint whistle of sound, and see the bastard’s eyes as he realized what was going to happen to him.
What had Frank realized in those last few moments? Max closed his eyes, not wanting to see the line of cars buzzing outside. Life going on, while his family lay shattered. “He just wanted to save Quinlan.”
“Frank did. Quinlan’s—”
“They tortured him.”
“He survived. Give him a chance. Your stepbrother can get past—”
Max’s control snapped, and he whirled to face her. “You don’t know! You forced your way in here. You forced yourself into my life, and now Frank’s dead!” Tell the cops, and you’ll get him back in pieces. Rage churned in him and exploded on the closest victim—her. “They’d already gone to work on Quinlan. They were cutting him up. Know why, baby? You know why they were cutting my brother apart?”
Because of you.
It hung between them, stark and painful. The kidnappers had changed their plans because they’d known that the FBI was involved. Samantha and her team had broken those stupid rules.
She swallowed and eased toward him. “Yes, I know why.” A brief pause, then, “Because they were freaking psychopaths who got off on hurting other people, that’s why.”
Red stained her cheeks, and her chin lifted. “There was escalation from these guys, right after the initial abduction. The first guy came back unharmed, but the second vic—they made sure he suffered. They sliced his chest. Carved his back. Yes, he came back alive, but they had fun with him first, and they got a taste.”
What? “You never said—”
“Because I was trying to protect you. What? Did you want me to tell you that the bastards who’d took your brother liked to torture? That they got off on pain? Well, they did.”
Frank’s face, eyes wide, lips dripping blood.
“They killed the third victim. The parents broke their rules, sure, but, like I said, the kidnappers were already escalating. The fourth victim went down, too. They could have given the Briars more time. They didn’t want to. Monica’s profile showed the attacks weren’t just about the money. Based on the way the bodies were carved, the killer enjoyed hurting the victims.”
Max stared at her and struggled to process everything she was admitting to him.
“I couldn’t tell you,” Samantha said, her voice softer, sadder. “You already had enough on your mind. And Frank—what? Was I supposed to tell a father that the bastards who had his son were slowly slicing him apart?” She gave a slow, negative shake of her head. “I couldn’t do that.”
His shoulders fell. “Leave me alone.”
Her hand lifted, reached for him.
He stepped back. “Just—go, now, okay?” His hand raked through his hair. Too much. It was all too much. “You’ve done enough. Just… go.”
Her eyes didn’t waver, but her hand dropped. “I’ll give you some time alone.”
A ragged laugh broke from his lips. “Yeah, yeah, you do that.”
“But I’m not leaving you. If you need me, I’m here.”
Didn’t she get it? The rage inside was so strong. He wanted to strike out, and she was too close.
“Go.” Before he said something that he couldn’t take back.
Sam paced along the hospital corridor. Kevin Milano was still alive. He hung by the barest of threads while Frank’s body was already cold one floor down.
It didn’t seem fair. But then, life had a way of twisting and turning on you. Sometimes, the good guys didn’t win.
The doctor came out of surgery, her lips tight and her gaze steady. “He’s still with us,” Dr. Joyce Bradshaw said, “but I can’t say for how much longer.”
Sam sucked in a sharp breath. “Is he conscious?”
“Barely.”
Good enough. “Then I want to talk to him, now.” Because there wasn’t any time to lose.
The doctor’s blue eyes widened. “Uh—excuse me?”
Sam edged nearer to the closed operating room door. “I need to talk to the suspect.” While she still could.
“I don’t think you understand.” The doctor shook her head. “The man has sustained massive internal injuries. He’s not—”
“He’s my prime suspect in at least four murders.” Sam crossed her arms. This was her job. She’d do it. “Before he goes and talks to God about the shit he did, he’ll be talking to me.” Her eyes burned as she stared at the doctor.
“I-I don’t know—”
“I do.” She’d pinned her ID to her belt. She knew the doc could see it. “I know that I’ve got a pile of dead bodies, and I’m about to add one more.”
The lines around the doctor’s eyes deepened. “He might not even be able to answer you.”
Sam forced a shrug. “I’m still asking my questions.” She took another step toward the recovery room.
The doctor moved aside and shoved open the door. “Fine.”
The hiss and beep of machines greeted Sam as soon as she stepped inside. The suspect lay on the bed, his face ashen, his breath rasping.
A groan broke from his lips, and her gaze lifted to his face. A young face. Handsome, or it had been. High brow. Strong cheekbones. A dimple in his chin.
Sam leaned over the bed and touched his cheek. “Can you hear me?”