Donnelley stared at the floor, shaking his head. “He’s not—he’s not going to be the same, Max.”
Donnelley walked across the room and headed straight for the bar. Max frowned. “Are you okay?”
Donnelley’s hands shook as he reached for the bottle of whiskey. “Your stepfather was my friend.” The back of Donnelley’s hand swept out and sent a tumbler falling to the floor. It shattered, and glass flew everywhere. Donnelley stooped down to pick it up.
“No, careful! I’ll get it!” Max bent and hurriedly scooped up the large chunks. He pushed them onto the top of the bar as worry filled him. Donnelley looked shaken. And the guy wasn’t meeting his eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Donnelley’s hands covered two glasses. “Beth was such a troubled woman.”
Beth? “I didn’t realize you two were close.” Beth had barely seemed to tolerate the doctor.
Donnelley picked up one of the glasses and handed it to him. “You learn a lot just by watching people. Beth, she was so unhappy.”
Max took the glass. “You knew she’d been screwing Frank when my mother was still alive, didn’t you?”
Donnelley drained his glass in two gulps. “Doesn’t really matter what she did now, does it?” A long sigh escaped him. “In the end, does it matter what any of us do? Death comes, no matter what.”
Max took a sip of the whiskey. “That’s one hell of a pessimistic view you’ve got there, doctor.” This time, he took a longer pull from the drink.
“When you’ve seen all that I have, you tend to get pessimistic.” Donnelley’s glass hit the bar top with a soft clink. “Your brother—he needs to keep seeing that shrink. Maybe… maybe this one will even be able to help him.”
The whiskey burned down Max’s throat as he drained the glass. “Maybe.” He could hope.
“The Feds aren’t pressing charges against him?” Donnelley’s eyes dipped to the empty glass that Max had just set on the bar.
“Frank’s death was an-an accident.” Max put his hand to his temple. That damn ache was back.
“If that’s what you think.”
What?
Donnelley came closer. The light glinted off the top of his balding head. “Sometimes people have blind spots.”
The room seemed to dim a bit. “What are you talking about?”
Donnelley’s hand slapped down on his shoulder. “I kind of liked you. Of all the ass**les around Malone, you were the one who bothered me the least.”
His knees gave way, and Max hit the floor, hard. “Wh-what the… f-fuck… d-did…?” The drink.
Donnelley crouched above him. “And I am sorry about your mother.” Another sigh whispered from him. “Everything went downhill after her death.”
Max’s hands were numb. No, his arms were numb. A heavy weight seemed to settle over his entire body. He blinked, trying to keep his eyes open and on Donnelley. The doctor Frank had trusted.
“I hope it’s quick,” Donnelley said, but the words sounded funny. Distorted. “You shouldn’t have to suffer.”
• • •
It was a little after nine p.m. when Sam knocked on the door of Max’s apartment. The doorman had let her through when she flashed her badge, and now she stood in the hallway, shifting from foot to foot. She was wired, a quick process, and she knew every sound that she made was being transmitted back to the team outside.
Sam took a deep breath and leaned forward slightly. The thick carpeting in the hallway muffled her movements. She knocked on the door again. Harder now. Louder.
She couldn’t hear any sounds from inside the apartment. “Max?” She pounded again. “I need to talk to you. Let me in.” The doorman had assured her that he was home.
The minutes ticked by. Max was home, but not answering. Shit.
She grabbed the door knob. Twisted it. Locked.
“Hyde, I don’t like this.” Her heart drummed even as her fist thudded into the door. “I don’t like—”
Glass shattered inside.
Sam kicked at the door. Once, twice. The damn thing wasn’t opening. The wood was too thick. “Hyde, something’s wrong!” Max was in there. Too quiet. An image of Beth’s blood-soaked body flashed in front of her eyes.
Sam kicked again, as hard as she could, and the lock shattered. The door opened with a groan, and Sam ran inside, her gun drawn.
The first thing that she noticed was the broken balcony door. Shards of sharp glass glittered on the floor. “Max!”
“S-Sam…”
She saw him in the shadows. Max lay face down on the floor, and his outstretched arms were just inches from the broken glass.
“Hyde, Hyde, get up here! Max is hurt!” She ran to Max, knowing Hyde could hear every word. She put her gun down and flipped him over. “Max, what happened?”
But his eyes were closed and his mouth had gone slack. “Max!” Her fingers fumbled. She found his pulse. Slow. Her hands searched his body but she found no wounds. No blood. She eased back, and her foot brushed against something. A broken drinking glass. Understanding hit—drugged.
Just like the other victims. They’d been drugged, and they hadn’t remembered…
She caught his face in her hands. “Max, I need you to hold on, do you hear me? Just hold on. Help’s coming.” Fear had her voice shaking because she didn’t know what he’d been given. Something to knock him out, to immobilize him? Or something to kill him? “Stay with me.”
Sirens wailed in the distance. Their cry trickled through the broken door.
Check the apartment. She knew that she had to secure the scene, but she couldn’t leave Max. Wouldn’t leave him. Sam reached for her gun and held it tight. She kept her left hand on Max—her fingers were over his chest so she could feel the slow thud of his heart.
“I’m not leaving you,” Sam whispered, her grip on the gun never easing. “And you’re not leaving me.”
Quinlan hurried down the street, hunching his shoulders as he sank deeper into his coat. Damn that bitch. He’d been so close… and then she’d come pounding at the door.
He turned left and slipped into the alley.
A police cruiser raced by. Dammit. Quinlan’s breath blew out and a small cloud appeared in the cold air.
Somehow, Max had reached for that lamp. He’d grabbed it and sent the thing slamming into the fragile balcony door.