Deadly Lies (Deadly #3)(61)

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?”

Kevin flinched. His skin was ice cold beneath her touch. The machines beeped louder, faster.

“Special Agent Kennedy,” Dr. Bradshaw began.

“Open your eyes,” Sam sharpened her voice, “and look at me.”

His eyelids twitched, but didn’t open. His breath rasped out. The nurse on the left-hand side of the bed looked up from the chart, her eyes wide.

Sam leaned in closer. “Why did you do it?” she demanded. “Why did you take those men?” But she knew, of course: money. Everyone had a price.

His head moved in the faintest of negative shakes.

Her eyes narrowed.

Chalky lips moved, but no sound emerged.

“Kevin, why did you kill them?”

Nothing.

And that beeping… it wasn’t so fast now. Slow, slowing down.

His breath eased in. Out.

“Why did you kill them?”

His mouth moved again. She couldn’t read his lips because the movement was too faint so she put her head right next to his mouth as she tried to hear the words. “Why?” She demanded again.

“Not… m-me…” Kevin’s whisper ended on a sigh.

A long, constant shriek pierced the room.

“He’s coding!” The nurse yelled, lunging for her patient.

The doctor grabbed Sam’s arm and hauled her back. “You have to leave, now!”

Blood gurgled from Kevin’s mouth. Red bloomed across the bandages on his chest. His breath wheezed out.

Sam backed up, but didn’t leave.

Two more nurses ran into the room. Another doctor. They huddled over the bed.

“Clear!”

She couldn’t even see Kevin anymore. Just a jumble of green scrubs.

“No pulse!”

Sam stared at the mass of bodies.

“Again!” Dr. Bradshaw’s order.

Kevin was someone’s son. Maybe someone’s lover.

And a killer.

The whine of the machines continued to blast, and the doctors kept working. Sam stayed there, watching.

They worked on their patient, voices tense. The minutes ticked past.

She watched, and when the nurses and the doctors stepped back, their gloves covered in blood, Sam was still there.

“Calling it,” Bradshaw said, yanking off her gloves. “Time of death, one fifty-eight a.m.” She stormed toward the door but stopped to glare at Sam. “You didn’t even get anything from him. His last few moments, and you didn’t get a damn thing.”