At First Light(Dr. Evan Wilding #1)(104)

Officer Martin made his farewells. Tommy and Evan followed Osborn through the doors and into the storm. It would be a good night to be home with a thick book and a roaring fire. And a cocktail or three.

Soon enough, he thought.

Osborn waved Tommy into the back seat and walked around to the other side with Evan.

“Are you planning any more public lectures?” she asked as she opened the door. “Your talk on sacrificial rites was fascinating.”

Evan paused, one foot inside the car. Thoughts jostled through his brain, demanding attention.

Lieutenant Criver’s voice, saying, Adam Nedscop, is that a name? Followed by Evan’s own clarification that it was actually dam-ned scop, a damned poet, and his curiosity about the only hyphen in the poem: dam-ned.

Dam was a medieval term for woman.

“Sir?” Osborn said. “Is everything all right?”

The pieces of the puzzle came fast now, tumbling one upon the next. He’d been right that a cop was the killer. But he’d completely missed the gender.

First: the name Beowulf in Old English meant bee-wolf or bee-hunter. Bee-hunter was a kenning for bear.

The name Osborn meant divine bear.

Second: Rhinehart had worked for a construction company and married the owner’s daughter, who presumably had a child of her own, who became Rhinehart’s stepchild. The name of the firm was Osborn-Kleinberger.

Third: Osborn had found the ring in the woods, or so she’d claimed. God’s spear. An oath ring, binding the recipient of the ring to the giver.

Evan reared back. “Tommy, get—”

Tommy looked up, eyes wide.

“Get out!” Evan cried.

The kid reached for a door handle. But there wasn’t one. There was never a door handle in the back of a squad car.

“Come this way!” Evan called, pushing back against Osborn as he groped for his gun. His feet slid on the snowy asphalt.

Osborn rammed him against the open door and yanked his arms behind his back. Hard plastic bit into his wrists as her voice rang out above him: “Freeze, Tommy, or I will shoot you.”

Evan felt a sharp jab in the muscle of his thigh, and almost instantly, a looping darkness filled his mind. His satchel slipped from his hand, and with his last lucid thought, he kicked it so it skidded under the car. Then he found himself tipping forward onto the seat. Osborn lifted his legs and shoved him all the way in.

“Get my gun, kid,” Evan said.

But he hadn’t said a thing. The words stayed in his throat.

Night closed over him with the softness of bird wings.





CHAPTER 34


Addie kept her foot on the accelerator as she and Patrick followed the lights-and-siren squad car alternately nudging and darting through Chicago’s late-night traffic.

Nearly two hours had passed since she’d listened to Evan’s message concerning his suspicions about Officer Blakesley and his confession that he’d lied when he’d promised to stay at the university. More than enough time for him to be home and in reach of his cell phone and his landline.

But he was responding to neither. And now she and Patrick and the patrol unit risked life and limb to force their way along the snow-slick, traffic-choked streets.

When she found him, she swore she’d kill him.

If he was still alive.

In another part of the city, squad cars would shortly descend on the apartment of Officer Ed Blakesley. They’d know soon enough if the officer was home sick with the flu or if he was out there somewhere, doing his murderous work.

At Evan’s gate, the squad car rolled to a stop. Addie slammed on her brakes and threw herself out of the car to punch in the code. When she got back in, she smacked her palm repeatedly on the steering wheel, waiting for the gate to swing its ponderous way open while next to them, the red and blue lights strobed in the snowfall.

Patrick touched her arm.

“We’re here. We’ll find him.”

She knew the look she gave him was wild-eyed.

The gate opened. She punched the gas, watching in the rearview as the unit fell in behind.

Five minutes. Five eternal minutes to get up the long drive. The car’s tires slipped now and again, sending the car sailing toward the grass. Each time, she corrected. Behind her, the squad car had slowed in acknowledgment of the treacherous pavement.

She crested the rise. There was Evan’s house, peaceful and warm in the snowfall. A safe haven. A cottage in the woods.

She parked and reached for her door handle.

“Wait,” Patrick said in a voice that didn’t allow for argument. “They’re almost here.”

“Damn it,” she said.

The squad car appeared a minute later, flashers off, and eased in behind her. Addie and Patrick, together with the two uniforms, stepped out into the snow. All four hunched low to the ground as they ran for the terrace. They pressed themselves against the wall on either side of the front door.

The night remained quiet, disturbed only by the soft ping of the engines cooling.

Addie entered the code, then stepped back. Patrick leaned over, turned the knob, and pushed the door open.

Addie swiveled into the opening, gun raised.

Diana stood in the entryway. Her upraised ax cast a dark shadow on the wall; the hatchet’s metal blade shimmered in the spooling light.