At First Light(Dr. Evan Wilding #1)(112)

Evan had been focused on his own failure.

I was so intent on Blakesley and the fact that 96 percent of serial killers are men, he’d said, that I missed what was right under my nose.

You led us here, she’d replied. You saved Jo’s and Tommy’s lives.

But she knew he would punish himself for a long time.

Now she stared at the two bodies lying cold and pale in the snow and realized she was looking at the kind of tragedy the old poets would have turned into one of their sagas. A poem to perform night after night in the flickering firelight of the mead hall while Viking warriors and their peace-weaving women looked on.

She snugged down her beanie as snow began to fall again, gathering quietly as if it would shroud the bodies.

After the children—still unconscious—had been rescued from the pump house next to the lagoon, they’d discovered a leather-bound journal on Osborn’s single bookshelf. Addie had opened it to the first few pages and realized they’d found a treasure trove: a would-be hero’s descent into madness, divulged by her own hand. From the trauma of her mother’s death through that of her child’s and finally the death of another child who’d been killed by a driver in a hit-and-run. From her childhood crush on her father’s assistant, who had also died tragically, to her growing focus on Viking culture and, ultimately, her decision to punish those who sinned against the earth.

Patrick strode up to her, an unlit cigarette tucked in his mouth.

“It’s going to take hours if not days to work this,” he said. “I was going to offer to take over the scene so you can get to the hospital and see how our pal is doing. But the lieutenant is adamant that you stay.”

Addie glanced over to where Criver stood at the edge of the clearing, the collar of his navy wool coat turned up, his hands thrust in his pockets. He would be formulating a story in his head. Something that would play well for the media. Because for an ambitious cop, good publicity trumped personal sexism.

She could imagine the headline: Brilliant Female Detective Takes Down Brilliant Female Serial Killer.

So fitting. So politically correct.

“I’ll stay a couple hours,” she said. “Then I’ll need to take a break.”

Patrick nodded.

“You were right about this case,” she said. “That bad feeling you had at the first crime scene.”

“You know I was just ribbing you,” he said.

A smile flitted across her face. “You were scared to death of that snake. A grown man about to wet himself.”

“Yeah, well.” Patrick tucked his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. “The Irish and snakes are none too fond of each other. And this investigation, it’s . . .”

“I know.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Then one of the techs raised a hand to wave them over, and Addie shrugged off thoughts of monsters and omens and forced herself back to the matter at hand.



When Evan woke, he found himself warm and dry in a dimly lit hospital room. Monitors beeped. Footsteps passed his open door. An elevator dinged, and someone called for a nurse.

He stared at the ceiling and decided that he really didn’t want to process anything right now. His brain was tired.

Maybe he’d take River up on his offer to visit him in Turkey. The semester would be over soon. He could spend the holidays in Istanbul. Visit the Hagia Sophia museum and the Blue Mosque. Take a stroll across the Galata Bridge. Maybe pick up a rug at the Grand Bazaar.

More footsteps and then a woman entered his room—a nurse in pink scrubs with a lanyard around her neck revealing her name, Sandra Hollister, RN.

She gave him a mock frown.

“You’re awake,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

Evan tried and failed to push himself up on his pillow. His right wrist throbbed. He scowled. “Absolutely splendid.”

The frown deepened. “Now, now, no need for sarcasm. You want me to give you a little something to help you sleep?”

Evan mustered some fighting spirit. “Any sedatives administered to my body will be dispensed by my own hand and strictly in liquid form. I don’t even understand why I’m here.”

“Awake and sassy. Fine. You’ve had a bit of a shock. Not to mention hypothermia. And you’ve got a nasty wound on your wrist.” She scanned the monitor to which various parts of him were attached, made a tut-tutting sound, and wrote something on a dry-erase board. “You have a visitor if you’re up for it.”

“Is she wearing a winged helmet?”

“Just pants and a coat, I believe.”

“Okay, then. How do I look?”

“Like a heartbreaker in a romance movie.”

She slipped back out the door as quietly as she’d entered, and a moment later, Addie hurried in, leaned over his bed, and kissed his forehead.

She gazed down on him with tender concern. Maybe this hospital stuff wasn’t so very bad.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Perfectly fine. I’d like to go home.”

“Tomorrow. And only if you behave.”

“Tell me what I’ve missed.”

Addie pulled a chair next to the bed and filled him in. First, Ginny was safely back in her mews. Jo had been released to her parents. All the girl remembered of the entire ordeal was accepting a ride from the nice police lady and then falling asleep. Tommy had also been released to the custody of his mom.