A shot rang through the room, just about piercing my eardrum. A half a second later, or before—it was hard to gauge—Asquith screamed. The Cope skull in her hand shattered as a bullet went through it, and half her hand was blown completely off. She dropped her weapon and grasped the profusely bleeding appendage to her chest.
I turned to see Calvin had dragged himself to a discarded pile of boxes under the nearest window, where his weapon and badge had been resting the entire time. He lowered his hand, dropped the SIG to the floor, and appeared to fall unconscious.
“Fucking ginger bastard!” Asquith cried. She bent down and grabbed for her pistol with her good hand.
I picked up the bolt cutters from the floor and charged at her, the floor cracking and shattering beneath my feet.
Chapter Sixteen
I’D KNOCKEDAsquith upside the head with the cutters and promptly fell through the disintegrating floor. Clawing frantically on my way down, I’d caught hold of a support beam on the fifth floor, slowed the descent, then toppled the remaining six or so feet like a rag doll. It was enough to render me unconscious after whacking my head. When I came to, I was strapped to a stretcher and being rolled toward an ambulance. The block was lit up like a party—lights strobing, people calling, radios blaring. I hated parties. I hated people. I wanted to go home.
I remembered asking about Calvin. Remembered harassing the confused EMTs about my fiancé and whether he was safe and that I didn’t need a damn ambulance and to let me go. Neil had been there. At some point he’d simply… appeared. He’d taken my hand and given it a firm squeeze before I was lifted into the bus, swearing that Calvin was okay. I’d faded out after that. Although I briefly recalled waking in the hospital. Not opening my eyes—it was always too bright—but hearing my father’s gentle voice as he spoke with a doctor.
It seemed another concussion had been the worst of my aches and pains. I’d been kept under observation overnight because of my history of being conked on the head. But I was okay the next day. No worse than how my mysteries usually played out. I’d discharged myself the first chance I had, dressed in clean clothes Pop brought for me, and gone to visit Calvin’s room. It was flanked by uniformed officers standing guard, but upon seeing me, I was let inside without question.
Calvin was propped up in bed. He was awake—a sort of exhausted alertness about his features. He startled when the door opened, turned his head abruptly, but then the rigidness of his posture eased. Calvin cracked a weary smile. “Hey, beautiful,” he whispered.
I sat down in the chair beside the bed. “Hey, handsome.”
Calvin reached his hand out. I took it and held on. His familiar warmth and grip all but undid every frayed and worn thread I had left keeping me together.
“Please don’t cry,” he murmured.
I shook my head, sniffed loudly, and brought his fist up to kiss his knuckles. “I’m not.”
Calvin brushed a bit of hair from my eyes with a finger. “Thanks for being a busybody.” His voice was still rough. Worn out.
But he wasalive.
I took a deep breath and smiled. “Sure, anytime. You won’t get rid of me that easily.”
“Ididput a ring on it,” Calvin said thoughtfully.
I laughed. “Yeah, you did.” I sandwiched his hand between mine. “I like you,” I murmured.
“I like you too.”
I’d been right about Asquith. The obsession with Victorian medical history led to a body part collection. Quite impressive, Neil and Quinn later informed me, after having been reinstated and finishing the case where I’d left it abandoned like a car on fire. It sounded as if Asquith, even after having found Edward Drinker Cope herself, still grew as easily bored as I did and was never satisfied for long.
The only difference was, I didn’t kill people to quench the thirst for adventure.
The fact she was destined to rot in a jail cell forever was of little solace to the families of Dover, Newell, and Howard. But at least I’d stopped her. If that meant anything.
I WOKEup to the gentle murmur of Bing Crosby’s “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” on the record player downstairs. I cracked open an eye, glanced at Calvin’s vacant pillow, and reached out to touch it. Cold. After sitting up, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood. I tugged my arms through the sleeves of a sweater, put my glasses on, and stumbled half-awake down the stairs.
“Hey. Mom and Dad said we had to wait until at least seven o’clock before opening presents,” I teased.
Calvin sat on the floor of our living room in front of the Christmas tree. The supposedly rainbow lights wrapped around it cast snowflake-like shapes across his face as the illumination filtered through the boughs of the tree.
Calvin rubbed Dillon’s stomach as he looked up at me. “I didn’t want to toss and turn you awake.”
“I promised the doctor you would rest,” I told him, moving around the lazy dog and sitting on Calvin’s right.
“I’m fine, Seb.” He set his coffee mug down in front of him and touched my face. “I’llbefine,” he corrected. “Really.”
“You’re not lying?”
“I don’t lie to you.”
