Chapter Twenty-Five
Twenty-Five
McBride had failed.
Martin sat in the generic Chevy belonging to one of his neighbors who never bothered locking the old heap.
He couldn’t go home.
The police were there.
Deirdre.
His heart squeezed with agony.
If they touched her . . .
It was McBride’s fault.
Fury pounded in Martin’s temples.
How could McBride have let him down like this? Martin’s attention was drawn to his home, where a gurney was being maneuvered out his front door.
A long bag was strapped to the gurney.
A body bag.
Deirdre!
Dear God, they were taking her away.
No!
He reached for the door handle but hesitated.
If he showed himself now, they would take him away as well.
Martin drew his hand away from the door.
He would wait.
Deirdre would need him, and he could not help her if he was in custody.
Special Agent in Charge Worth was dead.
His death made Martin a murderer.
A murderer.
The realization twisted inside him like the blade of a knife. He could not allow this.
His hero had let him down. Had let Deirdre down. And Daniel.
How could that happen?
McBride never made a mistake. Never.
Or had he?
Had Kevin Braden’s death been his fault? Martin had always believed McBride’s side of the story, just as Deirdre had. Always. That story Nadine Goodman had done seemed to indicate so as well . . . but she was a bad person. How could he believe anything she said?
Could he have been so wrong?
It was true that McBride had risen to meet the first three challenges, but they had been simple. Martin had given plenty of time. And then, the first halfway difficult challenge he issues and McBride fails.
Worth is dead.
All those years Martin had hated the man. Had wished him ill so many times for refusing to bring McBride in on the case when Daniel went missing.
Now he was dead. He had paid for his sins. Found that atonement he needed.
But now Martin was the sinner . . . a man’s blood was on his hands.
And it was all McBride’s fault. If he had been good enough, he would not have failed.
The drinking and smoking and sex. McBride had given himself over to the sins of the flesh, and now he was nothing.
He wasn’t a hero.
Deirdre would be so disappointed. Peace would never be hers.
They had all let Daniel down.
If Katherine Jones had been monitoring her department properly, Daniel would never have been taken by that devil.
If Allen Byrne hadn’t hired all those worthless lowlifes who failed to keep the construction sites properly secured, Daniel would never have been taken there and been so brutally murdered.
If only Worth had listened when Martin begged him to call in McBride to find his boy, Daniel might have been found in time.
Martin and Deirdre had known all about Agent McBride.
But that was before he had succumbed to the evils of alcohol and such. He had been the very best. They had followed his every case. When their boy had gone missing, they had known he was the man to call . . . but Worth had played off their request, and then it was too late.
Daniel was dead.
And if Dr. Kurt Trenton had not been so arrogant, putting his wealthy, powerful patients ahead of the ordinary ones, Deirdre would never have passed in her sleep the first night home from the hospital after surgery.
Martin watched the ambulance that carried his wife drive away.
Now he was all alone. He would never be her hero.
Because of Ryan McBride.
Martin removed his glasses, pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, and carefully cleaned each lens.
There was only one thing to do.
Now McBride had to pay, just as the others had.
Martin would ensure that he was properly humbled. Oh, and he most certainly had to be left completely alone. Just as he had left Martin alone.
A knowing smile touched Martin’s lips. He knew what to do. McBride had no family to speak of . . . none that truly mattered. But he had grown rather fond of Agent Grace. Making sure she was taken away from him was the only way to ensure he learned his lesson.
Yes.
That was what he would do.
Proper preparation was essential. He would need to plan carefully and then lie in wait. Agent Grace would not be so easy to lure in. Martin would need means and opportunity.
This would not be a problem. Martin knew lots of ways to trap victims. Lots and lots of ways to execute an abduction. He probably knew far more than Agent McBride.
Perhaps he would show him so.
He would present McBride with one more challenge.
Only this time there would be no way for him to win.
Agent Grace would die . . . screaming McBride’s name.
And Martin’s former hero would never forgive himself.