I knew undercover police detective Carrington Adams, but only in a roundabout way. Last year I was kidnapped by Dr. Craig Hartley, who had escaped from jail where I helped put him, despite the bureau team watching him, and had learned of the detective’s fate. It turned out that Special Agent Cillian Wojno worked for Hartley—unbeknownst to anyone—for several years and Hartley had been blackmailing him. Years earlier, Wojno had been an eyewitness to Adams’s death, and Hartley had used that knowledge to keep the agent under his thumb. When Wojno confessed that to me, I’d had no clue he had any connection to Kage. But it turned out my boss had known Adams. When I was debriefed after my kidnapping and related what I knew of Adams’s fate, Kage was quick to alert Chicago PD.
Kage was still talking. “I just wanted to thank you again for agreeing to speak to them if they have any further questions of a personal nature.”
“I don’t know what other information I’ll be able to give them,” I said, uncomfortable with the idea that because I’d been the one to find out what had happened to Adams, that I was now responsible for talking to his family. I didn’t know anything about the man besides how he’d died, and I couldn’t imagine that could be comforting in the least. I didn’t want to talk to them, but I would do anything Kage asked of me. That was a given.
“I know, but the fact that you offered will give them comfort.”
“It was you who offered,” I reminded him. “I agreed because you asked.”
He nodded. “Still.”
And that was enough, I knew what he meant. I’d still said okay, and he apparently appreciated that. “May I ask a question?”
“Of course.”
“Why are you the one going, sir?”
“To deliver the news of what happened to him to his family and give them his police star for his actions.”
“No, I understand the reason for the trip. I just don’t understand why it’s you specifically.”
“There’s a department liaison going with me as well.”
“No, that’s not what I’m asking.”
“Then I’m not getting your question.”
“I mean why are you going at all?”
“Oh, because I was the last one to speak to Adams before he died.”
This was also news. “You were?”
“From what I can figure now with the timeline, I think so, yeah.”
“Would you tell me what you two last spoke about?”
“Why is that important?”
“I think it’s important to you,” I replied, because it felt like it was. Ever since I’d first said the name Carrington Adams, it was like he was carrying around a weight on his shoulders. Just something extra, some strain that showed in the squint of his eyes, in a shadow on his face, in a catch of breath. “Can I be frank?”
“’Course.”
“Is it guilt?” I asked. That was the only thing I knew of that gnawed at a person like that, that made even quiet moments anxious.
He took a breath. “He called to tell me that the man he’d been building a case against—Rego James—was going to prison. At the time I remember thinking that he must have been on his way with a warrant and backup to the club that James ran all his businesses out of, and that he was going to arrest him.”
“But that’s not what happened.”
“No. You know what happened. Wojno gave James the heads-up that Adams was a cop, and James killed Adams and Billy Donovan that night in front of Hartley, who used that to blackmail Wojno down the road.”
I saw the sadness on his face and spoke before thinking. “You don’t blame yourself, do you, sir?”
It took a long moment before his gaze met mine. “I never followed up with him.”
“With Adams.”
“Yes.”
“Was it your case?”
“No.”
“Were you friends?”
“No, but he knew my husband.”
“Oh, so, were they friends?”
“Not friends, no. My husband knew Rego James as well.”
“So you’re connected to both Adams and James through your husband?”
“In a way, I guess.”
I squinted at him. “Why did Adams call you that night?”
“To tell me that my husband had acted very bravely in the face of danger,” he sighed.
“Then the update on James was more a courtesy just to let you know how things had worked out, or how he thought they would.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but why in the world would you have followed up with Carrington Adams? The case had nothing to do with you, and the man himself was not your friend.”
“Are you thinking I’m looking for absolution, Jones?”
“No, sir, but I do think you’ve been blaming yourself since you heard what happened to him, and why in the world would you?” I was feeling again how I did about myself and Adams. Like, why the hell did I need to feel bad or answer questions? It had nothing to do with me beyond being the catalyst for Wojno’s betrayal. I almost resented Carrington Adams because both my boss and I were responsible for his legacy when neither of us had known him at all.