The Poet (Samantha Jazz)

My mind goes to the cereal and the book at the nursing home. “You visit him.”

“Often.”

“We should go together.”

“Yes.” His eyes light, but the craziness is there, so very there. “Yes, we should.”

I lean forward. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

“Your duty.”

The gun is between us. He could shoot me, but he’s close. So very close. I am running on instinct, and I reach out and press my hand to his face. “Thank you. Thank you for being there for my grandfather.”

He leans in to the touch, and this is my moment, the only one I might get. I grab the tape dispenser on the desk and crash it into his head. He jolts and drops the gun. I go for it, but he shoves me back into the chair and against the wall. He’s against me, screaming, “Bitch! Bitch! You sinner!”

I reach for anything, anything at all, and my hand finds the record on the player. I smash it against his face. It breaks and he jolts backward again, but before I can reach for his gun near my foot, he throws me to my back, air catching in my chest as he comes down on top of me. My hands grab again for something to hit him with, but all I find is a piece of the jazz record.

Nolan’s fingers are on my neck, choking me. I squirm, but he’s big and holding me down. I can’t breathe, and the pill is coming at me. I turn my head and desperately shove the album at his face as hard as I can. The edge makes contact and he rolls off me, screaming. I roll to my knees, and the edge of the album is lodged in his eye. I grab the gun and somehow, he’s launching himself at me, screaming some demon cry.

I don’t even hesitate.

I shoot him in the chest and he falls backward. I shoot him again for good measure. I can’t save Wade and Jackson if he’s coming back to life.

“Jazz! Sam!”

At Lang’s voice, I shout, “Up here!”

I scramble for the adrenalin syringes and grab them. Lang appears in the doorway and I throw him one of the syringes, praying it is what Nolan said it was, because we don’t have time to wait.

“What’s this?” Lang asks.

“Adrenalin, I hope,” I tell him. “Inject Jackson in the heart.”

I scramble to Wade’s side, unbutton his shirt and feel for the right spot. I don’t hesitate. I can’t hesitate. I shove the needle into his heart. He gasps immediately and comes to life. Beside me, Jackson does the same with Lang’s help. “Oh, thank God,” I murmur, sagging over him in relief.

Lang is on the phone to 911. Tears burn my eyes and I cup Wade’s face. “Damn you, you do not get to die. Do you hear me?”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” he promises, and the name “baby” has never sounded so good.

“You should probably cut him loose,” Lang says. “Bondage games are fine and all, but you might want to keep them private.”

I laugh through my tears and cut him free. The EMS team overtakes the room a few seconds later, and I’m right there in the ambulance with Wade. I hold his hand and he kisses mine. “I’m fine. It’s over. That’s what matters.”

It’s over. Nolan is dead, but his impact will linger in many lives forever, including ours.

Chapter 109

A search of Nolan’s home and company offices do little to close the open murder cases we believe he committed. His technical skills and resources leave us with a maze of possible hiding places we may never fully uncover. The most painful part of it all is that we still haven’t found Roberts. Some part of me thinks we will one day, but that may be wishful thinking.

Not long after Nolan’s death, I meet with his wife, who is little help. She claims to have had no idea her husband was a killer. Ultimately, I decide that I believe her, but I’m not sure how I feel about her ignorance. I meet her children, too, who are adorable kids. I don’t want to believe they’re just like their father, in all the wrong ways, but I privately vow to keep them on my radar.

Not long after that meeting, I visit the river where the bully named Mark Meadows was murdered. With a chill down my spine, I discover a tree trunk there carved with the letter U.

When finally the case is officially closed, life begins to return to its routines, and I do my best to define my new normal. I move into my new house, not far from Wade’s place, and install a security system. I still struggle with commitment, but Wade and I are working through that. Perhaps that’s why I cling to my role as a consultant to the FBI rather than accepting a full-time job.