The way it was now – so long as the forms were not filled out – Striker could play with it.

The thought pinballed around in his head as he sat there, trying to relax but not managing it. Too much had happened, and too much still had to be investigated. Mandy and Sarah. Larisa Logan and Billy Mercury. Drs Ostermann and Richter. Mapleview and Riverglen. And then there was the whole EvenHealth programme and the SILC sessions.

There was just so damn much – and that was outside of the problems he had with Courtney and Felicia. The more he thought about it, the more his head hurt. He leaned back on the couch, closed his eyes, and tried to clear his mind.

It was only one o’clock in the afternoon, and already it seemed like a long, hard day.

Fifty

When the front door swung open and a cold draught of winter air blew inside the den, Striker opened his eyes. How much time had passed, he wasn’t sure. He felt halfway between wakefulness and sleep. He sat up on the couch, took his feet off the table, and stretched. Standing at the entrance to the den was Felicia. Her long dark hair was brushed back over her shoulder, and her warm eyes were fixated on him.

‘Feel free to let yourself in,’ he said.

‘You were supposed to wait for me at the hospital.’

‘Had to leave. Nurses kept hitting on me. You would have flown into a jealous rage.’

‘You could at least have phoned me.’ She closed the door and walked into the room. ‘How’s your hand?’

‘It’s fine.’

‘Fine. Sure. Just like everything else.’ She threw her coat on the chair, then shivered as if cold. She walked across the den, her dress shoes clicking on the hardwood surface, and sat down next to him. She kicked off her shoes, grabbed the blanket from the corner of the couch and wrapped it around herself.

‘It’s one-thirty in the afternoon and it feels like midnight,’ she said. ‘Crank the fire, will you? It’s freezing in here.’

Striker got up and turned the dial to High. Then he went into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. He warmed a couple of mugs as the brew percolated, then added some cream and sugar to each one. When it was done, he filled both mugs and brought them to the den.

‘Here.’ He handed her one.

She took it. ‘Thanks. You’re a dream.’

‘A nightmare?’

Felicia ignored the comment. She looked at the bandage covering his hand and wrist. ‘What degree of burn?’

‘Second.’ When Felicia made a face, Striker added, ‘We’re lucky that’s all it is, we could’ve died in there.’

She said nothing back, but her dark eyes took on a distant look. ‘Well, at least Mercury’s being institutionalized,’ she finally said. ‘And we can put an end to all this.’

Striker made an unhappy sound. ‘I’m not so sure we can.’

‘Why not?’

He put down his mug and turned on the couch to face her. ‘The psychology is all wrong.’

‘And since when did you get your doctorate?’

‘Don’t got to be a doctor to figure this one out, Feleesh. Think about it. You read the first message he sent. The game is on, and all that shit. He was basically challenging us, taunting us. Very direct and logical.’

‘So?’

‘So, the next thing we know he’s putting stuff on MyShrine, and it’s all crazy-ass shit. Stuff about the war in Afghanistan and demons and him being the Hammer of God – it’s all paranoid delusions.’

‘Which shows he’s been spiralling out of control.’

‘Fine. Then tell me, how does a guy who’s spiralling out of control maintain enough logic and sanity to lure us into a trap like that? Make no mistake about it – that was set for us, and Sarah Rose was the bait. Those cameras were meant for our deaths, too. There couldn’t have been a better location for it – almost as if he somehow directed Sarah Rose to be there.’

‘Directed?’ Felicia smiled at him. ‘I think you’re giving this guy too much credit.’

‘Am I? There was only one way in and out of that place, Feleesh, and the moment we went in, he trapped us. Ten-inch screws. A solid oak door. Combustible material to accelerate the fire. And through it all he was recording us – does that sound like a man who’s so delusional? Who’s seeing demons everywhere?’

‘He’s a soldier, Jacob. He’s broken from the war.’

‘I don’t buy it. If he came after us, shooting like a madman, fine. But not like this. And that’s to say nothing about the injections. Who knows what he’s been pumping into his victims.’

‘You’re assuming they were injected,’ she said. ‘We have no proof of that yet. No tox tests back. No syringes left on scene. Just a strange mark on Mandy Gill’s neck.’

‘And Sarah Rose’s, too.’

She gave him a tender look. ‘Are you sure about that, Jacob? One hundred per cent sure? The place was dim as hell, and there was a haze in the air, too. Not to mention how distended her body was – she’d been there for over a day, for sure. Maybe two. Then the fire starts and all hell breaks loose. We never really had a chance to assess the body properly.’

‘Then let’s go do it now,’ he said.

She gave him an uncertain look. ‘You didn’t hear?’

‘What?’ he asked.

‘Burned completely,’ she said. ‘You won’t be discovering any needle marks on that flesh, even if there were some there for you to find.’

Striker cursed. He looked at the screen of his phone again, saw that there were no more messages from the Adder. And also no message from Larisa Logan. He sat heavily back against the couch. Rubbed his eyes with his one good hand. Scratched at a half day’s stubble on his face.

‘We’re missing something,’ he said again.

Felicia reached over and touched his face. ‘The only thing we’re missing here, Jacob, is some sleep. Some rest. Last week we put in over eighty hours. And we’ve put in more than thirty the last two days. We’re exhausted.’

He looked back at her, and even though he didn’t agree with everything she said, he knew there was truth to parts of it. He reached out to touch her, forgot his hand was injured, and raked his burned hand against the side of the couch. He flinched.

Felicia looked down at his hand. ‘It must hurt.’

‘It was a stupid thing to do, grabbing the doorknob like that.’

Felicia gently touched his fingers, where there was no bandage. ‘If you hadn’t done something, we would never have made it out of there.’

He said nothing back, he just looked at her, and before he knew it, her lips were on his lips – soft and wet and warm. He kissed her back, felt her mouth open, felt her tongue on his tongue.

He eased her back on the couch, and she let him. With his good hand, he pulled down her dress pants, tore them from her legs, then reached down and slid off her panties. She let out a soft sound as he felt her warmth and wetness, and she shuddered beneath his touch.

‘I want you, Jacob.’

He kissed her again. Breathed in the soft vanilla of her perfume. Listened to the moans that escaped her lips with every thrust of his body. And he lost himself in the moment.

Felicia was there. In his home. And they were together again, if only for the moment. The world outside may have been cold and harsh, but the mood in here was warm and inviting.

He wished it would never end.

Fifty-One

A while later, at almost two-thirty in the afternoon, Striker lay back on the couch and watched Felicia walk out of the washroom and return to the den. As she went, she adjusted her shirt, then began smoothing out the wrinkles of her dress pants. She looked beautiful in the soft glow of the fire. Her straight black hair spilled all around her shoulders and her dark eyes were warm and magnetic. She stepped into the den, in front of him, then met his stare and let out a sigh.