If this is my last dream, I’m going to enjoy it.

Raylan’s strong arms are locked around me, carrying me out of the office . . .

* * *

26

Raylan

When I land in Chicago, I take a cab right to Riona’s office building. I feel certain that’s where she’ll be, and sure enough, I see a light burning in her corner office.

Carl is manning the front desk. He recognizes me from all the days I tailed Riona, and he waves me in saying, “She’s already upstairs.”

I take the elevator up, my heart beating hard. I already went over all the things I wanted to say to her on the flight over. All I’m doing now is hoping against hope that when she sees me, her face lights up with happiness, not annoyance.

But when I get to her floor, her office is empty. Her light is on and her chair is swiveled around, as if she was sitting in it not long before. But there’s no one around. The floor is silent.

I stand there waiting, wondering if she went to the bathroom. Carl said she was up here—he would have noticed if she left.

I peek my head out the doorway and see a faint glow of light down the hall.

I head in that direction, recognizing the route to Oran’s office. I’m walking slowly at first, thinking that Riona must be talking to her uncle. But it’s too quiet, too still. There’s a metallic scent in the air, and something else—a faint whiff of smoke. I start to jog, and then I run. I shove my way through Oran’s door.

Oran is spread-eagle on the carpet, blank eyes staring up at the ceiling. A round, black hole marks the middle of his forehead, and a stain spreads out from under his head like a dark halo. Riona lays ten feet away, facedown.

An inhuman sound comes out of me—halfway between a roar and a sob. I run over to her and roll her over, terrified at what I’m about to find.

Her face is bruised and pale—paler than I’ve ever seen it. Her lips are turning blue. But she isn’t dead. Putting my fingers to her throat, I feel a pulse. Weak and erratic, but there.

I scoop her up in my arms and I run for the elevators. She feels too light and too cold—her skin is clammy, as if she just came in from the rain. As we’re riding down, I’m already calling an ambulance.

The paramedics take her to Northwestern Memorial, and pump her stomach on the way. They ask me what she took, but I have no idea. Whatever it was, I’m pretty sure she didn’t take it willingly.

The nurses put an IV in her arm and fill her with fluids. Within minutes of the saline drip running down into her arm, the color begins to come back into her cheeks. Just a light tinge of pink, but it fills me with hope.