I took up position next to my sister’s body, studying first the blade, then my own smooth white forearm.

My fingers trembled. Funny for a woman who couldn’t feel pain. Who would’ve thought?

And then . . .

Chapter 41

D.D. AND PHIL BURST INTO THE APARTMENT, guns drawn, Phil taking the lead, D.D. flanking him, her injured shoulder tucked protectively behind his form. The apartment manager was already fleeing down the hall. Hightailing it downstairs, where backup would quickly be arriving, as well as the SWAT team and any available officer in Boston.

First thing D.D. noticed was the stench of blood. Second thing she spotted was a green duffel bag on the edge of a king-size bed, in the room straight ahead.

“Bedroom,” she mouthed to Phil.

He nodded shortly, easing his back against the wall, then making a rapid advance.

“Jesus.”

Stepping around his shoulder, she spied Charlie Sgarzi facedown in a pool of blood. Whatever had happened in here, it certainly hadn’t gone according to the Rose Killer’s master plan.

Phil inspected the body more closely, then shook his head.

“Slit throat,” he whispered.

D.D. arched a brow. “You tell me, but doesn’t that strike you as Shana’s handiwork?”

Phil grimaced, arriving at the same conclusion. Shana Day, one of the most notorious female murderers in the state, had to be somewhere in this apartment, along with her sister, Adeline.

Now Phil gestured to a short hallway with two closed doors. He took the first, D.D. doing her best to provide cover with her one good hand.

Phil kicked in the door, revealing the walk-in closet. He conducted a quick search, covering the corners; then they were on to door number two. Master bath, D.D. thought. From inside, she could hear the sound of running water.

Phil tested the knob.

He gave a short nod to indicate that it was unlocked.

She resumed her flanking position.

Phil twisted the knob. Shoved hard on the door.

D.D. sprang inside, leading with Phil’s backup thirty-eight.

And there stood Adeline next to a bloody tub, a knife already arching over her bared wrist.

“No,” Phil yelled.

D.D. didn’t bother. Adrenaline. Danger. Determination. Everything she loved about her job.

D.D. pulled the trigger.

• • •

THE KNIFE WENT FLYING across the room. Not a bad shot, single-handed, D.D. thought, though in truth, her target had been only five feet away.

The knife hit the floor. Phil was already on the move, kicking it farther away from Adeline.

The doctor didn’t move. She just stood there, surrounded by a sea of water and blood, and smiled at them.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she murmured.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” D.D. snapped, straightening. Looking behind Adeline, she could see a second female collapsed in the rosy tub. Shana.