Adam’s bitterness was almost tangible. “Two people had died, and to him they were nothing more than a video opportunity to tell his story in a way that made him a hero. He’s no hero. He’s nothing better than a murderer. He made me a murderer.”

“No,” Elle murmured, but in his mind, Adam would forever bear the responsibility of those deaths. “I have a question. If Hammer is a sharpshooter, if he’s as good at it as you say he is, wouldn’t he have killed you today?”

“The glass in Rune’s window is—was—old and wavy. Distorted.” He looked out of the glass of his own old windows and considered. “But you’re right. It seems unlikely he would have only grazed me. When he had realized he’d missed, he would have taken more shots.”

“Yes. Obviously he’s not worried about shooting me or Rune by mistake.” Odd, that she could face with equanimity the possibility of a gunshot tearing into her flesh, but the dark specter of the man with cruel hands made her scream in terror. The idea of dying slowly without breath, without hope, sent her into a frenzy.

Possibly because she’d experienced the intimacy of being choked. To death, according to Adam. “Collateral damage is merely a word to Big John Hammer.”

“The deaths of others are interesting to him in a clinical way. He has no empathy. No kindness.” Adam’s voice grew thin. “He likes to watch.”

“Then, perhaps Hammer is not the one who fired the shot.” Was that better or worse? She wasn’t sure.

“Or he has an ulterior motive for wounding me.” Adam flexed his shoulder. “I believe I’ll sleep now. You have no reason to worry.” He lifted his wrist and showed her the watch again. “I have alarms set up on the perimeter. No one will sneak up on us tonight.”

“I’m not worried.” She meant it, and not because of his perimeter alarms. She had someone to care for, and her own pains and fears had diminished.

“In the morning, you might consider going to stay elsewhere, with someone who is not a target.”

“No.”

“Think about it overnight.”

“No.” She stood, offered her hand and helped him to his feet. “And no.”

Later, after she had fussed over him, helped him as much he would allow, and they rested in bed on their backs with the lights out, Elle said, “One thing I don’t understand. If Hammer did shoot at you—and we both know that can’t be discounted—why now? What would drive him to kill you now?”

“Oh. That. The timing.”

Once more Elle heard grief in his voice.