Page 37 of The Devoted Game

Grace stepped into the waiting car and prepared to make the necessary floor selection. “You coming?”

“I’ll . . . ah . . . take the stairs.”

He didn’t explain, just headed for the end of the corridor with her shouting to him to watch out for the paparazzi in the lobby. The stairwell was empty, so he took a moment to try and derail what he knew was coming. Deep breaths.Let them out slow.He wasn’t going down this road.No way.Couldn’t.

He shouldn’t have come here at all. Rescuing that kid had been so simple ... but this last time hadn’t been quite so easy. If Grace hadn’t been there to back him up, he might have failed. What the hell would he do next time?

And there would be a next time.

What if he couldn’t fix it? Those old instincts might fail him entirely ... and because of him someone would die.

Taking the stairs quickly, he kept one hand on the railing since the world seemed determined to tilt on him. Get outside. Get some air.Don’t slow down.

Sweat popped out on his skin. His gut clenched.

Ryan descended to the first floor in a near run and emerged into the lobby. Crews from dozens of news channels were hanging around, hoping to catch a break on whatever the hell was going on. He moved wide around where they had gathered near the elevators. The visiting hours crowd had filtered in, making forward movement a challenge. Ignoring the glares and remarks of the people he bumped into in his haste, he plowed through. Had to get outside. A half-ton weight had settled on his chest. He couldn’t breathe ... couldn’t think. Damned sure couldn’t risk running into a reporter.

He hit the sidewalk. Air flooded his lungs.

Breathe.

Deep.

That was it. More deep gulps.Hold it. Release. The weight on his chest lessened. Finally, the knot in his gut relaxed.

He was not going to let anyone die—not this time.

He could still do this ...he hoped.

“McBride?”

He closed his eyes, chased away the demons, and grabbed that fuck-you attitude that worked so well for him ... most of the time. “What?”

Grace flinched at his growl. “You okay?”

He ignored her question, dredged up the control he’d allowed to slip. “How’d you avoid the reporters?” She had taken the elevator, and the hordes of reporters had been waiting there like buzzards after roadkill. That was the thing about ambulances. Anytime one was called to a scene, the media was bound to show up.

“Worth has them distracted with a statement he decided to issue.”

Ryan didn’t bother asking what Worth planned to say in his statement. He didn’t give a damn.

“Let’s get out of here.” Grace started walking toward the parking garage where she had left her SUV. “You want Waffle House or IHOP?” she asked as he fell into step next to her.

“You’re kidding, right?” The last thing he wanted to do was eat. He paused, fished a Marlboro from the pack, and lit up, the rush of nicotine instantly calming.

“You need to eat, McBride.”

This conversation sounded familiar. “Look.” He glanced at her breasts, then at her lips; she tensed and outrage immediately flashed in her eyes. “You’re not my mother or my nurse. I’ll eat when I eat.” He inhaled another lungful of smoke. “Let’s see how Davis is doing on that list. We need to see if Schaffer can connect these two victims in any way.”

Glaring at him for a ball-busting moment or two, Grace didn’t say a word. Eventually, she pivoted on her heel and continued toward the garage. She gave him the silent treatment from that point forward, but that was fine by him.

If they talked, she would only bring up his little episode back there and then ask questions he would refuse to answer. Talking about his past was something he didn’t do.

Ever.

1000 Eighteenth Street, 2:30 p.m.

Davis had the list narrowed down to just under one thousand. More than half of those hailed from the tristate area, which resulted in around six hundred names. Ryan had joined him at the conference table where two laptops had been set up for their use. Schaffer was looking for any connection between Alyssa Byrne and Katherine Jones.