Nic swallowed hard. Her tunnel vision came back, and she focused on the single spot she had to shoot at, his forehead. She could make that shot, had done it hundreds of time in practice and made it a handful of times when she had to take down a target. But she wouldn’t risk an innocent on a chance.
“Do as he says,” she ordered.
When Walker’s head swiveled to make sure the others were backing up she noticed the clear transmitter in his ear. Someone was directing him on what to do.
“I don’t know who The Priest is and why he told you to do this, Walker, but it’s wrong. It’s what your cousin did and look at what happened. His wife is dead and so is he. Why do this stupid thing like he did for no reason?”
“You don’t get it. It’s the only way to atone.”
“There’s that damn word again. Atone. Atone for what? Being a jackass? Everyone has shit to deal with, but killing others isn’t how you do it.”
Walker laughed; he was suddenly lucid and in control of himself. “Isn’t that what you do? Kill people?”
Ice slithered through her veins. Her body was preparing, shutting down to ready for what would be her most difficult shot. She had to save that child. But could she save Walker, too? He wasn’t acting in his right mind, but that was no reason to kill him. She had to find a way to stop him. Then maybe they could learn who this Priest was and why he was behind this.
“I was trained to protect the world from terrorists. And right now, Walker, you’re a terrorist. Put the girl down and let’s end this the right way. No one else needs to die.”
A weird light flickered in his eyes. His gun slipped away from the girl, and he redirected at Nic. “What about you, Nicolette? What’s your greatest sin?”
His words slammed into her like a shot from a three-oh-eight. No one called her by that name except for The General.
“What are you hiding from these people? What commandments have you broken?”
“Who’s talking to you, Walker?”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Good-bye.”
He moved too fast for her to react, his gun going for the side of his head, and he pulled the trigger. Horrified screams joined the cries of the girl as she was dragged under Walker’s body.
Nic’s arms sagged to her sides. She crumpled, going down hard on her knees, gaping at his lifeless body.
Legs blocked her view of Walker, and suddenly Con was there. He cupped her face, said something to her, but she heard nothing. Her brain flashed between seeing Walker kill himself and that mission, watching those men die and doing nothing about it.
She’d failed another person.
Chapter Twenty-six
“When the hell was anyone going to tell me about this?”
Con didn’t bother to look at his chief. He was tuned in to Nic. She sat in a chair in the corner of the police department bullpen and stared at the men gathered in front of her. She hadn’t said a word in the last four hours. Even after Agent Hunt had brought Cassy into the department, Nic still refused to speak. Con was worried she had shut down. For good.
“You’ve been sitting on this for two days,” the chief continued his rant, “and not once has one of you mentioned to me that someone was helping these people kill themselves.”
“Because it was just speculation until late yesterday,” Shane interjected, “and even then, we weren’t 100 percent sure.”
“But you had enough wherewithal to call in a damn fed and not tell me.”
Hunt stepped forward, placing himself between the sheriff and chief. “That was my fault, sir. I asked Sheriff Hamilton to keep my assistance under wraps. We didn’t want to put the public in a panic.”
“Well, you sure as hell have done it now. We’ve got a nightmare on our hands. Rogue deputies killing the mayor and then threatening a child before killing himself. Talking nonsense about being redeemed in front of the entire town of Eider and then some. On the busiest damn day of the year.” The chief finally flopped down in his chair and slapped his hands on the desk. “Scratch that, this is a FUBAR.”
Con rubbed his forehead and squelched the urge to groan. Chief wasn’t kidding; the whole thing was effed up beyond all recognition. With the wireless transmitter in Walker’s ear, they knew someone had influenced him. How convenient that they’d never be able to trace that transmitter, because neither department could afford that kind of equipment. No doubt the tox screen was going to reveal the same mix of drugs in his system that was in the previous victims in the other towns.
“Detective O’Hanlon, tell me what’s going on,” the chief said.
Con met Shane’s somber gaze, then looked at Nic. She blinked, and a spark of life came back in her eyes. With a sigh, he relayed everything they had learned in the last few days, adding that Walker’s revelation that someone calling himself The Priest was assisting the victims turned these cases into murder investigations.
“And when did you suspect someone might be aiding the victims?” the chief asked.
“Actually, Deputy Rivers suspected it with the Tomberlin suicide.”
Removing his glasses, the chief rubbed his face and groaned. “And how do you all expect us to handle the press conference?”
“Sir,” Con said, “I think it best that Agent Hunt along with yourself and Sheriff Hamilton decide that. We need to keep Deputy Rivers out of the limelight.”
“O’Hanlon’s right. Send those two home,” Agent Hunt stated.
The chief’s head swiveled to Nic. “Why the hell didn’t you just shoot the bastard before he grabbed that little girl?”
Whether it was the right thing to say or the wrong one, the chief’s demand brought Nic back from whatever personal hell she was wallowing in. Con bolted to his feet the same instant she did, but he held his ground when that was as far as she went.
“Why don’t you just come out and say it? Why didn’t I kill the bastard before he wrecked more lives? It’s all fine and dandy when you’ve got a killing machine at your disposal, so you don’t have to soil your hands and you get to be the condescending asshole.”
“Rivers.” Shane’s tone carried a deadly warning.
It didn’t deter Nic. “I’ll tell you why I didn’t pull that trigger. I wasn’t about to add another death to my conscience. You all think it’s so easy to just take a life because I’m a trained sniper. You’re not the ones going home at night and seeing their lifeless faces in your dreams.”
Slowly, the chief rose to his feet. “Deputy Rivers, you were hired to protect the citizens of this county. And that means doing whatever it takes to stop the threat.”
A deadly scowl crossed Nic’s face, one that Con had seen only once before—when confronting her father. “I’m not your killing whore. And I don’t take orders from you.” She spun on her heel and stormed out of the bullpen.
Con bolted after her the same instant Cassy did. He ignored the order to return and barreled through the glass doors into the lobby where Nic had stopped at the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows and the door leading outside. Across the lawn, a crowd of reporters and news crews had set up shop, waiting for the press conference.
“Nic, we can go out another way.” Cassy turned to him. “Is there a back way from here?”
He pointed to their left. “At the end of the hall, through the door, and hang a left. That hall takes you outside through an emergency exit.”
Cassy gripped Nic’s arm. “Let’s go.”
Nic jerked free and continued to glare at the window. Her spark of life back in the bullpen was fading.
Carefully, he placed a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her to face him. She had been so unresponsive after Walker shot himself, Con didn’t know how to reach her, short of slapping her face. Now she was crawling back inside her shell again. Leaving him behind.
“Nic,” he tipped her chin up and made her look at him, “you did the right thing. Doug couldn’t be saved.”
“You don’t know that,” she whispered, then stepped out of his h
old.
She shuttered her emotions, putting up a wall between them, and with it, Con sensed her locking him out of her life. Pain lacerated him. Even after last night, she was still trying to push him away, block him from getting to her heart.
Averting her eyes, she left him and walked down the hall past her sister. Every nerve in his body screamed for him to follow, but his rational side talked him out of it. He noticed the pinched expression on Cassy’s face before she joined Nic.
Bloody fool. For a moment, he’d actually believed that Nic might have feelings for him, something more than alleviating an urge. Instead, she’d used him.
He should be mad, wanted to be mad, but he couldn’t dredge up the energy to allow that emotion to take hold of him. Something else filtered in.
Determination.
Con had waited this long to break through her defenses, and he’d made headway into destroying the walls. One pitiful attempt to shut him out again wasn’t about to stop his progress. Nic was weakened.
Bloody hell, she was testing him, and he wasn’t about to fail.
• • •
The Priest hurried through his prayers, his brain struggling to stay focused on them. Today’s events left him exhilarated. He hadn’t expected the rush or the euphoria that followed Deputy Walker’s murder/suicide. The high lingered longer than it had after Giselle Tomberlin died.
The memory brought a wave of pleasure. Closing his eyes, he let it pulse through him. He could still hear the screams, Nicolette’s pleas for Deputy Walker to relent. The Priest hadn’t meant to get more involved than he was, but the thought of provoking Nicolette wouldn’t leave him. He had to push her. He had to see how much she knew.
And the expression on her face when she realized the focus had shifted to her. Fabulous.
The Priest muttered a final prayer for the soul of Doug Walker. A wise man would walk away from this town and let them reel from the deaths. A wise man would relocate now before things got too heated and the FBI agent and the police learned his identity.
But his call for the final mission kept him here. Lured him to drop all caution and finish what he started.
Opening his eyes, he stared at the flickering candles. It was time to bring Nicolette to her knees. The pieces were in place. All that was left was to maneuver her to the point of no return.
He risked everything for this one sinner. But if he played the board right, the chess pieces would line up for the perfect ending. Allowing him to walk away, free and clear. The Priest leaned forward and blew out a row of candles.
The next move was Nicolette’s.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Waiting until her sister was out of sight, Nic slipped out of the house and went straight for the barn. She had long since discovered her weapons in the barn where Cassy had stashed them, but she left them there. Taking her favored Sig, she loaded it, stuck it in the holster behind her back, and took along a handful of loaded clips, storing those in a saddlebag. Gathering up the tack for Whiskey, she whistled for him, hoping like hell Cassy didn’t hear it and come out.
Nic quickly saddled Whiskey, swung aboard, and spurred him toward the timber that backed her property. There were trails among the trees, and she needed to get away from everyone and everything. The sidearm was for her safety, as packs of wild dogs were known to roam the area. She would have preferred the Remington, but she didn’t have a scabbard to carry it on the saddle.
The bay’s generous stride chewed up the ground from the barn to the trailhead. As the distance built behind her, the voices spilled out.
“I see them as God wants me to see them, as one of His own coming for the assurance of forgiveness.”
“I fear you will make the wrong decision and those closest to you will suffer the consequences.”
“What about you, Nicolette? What’s your greatest sin? What are you hiding from these people? What commandments have you broken?”
Each remembered statement, each question, beat at her psyche. It crumbled her walls and allowed the demons to pour in and ravage her mind. She fought the images, fought the sensations of being back there lying on the ground, watching through her scope as those men suffered a fate worse than hell.
A strangled cry escaped her lips. Swiping the back of her gloved hand over her wet eyes, Nic reined in Whiskey as they entered the timber. She collected his head to keep him at a steady walk. The horse’s head bobbed in frustration at being slowed, and he tried to grab the bit, but her skilled hands dissuaded his intent, and he eventually settled in.
The mental reprieve of slowing Whiskey’s gait managed to calm Nic enough for her to concentrate on her surroundings. She couldn’t afford to slip into the oblivion and get caught off guard if a threat presented itself. Allowing the PTSD to control her today caused her to miss Walker among the parade crowd. Had she spotted him before he approached the mayor, she could have tackled him, gotten the gun away from him. And then both he and the mayor would still be alive, and they might have learned who was behind the suicides.
Her clenched fists on the reins transferred her agitation to the bay. He snorted and quivered, shaking his head as if to rid himself of a pesky fly.
Nic closed her eyes and found a focal point that would calm her before her roiling emotions caused Whiskey to explode. His Thoroughbred breeding showed in his thin skin and easily excitable temperament. Being thrown from his back right now would be bad.
Finding her seat, she let his movements lull her into relaxing for the first time since leaving Con’s bed.
Con. The mere thought of his name warmed her.
She had hurt him when she blocked him out and turned away from him at the department. It was her defense mechanism when trying to cope with the overload of death and her connection to it. With Aiden, there had always been walls. He’d never made any attempt to change her perception; he just rolled with it and took what he could get from her. Con was different. He wouldn’t settle for what she doled out. Con wanted more.
And that scared the hell out of her.
The wind picked up, rattling the autumn leaves. Dark gray clouds, laden with moisture, advanced on the setting sun like a marching army. Faint rumbles came from that direction. The broiling weather matched the turmoil inside her head.
How damn fitting.
She eased Whiskey to a halt and stared at the wall of clouds as they covered the sun, making the front line look like it was on fire. Lightning rippled among the clouds in the rear guard. Beautiful yet deadly.
Rustling from her right startled Nic and the bay. Her hand instinctively went to her weapon at her back, but she paused before removing it from the holster.
A doe picked her way over the forest floor, keeping her head low as she trod forward. Whiskey huffed. The doe’s head shot up, she hesitated a fraction of a second, then tore off deeper into the timber. Her flight pressed Nic to slide the Sig from the holster.
Because she had never fired a weapon from the back of her horse, she dismounted and eased around to Whiskey’s head. He nuzzled her shoulder, making the bit rattle against the metal clasps. Placing her free hand over his nose, she calmed him.
Something or someone was out there.
She took hold of the bridle and led the bay forward, making sure to keep the Sig hidden beside her thigh. Her skin tingled with charged energy. Her senses turned acute, doubling or tripling in awareness to the point she could separate the different scents of the forest and distinguish the sounds she and her horse made from something else.
Thunder rumbled closer. More wind—heavy with the scent of rain—gusted through the trees, lifting her ponytail away from her neck and playing with her hair. Over the plodding of Whiskey’s hooves, she heard the whisper of something creeping through the underbrush. Adjusting her grip on the gun, Nic rested her finger against the trigger guard.
She stopped. Unprepared for her sudden halt, the bay bumped into her back. Nic stumbled forward a step then twisted around to use Whiskey’s body to shield her. Untying
the leather strings on the saddlebag, she dug inside, removed two clips, and jammed them inside her boot tops.
The clouds blocked out the sun and shrouded everything in premature darkness. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the sudden change, but it left her sorely at a disadvantage if she was facing down a predator. Whiskey seemed completely oblivious to anything that would threaten him.
Which meant whatever was tracking her was of the two-legged variety.
She had two choices: mount up and spur Whiskey all the way back to the house, hoping like crazy she wasn’t shot in the back, or face down whoever was stupid enough to stalk her. Right now, the incoming storm was helping to disguise her movements along with her stalker’s. Any minute now the rain would start, and it promised to be torrential. Each second that ticked past, the skies became darker, and the thunder grew louder. Whiskey shifted; restless, he swiveled his rear away from Nic and turned toward home. Nic jiggled his bridle, forcing him to pay attention to her. Lightning lit up the sky, and in that split second of brightness she saw the figure moving through the trees.
She swung the bay around. He fed off of her panic and shied away. “Son of a bitch.” She hobbled after him, ready to vault onto his back.
“What is your greatest sin, Nicolette?” She froze. Her lifted foot thumped to the ground, and she turned to where she’d seen the figure. The voice was unfamiliar, yet the words were not.
One-handed, she leveled her weapon, wishing like hell that she had a flashlight. “Who are you?”
Whiskey pranced left, jerking her arm and nearly ripping the reins from her hand. The frantic motions disturbed her aim, and her gun arm bobbled.
More lightning rent the air. The figure had moved closer.
Panic overrode her mind, and she fired. The bay screamed, rearing up, shaking his head back and forth. The reins slipped out of her slick hand. Off-balance, she lost her footing and hit the ground. Freed, Whiskey bolted. Nic covered her head and buried her face in the dirt, tensing her body for the moment when his hooves tore into her flesh. With a grunt, he jumped over her and ran back down the path. She searched the dirt for her weapon; her fingers brushed the butt and lost it the second her stalker grabbed her by the shoulder and flipped her over. Survival instincts and her training kicked in. She scissor-kicked at her attacker, but he twisted away before her legs could make contact. The momentum of her flying legs helped Nic roll over and onto her knees. She spat the taste of dirt from her mouth and pushed onto her feet.
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