Kill Shot

by Susan Sleeman

“Yes, a therapist or psychologist.”

  “See, here’s the thing, Doc. Traci was seeing a shrink. Dr. Fox. She knew Traci was struggling and could have gotten in touch with me, but she chose not to.”

  “Doctor-patient confidentiality.”

  He fired her a testy look. “No. Don’t use that excuse. At least not in this case. Traci gave Dr. Fox permission to update me on her condition. Shoot, I’d even attended counseling sessions with Traci to help her work things out. But Fox wanted Traci to be able to make up her own mind about the baby without any undue pressure from me, and she told Traci that in a session. After that appointment Traci was so conflicted about what to do about the baby that she couldn’t concentrate on driving and crashed her car into a tree. And like I said, the police suggested she’d taken her own life.” He shook his head. “Dr. Fox admitted that when she was young she’d been forced to make a similar decision under great duress. She didn’t want any of her clients to go through the pressure she’d faced. So she let her personal feelings make her professional decision with Traci. Chose not to get in touch with me. Warned Traci not to do so either.”

  Olivia’s eyes widened with understanding. “No wonder you were leery of me.”

  “She’s not the only reason. I had a bad experience with a shrink when I was a teen, too. My dad hired her, and she was his puppet, telling me all the time in my sessions what my father wanted, and that if I didn’t comply I’d be causing myself unhappiness. I knew her behavior was wrong then, and I know it now. So no offense, Doc, but I’m still leery. The only thing that’s really changed between us is that I’m letting our interest or connection or whatever you want to call it between us color my opinions.” He crossed his arms. “I need to stop that. For the good of the investigation.”

  “The investigation. Right.” Her expression tightened.

  He’d been tactful in his response, and he hadn’t expected his comments to bother her so much. “You make it sound like focusing on the investigation is a bad thing. We have a killer running free. I have to stop him before he strikes again.”

  “Of course.” A bitter smile slid across her mouth.

  Okay, she was upset. Nothing he could do about that. He wouldn’t take back anything he’d said. Besides, the divide between them was better for both of them, as he still didn’t know who she was. Was she the caring woman he saw now or a counselor putting on a good front? His gut said she actually cared, but then his gut also had once had him agreeing with Traci that Dr. Fox was a wonderful doctor. Proving that on this subject his gut could be wrong and until he knew for sure who Olivia was, he couldn’t get involved with her.

  He glanced at his watch. “The park is closing in a few minutes. I should get to the memorial.”

  He gestured for her to precede him across the lawn brown from the dry summer, and he followed. He was almost grateful to reach the concrete circle surrounding the marble monolith, as it took his mind off the way he kept disappointing her. A trio of women stood to the side of the monument engraved with a soldier in a navy uniform, but otherwise he and Olivia had the area to themselves. He stepped up to the eight-foot-tall tower, first fixing his gaze on the top, where combat boots with a rifle and helmet were mounted.

  He was choked up by memories of fellow soldiers, all branches, who’d lost their lives on the battlefield and by memories of past deployments when his platoon had displayed a lost soldier’s boots, helmet, and rifle in the same configuration. With the humidity he could hardly breathe, but he stepped closer until he located Hank’s name. Rick ran his fingers over the lettering. A jagged razor of pain cut through his core. All this thinking about his past and the visit to his parents had his emotions raw, and he thought he might drop to his knees.

  Olivia joined him and took his hand, twining her fingers with his. Here she was mad at him or disappointed in him, and yet she had enough compassion to put aside her feelings to offer comfort. She could very well be the only thing that kept him from collapsing.

  “Tell me about your time in Iraq,” she said, her tone encouraging.

  He’d never wanted to talk about his deployments. Actually, he’d never spoken about them with anyone outside the sniper platoon. So why the pressing need to speak now? Maybe to acknowledge Hank’s sacrifice. All the sacrifices.

  “My first tour was in ’05. I’d just finished sniper school and deployed to Iraq. When we first rolled into Ramadi, we were faced with around a hundred IEDs a week. Our platoon was tasked with locating the people placing these IEDs and taking them out. Our missions started with overwatching other companies to make sure they weren’t targets.”

  “And how did you do that exactly?”

  “We couldn’t help others if we were killed, so we chose our hides with a good view of the area, but also had to have a good escape and evasion route. Just in case. One particular time we were made by the Iraqis. Ambushed. Couldn’t get out without taking fire. That’s when Hank died.” The memory sent a shudder through his body.

  Olivia moved closer. “So the other soldiers. You watched over them from these hides?”

  Grateful she’d moved him forward, he nodded. “Sometimes that was an easy task. You’d catch a look at a guy in a ski mask in Iraq. Screamed ‘bad guy.’ But other times they hid, and the people protected them. Even the local police. But we did the best we could to distinguish good from bad. Most of the time you got it right. But sometimes…sometimes…you’d get it wrong. Fire on an innocent. Or a shot goes wide and your target gets away.”

  “And what about those you did hit? Do they haunt you?”

  He shook his head. “Our protocol helped with that. We took body shots just under breastplates. That keeps you from seeing who you’re shooting.”

  “You must have been worried you’d be shot, too.”

  “Yeah, in the close-in engagements, but if we did our job right, the range of our rifles was our safety. The majority of sniper engagements are single target at three hundred to a thousand yards. You can’t see me with the naked eye at that distance. Means you can’t hurt me. And the sniper’s cardinal rule says never to fire more than two shots from one position, which kept their snipers from placing us, too.”

  “Still, the pressure must have been off the charts.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” He sighed. “You screw up as a sniper, and you’ll be on the news, because a screwup means you’ve been killed.”

  She stepped in front of him and met his gaze. “Are you ever bothered by nightmares?”

  “This is starting to sound awful clinical, Doc.”

  “No, I’m just curious. I want to know you. Know how deeply you carry this with you.”

  He shrugged, intending to blow her off, but at her crestfallen look, he couldn’t. “Sure. Yeah. I have nightmares now and then, but not about a hit. They’re always about the misses. Whenever a shot went wide and the target made it out of there alive, I knew fellow soldiers would die at his hands. I’ll wonder for the rest of my life who was killed because I missed my shot. That’s what keeps me up at night.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Rick. For your bravery and service. And giving up so much for our country.”

  He’d been thanked in the past, but never before had it meant so much to him. He let go of her hand and drew her into his arms. Her head against his chest, he tightened his arms and stared at Hank’s name. The pain, the anguish of a moment ago was gone, and peace settled over him. Something he hadn’t experienced since his childhood. And it was all because of the strong woman wrapped in his arms. He could no longer deny she’d found a place in his heart. If only he could be sure of her motives and find a way to change his life to include her.

  Father, he prayed, as he hadn’t in years, I’ve been banging my head against a closed door long enough. Please open another one so I can find my way through the mess of my life once and for all so if Olivia is who she professes to be, I can see her as You do.

  Chapter 19

  Mobile, Alabama

  Saturday, Sept
ember 16

  10:20 a.m.

  The morning sun overhead, Olivia stepped onto the concrete walkway leading up to Cesar’s modest brick bungalow. A chain-link fence open to a dirt driveway surrounded the property. The grass was perfectly manicured, not a common sight for the lower-income neighborhood. Totally normal for Cesar. He, like Rick, had retained those perfectionistic sniper tendencies. She had gotten the feeling at the memorial, though, that Rick was thinking about his life and considering the value of letting go of some of the perfectionism and letting go of his past. Maybe, anyway.

  She approached the front door, and her thoughts turned to Luna. Olivia’s heart was almost too heavy for her to keep moving forward. Her training included how to handle grief, and she’d seen it firsthand too many times to count, but for some reason today seemed especially hard. She’d chosen to wear her favorite summer dress, a blue-and-white gingham check cinched at the waist, to help keep her spirits high. She smoothed down the full skirt and glanced back at Rick. She was probably looking for reassurance that she shouldn’t need. She was coming to rely on him too much.

  At the door he stepped up next to her. His expression was grim, his jaw clenched.

  “Before we go in,” she said, “you should know Luna has very little information about Cesar’s military experiences. He wanted to spare her the pain of hearing what he’d gone through. In fact, that’s why they’d split up for a time. She knew he was troubled and wanted to help, but he wouldn’t share.”

  “Sounds familiar,” he said. “Most of the guys I know haven’t shared deployment details that they were cleared to reveal to their loved ones. Why take them through that hell, you know? I didn’t tell Traci much for that very reason.”

  At first she’d thought he meant her, but he was talking about his wife. Made much more sense than thinking of her in such a capacity. “Let me do the talking at first with Luna. Your direct manner might not be well received.”

  His head dipped in a quick nod before he knocked.

  Luna soon opened the door. Only a few inches over five feet, she’d been delightfully cheerful the last time Olivia had seen her, but today dark circles hung under her eyes. Her hair that had once been glossy and perfectly combed was messy, as if she’d just climbed from bed.

  “Dr. Dobbs.” Tears filled her eyes. “I’m so happy to see you. If you came to talk to Cesar, he…” A sob took her words.

  “I know.” Olivia pressed a hand on Luna’s arm. “That’s why I’m here. To offer my condolences.”

  “That is very kind of you.”

  “I was very fond of Cesar, and I know how deeply your family feels his loss.”

  Luna nodded, and from her pocket she produced a lace handkerchief to dab at her eyes and nose as she stepped back. “Please. Come in.”

  Olivia wasn’t certain how or when to introduce Rick, so she stepped through the door and hoped he would follow and allow her the opportunity to find the right timing.

  The entrance opened to a small family room with terrazzo tile flooring and one wall painted a blinding orange. The room held an easy chair and a sofa covered with a brightly woven blanket. The wall above was filled with happy family photos, pictures of Cesar in his uniform, and small shelves holding religious figurines and candles. Olivia sat on the sofa and gestured for Rick to join her. Luna collapsed in the chair as if she couldn’t hold herself upright any longer.

  “How are you doing?” Olivia asked.

  “It is hard, but my faith gets me through.” She picked up rosary beads lying on a Bible on a small ceramic table next to the chair and kissed them. “And, of course, my family, but I am not quite as resilient as the children.”

  Olivia heard them giggling from another room, and she wished adults could heal as easily and naturally from grief as young children often did. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Luna shook her head. “Your visit is enough.” Her gaze moved to Rick, and she sat staring at him.

  “This is Rick Cannon,” Olivia explained. “He’s with the FBI.”

  Rick offered his credentials.

  Suspicion flared in her eyes. “You are here about Cesar?”

  Olivia hated to see the sweet woman suffer more, so she scooted off the sofa and knelt next to Luna to take her hand. “Rick wants to ask you some questions, but I’m here solely for you. Whatever you need, just ask.”

  A fond smile claimed her face. “You were always so good to Cesar and our family. We owe our last years together to you.”

  “Not to me. It was Cesar who did all of the hard work to get back together with you.”

  Her chin quavered. “I almost wish he hadn’t. Then he wouldn’t have been in Mobile and would still be alive.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Santos, but I don’t think that’s the case,” Rick said.

  Her smile evaporated. “What is it you know that I do not?”

  “I’m investigating a death similar to your husband’s, and I think the same person killed both of them.”

  “You mean the bullet wasn’t random but was meant for Cesar?” She shook her head hard, her limp hair swinging over stooped shoulders. “But the detective. He could not explain why someone would want to do this. He suggested that Cesar was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “My gut says he’s mistaken, and Mr. Santos was purposefully targeted.”

  Luna dabbed her eyes. “Do you think that’s why his HOG’s tooth was taken that night?”

  “HOG’s tooth.” Rick’s voice rose. “Your husband was a sniper?”

  Luna nodded. “And very proud of it.”

  Rick shot Olivia a suspicious look.

  “I thought you knew that,” Olivia said. “Otherwise I would have told you.”

  He eyed her. She hated that his first reaction was always to think she’d hidden something from him, but she also got that trust didn’t come easily to him and that it would take time to overcome that.

  “A HOG’s tooth is a bullet on a cord, right?” Olivia asked.

  He nodded. “Specifically it’s a projectile portion of a 7.62 round—the part that most people think of when they think bullet. It has a hole drilled through the wide end, and is usually strung on paracord to be worn around the neck. It’s given to every Marine Scout Sniper when they graduate from the Schoolhouse.”

  Olivia knew Schoolhouse was slang for sniper school. “Ace had one that he held during most of our counseling sessions, but he didn’t really discuss it. What’s its purpose?”

  “It’s symbolic only. A marine who graduates from sniper school is called a HOG—hunter of gunmen, i.e., hunter of enemy snipers. The bullet represents the bullet meant for the sniper, and since he has it in his possession and it can’t be fired, he’s invincible.”

  “Ace probably held onto his to ward off his anxiety.”

  “I didn’t notice it in the list of his personal effects at the autopsy. Do you know if he had it with him the night he died?”

  “Yes. He kept turning it over in his hands.”

  A knowing light came on in Rick’s eyes.

  “Cesar wore his all the time,” Luna said. “I was so sad to hear that it had been taken. It meant so much to him.”

  Rick nodded. “Means a lot to every sniper.”

  “Cesar was glad to have his to prove he wasn’t a PIG,” Luna said.

  “Professionally instructed gunman,” Rick said before Olivia could ask. “Other members of a Scout Sniper platoon who didn’t graduate from sniper school and are often less skilled snipers.”

  “Why would someone want to take it?” Olivia asked. “And do you think Ace’s was taken, too?”

  He flashed a warning look her way telling her to hold off on that line of questioning, then faced Luna again. “Do you know anyone who might have wanted to hurt your husband?”

  “No, and I have told the detective this.”

  “What about in Mr. Santos’s past? Did he communicate with old friends?”

  “He did occasionally talk on the phone to so
me men he served with, and one or two times he went to Atlanta for something to do with them.”

  “Did you hear what they talked about or know why he traveled to Atlanta?”

  “He always talked in the bedroom. It would have been rude of me to listen, so I did not do so. And he did not want to talk about the trips. He was troubled by something, though. Very troubled.” She sighed. “Now I wish I had pushed him to tell me about it. Maybe he’d still be alive, but I was not raised to question my husband.”

  “I don’t think even if you pushed that he would have shared much,” Olivia said, thinking of Rick’s unwillingness to speak of his past. “He didn’t want you to have to think about the things he’d seen while an active soldier.”

  “That was my Cesar. Caring.” Her gaze took on a faraway look before clearing and focusing again on Rick. “Do you have any other questions?”

  “Did Mr. Santos make the calls you mentioned on a cell phone or landline?” Rick asked.

  “We have chosen a life of simplicity so we do not have cell phones. We do not want to be on call whenever anyone wants to contact us. We have no television or computer either.”

  “How about e-mails or written letters? I know you don’t have a computer, but he could’ve used one at the library or a friend’s machine.”

  “No, and Cesar did not write letters.”

  “Do you know where he was on August twenty-eighth around six a.m.? It was a Monday morning, so that might make it easier for you.”

  That date again. Olivia made a mental note to search for it on the Internet to see if anything important came up.

  “He would have been at work. He never missed a shift.”

  Rick gave a clipped nod, and if Olivia was right, he looked relieved, too.

  “Do you recognize the name Archie Griffin? Your husband might have called him Ace.”

  “No. This is not a name I recognize.”

  Rick sat back for second, and Olivia knew he was trying to make sense of all that he’d heard and be thorough about his questioning. “Could you tell me Mr. Santos’s last unit?”

  “He was attached to the 1/5.”