“Stay calm,” he warned himself. “They could simply have spun out.”
Maybe GPS was wrong and it wasn’t even their car. No. He had to expect the worst. That’s what would prepare him to act. He drew his weapon. Lifted it along with the light and set off. Rain pelted his face, but he fought the urge to race across the road and moved cautiously, paying attention to his surroundings. He was trained to handle a situation like this. Well trained. But no amount of tactical training would do any good if he didn’t have the ability to recognize when to use it.
He ran the beam over the car. A VW logo and electric-blue paint confirmed that he was looking at Dianna’s car. His heart sank. The passenger side was bashed in, and wide tire tracks showed that they’d been hit by a large vehicle. Had to be a truck. A big one. But it was gone.
Could be a hit-and-run. Could be, but a sinking feeling told Rick the collision was much more.
He aimed the light in the closest window, the beam highlighting Natalie in her car seat. Her eyes were closed, but her chest rose and fell. Good. Good.
He swung the light ahead. Caught sight of Shane in the passenger seat, slumped against the crushed door, blood caked on his head. Rick swallowed hard. Tried the door. The damage was too severe for him to open it. He studied Shane. Saw him breathing, too.
Rick drew in air and held it. His gut already aching over what he might find. He swung his light past Shane to the driver’s seat.
Empty.
His throat closed.
Where is she? Father, please. Let her be alive. Please. Help me to do the right thing for her. For the baby and Shane.
He eased around the back of the car, swinging his light over the trees and thick understory, trying to cut through the rain to find any lurking danger. Satisfied it was safe, he bent in behind the steering wheel. Found blood smeared on the driver’s side. His heart dropped lower, but he kept it together. Reached across the seat and felt for a pulse on Shane’s neck and was glad to find a strong one. He didn’t wait for additional confirmation, but dialed 911 and requested an ambulance while he moved to the back to check on Natalie.
She stirred, and her eyes opened. She blinked her thick lashes and screwed up her tiny face to cry. She didn’t seem harmed, and a flash of happiness lit his heart. “It’s okay, little one. You’ll be all right.”
He could barely walk away from her, but she was safe in her car seat and he had to find Olivia. He called Kaci and searched the ditch as the phone rang. He spotted blood and followed the trail to the road.
Olivia’s spiky shoes lay discarded as if torn from her feet.
“No. No. No, no, no.” He squatted. Found gouges in the red clay soil leading to her shoes. Two larger footprints marred the mud.
She’d been dragged. Olivia had been dragged. Unwilling. Abducted.
Kaci answered the call. “Did you find them?”
“She’s gone,” was all he could say. “Missing.”
* * *
Forsythe County, Georgia
8:30 a.m.
Olivia wanted to hide in sleep. Ignore the miles sliding under the truck and ignore the panic that kept trying to wake her. If she was to have any hope of escaping, she had to know where these men sitting beside her in the cab were taking her. She opened her eyes. Spotted a US 19 road sign and trees grouped forest-close along the highway. They’d left the Atlanta metro area and traveled into the country.
Her heart sank. How would anyone find her out here?
She turned her head, the pain on movement excruciating. She blinked hard and waited for it to pass before she ran her gaze over the driver. The killer. Her heart thumped in her chest. He was muscular. Tall and not at all like the squat guy who’d grabbed her. The killer had an angular chin covered in stubble. Deep wrinkles next to his eyes. Unkempt hair, greasy and raggedly cut.
“She’s awake,” the burly guy said.
The driver looked at her. His face coming clear. She stifled a gasp. He was the man from the Chick-fil-A video. Not Marcus Floyd from the park. His eyes, mean and angry, sped up her pulse before he looked back at the road.
He had no qualms about killing her. She could feel it in his demeanor. After all, he’d murdered several men already, and if he was willing to let her see his face, there was only one possible outcome. He didn’t plan on letting her go. Ever.
Terror lodged in her chest. She struggled to breathe. But she couldn’t let the fear take her. Couldn’t let it make her hyperventilate. She closed her eyes again until she could draw in regular breaths. When she opened them the killer was watching her.
“Welcome back.” His voice, deep and rumbly, went with the size of his body.
If she knew who he was, she could figure out a way to best him and get free.
“Who are you?” she asked, hating how she let her fear sound through her words.
He quirked a brow at her. “You know who I am.”
“A killer.” She worked hard not to let him see her panic. “But what’s your name?”
“So the FBI hasn’t figured it out yet, huh?” He chuckled. “I could’ve taken you out, then, instead of going to all of this trouble to grab you.”
Confused, she peered at him. “I don’t understand. You tried to kill me before the accident, right? Why didn’t you now?”
“The feds took the remaining targets in our sniper class into protection. Except Floyd. They’re not gonna find him unless they go scrounging up here in the mountains.” He laughed, a low deranged sound from deep in his chest. “I thought the feds knew about me, and I’d need some sort of leverage. Especially if I had to get out of the country fast. Then when the fed totally freaked out outside your office, I figured why kill you when you could be my ticket out?”
“You’re lying,” she said. “You didn’t graduate in the ’03 sniper class.”
He bared his teeth at her like an angry dog. “I could kill you now, couldn’t I?” She could easily imagine him salivating as he did it.
“They might still figure it out,” his partner said.
The killer only glanced at him. He was mentally unstable. Meant unpredictable and he could snap at any moment. At any word.
Maybe she should shut up. No. She had to risk questioning him to glean information. But she’d obviously hit a sore spot and needed to shift his focus. Move on for now. She would circle back later.
“So you killed Floyd and the other snipers,” she said. “Including Levi.”
“Yeah, me and the trusty smart bullet,” he replied. “Actually, the smart bullet did the work for me.”
“Smart bullet?” she asked, wondering if this was the special weapon she’d suspected.
“A bullet with guidance inside. You know, like a missile, so it locks on anyone I fix the scope on and takes them down. Best day ever when we stole those bad boys.”
“We’re more powerful than God.” The other guy grinned, revealing tobacco-stained teeth.
“You really think that?” Olivia asked, trying to get her head around the fact that a bullet like that actually existed.
“With the gun in my hand I do. We lock the scope on someone and fire. Poof, they die. Just like that.” The killer snapped his fingers. “It’s the perfect weapon system, and it’s gonna make us rich.”
“You’re going to sell it?” Her stomach roiled.
“Gonna? Nah. We already did. Just need to deliver the bullets. At least the ones that are left.” He grinned again.
No. They’d not only stolen these crazy bullets but already sold them? Who to, and how many?
She had to know. “How many?”
“Bullets, you mean?”
She nodded, her head swimming with pain.
“Let’s see. Started with an even three dozen. Used five, so you do the math.”
Thirty-one. A number far bigger than she’d expected.
She swallowed hard, but her mouth was cotton-ball dry. These men were going to deliver the remaining bullets to criminals. Maybe men even more dangerous. Men who could
analyze the technology and reproduce it. Then this killer would take her out of the country and kill her, too.
Fear wrapped its tentacles around her. She couldn’t let her emotions paralyze her.
She took deep breaths. In, out. In, out.
Calm down. Think. Stay alive.
She had to.
If she didn’t act fast, these deadly bullets would end up in the hands of people even more dangerous than these killers holding her captive.
Chapter 28
Atlanta, Georgia
8:32 a.m.
The hospital ER’s antiseptic odor left Rick feeling nauseated as they waited for word on Shane and Natalie. Right after calling 911, Rick had phoned his mother, who’d brought Dianna to the hospital to be with Natalie while the doctors gave her a thorough examination, even though she appeared to be unharmed. Yolanda was staying at the guesthouse with Wiley to spare him the turmoil of visiting a hospital. Rick had to admit he was thankful he’d decided to stay with his family, something he’d once doubted he’d ever say, but maybe…
No. Not the right time to go there, with Shane hurt and Olivia missing.
He paced the room, all of his teammates—except Brynn, who’d gone straight from the plane to the accident scene—doing the same thing. Brynn had wanted to come to the hospital, but it was more urgent for her to process the crash scene to find a way to locate Olivia. With Olivia’s phone in the car and no traffic cams in the area that could have revealed the truck’s departure route, Brynn’s leads would give them the only chance of tracking Olivia.
“I’ve been thinking,” Max said as Rick stepped past him. “We haven’t yet asked how our suspect found Olivia. I asked Dianna, but she doesn’t know a thing.”
“He didn’t follow me, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Rick said.
“No, and I would expect that everyone else took the same precautions when leaving crime scenes and heading back to the house.”
They all nodded.
“Then how?” Rick swallowed hard before his desperation got the best of him.
“Only one way I know to follow someone other than in a vehicle,” Cal said. “From the air. Like with a drone.”
“A drone? Maybe.” Rick pondered the idea. “But it would have to be military quality or we’d hear it from the ground. Unless the guy flew above the legal ceiling.”
“It wouldn’t be surprising for a killer to ignore the law,” Kaci said.
“Any way to track this drone?” Rick asked.
“Not with normal aircraft tracking systems.”
“Why not?”
“Choppers and planes have transponders that squawk codes when in flight, and air traffic control tracks them via their squawk code. Even if they didn’t squawk, their size guarantees they’ll appear on radar.” She paused for a moment. “On the other hand, both commercial and hobby drones are small. So small they look like birds on radar and can’t be tracked. Anyone can fly a drone these days, and the only thing that’s keeping them from interfering with other aircraft is that it’s illegal to fly above that four hundred feet you mentioned. But even if someone breaks that law, no one is tracking them.”
Rick clamped a hand on the back of his neck and massaged. “So we’re out of luck.”
“Not totally,” she replied. “The government is interested in drones overseas. They especially want to track unknown and hostile drones in war zones, and they’re working on a tracking system.”
“So if our suspect flew a drone over the area, this system could track it?” Rick asked, a blip of hope on his radar.
“Likely.”
“Then how do we access it?”
“I’ve been asked to review the software, so I have it on my computer.”
Rick gestured at her laptop sitting on the table. “Then show us the program.”
“It’s not on this computer, but the one at your house.”
Rick opened his mouth to tell her to head straight to the house to check for drones, but the doctor stepped into the waiting area, preempting him.
“Agent Erwin has regained consciousness,” he said. “His eyes are open to stimulation, but he’s lethargic. He has some brain swelling and bleeding causing sleepiness, but he’s still arousable.”
“Will he recover?” Max asked.
“Too early to tell. It all depends on the swelling. As it increases pressure within the head, it could potentially injure parts of the brain not initially affected.”
“When will we know if he’s in the clear?” Max asked.
“The swelling happens gradually and may occur for the next five days or so.”
“What’s your best guess on his prognosis?” Rick asked.
“I’d guardedly say he will fully recover, but again, time will tell.”
“And what about Natalie?” Rick asked.
“She has bruises from the straps of her car seat, but otherwise she has no injuries, and we’re releasing her now.”
“Thank God for that,” Rick said, and his teammates nodded.
“Can we see Shane?” Kaci asked.
“Maybe one of you. For a short visit.”
Max shook hands with the doctor, then turned to the team and asked them to join him in prayer for Shane. Rick loved working with Christian men and women. Though, like him, some of them were struggling with their faith, they all believed in God.
Max offered a heartfelt prayer, then looked up. “I’ll check in with Shane to see if he remembers anything from the accident. Cal, I want you to head back to the accident scene and bring me up to date on the locals’ search for the suspect.”
Cal nodded his understanding.
Max turned his attention to Rick. “And you—”
“Kaci and I,” Rick interrupted, “have a date with her computer at my parents’ house.”
* * *
Lumpkin County, Georgia
9:25 a.m.
The sky opened up and a deluge of rain pummeled the truck. The killer clicked the wipers into high. Swishing blades cut fast and furious, but he still had to slow down. She’d caught sight of signs telling her they were approaching the foothills of the North Georgia mountains, but why? What could the jerk want in the mountains?
He flipped on his blinkers. The sight nearly made her burst out in laughter. Here sat a ruthless killer, and he obeyed traffic laws. Absurd.
He followed a main road for about a mile, but she couldn’t make out the name of the road, and there were no landmarks to help. He soon turned onto a narrow lane. The truck bounced like a kangaroo over deep ruts, and pain screamed through her head.
She could close her eyes and rest. For just a moment, right?
No, she needed to know more about these men before they stopped so she would be ready to act if possible.
“You didn’t tell me your name,” she said to the driver.
“Guess it wouldn’t hurt, seeing how you’re not gonna live to talk about it. Name’s Ike Zelner.”
“I’ve never heard of you.”
His focus remained on the windshield, where rivers of rain allowed them to see only a few feet in front of the vehicle. “Not surprising. I covered my tracks well.”
“But you must be connected to the sniper class, so why hasn’t your name come up?”
“Oh, we’re connected all right. Guess the feds are too stupid to figure it out.”
“Were you friends with the other snipers?”
“Friends. Ha!” The ice in his tone was colder than the air-conditioning pouring from the dash. “Jerks couldn’t handle the competition. Bullied me until I failed and had to drop out of the Schoolhouse. They each had a bullet coming.” He peered at her, his eyes daring her to question him, to push him and see what he was capable of.
Her training told her he was suffering from antisocial personality disorder. Aching for a battle. Aching to kill. He didn’t care if it was someone he knew. He blamed others for his actions and didn’t appear to feel any remorse for the deaths. She had to tread lightly and play in
to his overconfidence, another hallmark of the disorder.
“These guys didn’t realize who they were messing with, though, did they?” She forced out a smile. “I can see that you’re a powerful adversary.”
He pulled a HOG’s tooth from under his shirt, then another, and stared at them. “You better believe it. None of them could have come up with a plan to steal the smart bullets. Only I could do that.”
Seeing Ace and Cesar’s HOG’s teeth in his hands tore her heart, and she wanted to rip them from around his neck, but she had to play along with him. “Of course. That’s a given. How did you do it?”
“Planning and using my brain. Course, not many people can think the way I do, but it was simple for me. I made buddies with a couple of security guards at the bar. Guys if you bought them a few drinks it could loosen their lips. Figured there’d be some sort of score they’d tell me about. Didn’t expect to hear about the smart bullets, though.”
“So you got the guy guarding these bullets to tell you how to find them,” she clarified.
“Nah, wasn’t quite that easy. My guy heard about them from his buddy, who was sworn to secrecy. But he was no match for me. I got him to tell me when the company was going to transport the technology for a demo.”
“That was some night,” the other guy said. “You worked ’em good, Ike. Real good.”
“Course I did.” Charm and manipulation, additional indicators of his antisocial nature.
“And when you got your hands on the smart bullets you seized the opportunity to use the weapon to take care of inferior men.”
“They didn’t stand a chance.” He laughed, the sound reverberating through the truck and grating on her nerves.
He slowed even more, the brakes squealing and mingling with his laughter. He pulled off the road to park in a clearing ringed by tall trees.
“You searched my office, too.”
“Had to make sure your crazy clients didn’t say anything about me and you put it in your notes.”
Kill Shot Page 29
