Shadow of Doubt

by Linda Poitevin

  "Bet you weren't expecting that greeting," she said ruefully.

  "Bet I was," Dave replied, his gray eyes warm with sympathy and concern. "How are you holding up, kiddo?"

  "Good." She heard the wobble in her voice, cleared her throat, and repeated firmly, "Good. I'm good. Honest. And I hear you've been doing a magic act back home."

  Dave grimaced. He snagged a chair and pulled it over to where they stood. Kate refused his wordless offer, and he straddled the chair himself, his arms slung over the back.

  "Magic, hell," he retorted. "What I've pulled off is nothing short of a bloody miracle—including not getting my own ass fired."

  Kate’s eyes watered again. She swallowed. "Thank you."

  He waved off her words. "That's what partners are for."

  "So what exactly have they forgiven me for?" she asked. She didn't really care, but the conversation distracted her. Kept her mind off...other things. Her gaze slid toward the window and the still-closed warehouse door. To her relief, Dave played along.

  "Let's see." He ticked her infractions off on his fingers, his brow creased with exaggerated concentration. "Aiding and abetting a suspected felon is gone; concealing is gone; and I think you're okay on illegal entry to the U.S., along with illegal possession of a firearm. They're still trying to iron out assaulting a peace officer and swiping his car, however." He grimaced. "Did I forget anything?"

  "High-speed chase resulting in a wrecked PC."

  "Ah. Yes. The police cruiser." Dave sighed. "Actually, that one may still land you in an Arctic posting. But you'll be in good company, because I'm pretty sure that's where they send constables who vault over the entire chain of command to cry on daddy-in-law's shoulder."

  Remorse twisted through Kate's belly. "Hell, Dave—"

  Again, he waved her off. "Don't worry about it. I happen to think dog sleds are a great way to get around." He glanced over his shoulder at Grant Douglas's approach, then stood to hold out his hand in greeting. "Douglas."

  "Jennings," Grant responded absently, his attention already on Kate even as he shook hands with her partner. He looked nothing like his usual precise self, she noted. His suit jacket was long gone, he'd loosened his tie, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. And she could have sworn that was a smudge of chocolate frosting on the edge of his top lip.

  "How are you holding up?" he asked.

  "I'm okay. What's happening?"

  "Tactical is on the way."

  Kate narrowed her gaze. "They were on the way an hour ago."

  "They got held up."

  Dave put a hand on her arm before she could request clarification. "They're going in?" he asked her.

  "We have to," Grant replied on her behalf. "His chances are zero if we let them take him out of there."

  Dave frowned. "They don't seem much better if you go in."

  "They're not," Kate said. She saw the questions forming in her partner's gaze, and she looked away before she lost it again. "What do you mean tactical got held up?" she asked Grant.

  Grant hesitated, and his expression turned haggard. Unease uncoiled in Kate's chest.

  "Grant?" she pressed. "What's going on?"

  Her ex ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. "They were involved in an accident," he said, sighing. "The sniper was injured. We're flying someone in from Chicago."

  She gaped at him. "That's two hours away! You must have someone closer—what about the local police?"

  "Tied up with other incidents. Seems we picked a hell of a day for our little sting. They'll let us know if they come free. In the meantime, our guy is only an hour and forty minutes out."

  "You have got to be freaking kidding me!" She stared at him for a second longer, then looked out the window. Almost two hours until the sniper arrived, another thirty minutes for briefing and set up, and—she glanced at the clock on the wall over the door—and it was already ten minutes to two now.

  "It'll be after four by the time tactical is ready to go," she said. She shook her head. "That's too long. They'll know something is up."

  "We have no alternative, Kate." Grant's voice was as gentle as it was weary. "I wish—"

  She flapped a hand at him, cutting him off. "What about the rest of the team?" she asked. "Were they injured, too?"

  "Three of them were. The other two are fine, but it's not enough to go in with. Especially not without a sniper to back them up."

  "Damn it!" Kate whirled away and braced her hands on the windowsill, staring down into the alley. The beginning of an idea stirred. She shoved it away. It resurfaced stubbornly.

  Impossible, she told it.

  His best chance, it responded. Maybe his only chance.

  Grant gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I'll keep you posted," he said. "Hang in there."

  "Wait," she said as he turned away. "I have an idea."

  Chapter 45

  From the corner of her eye, Kate saw Grant turn back to her, but she kept her attention on the alley below, studying its every detail. Every nuance. The warehouse windows. The battered metal door. The blue sedan.

  Angles.

  Distances.

  The scraps of paper dancing across the pavement.

  "Kate?" Dave prompted.

  "What if we draw them out instead of going in?" she murmured, her gaze darting to the unmarked SUVs blocking the alley entrance to the east. "If we convince them we're backing off, they might come out into the open. A sniper positioned here could take out the one holding Jonas and probably one other before they have time to react. That would give your team time to move in."

  Grant shook his head when she glanced back at him. "I don't see how that changes anything. We still have to wait for our guy to—"

  "I don't think she's talking about your guy," Dave interrupted, his gaze fixed on her.

  Grant stared at him. Then at Kate. "You're not serious."

  Her throat closed. Was she serious? Now that she'd made the suggestion, a thousand voices screamed denial in her brain. She was nowhere near ready...her scores since the shooting had been mediocre at best given her prior skill level...she still had so far to go...what if she missed...what if she hit Jonas instead...

  "She can do it, Douglas." Dave's calm voice penetrated the haze of panic. "You know she can."

  But what if I can't?

  The same question was etched across Grant's brow as he looked pointedly at her shoulder. "Can you?"

  Kate sucked a deep breath into her lungs and forced her mind to still. She focused all her attention on the shoulder she'd barely given a thought to for the last few days. Carefully she rotated it forward and back, raised it, dropped it. Each of the movements met with remarkably little resistance and even less discomfort. Her mouth twisted. Talk about ironic. She'd come further since picking Jonas up off the road than she had after months of careful exercise, following the physiotherapist's every instruction. Who knew running for her life would turn out to be so beneficial?

  She met Grant's gaze. "I think I can."

  "You think." Grant folded his arms over his tie. "But you don't know. That seems an awfully big risk where Jonas's life is concerned, Kate."

  Her heart gave an uncomfortable thud. "It is," she agreed, "but it's no bigger risk than your plan. I tested just shy of sharpshooter level two weeks ago. I know it's nowhere near my previous status, but I'm pretty sure I'm still the best shot here. And I am here."

  Indecision flickered in Grant's expression, and then he gave a terse nod and unfolded his arms. "I'll talk to the assistant director," he said. "Wait here."

  Grant's conversation with A.D. Fraser took forever. The two men stood with their backs to Kate so that she could read neither their lips nor their expressions. Her only clues to the discussion came from the shake of Fraser's head, the shrug of Grant's shoulders.

  She looked at the clock over the door. Five past two. She made an impatient noise under her breath. Dave's hand covered hers.

  "Down, girl," he warned. "You're in their t
erritory, remember?"

  Kate shot him a dark look, but before she could respond, the two men on the other side of the room turned and made their way across to them. Her lungs gave up functioning.

  A.D. Fraser came straight to the point. "Your shoulder. How bad was the injury?"

  Kate saw no point in hedging. "The bullet shattered a bone and did extensive muscle damage. I'm expected to recover enough to return to active duty."

  "But not as a sniper."

  "No."

  "I see." Mouth tight, Fraser looked past her, out the window. After an excruciating eternity, he met her gaze again. "And how is it today?" he asked. "Right now."

  "Better than waiting for your Chicago guy."

  "You're absolutely certain. No hesitation." Fraser raked a hand over his hair, the desire to believe her warring with indecision in his expression. "You have no jurisdiction here, Constable Dexter. If I put a rifle in your hands and you screw up..."

  "I won't."

  I can't.

  Fraser held her gaze for another second before wheeling away and stalking back the way he'd come. Kate blinked after him, then let her shoulders sag as she looked up at Grant.

  “Is that a yes?” she asked.

  "You'll have a weapon in twenty minutes," he said. "It's already on the way. I'll start trying to convince Lewis at we have a plane ready and we're pulling back."

  * * *

  The sniper's rifle rolled into the office at two twenty-three, on the lap of a man in a wheelchair who looked like he should still be on a gurney. His left arm was in a newly minted cast, and one eye and the side of his face were swollen and evolving from purple to black, even as another agent wheeled him into the room. Kate detached herself from the windowsill and met him halfway, beside the accountant's desk.

  "You're the sniper," she said. "You didn't have to come."

  "Brad Downing." The man in the wheelchair patted the rifle case with his good hand. "No one knows her like I do," he said, his words slurred a little, most likely from pain medication. "And I figured you'd need all the help you can get."

  "The blind leading the halt?" Kate suggested wryly.

  The uninjured side of Brad Downing's mouth tipped upward. "Something like that."

  “May I?” She indicated the rifle case on his lap. He nodded, and she took it from him as he tried to lift it. She set it on the desk, flicked open the tabs, lifted the lid, and stared at the weapon inside. In a heartbeat, all the confidence she'd spent the last half hour shoring up in herself evaporated.

  What in hell did she think she was playing at? Conditions here were nothing like the firing range. There were too many variables that she wasn’t ready for: the wind, an unfamiliar weapon, the changing light as the clouds moved across the sky, the rain that had begun falling...

  The fact that her target wasn't made of paper and neither was Jonas.

  "Kate?" Dave's voice asked at her shoulder.

  She tightened her hands into fists to hide their tremble. Swallowed. Looked over her shoulder at Agent Downing. "Tell me about it," she said.

  As Downing talked her through the weapon's habits and idiosyncrasies, she began lifting the rifle parts from the case for assembly. Body, stock, dayscope...one by one, she fitted the pieces together and secured them in place, finishing as Downing lapsed into silence.

  "Nothing else?" she asked, hefting the completed weapon in her arms. It nestled against her, both familiar and foreign, benign and deadly.

  Downing shook his head. "Just...good luck."

  Kate took a deep, steadying breath and, with Dave trailing her, returned to the window. She looked down at the alley. The wind had picked up, funneling through the narrow space in gusts, and the rain had settled into an unrelenting drizzle. She flexed aching fingers wrapped around the rifle's barrel.

  One window over, two agents lifted a window clear of its frame. Behind her, Grant was on the phone with Lewis, telling him the police and FBI had withdrawn, convincing him that the coast was clear for them to leave.

  The clock over the door ticked inexorably on.

  Dave placed his hand over hers. "You're like ice."

  "Right through to my core." She ran over the details Downing had given her, fitting them into what she observed. The rifle had a hairline tendency to pull to the left, he'd said. With the wind gusting in the same direction, she'd need to compensate for that, but not too much.

  Dave's hand squeezed hers. "You can do this, Kate," he said.

  Her gaze sought his. "What if I can't? What if—"

  "Don't," Dave interrupted. "You can't afford to start second-guessing yourself, Kate. Jonas can't afford it."

  Kate pressed her lips together and made her shoulders drop. Dave was right. If she wasn't a thousand percent sure when she took aim, she'd blow it for certain. Instead of almost for certain.

  Freaking hell.

  She closed her eyes. Nodded her understanding. Thrust away the cold, nerve-numbing dread.

  "Constable Dexter? We're ready for you," said one of the agents at the next window.

  Game on.

  She positioned herself to one side of the opening where she had a clear view of the warehouse door below. She would've preferred to use a bipod on a solid surface, but it would have put her too much in the open, where she could be seen from below if one of the targets happened to look up. As it was, the windowless opening itself would be a dead giveaway if Lewis or one of the others studied things too closely.

  She flexed icy fingers.

  "You ready?" Grant asked, coming to join her and Dave.

  She nodded.

  "Good. We're all in position. Lewis is expecting us to provide safe transport to the airport. I'll have an SUV come in from the west. It will stop short of the sedan, but it can't be too far away or it will raise suspicions. That means Lewis and the others will be out in the open for a half dozen feet at most. You won't have much time."

  Her gaze flicked over the scene below, calculating possible shots.

  "I've got agents in the two doorways to the west of the warehouse," Grant continued. "And one to the east. Five in total."

  She mapped out the locations in her head. "Got it."

  "Lewis is waiting for our call."

  Her stomach twisted violently, and she thanked her lucky stars that she'd turned down the earlier donut offers. She drew a deep breath. Held it. Exhaled again. Gave a single nod. "Let's do it."

  As Grant turned away to set the wheels in motion, Dave took the rifle from her and handed her an elastic band. With fingers so steady they surprised her, she pulled her hair back into a ponytail and tucked away all the loose ends where they couldn't distract her. Someone handed her a radio headset, and she settled it into place, fitting the earpiece into her right ear and adjusting the microphone. Then she took back the rifle from Dave.

  The cold metal warmed to her grip. Calm settled over her. Dave was right. She could do this. As long as she stayed focused. As long as she didn't think. She settled the rifle stock against her injured shoulder.

  "We're on the move," Grant called out.

  Kate's world narrowed to the warehouse door in her scope.

  Chapter 46

  Rain drummed against the warehouse's metal roof, the only sound in the tense silence that had fallen over the open space. Ramirez and Peters still held their positions at the boarded-up windows; Lewis still paced the floor, tapping his cell phone against his thigh. And Jonas, his ass cold and numb from sitting on the concrete, turned the entire mess over and over again in his head—reaching the same inescapable conclusion each goddamned time.

  Kate was wrong. This whole situation was his fault. Not in the control-freak kind of way she'd accused him of, but in the inevitable kind of way that stemmed from his own behavior. His own stubborn independence. He'd been so busy guarding against betrayal that he'd failed to form connections—to anyone. He'd never waited for help, never worked with a partner. He'd been a man without friends. Untrusted and untrusting.

  In sh
ort, he'd made himself the perfect patsy.

  And if that was true...Jonas’s breath caught in a painful lump beneath his ribs. If that was true, if he'd screwed up his past so thoroughly with his solitary existence, then maybe—just maybe—he ought to reconsider his future.

  A future with Kate.

  If he had one.

  The sudden buzz of Lewis's cell phone underscored the last thought, bringing the imminent threat of his own mortality to hang over him as the other man answered the call.

  Lewis listened for a moment, then snapped, "This better be for real, Douglas, or he's dead." Pocketing the phone, he turned to the others. "They're ready for us. An SUV, coming in from the west. One driver. Clear windows."

  "I see it," said Hal Peters, peering between boards.

  "Anything else moving out there?"

  "Nothing since they pulled back," Ramirez answered. "We're in the clear."

  "What about the windows across?"

  "No movement."

  "Right. Then it's time to move. I'll take Burke."

  "I still think it's too easy," Peters growled. "They've had more than enough time to put a team together."

  "A team would be coming in here to get us, not giving us a ride to the airport. We hold all the cards, Peters"—Lewis jerked his head in Jonas’s direction—"and everyone knows it. So we can either hang around debating the issue until they do bring in a team, or we can move. I vote move."

  Ramirez sighed and pushed back the hair from her face. "I agree. Sitting here is getting us nowhere except on each other's nerves."

  "Two to one," Lewis said. "We move."

  He crossed over to Jonas and crouched beside him, handcuff key in hand and pistol in the other. "One wrong move and I finish what I started, Burke. With pleasure."

  Jonas nodded understanding. He had no idea what Kate and Grant Douglas had planned, but he knew damned well it didn't include driving Lewis et al to any airport—and he was damned if he would jeopardize that future he'd finally decided he wanted.