Shoot: A Crime Thriller (CJ Sheridan Thrillers Book 1)

by M. P. McDonald

  There was a long drawn out sigh on the other end. “What is this regarding? I’ll see if he wants to take your call.”

  Mark pulled the phone away from his ear and glared at it for a second before replying, “It’s on a need to know basis.”

  There was a click, and he thought she’d hung up on him, but then another click and, “Yes, Mark?” He sounded preoccupied.

  “I need to talk to you. In person. Now.” He wasn’t sure if Jim’s line was recorded, but who knew with the FBI? He didn’t want to risk what he had to say about CJ to be misconstrued by some analyst.

  “I’m not going to be able to get out of here for at least another three hours. Is that too late?”

  “Yeah, I’m afraid it is. It’s about CJ. And that thing he’s been using.”

  “Yes, I already deduced that. What of it?”

  “He needs your help. I can’t explain on the phone. You know that. You know I wouldn’t interrupt you at work if it wasn’t extremely important. And let me just stress, that it is most important that you hear this.”

  There was dead silence on the other end of the line. Then, “I’ll be at the studio in fifteen minutes.”

  “Good. I’ll be there.”

  Glancing at the clock, Mark realized that he still had a photo shoot he was supposed to do. Shit!

  He made a few quick phone calls, claiming a minor car accident. Cringing at his own lie, he assured the client that he was fine, but he would have to reschedule.

  * * *

  CJ looked at the images yet again. Could he gun someone down in cold blood? Right here, in the studio, it didn’t seem difficult-not under these circumstances and not after seeing the carnage that would be the alternative if he let the woman get to the church.

  He’d shot someone back in D.C. when they’d been rescuing Mark, but there had been no time to think and the other person had already killed someone. He’d had no choice. Afterward, he’d felt sick, but not for long. When Mark had detailed the ordeal he’d been through, CJ’s remorse had vanished. Did that make him callous and cold?

  There came a scrape of a key in the backdoor of the studio. CJ strode towards the door, expecting Mark, but instead it was Jessie. “Oh! I thought you were Mark returning.”

  “Hey, CJ.” She struggled with three grocery bags along with her keys and purse. “What’s up?”

  “Here, let me help.” Taking the bags from her, he followed her up to the loft when she pointed up the steps.

  “Where’d Mark go?”

  “He had a shoot.”

  “Oh. Well, is he due back soon? I have something I was going to tell him.”

  “Um, no, I don’t think so. He just left about twenty minutes ago.”

  Jessie glanced over her shoulder at him, a look of puzzlement crossing her face. She pushed open the door and waved him in. “Thanks. Just set them on the counter.”

  Draping her purse over the back of a chair, she ran her fingers through her hair and CJ watched the blond strands settle back into place. “So, why would you think I was Mark when he only just left?”

  CJ studied his feet for a second before answering. He hated looking like a fool to her, but he had to tell her. “I said something stupid and cruel to him, and I was trying to apologize but he left. I was hoping he came back so I could talk to him again.”

  Hands on her hips, she gave her head a little shake. “What did you say?”

  “I got some bad photos and he was giving me advice, but we disagreed on how to handle them.”

  “Disagreed how?”

  “The pics are down on the desk in the studio, but they’re really bad. A suicide bomber destroys a church and kills almost sixty people. It happens in just a few hours.”

  “What did Mark suggest?”

  “He said we needed to get my dad involved, and I wanted to, but couldn’t reach him. My plan was to get to the woman before she reached the church.”

  “And then what?”

  CJ’s face heated. “I was going to take her out near a field to minimize risk to anyone else.”

  “Take her out?” Her brows knit. “How?”

  “Um…I had the idea that I could bring her down with a bullet.” Damn. He sounded like a cold-blooded killer.

  Jessie sighed. “I see. I guess that sounds like an option, but I think it should be last resort.” She headed for the stairs. “Come on. Show me the photos and tell me more.”

  Ten minutes later, after explaining what would happen, Jessie had taken notes and they decided that his plan to stop the bomber before she reached the church was a good one, but not shooting her. Not if it could be helped.

  “We need to think of an alternative to shooting her.”

  “Any suggestions?”

  “Bomb squad would be the best choice, or evacuating the church before she arrives. Shouldn't be too hard to send people away.”

  “Yeah, but it looks like a wedding.”

  “Better to postpone a wedding than plan a funeral.”

  CJ sighed and nodded. “I wasn’t looking at all the possibilities.”

  “You’re new to this. Even Mark had a few years of experience before he had anything as big as this.” She studied her notes and glanced at the clock on the stove. “We don’t have a lot of time. What time did Mark say he’d return to help with this?”

  “I’m pretty sure he isn’t planning on coming back to help.”

  She didn’t seem to comprehend. “Hold on. Let me get this straight. You showed him the photos and told him about your dream, right?”

  CJ nodded, but couldn’t look her in the eyes.

  “What the hell is going on? Mark wouldn’t walk away from this.”

  “I told you. I said something stupid.”

  Her hands went to her hips again as she glared at him, her eyes narrowed. “What did you say to him that was cruel?”

  CJ cleared his throat before speaking. She’d hate him now. He flopped back onto his desk chair, shaking his head. “I said something about him failing at 9/11.” He cringed as the words fell from his lips. Knowing what he knew, how could he have said something like that?

  “Are you serious?” Her tone oozed anger and her eyes flashed.

  She did hate him. He studied the palm of his left hand, rubbing at an ink mark, unable to meet her angry look. “I tried to apologize. I know it was totally wrong for me to say something like that, but Mark just brushed off my apology-not that I blame him.”

  Jessie drilled him with a look as she dug into her pocket. Phone in hand, and still pinning CJ to the chair with her gaze, she dialed it. “Mark?” With one more withering glare at CJ, she turned her attention to the photos as she spoke to Mark, telling him about her suggestions. “Okay. We’ll be here waiting.”

  CJ straightened. “He’s coming back?”

  Jessie nodded. “Yeah, and your dad is on his way as well.”

  “Really? Good.” How had he found out? From Mark?

  His father and Mark arrived within minutes of each other. CJ stood and rounded the desk as they all looked at the images again. While they did that, he studied Mark’s face, hoping to catch his eye so he could apologize again, but Mark avoided speaking to him, addressing only Jessie and his father.

  After several minutes, CJ wandered out to the front of the studio. They didn’t seem to need him anymore. From the gist of what Mark had said, he’d had a vision of the same event.

  Despite what Mark and Jessie had said, he felt this was his save. As though it was a test of sorts and the longer they were here debating it, the more anxious he became. He pulled out his phone and checked the time, and swore. He felt the minutes ticking away almost as if he had the bomb strapped to his own body.

  The explosion and the screams of the dying he’d heard in his dream echoed in his head. Why were they still here discussing this? By his calculation, the suicide bomber would be approaching the empty lot in the next thirty minutes or so. He had brought the gun with him. It was in the car.

  Deciding ther
e was no more time to debate, he pulled out his car keys and looked over his shoulder to the back of the studio, debating whether he should retrieve the photos, but decided against it, not wanting to be drawn into a discussion. Besides, he’d committed the images to memory, and his dream had been vivid. He’d be okay. As quietly as possible, he opened the front door and exited the studio.

  * * *

  “I hate to have to tell you this part, Jim, but the bomb explodes and CJ…he went down. The vision didn’t show me if he survived, but…” Mark trailed off, shaking his head, his eyes full of sorrow. “…he was so close…I don’t see how he could have lived through the blast.” Mark sat on the edge of his desk, one leg anchored on the floor, as he shuffled through the images he and Jessica had just shown him. “I'm not sure whether we should act on these images or my vision. I'd guess you'd call them alternate time-lines.”

  Mark's voice was drowned out by a loud buzzing, like static, in Jim's ears. CJ dead? He knew it hadn’t come true yet, and that they could change it, but just knowing it had been on one of the time-lines made his hands tremble. He shoved them into his pockets and locked his knees.

  Jessica moved around the desk, coming to a halt a few feet from Jim. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course.” Clearing his throat, Jim asked, “So, any suggestions on how we prevent the bomb attack?” This should have been Jim’s expertise, but he was still reeling.

  Mark’s eyes searched his face and Jim strove to compose his features. He had to detach from the details-pretend it was just another attack they had to prevent.

  Thumbing through the photos, Mark nodded. “I think this is the time to go all out, pedal to the metal FBI on this one. I don’t know shit about bombs, and while I’m sure you do, this is the time for a bomb squad if there ever was one.”

  “How do I explain how I acquired my information?”

  Mark just stared at him. Jessica's expression had gone from pity to...anger.

  Jim swallowed hard as he looked from Mark to Jessica. He understood their disbelief at his question. They thought him cold and heartless-the worst father in the world. That's what he would think in their shoes, but there was nothing he could do to change their minds. Not now. Not when he was barely holding it together as it was. Only his training kept him functioning. He clenched his jaw to keep his emotions in check. He had a job to do.

  Mark's gaze softened and he and Jessica exchanged a look. “Jim, do like you've done before. Just say you got a tip. After everyone is safe, we can figure out how to explain how you knew.”

  Jim looked to Jessie. She lifted her chin in agreement. “I'm with Mark. We don’t have time to stop this on our own without someone getting killed.”

  Wanting to get CJ’s perspective, Jim glanced around. “CJ?” He walked out to the front of the studio. It was empty. “CJ?” Striding to the back again, he asked Mark, “Where’d he go?”

  “He was just here…” Mark straightened the edges of the photos against the desktop and slid them into the envelope Jessica handed him. “Did he go up to the loft?”

  “Without one of us? I don’t think so. He’s never gone up there alone before.”

  Mark stilled, his eyes unfocused. Jim stepped closer, unsettled by Mark's expression. He had a cousin who had seizures and sometimes, his cousin would get a faraway look just before a grand-mal seizure. Jessica shook her head when Jim raised his hand to touch Mark's shoulder. He blinked and gave his head a shake. “We gotta go. He’s out there trying to stop this alone.”

  Jim bolted for the door, his cellphone in hand and flinging off any attempt at detachment. Mark and Jessica were only a step behind and he yanked open the door of his car. Mark cut in front of him.

  “Give me the keys.”

  “No, I’m okay. I got this.”

  “That’s not it. I know exactly where I’m going and you’ll need to make some calls to your buddies at the Bureau, right?”

  Jessica, her service revolver in hand, climbed in the backseat. Jim’s reactions felt slow and thick, but he saw the logic in Mark’s suggestion and shoved the keys into Mark’s hand before racing around to the passenger side.

  His hands shook as he fumbled with his phone.

  “It’s okay, Jim. We’ll get there in time.” Jessica held out her hand. “Why don’t you let me make the calls? I can do it under your authority.”

  Jim handed his phone to her. “Tell them to activate the bomb squad. Where do we send them, Mark?”

  Chapter Ten

  CJ became lost, getting turned around on a few streets and wished he had a GPS. He made a mental note to purchase one the next chance he got. Finally, he found the correct empty lot and parked. He glanced around, not seeing the woman, but also looking to see if anyone was near enough to see into the vehicle. Satisfied nobody was paying any attention to him, he opened the glove-box and withdrew the Beretta M9.

  CJ had used this model before so that didn't worry him, but felt uneasy that he'd never fired this one. In cleaning and inspecting it earlier, he'd been satisfied that it was in good condition. He had a full magazine with one in the chamber. There was no way he'd need more than sixteen rounds. He dipped his head to take another look around the area. Not unless the woman had someone else around protecting her to make sure she made it to the church. He hadn't seen any in his dream, but he still didn't fully trust the dreams or his memory of them.

  He recalled the woman's face and her blank stare as she trudged along the pavement. What was she thinking as she went to her death? Was she at peace? Was she resigned to her fate? What would make someone do this?

  CJ felt nauseated knowing that no matter what happened, she would die. It was just a matter of whether she died alone or with the innocent church-goers.

  A group of kids, young teens, walked by, a few giving him hard looks. He was out of his element here and was aware that he didn't fit in, but he ignored their interest as he spotted the woman approaching. She was still half-way down the block and he wondered if he should just fire at her from his vehicle? Or should he try to talk to her? Give her one final chance to change her mind and live?

  “Can you really gun her down in cold blood?”

  Mark's words ripped through CJ's mind as if Mark had shouted them in his ear. No. He couldn't do it. He opened the door and slipped out of the vehicle. His heart thundered inside his chest. A cold wash of sweat drenched him and his T-shirt felt plastered to his chest. While the day was warm, it wasn't uncomfortably so until that moment, but in spite of the heat, he shivered.

  The teens detoured to the sidewalk on a collision course with the bomber. Shit. Had they been in the dream? He couldn't recall.

  His instinct was to bolt towards the group and chase them off somehow, but he didn't want the woman to panic. If she did, she might detonate the bomb. He tried to keep to a brisk walk as he attempted to come between the teens and the bomber, but he soon realized they were going to reach her first. What were they planning on doing? They could just be aiming to use the sidewalk and get out of the street, but after seeing them jeer at a car that honked at them to move aside, he didn't think that was their plan.

  The woman slowed her pace, and for the first time, seemed to become aware of her surroundings. Her hand went to the middle of her chest. To anyone else, she would appear to be putting her hand to her heart, as though startled or in fear, but CJ was certain that she was clutching the bomb. Maybe she was trying to make sure it stayed in place, or maybe it made some sound he couldn't hear from his distance, and she was trying to muffle it.

  Breaking into a jog, giving up all semblance of nonchalance, CJ reached into his waistband for the Beretta. He glanced down, found the safety and switched it off.

  Distantly, he heard a squeal of tires and the gunning of an engine.

  The teens paused, looked beyond CJ. “Cops!” They scattered like a flock of pigeons with a cat in their midst.

  Startled, CJ skidded to a halt and glanced behind him. A cop car approached, but it was still bl
ocks away. Another squeal of tires sounded somewhere not too far away. Maybe the next block over.

  The woman had stopped as well. Only sixty feet separated him from the woman and for a brief moment, their eyes met, then she turned to watch the teens disappear around a corner. At this distance, there was no way he'd miss. He'd won trophies for his marksmanship, but he couldn't seem to lift the gun.

  A horn started blasting, sounding like it was coming straight at him. CJ stole a look. A black sedan. His dad's car tore through the intersection behind him, turning in front of the cop car. Shit!

  The woman made a sound. Almost a whimper as she stared down the street behind CJ, then took a hesitant step as though to follow the teens.

  A city bus rounded the corner ahead of CJ and behind the woman. What the hell? Was the whole damn city converging on this street right now? This hadn't been how his dream had played out, and there was no hint of this scenario in the photos. Seeing the scene, he realized that none of this was the same. Something had changed.

  The realization that his actions were probably the catalyst to the change, crashed onto him and he swore. He still had to stop the woman. More sirens approached, and more tires squealed although he didn't know if they were attached to tires. Maybe there was a cop chase going on at the same time.

  It couldn't be related to this because how did the cops know where to go? Or why they should go? And if they did know, why hadn't the cops blocked off the street to stop the bus?

  The bomber turned and saw the bus, then started for the curb, her hand clenched in the middle of her chest, riveting CJ's attention. Was she about to detonate the bomb? Had she panicked and changed her target?

  “Stop!” The command burst from him as he extended the Beretta.

  A car slammed to a halt beside him and he heard someone shout his name. CJ glanced over to see his father, Mark and Jessie in his father's car.