by Dani Pettrey
Griffin glanced at his watch. Finley said she wouldn’t wrap up at the lab for a couple more hours.
“Sure. We’ve got time for a quick hike.”
Declan switched on his blinker and pulled into the trailhead lot. “Excellent.”
“We’ve got a situation.”
“What’s wrong now?”
“They took stuff from the co-worker’s place.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“A file box for one.”
“I thought you said our girl in-house got all the pertinent files?”
“She did.”
“Then why the hesitation in your voice?”
Because she waited until after he’d shot her to let him know she hadn’t taken everything they needed. It irritated him that the crazy broad had died with a smug smile on her face.
“This has gone on long enough. I’m taking over.”
“I got this. They just pulled off into a trailhead. It’s the perfect opportunity.”
“Then pull the bloody trigger. Just make it look like an accident. I don’t want any more heat. Then take care of the woman. She’s poking her nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Only one other car sat in the dirt lot, the newer trailhead still not known by most, or they simply preferred the paved lot a quarter of a mile down the road. Either way Griffin wasn’t complaining. He liked having the place nearly to themselves.
The early evening air was crisp as he stepped from Declan’s vehicle, the sun already sinking in the pink-hued sky. Nothing like a brisk day for a brisk hike.
Declan tossed him a water bottle from his knapsack stashed in the rear of the Expedition and they set off on foot, leaves crunching beneath their boots as they entered the woods.
The Gunpowder River was swift and fairly high, thanks to the recent rain, the water rushing around and surging over rocks and boulders. They banked right at the first trail fork, heading up the steep incline, away from the road, the faint sound of cars disappearing in the distance, all worldly distractions diminishing with each step further up and further in.
He tracked them, careful to keep his distance, waiting for the right vantage point. They were absorbed in conversation, no doubt discussing what they’d found at the co-worker’s.
The co-worker.
He shook his head.
Who’d have figured?
The two friends wrapped around the switchback, heading for the upper falls.
Perfect. He smiled.
The cascading water would help muffle the sound.
“You and Parker seem to be getting along well,” Declan said.
Every. Single. Time.
With a sharp inhale, Griffin offered his sternest scowl in reply, hoping Declan would leave it at that. And for a moment he did, but then came that soft shake of his head that signaled more was coming.
“At some point . . .” he said, rounding the large oak at the top of the rise.
Griffin balled his hands tight. “At some point, what?”
“Never mind. You’re right. Much better to spend your life punishing him right along with yourself.” Declan started down the winding narrow path toward the falls.
“That’s ridiculous.”
Declan glanced back over his shoulder. “Is it?”
“This conversation is over.”
“Wow.” He scoffed. “That’s a new one.”
“You’re in rare form today.”
Declan shrugged. “Just stating the obvious. This has gone on long enough.”
“How about we try something different?”
“Such as?”
“Shut it and walk.”
“And that’s different for you, how?” Declan smirked, pausing as they reached the river’s edge.
As Declan analyzed the best path of rocks to cross over, Griffin lifted his chin, toying with the idea of just dunking his smart-aleck behind straight in. “Ya gonna take all day, sunshine?”
“Somebody’s all riled up.” Declan took the first stride across.
What did he expect after making an off-the-cuff comment like that? Griffin wasn’t punishing Parker—at least not any more than he deserved.
Declan nearly slipped on the large rock in the middle, but caught himself.
“Nice balance.” Griff chuckled.
“I’m still standing, aren’t I?” Declan smiled smugly.
A shot pierced the air, echoing along the curve of the ravine.
Hunting season.
Declan’s eyes widened. His hand clutched his shoulder as he fell back.
Griffin rushed forward.
A second report echoed as something blistering whizzed along his right ear. Lunging, he ducked into a sideways roll, drawing his weapon as he collided with a large rock square in the center of his back, his legs sloshing in the frigid water. Lurching his upper body forward, he steadied his arm and fired in the direction the shots had originated from.
Movement shifted through the trees.
He squinted.
A man raced up the ravine, trees sheltering him partially from view.
Turning, Griffin grasped for Declan.
Grabbing hold of his shirt, he yanked upward as Declan struggled for purchase on the slippery rocks. Struggling to shore, Griffin leaned him against a broad tree trunk, shielding him from the hill above.
He quickly assessed. Declan had been shot in the right shoulder, blood seeping through his soaked jacket.
“Go,” Declan said. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
“He’s getting away. Go. I’ll call for backup.”
Griffin tossed him his phone and then sped up the hill, using trees for cover as he surveyed the terrain.
He spotted the man at ten o’clock, racing in the opposite direction at a fast clip.
The dimming sky shadowed him a time or two from Griffin’s sight.
Griffin increased his pace, rushing around trees, bobbing as the man spotted him and fired, the bullet wedging in the trunk mere centimeters from his head.
The man was a good shot. Better than good.
Pressing flush against a tree, Griffin forced his breath to steady. Leaning around, he sighted in, tracked the man, and fired.
The man staggered.
He fired again.
The man’s knees buckled, and he dropped to them. Clutching his chest, he swayed, then slumped fully onto his side.
With weapon drawn, Griffin rushed to stand over him. He’d hit him twice in the chest, but he was still breathing and conscious.
Good. Because he wanted answers.
Declan lay on the stretcher in the first of two ambulances to arrive on scene. Griffin, along with the paramedics and two state troopers, had carried both men out of the woods and back to the trailhead lot.
Griffin climbed in the rear of the ambulance with Declan, his heart thudding. He’d lost too many . . .
He squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t lose Declan.
Please, Father, give the doctor skilled hands. Don’t take Declan away. I can’t lose another . . .
He exhaled a shaky breath.
Please, Father. Not again.
“We’ve managed to stop the bleeding, at least externally,” the paramedic said, “but we need to get him to the hospital and into surgery ASAP. I’m pretty sure the bullet penetrated the subclavian artery.”
Declan looked up at Griffin, his eyes groggy, his head lolling. “What are you doing?”
“Going with you to the hospital.”
“No. Ride with the suspect. You need to question him now, just in case he doesn’t pull through. He didn’t look good.”
Declan was right. They needed answers, and chances were good he wouldn’t pull through, but . . .
“I’ll be fine.” Declan’s gaze shifted upward. “I’m in good hands, remember?”
Just as Jenna had been. . . .
With great apprehension, he finally did as Declan asked, climbing out of one ambulance and into the other.
Though given the hardened scowl on his paling face, Griffin had the distinct impression he wouldn’t be giving up anything easily.
They pulled onto Route 1 headed south for the beltway and University of Maryland Medical Center.
Griffin tugged his phone from his pocket, Declan’s blood still on it, needing to call the last person in the world he wanted to.
26
Parker nodded, his words strangled as shock tracked through him. Declan shot.
“Park, did you hear me?” Griffin asked more urgently.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah. We’ll head right out.”
“Bring Finley.”
“Got it.” Parker hung up, shock numbing his limbs.
“What is it?” Finley asked, gently touching his shoulder.
He turned, the room spinning in the opposite direction. “Declan’s been shot.”
“What?” Her face paled.
“Griffin’s with him. They’re en route to the U of M Medical Center.”
“Is Declan going to be okay?” The pitch of her voice increased. “Is Griffin okay?”
“I don’t know, and yes, Griffin is fine.”
“I’m coming too,” Avery said, grabbing her keys. “I’ll drive.”
A thousand thoughts, fears, and memories flooded Parker’s mind. How can this be happening? Not again.
The paramedic finished prepping the shooter and moved to sit up in the passenger seat, the sirens wailing as they merged onto I-95. The driver shifted to the radio, alerting the ER staff to the incoming patients’ trauma status.
Griffin shifted closer, and the man rolled his bald head, looking away. Leaning in, Griffin deepened his voice. “You can look wherever you want, but I am going to get answers out of you.” He planted his hand next to the man’s ribs, making his steadfast presence painfully clear. “Why take us out? The ID has already been made. What are you so worried we’ll find?”
The man remained silent.
“We know who had Marley killed.” Or so they’d been told.
“You know nothing.”
“I know you’re no longer a threat to us.”
The man rolled his head, his cold eyes locked on Griffin. “Perhaps for the time being.” A sardonic smile formed on his bluing lips. “But I’m not the one you need to worry about.”
“Are you talking about Perera?”
He remained silent, and something gnawed at Griffin. Not his threat. He’d been threatened before, but there was something about the man that nagged at him. He replayed the afternoon’s events in mind. The steps, the shots . . .
The man was left-handed. Majority of snipers were right-eye dominant, meaning they shot with their right hand regardless of hand dominance, but this guy—he’d shot left-handed, and that made him unique. If they showed his picture at the shooting ranges, surely a left-handed sniper whose weapon of choice was a Dragunov would stand out in people’s minds.
Sniper.
There was that nudge again. That niggle in his gut saying something wasn’t right.
If this man was the sniper who’d killed Marley, then surely he’d have killed Declan first shot. He’d made a good shot, but not the perfect shot he’d expect from Marley’s killer.
What if this wasn’t her killer? Had Perera killed Marley himself? If so, where was Perera now?
He leaned over the man, grasping his shirt as panic seared through him. “Who are you working with?”
The man chuckled up blood. “The devil.”
“Where is he?”
“Closer than you think.”
Finley climbed in her car and shut the door before swallowing a handful of deep, unsteady breaths.
Declan had been shot. Griffin had been with him. What if Declan didn’t pull through? What if Griffin had been the one shot? Feelings she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge burst uncontrollably through her, trembling through her limbs with searing anxiety.
She lifted her jangling keys, willing her hand to settle so she could slide them into the ignition, when movement in her rearview mirror caught her eye.
“Hello, Dr. Scott,” the man said from the backseat.
She froze.
His gun settled against her headrest, the muzzle flush with the back of her skull.
“Wh-who . . . are you?”
“General Perera. But you, my dear, may call me Mark.”
27
Griffin dialed Parker, his chest clamped tight. No. No. No.
Parker finally answered on the fifth and final ring.
“Where are you guys?”
“The hospital.”
Thank you, Jesus.
“How’s Declan? What’s your ETA?”
“Fifteen. Let me talk to Finley.” He needed to hear her voice. To know she was safe.
“She’s not here yet.”
“What?” Adrenaline gushed through him, his muscles taut, twitching to move. “You just said you’re at the hospital.” Only a matter of blocks from the lab.
“Yeah. Me and Avery. Finley wanted to take her own car.”
He gripped the phone, fury boiling over. Couldn’t Parker protect anyone he loved? “I told you to bring her.”
“Yeah. To the hospital. She’s on her way.”
He was going to kill him.
The man he’d shot chuckled with a cough. “Told you I’m not the one you need to worry about.”
“Griff?” Parker said. “What’s going on? How’s Declan?”
“Parker! Find. Finley. Now!”
Hanging up on Parker, he dialed the precinct nearly adjacent to the lab, sending units over ASAP.
Agitation and alarm tap-danced through him as Finley’s phone went to voicemail again.
“Told you,” the man said, more blood gurgling up and streaming down his dimpled chin as they banked right onto MLK Boulevard.
“Five minutes out,” the paramedic said, moving to the man’s side.
Griffin balled his fists. If Finley didn’t answer it’d be the longest, most grueling five minutes of his entire life.
Lunging forward, he grabbed the man by the collar. “What does your boss want with Finley?”
The corner of his lip quirked into a half smile. “He’s going for the jugular.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning your partner is effectively out. Without you the case won’t move forward. Marley Trent was nothing but a thorn in the Bureau’s side. Everyone else will just let her case silently die. ”
“How do you know . . . Never mind.” His boss clearly had a wide reach.
“You’re it, mate. To stop you, he’s going after what you treasure.”
Finley.
Finley’s gaze darted to the door, her body drenched with a cold sweat. “How’d you get in here?”
“We don’t have time for such details.” He glanced at his watch. “I give them three minutes.”
“Give who?”
“The police. Come now, Dr. Scott, you’re a brilliant woman. Act like it.”
“You killed Marley Trent.”
“No. Actually, I did not. Which is why I’m here.”
“You’re lying.”
“No. I’m not.”
“I’m sorry, but do you really think, given the circumstances, I’m going to believe you?”
“It’s your choice, but if you want to live I suggest you hear me out.”
She swallowed, the muzzle of his gun flush with her skull. “Don’t imagine I have much of a choice.”
“No. I don’t suppose you do.”
Sirens wailing, the ambulance pulled up to the hospital. Griffin didn’t wait for it to stop, jumping out as it slowed. Racing past the waiting paramedics, he sprinted down the freshly scrubbed hall, his shoes squeaking as he rounded the corner to the waiting area, relief staggering him at the sight of Finley sitting on one of the chairs.
It all became crystal
clear—his love for her. Despite himself, he’d fallen head over heart in love with the woman.
Rushing toward her, he dropped to his knees in front of her, engulfing her in his arms.
She collapsed into his hold.
Thank you, Jesus, doesn’t even come close to the heart-rending depth of gratitude overwhelming me right now, Lord. Thank you.
He reveled in the feel of her, of them. He lifted his head pressing a kiss to her forehead before cupping her face in his hands and smoothing the damp hair from her brow. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, her trembling easing.
“What happened?”
“Perera was waiting in my car for me.”
“I’m so sorry, Griff,” Parker said behind him.
He rose and turned with a swing, his fist colliding with Parker’s face.
Avery jumped between them. “What are you doing?”
Parker clamped his hand on Avery’s shoulder. “It’s okay, love. I deserved it.”
Griffin shook his hand, trying to shake off the fury. “You were supposed to protect her. Just like you were supposed to protect Jenna!”
Parker swallowed the knife to the gut he’d intended it to be, and horrific guilt washed over Griffin. His gut was letting him down again. Why should he feel guilty? Parker screwed up again, and it could have cost Finley her life.
“Looks like you two wasted no time in going for each other’s throats,” Kate said, strolling in. She pulled a tissue from her bag and handed it to Parker. “Right hook?”
Parker nodded, dabbing at the blood streaming down his nose.
“He’s always packed a killer hook.”
“Katie.” Griffin pressed a kiss to the top of her blond head, his fury settling. “You heard?”
“Parker called.”
At least he’d done something right.
Kate looked over her shoulder. “Dec’s family is right behind me, so I suggest you two rein this in.”
28
After seeing Declan’s, Griffin’s, and Parker’s parents into the waiting room and sharing a group prayer, the five of them stepped back outside to finish their earlier conversation. The sky was black, the cloud cover thick. Rain misted, but they huddled under the eaves.
