by Lori Ryan
Ten minutes later, she directed him to a small older home, surprising him by bringing him to a residence not a storefront. “Here?”
“Yeah. This guy is an old friend of my dad’s.”
He followed her up to the door where an older man wearing slippers and a cowboy hat—a congruent combination if Cal had ever seen one—was waiting with the door open.
The man squinted at them, one hand behind the door, making Cal wonder if he held a gun behind that door. They were halfway up the walkway when a smile split the man’s face. “Evie girl!”
“Hi, Donnie. How you been?” Eve’s smile was wide and she looked as if she were greeting an old friend. The man’s face held the same kind of easy smile—although his smile was one that was missing a few teeth. He turned Cal’s way.
“Donnie, this is Cal, my temporary partner.”
Donnie looked Cal up and down. “FBI?” His tone said he doubted it.
“New Haven PD.” Cal offered and hand and a smile, and was a little surprised when the man took it readily. He’d expected him to be a little more reticent of cops for some reason. But Eve waltzed into the office of mobsters with ease. Why shouldn’t he expect a gun dealer to welcome her with open arms?
“Good. Good. You know Frank Katlon over there?”
Cal grinned. “Who doesn’t?” Frank had been on the force for twenty-some-odd years and he was the kind of guy who got to know everyone. There wasn’t a person who wasn’t a friend to Frank.
Donnie let out a grunt and moved into the house, waving for them to follow. He dropped down into a worn armchair that held the imprint of his figure in both the seat and the arms. He reached for a remote and turned the television down low, leaving the picture on to play in the background.
“Took you long enough to come out my way.” He leveled a look at Eve. “I’ve seen you on the news channels. You’re working the shooter.” It wasn’t a question. The man spoke as though he thought she’d come see him on day one of the investigation.
“I am. Any idea who has that kind of weapon in the area? Not to mention the skill to use it?”
“A few people.” He picked up a pipe and a bag of tobacco, and began packing the one into the other as he spoke. He didn’t so much as glance down at his work as he spoke. “True the first shot was taken from a mile away?”
“No.” Eve shook her head. Cal knew she wouldn’t give out details she shouldn’t be sharing, but she gave him enough to answer their questions. “It wasn’t a mile, but it was long. We’re not talking your everyday rifle or an unskilled marksman.”
Donnie looked to be deep in thought, staring down now as he packed the tobacco in with his thumb. “A collapsible stock would make it easier to get in and out of places without being spotted as a weapon.” He snorted and looked up at them. “Course, nowadays you could get you a big long box, stick that black swoosh from that online ordering place on it and you’re good to go. Everyone orders everything now. No one has to go anywhere to get a thing. Someone came by the other day to try to sell me on ordering my groceries. Said they go to the grocery, the liquor store, the pet store. They do the whole damned thing for you.”
Eve laughed as Donnie shook his head at her, and Cal had the feeling of being left out, like only she could understand how much it would bother Donnie to have things delivered for him instead of going out for them himself.
Eve gently brought the man back around to the gun. “We do think a collapsible stock would help. No telescoping barrel. The shots were too long and too accurate for that. And this person isn’t some newb who doesn’t know how to shoot this toy. This guy knows what he’s doing.”
Donnie nodded. “There’s a guy who comes around to the shows sometimes. He has a .408 CheyTac that would suit your needs. Keith or Kevin or someone.”
Cal had a feeling they already had this name. “Kevin Williams?”
“That’s the one.” Donnie’s statement was accompanied by a finger pointing Cal’s way. When he dropped his hand, he lit his pipe. “You already talk to him?”
Neither Cal nor Eve said anything, but Donnie didn’t seem to care. He nodded. “Good. Good.”
“Is there anyone else you can think of?” Eve asked.
Another snort from Donnie. “Sure. There’s more. Shoot, I got a few in my collection could do the job. There’s a couple guys come from New York or Vermont, New Hampshire, and all. But local, the guy Keith, and some guy named Jeff, I think. He’s a bit of a nut job, but he don’t have the skill to get this job done. Like you said, he likes to buy toys, but he don’t know what to do with them. Let’s see, couple of cops.” This was accompanied by a nod toward Cal.
Cal handed the man a small pad of paper and pen. “Can you write down anyone you can think of for us, please?”
“Sure,” Donnie took the notepad. “Sure. You want me to write the cops down?”
Cal could see Eve still. Officer Jake Tanner was the one sniper on their list of military and law enforcement shooters who had the technical ability to be their shooter that they couldn’t rule out easily by looking at work schedules. She’d been pressing Cal to pull the guy in but he wasn’t eager to tank someone’s career just because he had the expertise their shooter would need.
“Yeah, cops, too.” he nodded. “Write down everyone you can think of. Even the people from out of the area. We’ll check them all.”
He didn’t want to think about how wide they’d have to cast this net and who was going to get caught up in it. His gut churned as he thought about Jake Tanner. He knew the guy. He knew this wasn’t him. He just needed to find a way to rule him out soon—before it ended up costing a good man his career and reputation. This shooter had taken enough from this city without taking that.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Scout had waited a long time for this name. The one name that could make the pain end. Maybe then the General would go away, leave Scout alone to visit with memories of the boys. Memories were all Scout had now.
No, that wasn’t true. She’d had renewed purpose lately. The purpose in taking vengeance and delivering justice where no one else would. That had been a good thing to come from all of this. The one good thing. Scout had finally been the vessel the General had honed and shaped all those years before. Finally had a purpose to go with all those years of painstaking training, of learning the skills of a killer. An assassin.
This time would be different. This kill wouldn’t come from the tip of the sniper’s rifle. This kill needed to be up close. Even more personal than those before it had been. It wouldn’t matter if he fought back. It wouldn’t even matter if Scout died delivering this particular death sentence.
Three days of watching Ricky Johnson gave Scout all the information needed to catch the man off guard. Just three days and Scout was ready to deliver justice that had been too long in coming. Much too long and much too hard in coming.
Johnson walked through the door to the hallway after Scout had put in more than an hour of waiting, tucked back into the dark corner underneath the staircase on the floor beneath Johnson’s apartment. The wait was worth it. At first, he didn’t recognize Scout. Didn’t say a thing. Just stared blankly, and never thought to run or scream. Never thought to try to fight it.
The blade of the knife sinking into his gut spilled warm thick blood over Scout’s hand. The asshole let out a guttural choking sound as the knife twisted and tore through the flabby figure of the mugger. This one was for the boys. This one was the one that would bring healing.
But when it was over, there was no healing. Just the same empty hollow feeling that never seemed to go away.
Scout wandered after the kill, but ended up where the empty feelings always led. Staring at the markers that read Bryan and Christopher James. Scout lay down on the grass in front of the gravestone, wishing the General would leave. But he didn’t. He stood vigil as exhaustion overcame Scout.
Why didn’t the boys appear? Why was it always the General?
When the tears had stopped, Scout
sat and pulled out a phone. It was time to call home. Time to end this all. The number came from memory.
“Marybeth?” Scout said to the voice on the other end of the phone. It was a comfort that the phone was answered by the same woman who had answered it all those years ago. Had always answered it at the compound. Scout could see Marybeth standing in the kitchen of the main house, her white apron with the embroidered words Home is where you lay your gun on the front.
“Yes?” There was a wariness to the voice, but that was always the way with the group. They were known to the outside world as a militia group. A cult of sorts. And they didn’t trust anyone from the outside.
“It’s Scout. I think I need to come home. Can I talk to the General?”
“Scout, honey?” Now there was only concern in the voice.
“Yes. It’s me.”
“Scout,” Marybeth sounded unsure. “The General is dead, honey. Remember? The police came and took him to prison. He was killed there. The General is dead.”
Scout didn’t answer as confusion warred with memories, all of it trying to outweigh reality. News reports. The famed standoff with the police and the General being stabbed in prison. But he was right here. Had been the whole time.
Scout laid down on the grass again, curling up in that child-like ball that sometimes brought comfort. “I think I’m all alone now. Everyone is gone.” The General left, his towering figure no longer standing watch. The boys were gone and their ghosts had never come, as though judgment had been passed.
“Scout, you should come home to us. We’re all still here for you.” Marybeth’s voice went on. “Scout? Scout?”
Scout didn’t answer. Sleep would help. Sleep and then more work. The job calmed. The job was all there was to focus on now.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Eve leaned against the conference table and met the eyes of one of the biggest worms she’d ever dealt with. That’s how she liked to think of Richard Dyson. A worm. Slimy and wriggly and always crawling out from under a rock when you didn’t expect him. She probably wasn’t being at all fair to worms. Didn’t they help contribute to the ecosystem? They were hard workers that ate stuff and pooped out dirt or something, right?
Yeah, worms were useful.
Dick? Not so much.
He’d summoned her to the conference room as soon as he heard she was in the building. She planned to give him five minutes of her time, then she was on her way back down to New Haven PD to check in with the vigilante task force. They weren’t using the name the media had used for the shooter: the Grim Reaper. They wouldn’t feed into that.
“I need an update on the Grim Reaper case.”
Eve raised a brow. So much for not glorifying the guy. “And why would you need that?” Sure she could give him an answer, but really, why should she? He knew damned well they no longer suspected a link between the shooter and Genesio. Genesio was supposed to be Dyson’s focus right now. She’d been temporarily pulled from the Genesio case to work the sniper, so this was a power play by Dyson. Nothing more.
Sadly for him, she didn’t give in to power plays. She’d already shown him that once. Apparently, he needed a reminder.
He hiked his pants up at the waist, and she couldn’t help but picture Ralph Kramden from The Honeymooners. Pow, right in the kisser! Great, now she might start laughing.
Eve bit down on her cheeks and tilted her head. “You’re welcome to read the RMS file. I’ve just updated my notes.” If he had to sign into the records management system to read her notes, his review of the case would be documented. She was all for that.
Dyson stepped into her space, the nasty garlic smell of his breath invading her nostrils. What did this man eat for breakfast? “Don’t fuck with me, Evie. I can make things very uncomfortable for you.”
Evie. Classic attempt to cut her down to a child’s height instead of the grown woman and agent that she was. Eve reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of gum. “You already have.” She sidestepped and waved the gum his way. “Here, this might help.”
She went to leave the room, but one large hand pressed on her shoulder, shoving her into the door. She could feel his body as he pressed up against her back. For a brief moment, she felt what she imagined Cal’s sister or Mary Gentry had felt when they were attacked. Or any number of the other women attacked and raped in the world on an all-too-frequent basis. The panic of knowing what was about to come. The violation, the fear.
It lasted only seconds before she drew up her leg and found the side of his knee, then raked the edge of her boot down the side of his leg. He grunted and stepped back, grabbing at his leg.
“Bitch.”
Eve turned slowly, taking in the man who had, for reasons unknown, decided to target her. “You better believe it. And I’m not a bitch you want to mess with. Touch me again and I’ll neuter you where you stand, Dyson.”
He stood and laughed, a sneer painting his face.
Eve didn’t wait to see if he had more to say. She probably should report him. It was probably time for her to let someone know what was going on with him, but the thought made her cringe. She’d seen what happened when women reported the kind of harassment Dyson had been heaping on her. She didn’t want to head down that road. Better to deal with his crap on her own.
She took the elevator down to the garage and got in her car, eager to get over to the police department. She wanted to see if they’d gotten anything back on the guns they’d confiscated from Kevin Williams’s apartment. It was possible they would wrap up the case today.
She was minutes away from the station when the news channel she was listening to cut in with breaking news of an officer attacked by angry protestors. The officer was being transported to the hospital and his condition was unknown. Eve felt a wave of nausea. The idea that it could have been Cal flooded her thoughts, even though it was highly unlikely it was him. He wasn’t in uniform anymore, so he wouldn’t be out working crowd control. He wouldn’t be targeted in this way.
None of that seemed to matter as she felt an uncharacteristic panic kick in. She never panicked. It was not only not part of her job description, it just wasn’t part of who she was.
That didn’t matter right now. What mattered was whether Cal was okay. She thought about pulling over to call and see if she could get through to him, but she was minutes away from the station and it seemed more important to get there. To see him for herself. See that he was safe.
Heart pounding, she clutched the wheel in a white-knuckled grip. Two minutes and she would know.
The news report didn’t include any details. Nothing about the officer or what he’d been doing when he was injured. She knew Cal had planned to spend the morning following up with some of the people they’d interviewed. Could he have been targeted by protesters who were angry with the police and actually went out looking for the detective heading the task force? She’d been the one doing the talking at press conferences, but he’d been standing next to her and he’d answered some of the questions. It was possible people had zeroed in on him.
One minute.
She didn’t want this, she realized. Didn’t want the connection that had grown between them. Didn’t want to feel so strongly for him that she could be gutted if he was hurt. It was too much.
She pulled into the lot and slammed the car into park. She needed eyes on Cal now.
It took too damned long to get up to the third floor of the building. She took the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator. Eve’s eyes scanned the bullpen, zeroing in on Cal. Safe.
He was safe. It hadn’t been him. The air in the room was heavy, and Eve had to take a minute to steady herself. She wasn’t used to feeling so off balance because of her feelings for another person, and it wasn’t something she planned to get used to.
She was sure of one thing right now. They needed to get this sniper off the streets and get control over these protesters, fast. Not only for the sake of the citizens of New Haven, but for her own sanity.
She needed to get back to the FBI where she could put Cal Rylan and this attraction behind her.
A small voice inside her said it was more than attraction. It was a pull toward him like none she’d ever felt. But it wasn’t a voice or a pull she would heed. She crossed the room to where Cal and several of the task force members stood.
“What do we know?” She didn’t bother with greetings and no one there looked much in the mood for them, either. She didn’t miss that Cal was studying her, though.
“Small but angry group marched on the Fair Haven substation this morning. They cold cocked an officer before he knew what was coming. Hit his head on a pipe sticking out of the side of the building as he went down.”
“Assholes kicked him while he was down like the fine upstanding pieces of shit they are,” Jepsen added.
Cal cut him a look and went on. “We’re waiting for word from the hospital. Officers got him out of there fast and broke up the group, made six arrests.”
“It was bullshit. The sniper hasn’t even been hitting people in Fair Haven. Scum will use any excuse—”
“Jepsen!” The Captain’s voice cut in from clear across the room and there was no mistaking the tone.
“Yeah, Cap?”
“My office. Now.”
Jep was frowning when he walked away and Eve wondered how the Captain would handle Jepsen’s attitude. She’d heard Captain Calhoun was a stickler when it came to swearing in the precinct and respecting the people they served—even when those people weren’t respecting them. She turned to Cal.
“Any news on Kevin Williams’s guns?”
He shook his head. “Not a match. We had to let him go.”
“We need to pull in Jake Tanner.” She didn’t try to soften her position. He needed to hear this. “It’s past time we pulled him in and you know it.”
She saw Cal’s jaw clench as he narrowed his eyes on her. “It’s not Tanner.” He glanced at the other members of the team, and they all moved away, pretending to be busy in other tasks. “I’ve told you, the man is a decorated officer. He’s highly respected. No way in hell he’s our guy.”
