But . . . given his aversion to conversation, it might take a while. She glanced down at the box of bullets.
“I don’t recognize this brand,” she said.
“They’re a specialty shop. We’re in their R and D program.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning we test ammo for them. Give feedback.”
M.J. ejected the magazine and loaded it as Jeremy watched her movements. Then she turned to face the target about thirty feet out. She glanced at the ear protectors and decided to skip it. She was finally getting him talking, and she didn’t want to miss a word.
“You guys get paid for this service?” She glanced at him, and he was watching her now with his arms folded over his chest.
“It’s more of a quid pro quo.”
“You mean they provide equipment, and in exchange you help them fine-tune things?”
He nodded, obviously more interested in watching her shoot than talking about ammo suppliers. She spread her feet apart, lifted her arms, and took a deep breath. She waited, trying to get her focus. The din of rock music in the next room was the only sound.
She squeezed the trigger, and the force reverberated through her body. Relief washed over her, and she dropped her arms.
She glanced over, but he didn’t say anything.
“Again?”
He nodded.
She settled into her stance and fired again. And again. The gun had a surprisingly smooth trigger pull. She went through the entire magazine. She managed to keep her expression blank the whole time, but inside she felt a surge of pride. She hadn’t made a fool of herself.
She handed it over to him. He reloaded and stepped over to the neighboring station, where there was a fresh target.
She eased closer to watch. Wide shoulders, straight posture. He raised his arm and went perfectly still. Only his trigger finger moved as he fired the weapon.
She watched him, transfixed, as he fired shot after shot after shot. When the magazine was spent, she released the breath she’d been holding.
“Not bad,” she said. Another understatement. She would have thought he’d brought her here to show off, but this had been her idea. She watched his totally relaxed expression as he pressed a button to bring in the target. He unclipped it from the wire. The ten bullet holes formed a tight grouping smaller than a quarter.
“Pretty good,” she said. “Especially with your right hand.”
He didn’t say anything, but she thought she spotted the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
“You are left-handed, right?”
“A lot of us are.”
“Us?”
He tossed the target onto the shelf like it was nothing. If it had been hers, she would have pinned it up in her cubicle at work.
“The PSD teams,” he said. “It’s a tactical advantage.”
She stared up at him blankly.
“I’ll show you.” He turned to face her and took a big step back. “Pull your Glock.”
“What are you—”
“Pull it.”
She reached into her jacket. In an instant, he was on her, his bulk surrounding her, his hand clamping around her arm like a vise. She blinked up at him, shocked by his speed.
“See?” He released her and stepped back. “Most people are right-handed. They attack from their dominant side, so in a face-to-face assault we have the advantage if we’re dominant on the left.”
“I never thought about it.”
“We train for everything. But Liam’s a numbers guy, so he has a hiring bias toward lefties. Anything for an edge.”
“Over your competitors, you mean?”
“Over anybody,” he said. “We’re the best out there—and that’s not bragging, it’s a fact. We get a lot of applicants, so we can afford to be selective.”
“Sounds like you do some of the selecting. Does that make you—what? Liam’s XO?”
“More or less.”
She glanced around the room at all the high-tech equipment, some that wasn’t even on the market yet. She’d never seen a setup that compared, not even at Quantico. Her gaze landed on the USMC flag on the wall.
“Why’d you quit the Marines?” she asked on impulse.
She glanced over, and by his tight expression she could tell she’d offended him.
“I mean, you’re obviously good at what you do,” she said. “I would think they’d try to keep guys like you.”
“I could see the drawdown coming.”
“Everybody could.”
He gazed down at her, probably thinking she was pushy. “I wanted to get ahead of it,” he said. “Liam was staffing things up here, and he’s the best CO I ever had, so.”
She waited for more, but he didn’t elaborate.
Still, he’d opened up some. Way more than she’d expected when she finagled the invitation. If she played her cards right, she might get him talking about Catalina again.
“You want to shoot some more?” he asked.
“Why, you want to change the subject?”
“Yeah.”
She smiled and felt the tension relax. “Well, as long as we’re here, I should practice with my Glock. It’s not quite an MK23, but—”
“But it’s your service weapon, and it could save your life someday.” He nodded at her hip. “Take it out, let’s see what you’ve got.”
IT WAS A step up from Big Pines, but not the Ritz, thank God. Tara preferred a stocked vending machine to an overpriced minibar any day of the week. She grabbed some snacks and traipsed back to her room, checking out the vehicles in the parking lot, including a black Silverado similar to Liam’s, only this one had one of those ridiculous lift kits that meant you practically needed a stepladder to get inside. Tara shook her head. Cold air whipped around her shoulders, and she had a flashback of riding beside Liam in his toasty-warm, perfectly proportioned pickup.
She forced away the thought. Liam was officially a suspect until evidence proved otherwise. She had no business admiring his truck, his body, or anything else about him right now—or ever, if she knew what was good for her.
Her phone chimed as she stepped into her motel room.
“So guess what I found out,” M.J. said.
“What?”
“He was in Aspen.”
Tara dumped her snacks on the dresser. “Who was?”
“Liam Wolfe. He was in Aspen, Colorado, the night of the murder, meeting with a client at his ski condo. Jeremy mentioned something about it, and I double-checked with the airline. Liam’s clear.”
Tara stood in front of the mirror, noticing her appearance for the first time tonight. Wilted suit. Messy hair. Her blue eyes looked tired and annoyed at the same time.
Her heart was racing again, and again she blamed Liam.
“Tara, what’s wrong? I thought you’d be relieved.”
She was intensely relieved, damn it.
“What’s wrong is I’m pissed,” she said. “Why didn’t he just tell us this, save everyone a lot of trouble?”
“I don’t know.”
Was he playing games with her? Was that what this was?
“Did you ask him?” M.J. wanted to know.
“Ask him what?”
“If he was out of town at the time of the murder.”
“Why would I ask that?” Tara popped open her Coke and took a cold, syrupy sip.
“I don’t know, I just thought you would. I mean, we shouldn’t even bother with him if he has an alibi, right?”
Tara sank down on the bed and tried to get her thoughts straight. She was going on four nights with very little sleep. She was beyond stressed, and now she felt manipulated, too.
We shouldn’t even bother . . .
“No, we should bother,” she said. “This is a base we need to cover, or some defense attorney’s going to make an issue of it later. Liam Wolfe is linked to the victim. He’s linked to the abduction site. He owns the land where the body was dumped. And now we know he lied about talkin
g to Catalina.”
“But again, alibi. His is airtight.”
The phone on the nightstand rang. Tara looked at it with suspicion. It rang again, and she put M.J. on hold as she picked up.
“Hello?”
“Meet me in the Mustang Lounge.”
It was Liam.
“How did you—”
“Straight across from your hotel, ten minutes.”
“You can’t just—”
“Ten minutes, Tara.”
He hung up.
CHAPTER NINE
He watched from the corner, waiting for her to see him. It didn’t take long. She strode up to his table, a woman on a mission, and Liam’s heart gave a kick.
“You know, you’re starting to piss me off,” she said.
“Starting to?”
She yanked out the chair across from him and dropped into it. She glanced at his glass, and Liam signaled the waitress.
“How’s the inn?” he asked.
“How’d you know where I was staying?”
“Your office wouldn’t go for five-star. Even for surveillance of a prime suspect.”
The waitress stepped up to the table and smiled at Tara. “Something to drink?”
“Jack and Coke.”
“Sure thing.” She nodded at Liam’s ice cubes. “Another for you?”
“Thanks.”
When she disappeared, Tara folded her arms over her chest, wrinkling the nice white blouse she wore under her suit.
“You’re no longer a suspect,” she told him.
“Then why are you here? Why are you guys tailing me and hounding my employees?” And distracting the hell out of me. He kept the last part to himself because he didn’t want her to know the effect she had on him. It was a point of pride.
“We have unanswered questions,” she said.
“Let’s hear ’em.”
She just looked at him.
“Bring it on, Tara. Let’s hash this out, stop wasting everyone’s time.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’ll answer any question you want, but I get to ask some, too.”
She watched him suspiciously, probably sensing a trap. “Okay, me first,” she said. “Why did you lie about when you last talked to Catalina?”
“I didn’t.”
“She called you three times on the day before her murder.”
“You asked me when I last talked to her. I didn’t talk to her. She left messages with my answering service.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re being evasive.”
“No, accurate. There’s a difference.”
The server delivered their drinks, and Tara scowled at Liam’s glass. “What is that?” she asked.
“Seltzer water. I’m working.”
She sipped her drink as the waitress swished off. “So what did her messages say?”
“Nothing, just her name.” He leaned forward on his elbows. “And that’s three questions. It’s my turn.”
“Fine, ask away. But I can’t share details of an ongoing investigation.”
“Why SWAT?”
She looked surprised by the question, then guarded. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“Why’d you sign up?”
“I don’t know. Why not?”
“Now you’re being evasive.”
He watched her, and he could tell he’d made her uncomfortable by asking something personal, but he had to know.
She looked down at her drink, stirring it. “I got into law enforcement to enforce the law.” She glanced up at him. “I promised myself I’d stay as far away from admin work as I could get.”
“You don’t want to be pigeonholed because you’re a woman.”
She just looked at him, not saying anything.
It was a shrewd career strategy, assuming she liked the work. Liam had seen plenty of women in the military get pushed into support roles. SWAT was about as far away from a desk job as it was possible to get, although working for a bureaucracy like the FBI would still mean plenty of paperwork.
“My turn,” she said. “Why’d you quit the Marines?”
The word quit rankled, but he let it go. “I’ve never been good with authority. Didn’t want to take orders my whole life.” He didn’t mention the shooting that had nearly ended it. It wasn’t something he talked about.
“But you take orders from your clients,” she pointed out.
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“They pay well. And I can refuse the job if I want.”
She tipped her head to the side. “What would make you refuse?”
“You’re getting a lot more questions than I am here.”
She waited.
“My clients and I have an understanding. I have a certain way of doing things, and it works, but some people don’t like it.”
She watched him but didn’t comment.
“What?” he asked.
“I thought you were going to say politics.”
“Nope. I’m apolitical. Red, blue, purple—I don’t give a shit what you are. If your money’s green, I take it.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Anything for a buck, huh?”
“Just about.”
He could tell she didn’t buy that. “Okay, why is your cell-phone number impossible to find?”
He smiled slightly. “It’s not.”
She arched her eyebrows, which told him she’d tried and failed.
“Cell phones are tracking devices,” he said. “They can carry viruses, spyware, remotely activated cameras or listening devices. If people can track me, they can track the clients I’m guarding. So I switch my phone all the time, stay a step ahead of the game. My clients reach me through my answering service. Only a handful of people have my cell number.”
And at the moment, that handful included her. He had no doubt she’d gotten the number from the front desk of her hotel as soon as he’d ended their call.
She sighed.
“What?”
“Sounds paranoid,” she said bluntly.
“Maybe to you. But some of the people I work with are victims of relentless stalkers. They come to me because I don’t tell them they’re paranoid. Instead I listen.”
She watched him a moment. “And how long have you been doing this? Personal security?”
“This is our third year.”
“Do you like it?”
“Beats government work.”
She held his gaze, obviously trying to read more into that. Her eyes were sharp now, and he felt another question coming, something she’d been burning to ask him. “I want your opinion on something.” She leaned forward and looked him in the eye. “What do you think happened? Based on your experience?”
Liam got that familiar twist in his gut. “You mean Catie?”
“Yes, Catie. Why do you think she’s dead?”
TARA COULD SEE she’d struck a nerve. She’d meant to.
He leaned back in his chair, watching her with that same cool and assessing gaze he’d had earlier, when he’d been in bodyguard mode.
“You want my professional opinion,” he stated.
“No.”
His eyebrows tipped up.
“I want your take as a professional and someone who knew her personally. You’re in a unique position to help the investigation, as you obviously know.”
If he picked up on the underlying guilt trip, he didn’t show it. “Okay,” he said. “Here’s my take. I’ve been doing this a long time, even before I went out on my own.”
“You were a bodyguard in the Marines?”
“Personal security detail—protecting high-ranking officers, visiting diplomats, people like that. In some places it’s a cakewalk, but not in Afghanistan. Basically, I trained in a powder keg.”
She nodded.
“I’ve studied political killings and failed attempts, both here and overseas. I’ve seen a few up close. And that’s not what this is.”
“How can you tell?”
He t
urned his glass on the table. “Most times it’s fast and impersonal.”
“Didn’t seem that way when ISIS beheaded those journalists.”
“Right, but this is domestic. It’s different. Overseas you see a lot of bombs. And then you sometimes get hostage situations that end with murder. Stateside we’re usually looking at a lone gunman. Sometimes a sniper but maybe something close-up and execution-style.” He shook his head. “If Catie had pulled into work and been shot, I could see it being political. That’s not what happened.” He met her gaze. “I think whoever killed her, it was personal.”
Tara had been thinking along the same lines. If the killer had just wanted Catie dead, there was no need to move her body, let alone butcher her the way he had.
“Back to the phone calls,” she said, because she couldn’t let it go. “Three calls to you right before her murder. Do you think she may have sensed some new threat and that’s why she reached out?”
The muscles in his jaw twitched, and she knew she’d nailed it. She should have felt a little buzz from the victory, but instead she felt guilty. He obviously cared about this woman, and Tara was pouring salt on a wound.
“You’re probably right about that.” He looked down at his drink. “I don’t know why else she would call me.”
“Unless she wasn’t calling you in particular.”
“What do you mean?”
“She called the landline. Wolfe Security. Maybe she was looking for someone who works there?”
She waited for his reaction, but his face showed nothing.
“How many people were on her security detail?” she asked.
“Now my guys are under suspicion?”
“I didn’t say that. But maybe they know something. Maybe one of them knew her personally.”
“You mean sexually.”
“She’d been having marital problems . . .” Tara let the idea trail off to see where he’d take it.
There was a glint in his eyes now. “My guys couldn’t do this.”
“Why not?”
“Because. Look at the crime. It’s goddamn sadistic.”
“You never know what people can do.”
“I know my people,” he said firmly. “Some better than I know my own brother. They’ve been through background checks, psych evals. Every man working for me, I’d step in front of a bullet for him.” He meant it for real, she could tell.
Shadow Fall (Tracers Series Book 9) Page 9