She knew better than to let it continue. Boy, how she knew better, but her father was a PTSD sufferer, and when he’d divorced her mother, she’d fallen apart, leaving then-twelve-year-old Harrison to fend for himself. Dianna had moved out by then and was attending college on the West Coast.
Though only eighteen, Olivia felt called to make up for the loss of both parents, and she doted on him. But then she’d started college herself and couldn’t be there for him as often. So guilt set in, and she gave him extra grace for his mistakes and problems. They’d developed a pattern, and now cutting him off seemed to be the only solution.
But how could she do that? She feared he’d end up homeless and their still-fragile mother wouldn’t be able to handle it.
What a mess. She was a psychologist, for crying out loud. How could her family be so dysfunctional?
Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed the phone had stopped ringing, but she didn’t put it away. Why bother? Harrison would call right back and continue to call until she answered. As if on cue, the phone pealed again.
“I need to take this.” She answered before Agent Intensity took over again. “I’m kind of busy, Harrison. Is this urgent, or can I call you back?”
“The rent’s overdue, and Mom doesn’t have the money. The super is threatening to kick us out.”
Olivia sighed. “How much do you need?”
“A thousand should do it.”
“A thousand dollars. You’re kidding, right? Your entire rent is only twelve hundred.”
“What can I say? Mom had a hard month.”
“If you would get a job, you could help her out with the rent.”
“I’m looking, but no one’s hiring.” His whiny voice grated on Olivia’s already-raw nerves.
“Come on, Harrison,” she said. “There are plenty of jobs out there. You just don’t want to do them.”
“Would you want to work in a minimum-wage job?”
No. That’s why I didn’t bail on getting my college degree. “I don’t have time to get into this right now.”
“That’s good, because we’ve had the same conversation like a zillion times.”
And maybe after a zillion and one times you’ll listen.
“I’ll transfer the money to Mom right now. Talk to you later.” She disconnected before he could ask for anything else. She thumbed to her banking app, but could feel Agent Cannon’s gaze on her. She looked up. “I’m sorry. My mother needs money right away.”
“No problem,” he replied, and she was surprised at the understanding in his tone.
Her gut churning, she quickly made the transfer. If she did decide she was burned out on counseling and made a career change, she could end up making less money and her family would have to become self-sufficient. Not only had she supported her brother and mother for years, but now Dianna needed money, too. Olivia didn’t want Dianna to give up on her dreams of staying home while Natalie was a baby. Her needs were legitimate and Olivia gladly helped support her. Her mother and brother after all these years, not so much. Still, Olivia couldn’t solve this problem standing in the sweltering heat with an FBI agent waiting on her.
She exited the app and stowed her phone. “Okay. I’m ready.”
He gave that clipped nod again, something she was coming to believe he often did in lieu of speaking. “Take me to the spot where you met with Ace.”
She eased through laughing children and adults snapping group pictures and selfies in the park. She approached the bench where she’d sat with Ace and found herself irritated by the visitors’ cheerfulness. Irritated at life going on as if Ace didn’t matter. He did. He mattered, and if for no other reason, she would put aside Agent Cannon’s gruff exterior and do whatever he required of her.
She turned to face the agent and gestured at the bench. “We talked here.”
“Go ahead and have a seat.”
She rested on the edge. He joined her, sitting far closer than she would have liked.
“What do you remember about the night?” His voice was soft and compassionate, like that of a psychologist working with a client, and for the first time she also detected a hint of a Southern accent and couldn’t help but wonder why he kept that under wraps, too.
“Was anyone watching you?” he asked.
“I never took my focus off Ace, so I didn’t see anyone else. Plus if the killer was here last night, wouldn’t Ace have seen him and taken off?”
“Possibly. So fast-forward to when Ace walked away. You said you watched him go. Did you see anyone then?”
A vision of Ace striding away immediately popped into her mind. She saw his jeans dragging on the brick. His gaze pleading when he looked back at her. Then he quickly disappeared around the corner. That was it. Everything she’d seen. “Sorry. I was too focused on him to see anything else.”
Agent Cannon got up. “Let’s walk the route you took when you went after him.”
She stood, and the strap of her purse slid from her shoulder. Frustrated at not being able to provide any helpful details, she jerked the strap back into place.
“Looks like you want to kill that thing,” Agent Cannon said.
“Kill?”
“Your purse. Ever since you got that call you’ve been shoving it around.”
“I didn’t even notice.” She was probably taking her frustration with Harrison, and over Ace’s loss, out on her purse. “It saved my life last night, so I’d rather not kill it off.”
His eyebrows rose over the rims of his glasses. “Saved your life how?”
“When the killer started for me with the knife, I couldn’t get my pepper spray out, so I threw my purse at him.”
He ripped off his sunglasses and hung them around his neck, his sharp gaze landing on her. “The purse you’re holding. That’s the one you threw at him?”
“Yes, why?”
“Did the fabric actually touch him?”
“Yes.”
“And you told the police that last night?”
“I didn’t have to. They recovered my purse and gave it back to me.”
“Didn’t the forensic staff process it for evidence?”
“All I know is the police gave it back to me before I left last night.”
“Of all the sloppy work.” His eyes narrowed. “It should have remained in evidence.”
“But why?”
“If the purse made contact with the suspect, then the canvas likely contains touch DNA, and we can run that for a match in the system.” He dug out his phone and tapped the screen. “Brynn, I need a large evidence bag at the park now!” He listened to whatever this Brynn person was saying, his focus razor sharp, giving Olivia a glimpse of how he might look with his eye fixed on a rifle scope.
“We’ll be waiting, so make it double time.” He disconnected and shoved his phone into his pocket. “Our forensic expert is on her way to collect your purse.” He gestured at the bench. “Take a seat and keep it on your lap to prevent additional contamination.”
“I’ll gladly do as you say, but I watch CSI and—”
“Make sure you don’t say that when Agent Young gets here.”
“Why not?” Olivia sat and rested her purse on her knees.
“The CSI-type shows aren’t anywhere near reality. People who watch them expect minor miracles in forensics that don’t really exist. When these people are seated on a jury and Agent Young’s forensics don’t contain flashy bells and whistles, they doubt the evidence. Drives Agent Young crazy.”
“I had no idea.” Olivia peered at the expensive designer handbag she’d splurged on after she’d obtained her counseling license. “So forget my comment, but I still have to ask. If my purse is already contaminated, how will taking additional samples help?”
He dropped down next to her. “If we’re able to lift DNA or fingerprints and locate a match in our database, we’ll have a suspect and direction to proceed.”
“I see.” Olivia sat back to wait for Agent Young to arrive, her mind go
ing to the recent interview.
She still had so many questions about Ace’s murder. Like why had he been killed, and why were top-notch agents investigating his death?
She swiveled to face Agent Cannon. “Don’t get me wrong here. Ace was a wonderful man, and he deserves the very best investigators on his case, but I highly doubt agents with your skill sets would be here for that reason alone.”
“Our reason for taking on this investigation is on a need-to-know basis.”
Cryptic, but she took his statement as confirmation that he was hiding something from her. “If you’d fill me in on what’s really going on, maybe I could be of more help.”
“Trust me, Doc.” He stared across the park and slipped his sunglasses on. “You really don’t want to know the details and are far better off dropping your line of questioning.”
Chapter 6
Rick disconnected his call with the manager at the Salvation Army shelter and worked hard to hide his disappointment from Brynn as she talked to Dr. Dobbs, still seated on the park bench. The guy insisted on a warrant before he would tell them if Griffin had stayed there the night that the self-steering bullets were stolen. Not surprising. Crime shows on television had changed the way people reacted to law enforcement, and they often pulled the warrant card. The minute Rick got back to the scene, he’d get Max started on requesting one.
Rick shoved his phone into his pocket and turned his attention to Brynn, who was opening a large evidence bag. He’d hated to pull her away from the shooter’s hide to collect the purse, but it was their best lead right now. Before picking up the doc, they’d followed his coordinates to a high-rise office building. A jimmied door lock on the rooftop said they were in the right place. Brynn confirmed the location by lifting gunshot residue and hadn’t finished processing the scene. But priorities often changed in a flash, and it was almost a given that they would lift touch DNA from the doc’s handbag.
Dr. Dobbs dropped the purse into Brynn’s evidence bag, then sat back, her legs crossed, a bright-pink pump dangling from her foot. She asked Brynn logical questions about the investigation, but Brynn remained closemouthed. Not only did she know the importance of not sharing about the smart bullet, but social interaction came hard for her, and outside the team she was often shy.
“Okay, I get it,” the doc said after Brynn ignored another question. “Stop asking for either of you to explain.”
“And there’s no point in questioning other team members either,” Brynn added.
Dr. Dobbs frowned, and Rick couldn’t believe it, but he actually felt bad for her. He’d never had a hard time keeping things confidential. After all, if he limited how often he spoke, even with people close to him like his team, he couldn’t reveal anything he shouldn’t. Yet oddly enough, he had an urge to share the magnitude of their investigation with the doc.
Craziness. Pure craziness. She had zero clearance, much less the top-level permission needed to possess such highly classified information. Plus, an average citizen like the doc would freak out at hearing such a bullet actually existed. Even someone who seemed as well-adjusted as she did.
Brynn closed the bag. “By the time you get to the crime scene, I’ll have removed the contents of your purse. You can take those items with you, but not the bag itself.”
“I paid a pretty penny for that designer brand. Was one of my favorites, actually. But after this I don’t care if I ever see it again.”
If she expected Brynn to comment on the big-name designer bag, the doc would be sitting here for eternity. Brynn had never shown evidence of caring about expensive girlie things.
Brynn tucked the sealed evidence bag under her arm. “I’ll jog back to the scene and get the evidence logged in.”
Olivia swiped a hand over her glistening forehead. “You’re going to run in this heat?”
“Do a stint as a soldier, and you learn to run in every kind of weather.” Brynn smiled and the doc smiled back, her eyes lighting with a genuine warmth that fanned Rick’s interest even more.
He felt Brynn’s eyes on him, so he pulled his gaze free and focused on her.
“Okay, then.” She’d clearly noticed the vibe flowing between him and the doc. “I’m off.” Her tactical boots, the kind they all wore for duty, thumped on the pavement as she jogged away.
“I like her,” Olivia said.
“Agent Young’s one of the best.” He ignored the thought pressing at his brain that the doc didn’t much like him. “You lead the way back to the crime scene and feel free to stop when needed if you want to explain or tell me more about when you followed Ace.”
She marched down the street, her shoulders pulled back, but he’d seen fear settle in her eyes before she’d turned away. A half mile down the road, she paused to stare ahead. She nodded at a large pothole in the middle of the road and wrapped her arms around her stomach. “This is where I fell last night when I was running away from the man with the knife.”
Rick might be oblivious to other people’s emotions at times—okay, a lot of the time—but his gut told him to offer comfort, and he started for her.
What in the world are you planning to do?
He’d thought to rest a hand on her shoulder, when only a few hours ago he’d grilled her like a big T-bone steak. And now what? He suddenly trusted her? Believed she was on the up-and-up? But why?
He came to a stop and watched her. He got that her pain was real, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t part of this murder plot. It just meant she had residual fear from last night. The man who’d chased her could be a person she’d partnered with who had turned on her.
“Did the man with the knife get as close to you as I’m standing?” he asked.
“No.”
“And you’re sure you didn’t recognize him or know him?”
She tilted her head, a question on her face. “Like I’ve told you, I didn’t see his face.”
He’d expected her to ask another of her questions, but she turned and started down the sidewalk, moving quickly as if fleeing from the man. She didn’t stop until the crime scene came into view. Rick glanced ahead at the people still hugging the barricades and reporters lingering by their vehicles. The moment they noticed him, they perked up and jumped into action, cameras rising to shoulders and microphones jutting out.
He faced Dr. Dobbs. “The reporters recognize my uniform and are bound to rush us. I need you to stay calm and not respond to their questions. Can you do that?”
“No comment.” The side of her mouth quirked up in an unexpected smile.
Despite the reporters watching him, and his distrust of the doc, he couldn’t help returning the smile, and he had to admit his lighthearted response felt good. Real good. He considered taking her arm to protect her from the mob, but this being her second visit to the scene today, reporters might misconstrue his gesture and declare on the news that she was a person of interest or a suspect under arrest.
“Move at a quick clip. Keep your head down and stay by my side,” he said to keep that protective instinct at bay. “I’ll do my best to shield you.”
They headed into the throng. Microphones were shoved in their faces, and Rick swatted at them as he would at an irritating fly. He also made sure he kept Dr. Dobbs moving forward. She heeded his directions and didn’t look at, much less talk to, a reporter.
“Is there really a sniper on the loose?” a slender man asked Rick, but he brushed past him.
A woman in a neon-yellow dress stepped in front of him, and he had no choice but to stop to avoid bowling her over. “Why has the FBI been called in to investigate the homicide of a homeless man?”
“Please excuse me.” He started forward, forcing her to move out of the way.
The doc fell behind, and he didn’t care if the press got the wrong opinion. He circled his arm around her waist to tug her close and help her move forward. She gave him a grateful smile, and he had to work extra hard not to forget he had a job to do.
The female reporter rebounded an
d darted in front of them again. “Can you tell us your name, ma’am?”
Rick paused and fired her a testy look. “I asked nicely for you to let us through. Don’t make me ask again.”
She seemed to mull over his request, then bent and swept out her arm with a flourish.
“By all means, Mr. High and Mighty Fed,” she whispered so only Rick could hear.
She was trying her hardest to bait him into responding. Instead he picked up speed and escorted Dr. Dobbs through the barricade held open by the officer of record.
“Vultures,” the officer muttered as they passed.
Rick nodded his agreement and directed the doc around the corner to where Griffin had died. Being in full view of the crime scene was likely more painful for her than battling the reporters, but at least she could relax after their aggressive behavior.
“Thank you.” She sighed. “Obviously you’ve had experience with the press.”
“I have,” he said. “But I didn’t handle that well at all.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Agents are trained to be cognizant of the way we’re perceived on a local level. It’s the only way the general public can form an opinion of the agency, and my body language told whoever watches this broadcast that agents are pushy and self-involved.”
“But that last reporter was asking for it.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He didn’t add that if anyone at headquarters saw the broadcast, his tough-guy behavior would get him a slap on the wrist. Max would go to bat for him, but there were only so many times that Rick could upset the locals before the powers that be would want him pulled from the investigation. Still, he wasn’t about to let a possible reprimand stop him from doing his job.
“So,” he said, moving along. “You came around the corner and spotted Ace. How far did you get before seeing them?”
Kill Shot Page 6