Blood Ties tbscus-12

by Кей Хупер

  Got it. Our sniper is back.

  Gabriel slid behind the wheel of their rental and started the car. “What, in town? In broad daylight? That doesn’t sound like a pro. Are you sure it’s him?”

  Pretty sure. He isn’t shooting. Watching. He’s watching…. Oh, shit, Gabe. I think maybe we should have taken him more seriously, kept eyes on him no matter what.

  “We kept eyes on him—until he headed out of town and hit the highway hours ago. You put a bug in his car; we’d know if he came back. I checked just before I went into the store, and there was nothing.” Gabriel dug into the backpack in the passenger seat until he found the GPS tracker. He turned it on and checked the small screen. “Still nothing in the area. That car isn’t within fifty miles of Serenade.”

  Maybe he switched cars. Maybe he did a sweep and found the bug. All I know is that he’s back—and he has toys I didn’t find in his room or his car. Very dangerous toys. The kind that go boom.

  “Shit. Has he—”

  He’s planted one of them in an SUV that’s parked in front of the sheriff’s department. Goddammit, it’s one of ours. One of the two vehicles supposedly left locked up last night. It hasn’t gone off. Yet. And I think…our people have been warned. But he doesn’t know that. Dunno if he has a remote or the bomb’s on a timer, but he wants a seat near the show.

  Gabriel didn’t wait to hear more. He put the car in gear and headed toward the downtown area, where he could leave the car and proceed on foot wherever he needed to go. Which was—

  He’s up high, but the only unobstructed view of those vehicles is close in because of the little cluster of the taller buildings right there in the center of town; you should be able to find a rooftop a couple of blocks from the sheriff’s department without him seeing you. I don’t know if you’ll be able to get up higher than he is. And I’m not sure exactly where he is. There’s something… weird about it. Weird about him.

  “What do you mean?”

  I don’t know. Something I wasn’t feeling last night. Something cold. Something off. I don’t know, Gabe. But I don’t like it.

  Gabriel pulled out his cell phone, keeping his eyes on the road as he hit a number on his speed dial.

  You’re calling Miranda.

  “Damn straight. If this lunatic is capable of building a bomb and willing to set one off, tagging along behind while he has his fun is not my idea of protecting or serving.”

  We aren’t cops.

  “No, but we’re here to hunt a killer. And if this one is perched on top of a building with his finger on the trigger of a bomb, I want permission to take his ass out.”

  “It’s okay,” DeMarco said.

  Hollis was conscious of nothing but her pounding heart for a moment or two, then realized that Reese was holding her against his side quite easily with one arm, his gaze scanning the seemingly peaceful Main Street of Serenade. The two black SUVs parked in front of the sheriff’s department several blocks down the sloping road were visible from where they stood.

  She wondered if he was even aware of holding her, then wondered why on earth she was thinking about unimportant things when there was a bomb, for Christ’s sake.

  “What do you mean, it’s okay?” she demanded, out of breath from her wild dash out of the building. She was almost sure that was why she couldn’t seem to breathe evenly. “You knew?”

  “You broadcast,” he reminded her. He glanced down at her, one brow lifting as he added, “And loudly under moments of… stress. I have a hunch I’m going to have a headache for the next hour or so.”

  “I know I will,” Miranda said as she and the others joined them. “And I had my shield up. Jesus, Hollis.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Keep in the shadows of this tree,” DeMarco warned. “Once my ears stopped ringing—so to speak—I could feel him out there. It’s hard to get a fix on him, but I’m sure we have a return visit from yesterday’s sniper. He’s watching.”

  Hollis was about to demand that DeMarco let go of her when he did.

  Damn telepaths.

  Quentin said, “Why is he still hanging around?”

  “Hollis was told there’s a bomb in one of the cars,” Miranda said, “so presumably he’s hanging around to kill one or more of us.” She sounded very calm about it.

  “Told by whom?”

  “Andrea.”

  He frowned. “Andrea? Spirit Andrea, from Grace?”

  “And from Venture.” Miranda frowned slightly too. “She seems to be connected to you, Hollis.”

  Hollis found that more than a little unnerving. “I don’t know why, especially since I’ve yet to figure out who she is. Or who she was.” She paused, then added slowly, “You know, she might have been the spirit that led us to the female victim’s remains yesterday. I didn’t get a really good look, and what I saw was a lot less distinct than I’m used to, but… it could have been her.”

  “Instead of the victim?”

  “Could have been.”

  “She seems determined to help us. Or help you.”

  “I wish I knew why. As far as I can tell, she hasn’t been connected in any way to our cases. I mean, she warned me about Ruby, gave us a clue that helped Tessa save her, but…”

  Miranda said, “She’s connected somehow; otherwise she wouldn’t keep showing up. We just haven’t found the connection. Yet.”

  Diana interrupted the speculation to say wryly, “Guys? Sniper? Possible bomb? I mean, I know I’m new at this sort of thing, but doesn’t a bad guy in the flesh take precedence over a helpful spirit? If we’re speculating?”

  “I’d say so,” Quentin agreed.

  “My question,” DeMarco said, “is whether he has one of the cars rigged to blow when a door’s opened or an engine starts, or whether he’s sitting out there with a remote and a pair of binoculars, able to detonate whenever he likes.”

  “Either way,” Quentin said, “we didn’t come prepared for bombs. And I have a hunch the Pageant County Sheriff’s Department doesn’t have a bomb squad.”

  Miranda stepped away from them—toward the B&B, still protected by the shadow of the big tree—and pulled her cell from the case clipped to her belt.

  As she called the sheriff, the others continued to watch Main Street uneasily.

  “I don’t get this guy,” Quentin said. “He’s not acting like any serial I’ve investigated or even heard about.”

  “Maybe he isn’t one,” Diana said. When all eyes turned her way, she added, “I don’t mean he isn’t killing multiple victims; I mean he isn’t literally a serial killer. But if he’s targeted the SCU, if that’s what this is all about, then like Miranda said earlier, we have an entirely different kind of investigation on our hands.”

  Hollis said, “Especially if it’s still a possibility that there are two of them involved in all this. One could be the cool-headed sniper with a methodical agenda, and the other could be the sadist with blood literally all over his hands.”

  CHAPTER 8

  “ANOTHER PET MONSTER?” Quentin speculated, then shook his head before any of the others could offer an argument for or against. “No, if we’ve got two involved here, it feels more like a partnership to me. Maybe it’s just a hunch, but that’s the way it feels to me. Two individuals with a plan. Working together.”

  “But what’s the plan?” DeMarco asked. “To destroy the SCU? Because that sounds a bit ambitious to me, especially if the idea is to pick us off one by one.”

  “It does make a kind of sense, though,” Hollis said, still thinking about the possibility of two enemies working together. “Using this… method. The murders are quite effective at drawing us out, making us visible. And they couldn’t be—you should forgive the phrase—normal murders, because then we wouldn’t be involved. So, serial murders spread out over multiple states, particularly gruesome in nature, with bodies dumped where they’re quickly and easily found, the killings so bizarre and seemingly random that local and state cops or even most FBI units can’t eff
ectively investigate.”

  “Enter the SCU,” Diana continued. “Because gruesome and bizarre is pretty much our bailiwick. First two investigators, Miranda and Hollis, with Reese coming and going. Maybe that wasn’t enough for them. Maybe they wanted more of us involved, for whatever reason. To test us, or their skill. So the killings continued, the torture and mangling of the victims’ bodies escalating. Quentin and I join the team a couple of weeks ago, so a larger SCU presence.”

  Quentin frowned. “You know, maybe those shots yesterday really weren’t about killing either of you guys. Maybe they were about making us sit up and take notice. Maybe one or both of these bastards decided it was time we knew we were being watched. More fun for them, if we knew about it. More of a challenge.”

  “That’s a lot of maybes,” DeMarco complained. He was still scanning Main Street, still keeping an eye on the so-far undisturbed and unexploded SUVs parked in front of the sheriff’s department. “And it all hinges on the premise that this rampage is about us, about the SCU. If we’re wrong about that basic supposition, then we could allow others to die while we’re looking in the wrong direction.”

  “That’s just as true the other way,” Quentin said. “If we ignore signs pointing to a motive behind this simply because we find the motive hard to swallow, then we’re no closer to stopping the killer—or killers—and the rampage continues.”

  “True.”

  Diana shook her head and said, “It still all boils down to guesswork, so far, at least. I thought psychic abilities would make this sort of thing easier.”

  “Sometimes I think they make it harder,” Quentin told her. “In fact, I think that a lot.”

  To Hollis, Diana said, “Not that I’m doubting you, but considering what happened last night in the gray time, do you think this Andrea might have been deceiving you? Lying about there being a bomb?”

  “I don’t think so. She was awfully convincing. Awfully upset, now that I think about it. But I’m still relatively new to this stuff, so I can’t be a hundred percent sure about it.”

  “So there may not be a bomb?”

  “Rationally… yes. There may not be a bomb.”

  Quentin said, “But you aren’t sure, and we can’t take the chance there isn’t a bomb.”

  DeMarco looked at Hollis, his brows rising slightly. “What does your gut tell you? Was Andrea lying? Trying to trick you?”

  Slowly, Hollis shook her head. “No. No, I really don’t think she was trying to trick me. I think she wanted—needed—to warn me. Because there’s a bomb in one of those cars.”

  “That’s all I need to hear,” DeMarco said, returning his gaze to the quiet, peaceful street. “So now the question becomes, how do we get out of this with as few casualties as possible?”

  “Gabe, I’ve got the sheriff getting ready to send the few people he has out to try and clear as much space as possible around the vehicles. Where are you?” Miranda asked.

  “About two blocks from the station.” He parked the car as he spoke, getting out with his cell and his keys and without the backpack. “I’m armed. And I think I can find this bastard.” He locked the car and dropped the keys into one of his jacket pockets.

  “What does Roxanne think?” The question was curiously literal.

  Tell her I think he’s on top of that old theater building half a block down from the station. There’s no fire escape, no outside stairs, so you’ll have to go up from inside the building.

  Gabriel relayed the information, adding, “The building’s for rent, Miranda. Empty. There’s a rear entrance.” When she seemed to hesitate, he added, “Look, I know you wanted to just watch this guy, but if he’s willing to blow up a nice little town, I say the time for watching is over.”

  “Yeah.” She sighed. “You won’t get an argument about that. But I don’t like you going up there alone, Gabe.”

  “I don’t think we have time to argue about it.” He was nearly at the rear of the old theater building, where he’d been heading since he stepped out of the car. He could see that the old door was barred by an equally old padlock. “You guys are blocks away, and for all we know one or both of those SUVs are packed with explosives. Maybe even nails and other kinds of shrapnel. An explosion could destroy a lot more than those vehicles, and we both know it. I can take the bastard out.”

  “All right.” Whatever hesitation Miranda might have felt was clearly past. “But don’t kill him unless you have to. We need to be able to talk to him if at all possible.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Leave the cell on; with a little luck we won’t lose the signal.”

  “Copy that,” he repeated. “Talk to you on the other side.” He slid the cell, still on, into the other pocket of his jacket and then drew his weapon from the shoulder holster he wore underneath it. “Rox? The lock?”

  Working on it. Tougher than I expected. The lock hasn’t been opened in a while, I’d say.

  “So he used the front entrance to gain access. Wonder whether he had a key or broke in.”

  In full view of anybody on Main Street, I’m guessing he had a key. He had to look and act normally enough not to attract any undue attention. Just a minute more…

  There was a brief pause, and then Gabriel heard a click, and the old padlock swung free. He got rid of it and used muscle to force the door open, not at all happy when the ancient hinges creaked loudly.

  Stairs. Just to your right. There’s no electricity, Gabe.

  “And it’s dark as pitch.” He barely whispered it, pausing for only a moment inside the door to allow his eyes to adjust a bit to the dark.

  These stairs go up to the projection room, I think. From there, we’ll have to find the door that leads to the roof.

  “When was it ever easy?” With fumbling fingers, he found a rough old handrail and began to climb the dangerously creaky stairs as swiftly as he dared.

  “Wait—” DeMarco gestured toward the street. “A couple of Duncan’s deputies are coming out. Damn, looks like the part-timers. I guess the rest of the first shift is out on patrol.”

  Hollis said, “They aren’t very good at acting casual, are they? Their body language is tense as hell. There’s the sheriff. He’s a lot better at seeming nonchalant, I have to say.”

  Miranda rejoined the group near the walkway in time to hear that and said, “As expected, the sheriff has no bomb squad, but he has a call in to Knoxville for the nearest one. Only a couple of his part-timers are at the station. He’s sent them out with orders to stay far away from the vehicles and keep the area around them clear. He’s going to try to get to the restaurants and stores in the immediate area, alert them to clear themselves and their customers out—or, at least, get away from windows facing the street. We’re going to give them five minutes to do as much as they can.”

  “You’re thinking we have to detonate the bomb?” DeMarco said, after a quick glance at her.

  “I’m thinking we need to be ready if we have to,” Miranda replied. “The nearest bomb squad is more than an hour away—and the lunch crowd, such as it is, is about to head to the downtown restaurants. We don’t have the equipment to safely inspect those vehicles, or even to effectively barricade the area, and we don’t have the luxury of time.”

  “If he has a remote, one of us will have to approach before he’s likely to trigger it,” DeMarco said.

  “I’m hoping we’re the ones with the remote.” She nodded to the keys in his hand. “We can unlock, raise the cargo doors, and start the engines from here. Maybe that’ll set off the bomb. If not…”

  “The sort of body armor we have isn’t going to protect us, Miranda. Not from a bomb.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. Still, it’s all we’ve got. Before any of us approach those vehicles, we get the vests on.”

  “Copy that.”

  But neither DeMarco nor any of the others moved, all their attention fixed on the vehicles a few short blocks away.

  Quentin, after gauging the distance be
tween the vehicles and the buildings around them, said, “There is not a whole lot of room down there. And way too many glass windows. I gather you’re also hoping for a small bomb or bombs with a small blast radius.”

  “That would be my preference,” Miranda said. “Since explosives have never been part of the M.O. so far, I have to believe whatever he brought with him or got his hands on in the last twelve hours or so isn’t likely to be very large or very complicated.”

  “Which,” DeMarco said, “means a remote detonation is a bit more likely. Wiring explosives into a vehicle’s electrical system or using some kind of timer is more difficult and time-consuming, even if he knows what he’s doing. And since those vehicles have been right out in the open since last night, I’m guessing he didn’t want to risk spending any more time than necessary near them.”

  Diana shook her head and said, “You’re all so calm about this.” She sounded decidedly tense.

  Hollis murmured, “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

  DeMarco looked down at her, a very slight frown pulling at his brows. “Hollis, what are you trying to do? I can feel the effort.”

  “Yeah, it’s… hard. But electrical energy is electrical energy, right?” The strain in her voice was evident. “And explosives are… inherently unstable. Probably giving off waves of energy just being themselves. I’m trying to see if there’s an aura of some kind around… Huh. What do you know? I see a funny sort of shimmer above the second SUV. A kind of red haze. Nothing above the one in front.”

  Miranda said, “Reese, do you still sense him out there?”

  “Oh, yeah, he’s watching. I still can’t pinpoint a location, but I think he’s up high. Maybe a rooftop.”

  “You think he’s using his scope or binoculars?”

  “Binoculars. I don’t feel a gun. Not yet, anyway. But I am having a little more trouble than usual tuning him in.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, handing it to Hollis. “Here.”

  “What—” She felt the tickle underneath her nose and pressed the cloth there, adding a muttered, “Damn.”