by Kylie Brant
Jolie could see from the agent’s expression that he’d arrived at the same conclusion.
“We’ve got an ATF bomb squad in place in addition to your local unit. You can be assured that public access will be limited until we’re certain the site is safe.”
Dace stood and without a word strode for the stairs. Jolie frowned at his abrupt departure, but her mind was on the information the agent had just imparted.
“So there was a breach sometime between the time those dogs left yesterday and this morning. Not exactly comforting.”
Dawson had the grace to look ill at ease. “It would appear so. I haven’t been to the site myself in the past twenty-four hours. But the security plans were painstaking. I don’t see how a breach could occur. But no plan is infallible.”
Silently, Jolie agreed. Any strategy was only as good as the people implementing it. All it took was one distraction. One guy out of position. And a patient outsider would have the opportunity he sought.
Dace was jogging back down the steps. Jolie recognized the blown-up picture he clutched in his hand. He crossed to Dawson and laid it down in front of him. “I think you need to make copies of this and hand it out to the security detail at the scene.”
The agent picked it up to study more closely. “Markham, right? Why do you have a picture of him?”
“Adam Marker,” Dace corrected. “And we think it’s possible that this is the guy we’re looking for.”
“Marker. That’s it.” Dawson set the picture down and shook his head. “I don’t know what makes you suspect him, but I can tell you he’s not our guy. I checked him out myself, shortly after the first robbery.”
“How can you be so sure it’s not him?”
Before answering Dace’s question, the man got up and went to the coffeemaker, poured three mugs of coffee, then delivered one to Jolie. He picked up the other two containers and set one in front of Dace, retaining the other.
“He had an alibi for all but one of the robberies,” he replied finally. “He was at work. Learned automotive repair at NSP and has been steadily employed for a small auto-repair business in Bakersfield since shortly after he was paroled. I’ve talked to his boss. Seen his time cards. He checks out.”
Disappointment blooming, Jolie wrapped her hands around the steaming mug and lifted it to sip. Okay, they knew the feds would have followed up on the recent parolees. But the link they’d found between the Marker brothers had seemed so promising. “Any chance his alibi is phony? Maybe bought and paid for?”
Dawson lifted a shoulder, the gesture curiously casual for a man usually so proper. “Anything’s possible. Just like it’s possible that Joseph Welch’s medical records showing he isn’t ambulatory could be phony. Or that Jeremy Saul wasn’t at his grandmother’s bedside for a month prior to her death, during three of the robberies. Anything’s possible. But probable? No.”
Jolie recognized the names of the men he mentioned as others on the list of recent parolees. “You really believe members of a sleeper cell are responsible.”
“Those details are classified.” The man drank, his eyes sliding shut in appreciation of the strong brew. “But trust me. They are convincing.”
A cell phone rang, and immediately Jolie looked around for her purse. Since she wasn’t living with Trixie at the moment, she didn’t feel the need to lock it up each night. Not that she had a car to lock it in anymore.
But it wasn’t her phone or Dace’s. Agent Dawson walked by them and picked up his cell from the coffee table next to the couch. She listened unabashedly but could tell nothing from his side of the conversation.
Feeling Dace’s gaze on her, Jolie lifted her eyes to meet his, reading his thoughts with an ease that frightened her. He wasn’t ready to give up on the Marker lead. Neither was she. But they had more important things to worry about for the next few hours.
Dawson snapped the receiver of his cell closed, looking a bit rattled. He recovered almost immediately, smoothing his expression to a reassuring mask. “They’ve found an explosive. ATF is containing it as we speak. The rest of the units will continue to follow up on all of the dogs’ alerts, but I’m willing to bet you were right.” He nodded at Dace. “The distraction was all about calling our attention away from the bomb.”
Her skin prickled. “Where’d they find it?”
At first Jolie didn’t think Dawson was going to answer. His gaze slid past hers. “It was attached to the plywood skirting below the dais.”
* * *
Nine fifty-seven a.m. Two minutes later than the last time Jolie had checked her watch. Time had crawled to a stop since the armored vehicle had halted next to the stage, fifteen minutes ago.
The past few hours had been spent in a state of uncertainty. Sanders had refused to allow the memorial to go forward until all alerts had been thoroughly checked out. Dace and she had paced his town house, not knowing whether their mission that day would be aborted or not. They hadn’t been given the word that the assignment would go forward until forty-five minutes ago.
The park was bustling with activity. Jolie estimated there were well over a thousand people, not counting the wall of blue uniformed officers who’d come to pay their respects. She knew there would be even more law enforcement in plain clothes. It seemed improbable that the subject would appear, risking detection in such a heavily guarded arena.
But he’d successfully infiltrated the security once. Jolie was well aware that a motivated subject could do so again.
There was little doubt this subject was motivated.
Misgivings circled in her mind like busy little ants. What if the discovered explosive had been a decoy? What if another was still waiting out there somewhere, ready to detonate when the stage was occupied?
She scanned the area. The dais was the logical site for an explosive, with her and Dace as the targets. But if the subject didn’t mind mass carnage, he could have planted a larger one farther away. Maybe on that statue of a Civil War soldier astride a horse. Or several hundred meters farther, in the fountain that spouted water in the air like a trio of belugas. There were several locations that could secret an IED. They’d have to trust that the dogs had done their job. That the distracting scent hadn’t confused them.
Another glance at her watch. A minute had ticked by. Several men were unfurling a canopy atop the stage. Jolie watched with approval. The edge was trimmed with triangular pennants that would snap and move in the breeze even now causing the American flags to flap from flagpoles around the park. If the subject was out there with a rifle, the pennants would be a diversion. He’d also be forced to adjust for the wind.
She clasped her hands together, cracked her knuckles. And sitting here doing nothing was going to make her a raving paranoid before they even got to the stage.
“What’s the holdup?” she muttered to Dace. “Where’d Truman and Dawson go?”
He turned from the opposite window. If he was suffering from any nerves, it didn’t show. “These things never begin on time. Too many bureaucracies to coordinate.” He studied her, probably seeing more in her expression than she would have liked. “It’s a zoo out there. The subject isn’t likely to know that the explosive has been discovered.”
Meaning, of course, that he probably wouldn’t be here to follow up with a sniper shot. It wasn’t that Jolie didn’t appreciate Dace’s attempt to reassure her. She’d been a negotiator long enough to be well versed in human psychology. The truth was, the only predictable thing about this subject was his single-minded motivation to avenge the HT’s death.
“Do me a favor and stay alert anyway, all right?” The words slipped past her guard without her conscious permission.
Dace’s green eyes darkened. “I suppose it’s useless to suggest you stay in the vehicle for the duration?”
That shot her spine with steel. “Useless and offensive.”
He nodded. “I figured. So I won’t say anything.” Before she had a clue to his intentions, he leaned over, cupped her nape in
his palm and covered her mouth with his.
Pent-up emotion poured into the kiss. Jolie could sense his frustration and something else. Something that might have been fear for her safety. His desire to shield her didn’t annoy her as much as usual. She happened to be just as scared for him. And remorseful that he’d gotten into this thing because of her.
His tongue swept into her mouth, staking a claim. She didn’t need comforting arms or encouraging words. She needed this unvarnished demand she could meet with her own. A quick hot pressure that reminded her of everything between them, past and present. And diverted her attention nicely from what might be out there waiting for them.
There was a rap at the window, and their lips parted even as the door was pulled open.
“Final security sweep has been executed. We’re going to start.” Truman ducked his head into the vehicle. “You two ready?”
With effort, Jolie tore her gaze away from Dace’s. “More than.” She reached for her sunglasses, placed them on her nose.
“Then let’s do this.”
She slid across the backseat and out the open door. Immediately, she was flanked by Truman and Dawson. When Dace joined them a moment later, two agents Jolie hadn’t seen before came to stand next to him, one on each side. Each of them moved toward the stage in tandem with their security.
Jolie’s glance encompassed the crowd and beyond. The sea of people stretched endlessly. A center aisle had been left in front of the stage.
She climbed the steps, one agent in back of her, one in front. Half a dozen people were already waiting there. Chief Sanders, resplendent in his dress uniform. Deputy Chief Grey. Mayor Owens, a woman whose policies Jolie had never much cared for. A couple councilmen. SAC Fenholt.
They filed to the far end of the stage and stopped. Jolie noted large framed posters atop stands scattered across the front of the stage. She knew without seeing the front of them that each would depict a likeness of one of the fallen officers. She doubted anyone in the crowd would realize the pictures served as yet another impediment to a sniper trying to get a clear shot.
Below, next to the center steps, was a table. Eight folded flags, each with a single white rose, sat atop it. The reminder of the officers’ deaths solidified her sense of purpose. Regardless of the outcome, if there was a chance her appearance here today could bring their killer to justice, it was a risk worth taking. There was a familiar humming in her veins as Chief Sanders went to the microphone and began to speak. Adrenaline did a crazy little tap dance along her nerve endings as she turned her gaze to the mass of people before her.
Sanders spoke eloquently of the officers’ sense of duty. Their selfless sacrifice in the face of danger. Jolie felt Truman stiffen on the other side of her, heard him murmuring something in the discreet mike he wore attached to his earpiece via a thin cord. She saw what had alerted him. There was a disturbance in the crowd after Sanders called up the first officer’s widow. The agents on either side of her stepped forward, closing ranks, effectively shutting her from view.
It was another moment before they stepped back again. She saw that a member of the press, jockeying for a photo as Sanders walked down the front steps to the stage to meet the widow and hand her the flag and commemorative rose, had caused the disturbance.
Jolie released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Chief Deputy Grey announced the second officer’s name. There was a glint of something in the distance, beyond the fountains. It was ridiculous to wonder if it were the sun bouncing off a rifle barrel. A shooter would be positioned in a tree. In the heavy shrubbery surrounding the park. The most accomplished sniper might be accurate from up to a mile away. But the subject hadn’t tried shots at that distance. She was willing to bet any attempt would come from no more than five hundred yards.
With the plentiful vegetation, there would be no shortage of hiding places.
She shifted her attention to the women coming one by one up to accept their flag and flower. One woman walked slowly, her figure heavy with child, and the sight hurtled Jolie back in time. The changes in her body brought on by pregnancy had been foreign. More than a little frightening. How much more terrifying it would be for this woman, knowing that the child she would bear would never know his father.
She could feel a thin trickle of perspiration crawling from her nape down her spine. The air was mild, but the bulky level-III vest with ceramic plates she wore beneath her ill-fitting oversize shirt increased her body temperature. Each time a camera flashed, she could see the agents beside her tense. But her attention remained on the unknown woman. She wondered how she planned to cope with the tragic events that had made her a single parent.
Odd, given her and Dace’s occupations, but she had never once considered the possibility of having to raise Sammy on her own. A cop couldn’t think about the risks on the job every day and still be effective. If she’d given it any thought at all, she had no doubt it would have terrified her enough that Dace would never have managed to persuade her to go through with the pregnancy.
She’d been alarmed enough over the situation as it was.
The podium mike gave a loud screech of feedback. Jolie jerked, nearly diving to the floor in response. Her heart jackhammered in her chest. With grim effort, she willed her pulse to quiet. Another officer’s name had been announced, Laeten’s. The couple making their way up the center aisle was slight. Frail. Laeten’s parents. Jolie seemed to recall hearing that the man had divorced years ago.
She’d lost track of time. How many names had been called? How many folded American flags handed to grieving relatives? Her gaze dropped to the table set up in front of the dais. Two flags left.
The perspiration was a pool at the base of her spine now. The body armor she wore weighed almost four pounds. The loose-fitting shirt she’d had to wear over it was unseasonably heavy. And the slight breeze stirring the leaves on the park’s trees wasn’t reaching the semi-enclosed stage.
The sound of a motor split the air. Jolie craned her neck to see a motorcycle speeding through the far end of the park. She looked at Dace. With only two entrances in and out of the area, how the heck had the rider gotten through the outer perimeter?
She wasn’t given an opportunity to examine the question. The federal agents nudged her to get her moving across the stage. With a start, Jolie realized the service was over. The entrance of the motorcycle, now nearly three-quarters of the way across the park, had drowned other sounds out.
Dawson was the first down the dais steps. Jolie followed, still distracted by the scene playing out across the park. Several plain-clothed officers were moving toward the motorcyclist. The driver revved the motor, increasing speed. Jolie had descended the first two steps when she felt a sting on her leg and looked down, stunned to see a large, jagged piece of wood distending from her pants leg.
“Get down! Get down!”
A heavy weight knocked her off her feet, and she tumbled down the remaining stairs. She heard screams. The sound of the motor, farther away this time. And the crack of a second shot.
Jolie hit the ground with enough force to drive the breath from her lungs. Someone—Dawson? Truman?—pinned her to the ground.
But the arm next to her face wasn’t clothed in a dark suit coat. It was enclosed in a blue shirtsleeve. It wasn’t an agent on top of her, it was Dace. And there was blood spattered on the fabric. A small pool forming on the ground next to her hand.
CHAPTER 12
“You’re an idiot.”
After the blunt pronouncement, Jolie stalked toward the apartment, her back rigid. Dace slammed the door of the armored car with his good arm, wincing a little as the effort pulled at his patched shoulder.
Dawson slid him a sidelong glance as they followed the steamed woman toward the front door. “Only fools ignore the advice of their doctors or lawyers.”
“I don’t like hospitals.” And Jolie, of all people, had no room to talk about following doctor’s orders. He’d been unwise enough to point th
at out, eliciting the earlier comment and a few others much less polite. “It’s a flesh wound. It won’t heal any faster if I lie in a hospital bed another twenty-four hours.”
Truman opened the door as they headed up the front steps. Jolie swept inside. She was as ticked as Dace had ever seen her, and he couldn’t quite figure why. Adrenaline letdown, maybe. They’d been hustled into the armored vehicle with such speed that it had been impossible to see what was going on with the shooter. They’d had to rely on updates from the agents, and the news hadn’t been good. The subject had gotten away on the back of the motorcycle that had provided the diversion. It had been found abandoned less than ten miles away.
The bastard always seemed to be one step ahead of them. If that was what had Jolie out of sorts, he could sympathize. He felt the same way.
“So what’s next?” Jolie was asking Truman as Dace walked in. “The memorial drew the shooter out, just the way Fenholt wanted. Does she have a fallback plan now that the subject managed to slip through the fingers of two departments?”
“Options are being discussed. We’re supposed to leave immediately for a debriefing downtown.”
Truman’s tone was terse. Dace could tell he didn’t like being reminded just how badly the Bureau had screwed up. Jesus. He shook his head in disbelief. The dirtbag managed to get an explosive on the site and park himself close enough to get a couple shots off. And then got clean away, which was really the pisser. If he was going to take a bullet, the least the feds could do was make the damn arrest.
He wondered if Fenholt was across town with the other feebies trying to figure out a way to blame this on the locals, which would be totally bogus. The Bureau had called the shots all the way. And maybe that was the problem.
Truman and Dawson stepped aside, discussing something in low tones. Dace’s attention, however, was on Jolie. She walked straight through the family room, heading for the stairs. He didn’t want to think about the ice-cold blade of fear that had stabbed through him when he’d heard that first shot. Seen how close it had come to her.