by Mary Stone
“No argument here,” Aiden muttered. He was a little relieved to know he wasn’t the only person who shared Dan’s view of Tyler Haldane. “Any other Navy related knowledge you’ve got for me right now? Can your firearm spidey sense tell you what kind of weapon it was?”
“Hey.” Dan held up both hands in feigned defensiveness. “Almost twenty years I’ve been doing this, all right? I haven’t seen very many people killed with a long-distance high caliber shot like this, and the ones I do recall are pretty memorable. Assassinations, I think that’s what we called them.”
Aiden chuckled. “Fair enough. That everything for now, then?”
“That’s all I’ve got, yeah.” Even as Dan nodded, Aiden could tell there was another question on the tip of his tongue.
“But?” he prodded.
Seconds ticked by as the ME clearly considered the wisdom of speaking up. Finally, he asked, “You mind if I ask you something? About that case you guys just wrapped up? You know, the one with the mad scientist brain surgeon who dumped her victims in fifty-five-gallon drums after she doused them with lye. That one?”
“Do you even know how to not be sarcastic?” Despite the feigned admonishment, Aiden could feel a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. In a basement room with a corpse that was virtually headless, he much preferred Dan’s off-color sarcasm to a grave tone and a deadpan expression.
“I don’t think so, no. That’s another thing you can thank the military for.”
“Right, the military. That’s who we’ll blame.” Aiden waved a hand like he was swatting away an invisible insect. “All right, the Schmidt case. What about it?”
“How’s Autumn Trent doing? I mean, after Nico Culetti tried to kill her.” There was a glint of concern in Dan’s dark eyes that Aiden hadn’t expected.
“She’s fine.” Aiden fought to keep the look of skepticism at bay. “Why? Do you know her?”
Dan ignored the question and scratched at his temple. “No witness protection?”
“No,” Aiden replied slowly, his curiosity growing. “She refused it. How do you know her, anyway?”
Dan shrugged. “She was in a class I taught at VCU Law School years back. I don’t teach there anymore, got enough shit to deal with after the promotion here. She was a good student, and I still hear from her now and then. She’s up for her Ph.D. in a few days, defending her dissertation.”
Though he was unconvinced of Dan’s dismissive explanation, Aiden nodded. “Yeah, she is. She’s friends with Noah Dalton and Winter.”
“All right, well, that’s good to hear. They’re good people.”
Aiden’s first inclination was to ask Dan what exactly drove his interest in Autumn Trent, but he bit back the query and merely nodded again. His curiosity would have to wait.
Right now, he had a vigilante sniper to find.
5
A month earlier, Sun Ming had finally been given the okay to forgo the sling she’d been ordered to wear while her shoulder healed. Though she had regained much of her arm’s former strength, her range of movement was still hindered by a sharp pain.
Whenever she raised her arm out to her side, the muscles and tendons felt like they might rip apart from the bone. Her physical therapist told her the sensation was normal, and while it would never entirely disappear, routine exercises could keep the discomfort at bay.
In truth, the therapist’s kindness and encouragement were some of her life’s only bright spots in the last six or so months. Well, that, and a certain someone she couldn’t yet name.
Because her life was mostly shit.
But she guessed it could have been worse.
Her twin brother, Lee, had traveled down from his home in Washington D.C. to visit her, but Lee had enough on his plate. His wife of eight years had filed for divorce only a day before Sun had been called to the Riverside Mall in Danville on that fateful day. He tried to be supportive, but Sun could tell how heartbroken he was, and she’d ended up trying to support him instead.
Sure, Sun had been shot, but the wound wasn’t fatal. It wasn’t even life-threatening.
From the time the bullet ripped through her shoulder to the point where she laid down on the operating room table, she had even been conscious and lucid for the entire experience. Physically, Sun was fine, or at least as fine as she could expect to be after such a near miss.
Mentally? Well, that was a different story.
She might not have been fine, but she didn’t think a few nightmares and a twinge of lingering anxiety superseded Lee’s divorce.
Sun had been hurt by the little mass murdering shit, Haldane, but the wound would heal. Lee, on the other hand, had his entire life ripped out from beneath him. The woman to whom he’d devoted all of his adult life had found someone new, had fallen out of love with her husband of nearly a decade.
No matter the sluggish progress of her healing, Sun figured she’d be ready to pitch at softball tournaments before her brother’s heartache healed. She knew what he was dealing with. She was familiar with the feelings of hopelessness, of worthlessness that accompanied the failure of a long-term relationship.
As she glanced to where Aiden Parrish sat at the other end of the briefing room, she thought she’d rather take another bullet than deal with that kind of emotional fallout again.
Before Aiden’s pale eyes flicked to her, she returned her attention to Max Osbourne and the podium at which he stood.
At Max’s side was a less familiar man, one whose name Sun couldn’t recall, although his tall build and expensive suit reminded her too much of Aiden Parrish. Though she’d seen this man around the building, she couldn’t remember his role within the bureau.
Max swept his steely gaze over the room before he nodded a greeting to the woman who had just stepped through the doorway.
Why all the strangers? Sun wondered, keeping her expression carefully neutral. What’s going on? Sun didn’t like being out of the loop. Not at all.
“Close that behind you,” Max barked.
The newcomer nodded and eased the glass and metal portal closed. Her lustrous chocolate brown hair and jade green eyes should have jogged Sun’s memory, but for the second time, she couldn’t remember a person’s name. This woman was new, though. Sun knew that much.
Apparently, the death of a malignant tumor like Tyler Haldane brought FBI agents out of the woodwork. When Sun pictured the smug little shit, the corner of her mouth twitched in the first hint of a scowl.
She remembered that day so clearly.
Sun had been pissed that she had been called away from the Douglas Kilroy case to work the hostage situation at the Riverside Mall. It had been her luck that she’d only been a few miles outside of Danville when the call came in, and even though she’d wanted to be the one to take The Preacher down, she’d found herself sitting behind a potted plant instead, waiting for her best shot at the murdering little bastards.
And you could bet your ass, she’d been the one to take the shot.
Though she’d landed what she’d hoped was a fatal shot at Kent Strickland, she’d wondered on more than one occasion if she should have aimed for Haldane instead. Maybe she would have gotten lucky, and Haldane would have died from the same wound Strickland had miraculously survived.
It still pissed her off and hurt her pride that the bastard survived. She was better than that.
Just as it pissed her off that some of the Richmond office’s best and brightest were gathered in a briefing room to put their various skill sets to use in the search for a person who had arguably done them all a favor by shooting Tyler Haldane.
How much money had the killer saved the federal government anyway? Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands? Millions?
“All right,” Max grumbled as he looked from one agent to the next. “Looks like that’s all of us.”
Judges had a gavel to begin their meetings, and Max had the phrase “looks like that’s everyone.” Sun couldn’t recall a briefing where the SAC had deviated from his u
sual opening line.
To her side was Miguel Vasquez, and at the table in front of them was Noah Dalton and Winter Black. Behind Sun and Miguel sat Bree Stafford and another agent from the Violent Crimes Division, though he worked the night shift and they didn’t often cross paths. The woman whose name eluded her had taken a seat at the same table as Aiden.
Other than the occasional all-hands meeting, Sun couldn’t recall the last time she’d been at a briefing with so many attendees.
“You might have seen Agent Levi Brandt around.” Max gestured to the tall man at his side. “He’s with the victim services division, and he’s here because there’s a good chance we’ll be talking to a lot of victims.”
“All this for Tyler Haldane,” Sun muttered to herself.
At least she thought she’d muttered it to herself.
“I’m aware, Agent Ming,” Max said, his voice as flat as his expression. Sun lifted her chin, accepting the reproach with as much grace as she could muster. “But sure, let’s start there. We’re all here on this lovely afternoon to discuss how to approach the investigation into the murder of a mass shooter. No one in here has any love for Tyler Haldane, but we’ve still got a job to do. This is going to be a media shitshow.”
“Hell, it already is a media shitshow,” Noah Dalton said, and it pissed Sun off a little more when the SAC only nodded. No death stare for the golden boy.
Max went on. “And, I hate to break it to you, but the only way to get them off our backs is to figure out who killed Haldane. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, and each of you will be responsible for covering some of it. But first, let’s get through what we already know. Stella Norcott is our new leading expert in ballistics.”
As he waved a hand to the woman with the dark hair and green eyes, she nodded. “Nice to meet you all,” she said, her green eyes flicking from person to person. “Guess I’ll get right to it then. Forensics found the bullet in the side of the psychiatric building where Haldane was shot. If the angle had been just a little more to the side, we probably wouldn’t have been able to recover it. But I guess we can save all our thanks for the awards ceremony once we wrap this thing up.”
The ballistic expert paused, clearly hoping for a few laughs. When she didn’t get any, she went on.
“Haldane was shot from a distance of almost a mile. My colleague, Ted, established that the shooter was on the sixth floor of an apartment building that’s currently being renovated. There wasn’t much physical evidence there, but the bullet was a good find.
“Haldane was killed by a .338 Lapua Magnum round, and after comparing the striations with what we have on file, I’m almost certain the weapon used was a Barrett Model 98 Bravo sniper rifle chambered for the .338 ammunition.”
Sun felt her eyes go wide for a split-second, but she forced an expression of nonchalance back to her face. Ever since high school, she and her brother had competed in marksman competitions, but only she carried on the hobby into adulthood.
Though the Barrett M98B was expensive and military grade, Virginia’s firearm restrictions were nil, and Sun had bought one of the rifles for herself years earlier.
“Barrett Model 98 Bravo rifles are primarily used in the military,” Stella went on, snapping Sun’s attention back to the room. “They’re used by snipers in the Army Rangers, to be more specific. There are some law enforcement agencies across the country that use them too. And even though it’s not as common as some other high-powered rifles, M98Bs are sometimes used for hunting big game.”
Stella was right. The M98B wasn’t a weapon typically handled by novices. It also wasn’t cheap, Sun knew.
“What can you tell us about that shot?” Max asked, his gray eyes fixed on the woman.
“It was a hell of a shot,” Stella replied with a shrug. “The wind was moving that night, not much, but at that distance, you’d have to be an expert to contend with it.”
“Expert is right. It’s not a shot you just wake up one day and make,” Sun put in, then wished she’d stayed silent when all eyes turned on her.
Stella nodded her agreement.
“You have to be really familiar with the weapon you’re using. Familiar with the bullet’s velocity, with the drop, with everything. And when you throw in even a light breeze, you’re seriously impacting all of that.” Sun absentmindedly reached to rub her shoulder. “The caliber makes a big difference too. The fact that the shooter was using a .338 Lapua Magnum means they were going for accuracy.”
“That’s what Dan Nguyen said too.” Aiden’s eyes shifted from Stella to Max, but he didn’t pause to regard Sun.
“The medical examiner?” Sun didn’t hide the skepticism from her query. “How would he know that?”
“Dan Nguyen was Navy Intelligence for six years,” Max answered before Aiden could respond.
The tenured SAC had a rough idea of her and Aiden’s past, and his gravelly tone told her he wasn’t in a mood to deal with a squabble between the two of them.
Sun bit off a sarcastic comment and nodded her understanding instead. “I didn’t know that,” she said, although it goaded her to no end to admit it.
Max stared at her. “Let’s move this along.”
“Right,” Stella agreed. “Well, the striations on the bullet recovered from the scene match the marks from another .338 Lapua Magnum bullet in a different case.”
With a click, Max brought the overhead projector to life.
On the whiteboard to his back was a DMV photo of a middle-aged man with a close-cropped salt and pepper beard. His mouth was set in a straight line, and his blue eyes seemed about as enthusiastic as someone at the DMV ought to be.
“Mitch Stockley,” Max advised. “Killed about six months ago a little ways outside Norfolk. Ironically, he was out target shooting when he was shot in the head. Same shot that took out Haldane.” The SAC paused to tap between his eyes. “Right here.”
“It’s a precise shot,” Aiden added. “That’s another thing I got from Dan Nguyen. It’s the same shot they train military and law enforcement snipers to make. It takes out the brainstem, so there’s not so much as a twitch when the person dies. Keeps them from pulling a trigger or a detonation switch, anything like that.”
“I’d have someone ask the BAU what that meant, but it looks like we’re in luck.”
Sun didn’t miss the dry sarcasm in Max’s offhand comment. Apparently, the tenured SAC was about as thrilled to spend his time investigating the death of a mass murderer as Sun was.
“You are,” was Aiden’s flat response. “It means that whoever we’re looking for very likely has experience in either the military or law enforcement. Based on the fact that they took the shell casing with them, I’d say they’ve got some familiarity with forensic investigations. They probably wanted the bullet to go a little bit off to the side so we wouldn’t find it as well.”
“What about the second victim, Mitch Stockley?” Winter asked, her dark blue eyes shifting from Aiden to Max and then back. “What do we know about his murder?”
Sun grated her teeth together at the sound of the woman’s voice.
She knew there was more between Winter and Aiden than just a professional familiarity, and despite the two and a half years since Sun and Aiden’s split, their bond left a bad taste in her mouth.
Winter had already captured the attention of Noah Dalton. What in the hell did she have over Aiden too? And why? Biting back a groan, Sun crossed both arms over her chest.
“Not a lot,” Max replied. “Local LEOs handled it at the time. They didn’t realize they were dealing with a precision sniper. I think they chalked it up to a hunting accident or something. But same as this one, there wasn’t a shell casing. No trace evidence, just a bullet in the trunk of a tree.
“Agent Ming, Agent Vasquez.” Max turned his intent stare to her. “You’re looking into Stockley. The sheriff’s department outside Norfolk already sent everything they’ve got over, and they’ll be here to drop off the physical evidence in an hour o
r so. You can talk to them when they get here. Find out if Stockley has anything in common with Haldane. Maybe he’s a distant relative, or maybe we’re dealing with an expensive hitman, and they’ve never even met.”
Straightening in her chair, Sun nodded.
“Agent Dalton, Agent Black, you’re going to the hospital to talk to Kent Strickland. He’s been under armed surveillance ever since Haldane got shot. Ask him if they’ve got any co-conspirators that might be trying to tie up a loose end, someone who might’ve been worried that Haldane would talk.”
Even if he was irritable about devoting his unit’s time to Tyler Haldane, Max’s laser focus had returned.
“Agent Brandt,” the SAC went on. “You and Agent Stafford talk to the victims of the Riverside shooting. Agent Weyrick, thanks again for coming in on such short notice. I know this is something like three in the morning for you, so once you’re in later tonight, I’ll have you following up on what Agent Stafford and Brandt found.”
“Copy that,” Brandt replied.
“All right, everyone. That’s it. I already sent you all everything we’ve got so far. Let’s figure out who in the hell shot Haldane so we can get the media off our doorstep.”
6
During her brief tenure with the FBI, Winter had come face-to-face with a handful of cold-blooded killers—Scott Kennedy, Heidi Presley, Catherine Schmidt, and of course, Douglas Kilroy. But as she and Noah stepped into a pristine hospital room to flash their badges at a man in a tailored suit, she realized Strickland was the first mass shooter she’d encountered.
As much as she hoped he’d be the last, she knew how naïve the thought was.
A mass shooting was any event where more than four people were shot. The bureau only handled the worst of them: those involving a sniper, a high body count, or military grade weaponry. Thanks to Tyler Haldane, she could officially check off all three requirements in just one case. Maybe she would update her resume when she got home that night, she thought bitterly.