Shadow Fall (Tracers Series Book 9) (19 page)

He gritted his teeth and looked away. “The guy’s an asshole.”

“I know. We interviewed him.”

He looked at her.

“Were you in love with her?”

He wasn’t surprised by the question, not from Tara, who didn’t shy away from anything. But he was surprised at himself for not answering right away.

“I admired the hell out of her,” he said. “She came from nothing, pulled herself up. Made a business and a life for herself.” He glanced around the woods. He’d walked with Catie in this very place, a fact that clawed at him day and night. “She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. Didn’t back down from anything. She was a scrapper.”

“She fought, you know.”

He looked at her.

“She had a broken hand, broken wrist.”

Liam clenched his teeth.

“Sorry.” She turned away. “I just thought you’d want to know.”

“I do.”

They started walking again and reached the hiking trail. After a few minutes they neared the wooden mile marker that was investigators’ best guess of the abduction site based on the droplets of blood that had been found there by a canine unit. They stopped at the marker, and Tara glanced around. Her gaze settled on him, and for a moment they stood staring at each other, Tara trying not to shiver and clutching her elbows with those fuzzy red gloves that made her look like a kid.

“Thanks for telling me about Catie,” she said.

“You’re up to your neck in this thing. You need to know who she was.”

T
hey were silent on the drive back, and Tara stared out the window at the forest. Did she have it all now, the entire story? Or was he still leaving something out? She might never know, but at least she knew more about it than she had when she’d rolled out of bed this morning.

She looked at Liam. He seemed pensive now, and she was surprised he’d shared so much about Catalina. She could tell it went against his instinct to guard his clients—not only their lives but their privacy. It seemed fundamental to who he was, a protector. He hadn’t even been Catalina’s bodyguard anymore, and still his failure to keep her safe from harm seemed to haunt him.

Tara watched him. He’d trusted her with sensitive information. He’d trusted
her
, and she felt the weight of it.

“So, what was her thing?” Tara asked. “Come home from the office to find her husband’s ‘working late’ again and then get blitzed?”

He slid a look at her.

“I’m not judging. It’s just something I’d like to know.”

“That was it, basically,” he said. “She couldn’t exactly go bar-hopping.” Because she was a public figure, he meant. She had to keep up appearances.

“You know, if she was having an affair, I need to know his name.”

Liam looked like he’d been expecting the question. “Jeff Timmons,” he said.

“Her business partner.”

“Silent partner. He was an investor only. Catie ran everything.”

“So, if they had a relationship, I assume you checked him out. What do you think of him?”

“Not much.”

“But you don’t think he’s a suspect?”

“You should look into it.” He glanced at her. “I’m sure you will. But in my opinion it’s a dead end. They broke things off before the election, and anyway he doesn’t fit the profile.”

“Why not?”

“He’s late fifties, out of shape. From a physical standpoint I don’t think he’s capable. And then there’s motive. If the other murders end up being related, I’m not seeing it.”

Tara gazed out the window, thinking about it. She would definitely follow up, even though Liam’s logic seemed solid.

She watched the endless wall of pines whisk by and thought of Catalina alone on that wooded trail. She’d probably been out there seeking refuge from the turmoil in her life. She’d probably been focused inward, then suddenly jarred alert at the moment of ambush.

Had she felt the blade? Or been unconscious by that time?

Tara harbored a fear of knives. So much slower than a bullet and likely a more painful death. Plus the terror of
knowing.
Of seeing the blade and realizing what was coming.

As weapons went, she much preferred firearms. Many of the SWAT guys she worked with were gun freaks, and she understood the appeal. Throughout her training she’d learned to confront people with a variety of weapons—guns, Tasers, batons. She’d learned hand-to-hand tactics, too, which had been the highlight. Long ago she’d made a conscious choice not to be helpless, not ever again.

Liam slowed as they neared the sign for Big Pines, and she felt a flicker of regret. His truck was warm and cozy, and now she faced a two-hour road trip with only a temperamental heater and her morose thoughts for company. She preferred Liam’s company. Not just preferred—she was starting to crave it.

A troubling sign.

“How are your ribs feeling?”

She glanced across the console. “Okay. Bruised, not broken.”

“You sore?”

“I’ve had worse.”

He pulled up behind her Explorer and shoved it into park. He turned to look at her. “The guy you want to talk to at the Delphi Center is Travis Cullen,” he said. “He’s the best.”

“How would you know?”

“I know some people over there. Travis is a good guy, former Marine. Don’t let them pass you off to some lab rat.” His gaze lingered on the pistol at her hip. “And be careful today.”

The protective tone of his voice unsettled her. “I’m always careful.”

“I’ll be in Houston tonight, the downtown Marriott. Call me if anything comes up. If you need anything here, call Jeremy.”

“Look, I appreciate your concern. Really. But I can look out for myself.”

He reached out and traced his thumb over the bruise on her jaw, and to her dismay she felt that warm tingle.

“I’m serious, Liam.”

He kissed her. It was gentle and warm but over much too soon.

His hand dropped away. “I know you are.”

JEREMY MET HIM
on the east edge of the tract owned by Corrine Timber. Liam had parked on a ridge, not a high elevation but the highest in the area.

Jeremy slid from his pickup.

“You bring the .300?” Liam asked.

“Yep.”

Jeremy took the case from the back of the cab and set it down on the driver’s seat. He flipped the latches and pulled out the rifle, which was outfitted with a state-of-the-art 4-12x40mm variable scope.

“This way,” Liam said, and they hiked to the top of the ridge, following a path made by deer and coyotes, judging from the droppings. They trekked in silence a few minutes.

“How’d it go with Tara?” Jeremy asked in an uncharacteristic burst of conversation.

“’Bout how I expected. She’s stubborn.”

Jeremy grunted his agreement as Liam led him along the ridge.

Liam should stay away, he knew it. But he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He liked her determined eyes and her defiant attitude and her lush mouth. She’d become a yearning, a distraction. And in his line of work distractions were never good. They could be fatal.

They walked in silence. Liam kept his pace even as they approached the site to see if Jeremy would spot it on his own. His friend seemed to sense when they neared the place. He slowed, then stopped and did a 180-degree scan of the area. When he spied Liam’s find, he gave a low whistle.

“That’s it.” He met Liam’s gaze and handed over the gun.

Liam approached the spot, careful not to mar any tracks, although he hadn’t seen any. He hadn’t seen much of anything, in fact, except a man-shaped patch of flattened grass and two small indentations in the dirt about half a meter apart.

Jeremy crouched down. As a Marine sharpshooter, he knew exactly what he was looking at. He pointed to a patch of bald soil where two small circles had been made by the feet of a bipod.

“He set up here, facing southeast.” He glanced around, looking for the same things Liam had—cigarette butts, food wrappers, dried puddles of chewing tobacco. Sniper work was a waiting game, and guys liked to pass the time. But this one had more discipline than most, from the looks of it. Or he’d cleaned up after himself.

Jeremy stood up and stepped away from the nest. Liam stretched out prone, digging the toes of his boots into the same indentations the shooter had used. He snugged the stock into his shoulder and peered through the scope.

The firebreak formed a perfect treeless tunnel, and Liam quickly found the gate where only a few hours ago Tara had been poking around in the dark. In broad daylight, with some of the most advanced optics on the planet, the view was clear and crisp—even sharper than reality.

It was a straight two-hundred-yard shot, one any sharpshooter could make in his sleep, even in the dark, provided he had a decent night scope.

The setup offended Liam on the most basic level—a trained operator taking aim at an unsuspecting woman from a concealed position. That it had happened only a few miles from Liam’s homestead compounded things.

“What’s that, one-eighty?” Jeremy asked, looking out over the landscape from his higher-than-average vantage point.

“Two hundred, I’d say.” Liam zeroed in on the fence post and the tree trunk where he and Ingram had collected the slugs.

One shot, one kill. A sniper’s motto.

Tara was alive right now because the shooter had decided it was more entertaining to spook her than to put a bullet through her head.

Jeremy dropped into a kneeling position. Liam handed the gun over, and with smooth efficiency Jeremy lifted it to his shoulder and aimed it over his knee. The trajectory was ninety degrees south of the shot aimed at Tara.

“Shit, you won’t believe this.”

Liam would believe it. He’d already put it together when he’d come out here earlier this morning. From this location, the shooter had a view of not only the gate accessing the firebreak but also the public road accessing Corrine Timber, the road that yesterday had been congested with law-enforcement vehicles converging on the scene where two bodies had been dumped.

“I saw it,” Liam said. “Looks like he’s fixated on the investigation. He was keeping an eye on things.”

They stood up and glanced around, looking for any evidence they’d missed that might provide a clue. Their guy had spent some time here, that was clear. Had he spent the night?

Liam walked into the nearby woods and searched the ground. It sloped down abruptly, and the trees grew thicker. He’d been over this area earlier.

“Look here,” Jeremy said. “Cooking fire.”

Liam spotted the charred patch of dirt. He walked over and knelt beside it. He took out his pocketknife and poked through the ashes but didn’t luck into any helpful debris.

“You tell the sheriff about the sniper hide?” Jeremy asked.

“What good would it do?”

Jeremy didn’t respond.

“We’ll run it ourselves.” Liam stood. “I want a two-camera setup, minimum, motion-sensitive to preserve battery life. And I need it fast. Jim Willet arrives in Houston in three hours.”

Jeremy propped the rifle on his shoulder and gazed into the woods. “What are the odds he’ll come back?”

“Long,” Liam said. “But it’s worth a shot.”

T
he Delphi Center lobby offered a view of the rolling Texas countryside, including a cluster of oak trees that attracted carrion birds. The giant buzzards swooped down from the sky and disappeared into the foliage, probably checking out the lab’s latest science experiment.

Tara glanced around the lobby. No sign of Kelsey Quinn or the tool-marks expert who was supposed to meet her here. She tried to make eye contact with the receptionist, but the woman was on the phone, determinedly ignoring the visitor who’d been cooling her heels in the lobby for twenty minutes now.

Tara looked outside and tried to focus her mind on the case. It might have been delayed shock or fatigue, but her brain kept seizing on the events of last night.

She replayed the sounds, the smells, the icy panic she’d felt as she inched her way up the hillside, followed by the hot bolt of fear as she’d thrown her car into gear and sped blindly through the woods.