The Last Execution (2 page)

“We’re over here.” He led her to their cubicle, stepped back to let her check out the arrangement. Low walls separated teams of two and offered little privacy. Okay, admittedly, her sitting directly across from him wasn’t a hardship, but in their line of work, skills trumped looks.

“It’s awesome.” Leigh stroked her hand over the leather chair. “I’m not gonna be a delegated information carrier?”

“Nope. There’s no grunt work around here. We Feds are easy to get along with.”

She gave him a blank stare with one eyebrow hiked upward. Obviously, she’d heard rumors to the contrary.

Romeo bounded over like a playful puppy, his charm locked on Leigh. J.T. stifled the urge to tell the kid to wipe the slobber off his chin. Maybe twenty-five, Romeo’s dark hair and eyes were apparently appealing. He attracted women wherever they went.

“Leigh, Olivia and I are stopping by the Oak Barrel for a drink around six tonight. It’s one block over on Industrial. Come by and knock back a beer with us.”

“I’d love to.”

J.T.’s stomach curled into a ball when she tilted her head toward him.
Get this over with. Answer the question before she asks.

“He’s too good for us.” Romeo cocked his eyebrow.

J.T. nodded, thankful an answer had been provided without him having to decline. Some things he kept to himself.

“It’s the lab and lunch. Leigh, you choose where we go first.” He ended the chat session.

“I know the perfect place,” she announced.

J.T. headed for the elevator. Best to leave before questions were asked. Questions he wasn’t going to answer.

****

Wednesday, April 21, 1:15 p.m.

Leigh checked the time and then signed in with the desk clerk at the crime lab. She stepped aside for J.T. to do the same.

“This way.” She escorted him through the cold, white-walled lobby and down the hallway.

He drew more than a modicum of attention from the two female clerks they passed. Leigh hoped they stared because he was handsome and not at the thin jagged scar starting at the outer corner of his right eye, curving down his cheek to his chin.

He carried himself proudly, ignoring both women. His crisp white shirt and black slacks molded to his tall muscular frame silently shouted dignity and confidence. Regardless of how brave he acted, she knew the stares had to hurt. Leigh ached for him.

“We should’ve eaten first,” he said.

He furrowed his black eyebrows over hunter green eyes a lot. A deliberate tactic or was he naturally unhappy?

“Sorry. The wait will be worth it. I want you to meet somebody.” She led him into a small break room and over to an empty table. “Sit. I’m pouring.”

“I know of a much nicer coffee shop.” He accepted the paper cup with a slight nod when she returned.

“At least we didn’t stop by the morgue first.” She couldn’t resist taking a jab at him. If he had a squeamish tummy, he’d make good fodder for a story when she returned to CID. “When we do, I’ll make sure you’re not exposed to any unpleasant odors.”

He choked on his coffee. The left side of his mouth lifted. “Don’t worry about me. Nothing turns my stomach.”

Leigh sucked in a breath. Oh boy, he gave her a half-smile, which so far today was a first, and a dimple winked in his left cheek. That simple movement transformed his granite face to heart-stopping handsome.
Geesh. What difference does it make how he looks?

“How long have you been with the Bureau?”

“In Atlanta, a few months. Overall, nearly five years.”

“I figured you more for a career man.”

“Marines first and then Quantico.” His thumb rubbed up and down the scar.

In a flash, he dropped his hand and glanced away. Leigh’s gut clenched. His injury had completely healed. Was it a constant reminder of war or a knife fight with some criminal? She wouldn’t ask. Questions about some wounds were better left alone. Her dad still refused to discuss Vietnam.

“When do I meet this person?”

“Right now. He’s walking through the door.” She stood and breathed out a sigh of relief. “Smartest guy in this department.” Leigh waved Willem to their table. “Doctor Heintz is in charge of the lab and is a ballistics expert. Willem, this is Special Agent J.T. Noble. He’s working the sniper case.”

“J.T.” He stood and shook the smaller man’s hand.

“Willem.” Wearing jeans and a white lab coat, he straightened his wire-rimmed glasses and locked his gaze on Leigh. “How’d the Feds get involved?”

A nerve in Willem’s jaw twitched, a sure sign he was pissed. Leigh sensed he hadn’t heard about the taskforce and didn’t like the idea his ballistics lab might be bypassed.

“I should’ve called ahead.” She jumped in to explain, pushing down a twinge of guilt for blindsiding her old friend. “The Chief asked the FBI to take the lead on the sniper killings.”

“You’re going to want the evidence transferred, Agent Noble?”

“It’s too soon to say. I’m more interested in what you’ve learned.”

She sat when J.T. indicated with a wave of his hand that she and Willem should join him. Her new partner didn’t take notes, yet the concentration on his face and hard set of his jaw made her think he would remember every word Willem spoke.

“You’ve compared the bullets?” J.T. questioned.

“Yes. From what I saw, the slug that killed Officer Slocum is the same as the other two. The impact into the brick building made positive identification on a particular rifle impossible. You want to see for yourself?”

“Not if it’s that damaged. I may want Quantico to take a look, get their take,” J.T. answered.

“Let me know, and I’ll handle the transfer myself,” Willem said on a sigh. “We’re proud of our equipment; however, yours may be newer. No doubt your budget is looser than ours.”

“Contact me with any new information.” J.T. fished a card from his wallet, handing it to Willem.

They said their goodbyes, and she led her temporary partner to the exit. He fell into step with her as they made their way to his car. He didn’t talk much. Silent and nice-looking made a powerful combination.

He slid behind the wheel of the standard issue, dark sedan. “Let’s get a burger before we talk to Officer Slocum’s wife.”

“Works for me.” Leigh had schooled herself not to react to men, professionally or personally. They were simply off limits. There wasn’t anything wrong with them. They simply didn’t fit into her schedule. Every free minute she stole from the job was one hundred percent Ethan’s. He was her priority. Her
only
priority. Yet, something about J.T. intrigued her.

****

Wednesday, April 21, 3:30 p.m.

The Slocums’ house in Smyrna made Leigh long to own a place with more outside space. Her home had a stamp-sized backyard with a swing set. This neighborhood had half-acre lots. Ethan would go wild, running and playing at full speed. Scattered toys and tricycles reminded her how desperately he wanted a big-boy bike.

She and J.T. stepped out onto the well-groomed lawn.

“You go ahead. I’ll catch up.” Leigh paused at the curb and turned her back to afford herself privacy. She punched speed dial and had her mom on the line in seconds. Her mother’s encouragement to spend a few hours after work today with new friends didn’t ease the guilt tugging at her heart.

When she turned, J.T. stood three feet away, leaning against the hood. He hadn’t gone ahead like she’d asked. Dammit. She should’ve noticed. How much had he heard?

“You ready?” His right hand swept in an arch toward the sidewalk.

“I don’t discuss my personal life at work.” She pulled a calming breath into her lungs.

“Exactly how was I too
‘personal’?” He scowled at her as if she’d grown a second head and then marched up the sidewalk without waiting for an answer.

Well hell, he’d spoken his longest sentence of the day. And all she’d done was piss him off. Or had she? Hard to tell with him.

She didn’t discuss her family with anyone, especially a stranger. Over the years, through transfers, promotions, and attrition, the number of cops in her division privy to the details around the birth of her son had dwindled, making it easier to keep her private life...well, private.

She kept those facts stored away in her mind, locked in a dark place—a dark as midnight place, where memories only surfaced through nightmares.

A cold hand gripped her heart and squeezed. She shivered under the warm sunshine. The nightmare wasn’t a bad dream anymore; he’d come home from prison. Her nightmare walked the streets of Atlanta. Did her nightmare want revenge?

****

Wednesday, April 21, 6:30 p.m.

Leigh squared her shoulders, put a smile on her face, and stepped inside her parents’ real estate agency. A small yellow ball greeted her. She faded right, and it whizzed past, missing her head by inches.

“Hey, watch it,” she admonished the blond-haired, six-year-old bundle of energy.

“Mom,” he squealed. Dropping his toy, he ran to her.

Leigh caught Ethan in midair, shifting him away from the badge and gun on her hip. She nuzzled his warm neck until he shrieked with delight. His laughter wiped images of death and crime from her mind. Temporarily.

“You don’t look sick to me. Maybe you should’ve gone to school this morning.”

“I like staying with Papa.” Ethan wiggled from her arms, grabbed the plastic golf club, and waved it through the air.

“He hasn’t run a fever today. I’d say he’s well.” Her dad’s blue eyes sparkled. His hair, the same shade as hers and Ethan’s, was in its constant state of disarray.

She glanced around the room. “Where’s Mom?”

“Grocery store. I thought you were going to be late.”

“Look.” Ethan’s angelic face scrunched into a frown when he swatted the practice ball, and it skittered across the floor. “These are no fun.”

“You’ll think
fun
if you break one of Mimi’s lamps.” Leigh ruffled his curly mop and sighed as he raced off in search of the ball. “I am, just needed a kiss from my guys.”

“How’d the day with the Feds go?” Her dad touched her arm, leading her out of Ethan’s earshot.

“Better than I expected.”

His gaze darted toward Ethan. His posture shifted, leaning closer to Leigh. “You’re still part of the hunt?”

“Yes. And assigned to work with one of their top agents.” She understood the FBI had trained experts to handle serial killers. Still, she’d let down the families of three dead men and that hurt.

“That’s not all. Carrington’s release is keeping you up nights.” The lines around her dad’s mouth deepened. “No use denying it. I see the dark circles under your eyes.” The mere mention of Jason Carrington altered her father’s personality.

“Yeah. I felt a lot safer with him behind bars.” She glanced at her innocent son. Love, fear, and uncertainty flooded her heart. She’d tell Ethan the truth about his birth father someday. Please God, not until he was a lot older.

“Have you heard from that SOB?”

“Nothing except the few hang-ups on my cell and home phone.” Leigh’s stomach rolled. “Has to be him.”

“How did he get your numbers?”

“If you’ve got enough money, there are ways.”

“You had the calls traced?”

“Tried to. He’s using one of those throwaway phones. If I could prove the calls were from Jason, I’d get a restraining order.” She glanced toward the door. “Maybe I’ll blow off tonight. Stay home with Ethan.”

“Go. You don’t get out enough.” Her father patted her back as if she were the child in the room. “Your new friends are waiting.”

His jaw was set, bringing a smile to her face. As usual, he was right. She stepped into his arms. The familiar scent of Old Spice cologne gave her spirit a boost. She closed her eyes and prayed she was wrong about Jason. The trauma of having to dredge up and relive the rape would be painful, but she’d protect Ethan no matter the cost.

“I won’t be too late.”

“No worries. I’m showing a house this afternoon. Afterward, your mom and I will close up shop. Pick up Ethan at the house anytime.”

“Thanks.” She knelt down on one knee. “Come give me a kiss. Mom’s going to hang out with the men in black.”

Chapter Two

Thursday, April 22, 7:00 a.m.

Doyle sat at his kitchen table staring at the personal advertisement section in the Atlanta Constitution. He’d paid through the month for the ad. Not expensive, still, the one line “Preston from New York needs help” drained his income. Surely, somebody from the old organization would surface soon. He’d been instructed to flee to Atlanta and wait for someone to contact him. Therefore, he waited.

He drifted like a ship without a rudder. He missed his wife’s steady logic and warm body next to his. Her soothing touch and calming voice chased away the bad dreams. She was one of the reasons he’d become a member of the Final Justice Unit in New York. She’d asked him to exact justice for their daughter. A justice he’d personally administered.

Where was his support? He’d given up everything to join the underground movement. When the FBI discovered their home base, he’d been forced to run.

He refused to give in to the panic gnawing at him. This bout with nerves would pass. He’d live up to his commitment to help the abused. Wait to be contacted. He prayed not to be the only one who’d escaped.