Cold Shot (10 page)

The ranger was good. Clearly there was more to him than met the eye. Only someone with a similar skill set could have caught sight of him. He placed the Dragunov in his case—cleaned and ready for next time. And there would be a next time. But first it was time to find out exactly whom he was dealing with.

12

D
o you think he followed you there?” Parker asked, taking a bite of kung pao chicken.

“But how could he know we’d be there?” Finley asked, pinching her lo mein noodles with her chopsticks. “Unless he was one of the men we spoke to.”

“I doubt it’s that easy,” Griffin said, popping a steamed dumpling in his mouth. Stranger things had happened, but finding Jane Doe’s killer at the first shooting range they’d visited seemed far too easy. And he couldn’t ignore the feeling that the man had been stalking them ever since they’d uncovered Jane Doe’s body.

“Another possibility exists,” Parker said. “Someone you talked to could have let him know that you were poking around, asking questions.”

“Which would mean one of the men we spoke with knows the killer,” Finley said.

“Make a list of everyone you spoke with.” Declan pulled a small pad and pen from his shirt pocket and tossed it to Griffin.

“Most only go by their first name or a nickname.”

“Yeah,” Finley said, dabbing the soy sauce from her bottom lip.

Such a full, soft lip that he’d love to . . . Griffin straightened.
Get your head in the game.
They were dealing with a killer and he was entranced with Finley. He needed to focus.

“We spoke with a gentleman named Gator today,” she said, a smile rounding her lips.

Griffin laughed. “Don’t think Gator could ever be accused of such.”

Finley smirked. “Well, he was a gentleman with me.”

Griffin shook his head. “They all were. You should have seen them. Some serious roughnecks, a former sniper, even a former Navy Seal. All polite and flirtatious as could be.”

“They didn’t
flirt
with me.” She pointed her chopsticks in his direction. “They were too scared with you around.”

Parker chuckled. “Jealous sort, are we, Griff?”

He gave Parker a warning glare.

Parker took the hint and slouched back in his chair, kicking his booted feet up on the empty chair opposite him with a playful grin.

“I just meant they clearly respected your presence,” Finley said, pushing her chopsticks around in her container. She looked up, her heartfelt gaze locking on him. “So did I.”

He swallowed, warmth flooding him. How did she do that with a simple smile? Because her smile was anything but ordinary.

Parker and Declan exchanged bemused glances, but were wise enough to let it drop. The time for silly ribbing had ceased years
ago. They were grown men. Though he doubted it’d be that easy. They’d mouth off again. They were just considerate enough to wait until they were out of Finley’s presence. Besides, as good as he felt in Finley’s presence and at the thought of spending more time with her, he still couldn’t go there. Listening to his instincts was dangerous, and even more importantly, he wasn’t where he needed to be spiritually to be in a relationship.

God called husbands to love their wives like the church—that he believed he could do—but he couldn’t lead his wife while still struggling with his own demons. Until he conquered them, he couldn’t move forward. And he certainly wasn’t into casual dating, and most definitely not with an amazing woman like Finley Scott. If he pursued her, it’d be with passion and purpose.

“What about your friend Gunny?” Declan asked.

“He tried his best to be charming with Finley at least until we started asking the hard questions.” All he’d had to say was
Dragunov
and the man’s demeanor shifted. Did Gunny know more than he was saying?

“He probably knows the real names, last names, of the men you spoke with.”

“Maybe, but no guarantees. You’d be surprised at the level of anonymity most of these guys manage to keep—pay cash, stick to basic topics—guns, ammo, politics—but I’ll ask Gunny tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Avery lurched forward in her chair. “You’re going
back
?”

“We need to speak with Vern Michaels,” Finley said.

Parker shifted. “You’re going back too?”

Finley nodded.

He dipped his head in Griffin’s direction. “You think that wise?”

Griffin opened his mouth to respond, but Finley cut in before he could get a word out. “I’m going.”

He exhaled. As much as he didn’t want her out of his sight, perhaps she would be safer at the lab. “It might not—”

“Stop right there. I’m going. Either with you or on my own.”

Parker’s lips twitched with admiration. “Looks like she’s not giving you a choice.”

Griffin smiled. “Guess not.” And it didn’t surprise him in the least. The woman was the definition of determination. He shifted his gaze to Declan. “Any luck on identifying our Jane Doe?”

Declan wiped his mouth and set his empty plate aside. “I quickly expanded our missing persons search, as no Jane Does matched locally.” He stood, moving to the whiteboard they’d pulled into the lounge.

Parker lifted his chin. “And?”

“And I’ve found four possibilities by extending our reach regionally.” He pulled out four missing-person flyers and stepped to the whiteboard, pinning them up with thumbtack-size magnets.

Four images of beautiful women, all in their twenties and thirties, all blond, and all missing. Just the sight of them hit Griffin hard in the gut. He kept his gaze fixed fast on the board, careful not to look at Parker.

“First victim is Jennifer Beckham,” Declan began. “She’s from Chevy Chase. Age twenty-five. Reported missing March sixth by her roommate when she didn’t show up for a birthday party. No significant leads reported. Second victim is Karen Miller. Age thirty-five, reported missing February twenty-third by her friend after receiving no word from her for three days. There was a history of domestic violence in the home, but no
evidence to hold the husband on. Third victim is Marley Trent. Reported missing on March ninth by a co-worker when she didn’t show up to work. No open leads. And last—”

“Wait,” Finley interrupted, standing.

Declan arched a brow. “Yes?”

“Is that Marley Trent, as in social justice lawyer Marley Trent?”

Declan glanced back over the information he had. Just the bare essentials. “It says she was a lawyer. Why? Did you know her?”

“Not personally, but definitely by reputation. She’s one of Towson University’s star alums. She finished her undergrad degree there—well, one of them—but it was before I started on staff. The woman is a legend.”

“Why’s that?”

“She fights for those who can’t fight for themselves.”

Griffin smiled at her. “Sounds like someone I know.”

She smiled back. “I’d like to think we share or shared a purpose in our work. Both fighting injustice, just in different areas. She was a remarkable woman. I hate to think it’s her, but it would be nice to finally know what happened.”

“It could be her,” Declan said. “But there are four possibilities.”

“Right.” Finley smoothed her shirt and retook her seat. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“No problem at all. If it is Marley Trent, you may be a great asset to us, knowing what you do about the woman. Now . . . where were we . . .” Declan’s eyes tracked over the information he had about the woman on the final flyer. “Alexandra Samson. From Westminster. Age thirty-one. Reported missing by her parents March third when they arrived for a visit and found her
home broken into and no sign of Alex. She lived alone, and it appears she may have been missing for a couple days before her folks arrived. Detectives on the case looked pretty deeply into a male neighbor but couldn’t make anything stick.”

“So they are all cold cases?” Griffin loathed the term. They all did.

Declan looked down. “I’m afraid so.”

“What’s the next step?” Finley asked.

“We check into getting more information about the women—to see if anything matches up with the hat and ring we found on our Jane Doe. I also pulled dentals on all the missing women.” Declan grabbed the oversized manila envelopes and handed them to Finley.

“Great. I’ll have Dr. Kent do the comparisons,” she said. “He’s the best odontologist on the east coast. I’ll run these up to his office. Sometimes he works late—actually prefers to, I think. I’ll also pop in on Shirley. She’s the forensic artist I called in. Let me check on her progress. It’s possible we may have a rendering of our victim’s face tonight.”

Declan looked to Parker as Finley ducked out of the room. “What about you? Any progress on your end?”

“Yes.” He retrieved a file from the counter, and Avery joined him at the whiteboard, pinning up magnified shots of the trace evidence in question. “Avery spent today combing back over all the shots I took. The first particulates we found definitely were glass. Glass specifically manufactured for cars. GMC vehicles to be precise, but this particular glass was used only from 2005–2008, which narrows things down significantly.” He shifted to the next photo. “The second particulate we removed from our victim’s baseball hat and Dr. Scott removed from her skull is a plastic used in camera flashes.”

“Camera flashes?” Declan asked.

“That’s correct. I’m narrowing it down as quickly as I can to locate which particular brands and models it’s used in. I should have a manageable list for you in the next twenty-four hours.”

“Okay.” Griffin sat, hunching forward, resting his hands on his thighs. “Are you saying our victim was shot through a car window
and
a camera flash?”

Parker nodded. “That’s what the evidence shows.”

Griffin exhaled.

“What?”

“Our sniper is a superior shot. Fifteen hundred meters is select enough, maybe a hundred guys in the world, but through two barriers . . .” He shook his head with a whistle. “We’re dealing with an extraordinarily skilled sniper.”

Which made the fact he’d had Finley and him in his crosshairs a whole new level of deadly. He looked to Finley as she reentered the room and swallowed. Sticking to her like glue didn’t come close. She’d better get ready, because if they didn’t ID the vic tonight, he’d be bunking on her couch. Yeah, it might be overkill, but better to be overly cautious than risk anything happening to her.

13

D
r. Scott,” Declan said, using formal names, as he did when he was getting serious. He recapped what Parker had shared while she was out of the room, and then asked, “Is that concurrent with your findings?”

“Yes. Fragments of glass and what we now know are shards of camera flash were embedded in our victim’s skull at the point of impact.”

“Which explains why the bullet didn’t exit the skull,” Griffin said, standing and moving to the whiteboard to examine the gunshot wound more closely.

“Meaning . . . ?” Avery asked.

“Even at a distance of fifteen hundred meters, there should be both entry and exit wounds. I was curious why the bullet embedded in the brain rather than shooting straight through, but if the bullet had to travel through two barriers before hitting the victim’s head, that would slow the velocity further, causing the bullet to lodge in her brain.”

“Okay, so how does this information help with the case?” Finley asked.

“For one, it tells us what the victim was doing at the time of her death,” Declan said. “Taking pictures.”

“Or using her camera as a telescopic device,” Avery offered.

Declan frowned. “What?”

“If I want to see something that’s out of my field of vision more clearly, I’ll look through my telephoto lens.”

“Excellent point. Okay, so our victim was either watching someone or taking pictures of them,” Parker said.

Griffin shifted. “I don’t know. . . .That’s quite a leap.”

Parker stiffened. “How do you figure?”

“If our victim was a tourist at Gettysburg, she might simply have been taking photos of the battlefield.”

“True,” Declan said. “
If
she was killed at Gettysburg, but I think given the evidence we have, regardless of what our victim was doing at the time of her death, hers was a professional hit with that kind of shot.”

“Or some sicko’s target practice,” Griffin said.

Finley’s eyes widened. “What?”

“You cannot be serious?” Avery gaped.

“Sorry to break it to you, but there are monsters in this world.” Some way too close to home.

“Somebody would seriously kill another human being for sport?” Finley’s face paled with disgust.

“I’d love to tell you it’s never happened,” Griffin said.

“Why? How? I don’t understand.”

Because it was beyond comprehension.

“Men get used to killing in war. Snipers are no different. Some of them feed off of it. Being in control. Taking a life with the squeeze of a trigger. I’m not saying that’s what we’re
dealing with, but it’s always best to consider every possibility, no matter how improbable.”

Professor Warner, their mentor and friend, had instilled the adage into their brains throughout their college years and beyond.
“No matter how improbable, consider every possibility.”
It didn’t have to be probable to happen, just possible.

“Okay. Let’s run both scenarios,” Declan said, rubbing his hands together. “Scenario one, our victim was spying on someone, which could be the reason for her death. She saw something she wasn’t supposed to.”

“That would indicate the person she was spying on knew she was spying and set her up for the kill,” Griffin said. “He or she gave her something to watch to hold her attention while the sniper took her out.”

“Meaning she was lured to her death,” Finley said. “Set up.”

Griffin nodded.

“Scenario two, the sniper was simply waiting at a public location hoping for a mark to hit.”

“Of the two, the first scenario is the most plausible, but we shouldn’t discount the latter. Hopefully between the forensic artist rendering and dentals we should have a match tonight.”