Crossfire (14 page)

Quinn parked in the clinic lot across the street from St. Brendan’s, jockeying for position with all the soccer moms delivering their children to their first day of school. A pretty blonde in an old beater Honda Civic that stood out like a sore thumb among the shiny SUVs and crossovers, stopped to let him cut across the long line.

Mike’s Taurus was already in the lot. When he’d returned the call last night, after Quinn had explained the situation, he hadn’t hesitated to agree to the early-morning meeting. Unsurprisingly, he revealed he was also expecting a visit from Special Agent Cait Cavanaugh.

Who, talk about your timing, was pulling into a spot six cars down from Quinn.

‘‘Fancy meeting you here,’’ she said as she climbed out of the black sedan. It wasn’t quite as noticeable as the SUV he guessed her partner was still driving, but the whip antennas screamed ‘‘federal government agent car.’’

She’d been pretty at nineteen. Prettier, even, despite being tanked, the next time they’d hooked up. But as she walked toward him on those long legs, the slanting morning sun making her red hair gleam, he decided the aura of confidence and determination she wore so well had caused her to grow into a beauty since the last time fate had thrown them together.

‘‘Something wrong with me dropping by to catch up with an old friend?’’ he asked.

‘‘Nothing at all. The timing’s just a little coincidental.’’

‘‘Caught me,’’ he said easily, falling in beside her as they walked toward the clinic door. She looked lean, lithe, and strong. Smelled damn good, too. And although she had fabulously long legs, the difference in their height still had him shortening his stride to match hers.

‘‘You’re a civilian. This isn’t any of your business.’’

‘‘The hell it isn’t.’’

The harshness of his tone got her attention. She stopped. Took her shades off and looked up at him, her blue eyes narrowed.

‘‘Excuse me?’’ There was enough ice in her tone to cover Jupiter several times over.

‘‘You can get up on that federal high horse of yours all you want,’’ he said, deciding she needed to understand right off the bat that just because he might appear more low-key than some of the guys she’d been with, he was no pushover. ‘‘But that’s not going to change the fact that you’ve got a whacked-out shooter running around town who apparently wants the public and the authorities to think he’s a sniper. Which makes every guy who’s ever picked up a rifle in the line of duty a suspect.’’

‘‘That’s an overstatement. I certainly would never imagine you doing such a thing.’’

‘‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’’ His tone, as they began walking again, was a great deal drier than the weather, which, although it was only eight o’clock, was already thick enough to drink. ‘‘But if you weren’t already thinking along those lines, why do you want to talk with Mike?’’

‘‘I’m here for the same reason you are. To see if anyone in that group of his might stand out as particularly unstable.’’

‘‘Ever think you might run into a confidentiality problem?’’

‘‘It occurred to me. But he’s not a priest any longer.’’

‘‘But he’s a vet. One running a counseling group.’’

‘‘So, you’re saying he’d risk innocent people being gunned down in the street to protect a killer?’’

‘‘Hell, no. I am suggesting that if you go in there like Joe Friday or Eliot Ness, you might run into problems.’’

She stopped again. She’d put the dark glasses back on, but he didn’t have to see her eyes to sense the glare.

‘‘I’m just saying.’’

‘‘And you’re also implying that if you’re with me, he’ll be more cooperative?’’

Quinn shrugged. ‘‘Maybe. Maybe not. But if you hadn’t already considered you might have problems, you would’ve brought your partner along.’’

‘‘He’s supervising setting up the task force room.’’

‘‘Good for him.’’

Cait could tell she wasn’t fooling him for a minute. Which wasn’t anything new. She’d always gotten the feeling that Quinn knew things about her. Things she might not even know herself. It was a sixth-sense thing that had probably made him a good sniper. She also suspected that if he hadn’t entered the military, he would’ve made one hell of a detective.

‘‘Did you ever think about being a cop?’’

He threw back his head and laughed. A nurse clad in blue Bart Simpson scrubs who’d just opened the clinic door turned around to see the source of the deep, rumbling, sexy-as-hell sound. Cait watched as the nurse stood up a little straighter. Smoothed an absent hand over her hair. No doubt about it, the man had always been a chick magnet.

‘‘I hadn’t realized that choosing law enforcement as a career was so funny.’’

‘‘Not funny.’’ He was struggling with the smile as he held the glass door open for her. ‘‘It’s just, well, ironic. But no, that thought never occurred to me.’’

There was something else going on. Something she couldn’t quite get a handle on. She had no time to think about it, though, because Michael Gannon was standing at the front reception counter, as if waiting for their arrival.

The first time she’d met her former partner’s brother, Cait had nearly swallowed her tongue. In contrast to his brother Joe’s golden athleticism, the priest named for an archangel could have been a fallen angel, washed off the nave ceiling of a cathedral.

Lush black hair—longer now than when he’d been a priest—framed a narrow, aesthetic face. His eyes, set above high, slashing cheekbones, were a riveting neon blue. Was it any wonder that women all over Somersett had referred to the priest as Father What-a-Waste?

Rather than the starched and stiff traditional white doctor’s coat, he was wearing a white T-shirt that read, ‘‘Air goes in and out; blood goes round and round; any variation on this is a bad thing.’’

No, there was nothing traditional about doctor-turned-priest-turned-doctor-again Michael Gannon.

‘‘Cait.’’ Beautifully sculptured lips, designed to tempt both sinner and saint, curved into a warm smile. ‘‘It’s been way too long.’’

‘‘I know.’’ What with his brother quitting the force, getting married, and moving to Swann Island, her joining the FBI, and Michael having been off in New Orleans post-Katrina, those casual days of the three of them getting together over a pint at the Black Swan had become too few and too far between. ‘‘I’d use work as an excuse, but . . .’’

She shrugged, thinking that life was becoming pretty pitiful when work trumped friendships.

‘‘Keeping the country free from terrorism is important,’’ he said. ‘‘I imagine it’s also a 24/7 job.’’ He was, hands down, the most unjudgmental person she’d ever met. Which was why, she supposed, the lines had always been longer when Father Mike was handing out absolution.

‘‘It can become one.’’

She glanced around at the cheery posters on the crayon-colored walls. The furniture was wood, painted in equally bright hues. There were baskets of toys, and shelves of books. A sign invited patients to take a book home with them and bring a replacement the next time they visited.

‘‘This is a nice place.’’ And much different from what she’d imagined a free clinic would look like.

‘‘Being sick is no fun, even when you’re well-off,’’ he said. ‘‘More difficult when you don’t have health insurance and you’re worried about how you’re going to feed your babies. It’s our goal to make the experience as pleasant as possible.’’

Michael Gannon was a good man. A nice man. Now that he wasn’t a priest any longer, he’d probably make a terrific husband. Cait bet that since leaving the Church, he’d jumped to the top of the Lowcountry’s Most Eligible Bachelors List.

Not that she would be joining the women who were undoubtedly swarming around him like piranhas; although they’d always shared a mutual affection, even since his vow of celibacy had stopped being an issue, there’d never been any sparks.

Nothing like the ones that flared through her system every time she got anywhere close to Quinn.

‘‘I’d love to give you the grand tour,’’ he said, ‘‘but I suspect you need to get down to business.’’

‘‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’’

‘‘Another time, then.’’

‘‘Absolutely.’’

Since she’d left only a sketchy message on his voice mail, she filled him in on the details, such as she knew them, of the crimes.

‘‘I’m sorry.’’ He shook his head, his gaze echoing his words. ‘‘You know I’d love to help you, Cait. But even if I had an official group membership roster with addresses and phone numbers, I couldn’t give it to you without a court order.’’

Damn. This was exactly what she’d been afraid of.

‘‘But you’re not a priest anymore.’’

‘‘No. But I am a physician, which brings up the subject of patient-doctor confidentiality.’’

Cait wasn’t sure that would hold up in court, since, after all, it was merely a volunteer support group, but keeping in mind that what she needed was his cooperation, not a legal battle, she tried a different approach.

‘‘When’s your next meeting?’’

‘‘As a matter of fact, it’s this evening.’’

‘‘May I sit in?’’

He lifted a jet brow. ‘‘I didn’t realize you were a veteran.’’

Of course they both knew she wasn’t. ‘‘Okay.’’ She folded her arms, going into negotiation mode. ‘‘May I speak to the group?’’

He exchanged a look with Quinn. Something passed between them, but Quinn’s expression was totally unreadable.

‘‘I’ll have to ask them,’’ he said. ‘‘I’m not trying to be difficult,’’ he added when she couldn’t help huffing out a frustrated breath. ‘‘You have to realize that you’re talking about a group of men who, under usual conditions, do not open up to anyone. They’ve always seen themselves as Superman. No way are they going to want their wives, lovers, parents, friends, employers, or even their doctors to know that a lot of days they feel more like Jimmy Olsen.

‘‘They certainly, most of them, would never be caught dead joining a support group. But once we get someone here, the chance to listen to brothers who’ve gone through the same things is the first time they’ve been able to experience authentic camaraderie and kinship since the combat that landed them in the group.

‘‘It’s also the first place they can openly share locked-up experiences with other vets who understand and listen without judgment and who also validate their own feelings. It’s a delicate balance, Caitlin. I wouldn’t want to risk that.’’

‘‘It won’t help for civilians to think all PTSD sufferers are going to pick up an automatic weapon and open up in some shopping mall,’’ Quinn said. It was the first comment he’d made since they’d all exchanged greetings.

‘‘Point taken,’’ Mike said. He gave Quinn another one of those looks Cait couldn’t quite read.

As if sensing her frustration at those silent messages zapping back and forth over her head, Quinn said, ‘‘I’ll talk with them. Hopefully make them see how important it is that they cooperate.’’

Mike nodded. ‘‘I’d appreciate that. I know they listen to you.’’ He turned to Cait. ‘‘We usually start the pre-meeting coffee and conversation around seven. Why don’t you stop back around seven fifteen and Quinn and I’ll see what we can do to win the troops over.’’

‘‘Thanks. I’d really appreciate it.’’ What she’d prefer was a list of names and addresses that she could start checking out immediately, but meanwhile she’d have to try a different tack.

Beginning with the second thing on her to-do list. Tracking down the gun.

‘‘Well, hello.’’ The crossing guard, who was holding the kids back on the sidewalk, smiled down at Tyler. ‘‘How are you this grand and sunny morning?’’

‘‘Just f-f-f-fine, ma’am.’’

‘‘Well, I’m glad to hear that,’’ she answered cheerfully, ignoring his stammer. ‘‘You’re new to St. Brendan’s, aren’t you?’’

‘‘Yes, ma’am.’’

She tipped down her sunglasses and skimmed a look over him. ‘‘Well, you certainly look sharp in your uniform.’’

Color rose in his cheeks as he felt the other kids, who so far had ignored him, checking him out. ‘‘T-t-thank you, ma’am.’’

‘‘Okay.’’ She shoved the glasses back up, lifted her sign, and stepped off the curb into the middle of the street, stopping the traffic. ‘‘Let’s everyone keep together now.’’

‘‘Well,’’ Cait said, as she and Quinn walked back out into the blindingly bright summer sun, ‘‘that was enlightening.’’ She shielded her eyes with a hand and looked a long, long way up at him. ‘‘Why didn’t you tell me that you’re a member of the group?’’

‘‘I’m not really, though I do drop in from time to time. Would it have made a difference last night?’’

‘‘No, but—’’

‘‘So now you know.’’

She wanted to ask if he was suffering from PTSD. But wasn’t that a given? Why would he belong to a support group if he wasn’t?

Unless he was just getting fodder for his next book?

No. There were many things about Quinn that unraveled her last nerve, but unless he’d changed one hundred and eighty degrees from the man she’d known, there was no way he would ever profit off another person’s misery.

There was an awkward little silence. At least awkward on her part. Once again, she had not a single clue as to his feelings.

‘‘Well,’’ she said on an exhaled breath, ‘‘I appreciate your agreeing to help with the group.’’

‘‘No problem.’’

‘‘But other than that, you really can’t get involved in a federal investigation.’’

‘‘Sorry. Too late. I’m already involved.’’

‘‘It’s against policy.’’

‘‘Like the FBI doesn’t use civilians? What about snitches? And stings? And witness protection?’’

‘‘Witness protection falls under the jurisdiction of the U.S. Marshals.’’

His flash of grin surprised her. And sent an unwanted little zing through her.

‘‘What?’’ she demanded.

He hesitated. Laughter and what impossibly seemed to be affection lit up his eyes. ‘‘It’s just that you’re really hot when you talk like a special agent.’’

Cait refused to let the chauvinistic comment, which he apparently took as a compliment, give her any pleasure. ‘‘I am a special agent.’’

‘‘And a crackerjack one, too, I’ll bet,’’ he replied. ‘‘But being smart and good at your work doesn’t preclude you being hot.’’

The conversation was getting decidedly uncomfortable. Cait figured if she didn’t leave now, he’d start strolling down memory lane back to that night. Which, if she were to be perfectly honest, she thankfully couldn’t entirely remember.

‘‘This is a ridiculous conversation.’’ Could she sound any more uptight? Why was it that she seemed to swing to extremes where this man was concerned? ‘‘I’ve got work to do.’’

‘‘Then I’ll let you get to it. I’ll see you tonight.’’

‘‘Tonight,’’ she agreed. She started to walk to her car, then turned back. ‘‘And I need you to stay out of my case.’’

‘‘No, you don’t. Not really.’’

‘‘And why is that?’’

‘‘Because I know guns.’’

‘‘So does ATF. They’ve joined the investigation.’’

‘‘Good call. Their forensics department’s top-notch. But they’re still feds.’’

‘‘Surely you’re not suggesting using the local police lab?’’

‘‘No. What I’m suggesting is that although I’ve not a single doubt you’re damn good at your job, you’ve still been trained at the academy.’’

‘‘That’s standard procedure. For an FBI agent.’’

‘‘Well, sure. And you’ve probably learned the latest ways to eavesdrop on terrorists. But the bureau’s undoubtedly like every other agency in the government. Including ATF. And even the Pentagon. People tend to think inside the box.’’

‘‘And you don’t?’’ She knew the answer to that before she asked it.

‘‘Sweetheart, a SEAL sniper survives and keeps his team safe by thinking outside the box. Now, granted, I still don’t think your UNSUB is a legitimate sniper. But a buck gets ten I’d be better at locating potential places for him to shoot from than anyone you’ve got on your team. Which could be really important given that having your two victims lying in state is probably going to draw one helluva crowd.’’

‘‘What are you talking about?’’

‘‘You haven’t heard?’’

‘‘If I’d heard, I wouldn’t be asking.’’

‘‘Right. I guess I got notified because as a writer-in-residence, I’m sorta very loosely, on staff. But the powers that be at ASMA decided it would be fitting to have a public memorial service while Jacob and Davis lie in state in the academy rotunda.’’

Just what she needed. ‘‘When?’’

‘‘Tomorrow. Beginning at zero ten hundred. That’s—’’

‘‘Ten a.m.’’ She did, at least, know that much. ‘‘Shit.’’

They could end up with a crowd in the thousands. One attractive target for a guy with a gun that could shoot nearly a thousand rounds a minute!

Cait’s mind was spinning with logistics when she heard a distant pop! over the laughter of children lining up in double rows in front of St. Brendan’s School.

Reacting faster than she’d known it was even possiblefor a human being to move, especially one as large as he was, Quinn dragged her to the ground.

The force caused her bones to rattle. Lifting her head, Cait felt her heart hitch as she saw the body lying in the crosswalk in the middle of the street.