In Her Sights (15 page)

Jazz’s stomach roiled, but she wouldn’t let Tower intimidate her. A quick gauge of the distance, and she did her calculations. “Forty-five yards?”

The tech’s eyes widened and he nodded.

Jazz picked up her Remington and fought the urge to wipe the stock with a rag. No telling who’d handled her baby. She checked the chamber and put on the shooting muffs. Her fingers adjusted the windage and elevation for distance before she tucked the perfectly balanced weapon to her shoulder.

She glanced through the glass at a condescending Tower and mouthed, “Ready?”

He nodded.

Jazz breathed in deeply, sighted the target, and squeezed the trigger.

The muffled sound of a bullet hitting the backstop brought a gasp from her. She stared through the scope. Where was the hole?

She lowered the weapon slightly.

“No,” Tower shouted. “Nine more shots, Parker.”

They’d tampered with her scope. They must have.

Jazz’s hand trembled and she positioned herself behind the scope. Now she knew what Tower had wanted from her. Nine shots erupted out of the Remington’s barrel. Ten missed targets and she could do nothing about it.

Finally, after the last boom sounded in the room, she lowered the weapon and stared at the target. Hands trembling, she struggled to raise each foot as she walked the length of the concrete room, a strange echo stalking her.

The pristine ten ring screamed at her, and disbelief whirled through Jazz. Her gaze lit on the nestle of holes about seven inches directly left of the target. The same relative distance as on the wall at the farmhouse.

Jazz stared back and forth from the target to her weapon. It couldn’t be. There was no way she could have made that kind of mistake.

She rushed back to the Remington where Tower now stood, his gleeful expression almost high.

“So I see you missed yet again. Why am I not surprised?”

She couldn’t think; she didn’t care what Tower thought. All she cared about was proving her theory. “Let me have it.”

Tower shrugged, and the technician watched as she focused in on the windage. “What was the measurement at the farmhouse? Exactly how far was the bullet off-target?”

“What do you think it was, Parker?”

“Just spill it, Tower.”

“Fifteen inches.”

A flash of understanding lit through her. “Fifteen at one hundred yards,” she whispered. She rounded on Tower and the technician. “Did you adjust the scope’s windage knob?” Messing with the left-right adjustment was the only way the bullet’s impact would be consistently off-target.

“Until you, no one has touched the scope since it was brought in.” The tech’s face cleared in comprehension. “You think the windage was fifteen clicks off. A full revolution?”

“It has to be.” She stared at her scope, her Remington, the friend who had never let her down. Or could she have—no, she refused to consider the thought.

“Hmm.” The technician stared at the weapon and pulled out a magnifying glass. “You can’t tell if it’s three hundred sixty degrees off unless you test it. Sure, if it’s a click or two, but a full revolution is impossible to see without firing.”

Jazz moved to adjust the windage, but Tower stopped her. “I don’t think so, Parker. Now we know what happened out there. You choked under the pressure and screwed up your settings. This gun is evidence you may be able to hit a bull’s-eye, but you can’t be trusted.” He took her weapon and walked back into the lab before placing the gun in the gun case and resealing it. “You’ll have to explain your negligence to a board of inquiry.”

“You know I couldn’t have done this.” But her voice held less certainty than she’d hoped. Deep inside, some part of her had to consider—had
she
made the mistake?

“Do I? Who else would’ve had access to your weapon?”

Who else indeed? She studied Tower through her lashes, speculation running rampant. Was he really cold enough to have sabotaged her scope? Did he hate her so much he would’ve jeopardized innocent lives?

Tower made a few brief notes. “As the IA investigator assigned to your case, I’m authorized to order you to see the department psychologist for an evaluation of your fitness for duty.”

“You’re kidding.”

He tucked his pen into his pocket and smiled. “No, not at all. I’m sure no one wants you behind any sort of weapon until we’re all convinced you can handle the pressure. Understandable considering your—shall we say—colorful childhood.” His eyes went icy. “You blew it and a man almost died. You’re through.”

He strode toward the door and looked back at her. “Come on, Parker. Sergeant Carder needs to acknowledge what a screw-up he chose.”

They didn’t speak in the elevator, but Tower shot her a satisfied smile as they exited the confining space. “You and your career are finished. I will personally see to it that you’re thrown out on your ass. You can’t expunge
these
records. You’re not a minor anymore.”

The blood drained from her face as they pushed through the doors to the SWAT den. Luke and Sarge met them just as they entered. Jazz had never seen either man so angry, but Luke vibrated with barely harnessed violence.

He grabbed Tower’s collar. “What did you say to her?”

“Take your hands off me, or I’ll have you arrested for assault. Don’t think I won’t do it. I’d enjoy putting you in a cage.”

The muscle in Luke’s cheek spasmed. Jazz fully expected him to ignore the warning, but he let Tower go with a scathing glare. “You’re not worth the aggravation…or the lawyer’s fees.”

The man should’ve been quaking in his boots. Tower had to know Luke’s background. As an Army Ranger, he’d forgotten more ways to kill than a cop would ever know.

Tower just shrugged, the fool.

“As I was about to tell Sergeant Carder, I’ve proved a point I’ve been trying to make for a very long time. That department judgment,” he glared at Sarge, “is severely lacking. Parker buckled under pressure on the last job.”

“Into my office, Deputy Tower,” Sarge said, his voice clipped. “Now.”

Tower followed, ambling through the double doors leading to the SWAT den.

All gazes in the lobby swept to Jazz. She could feel them boring into her. Her skin prickled, and unwanted memories flooded her mind. Stares at a little girl with bruises on her arms, wearing dirty clothes because she’d used the Laundromat money to buy milk and bread instead. Why couldn’t she just disappear again? What did it matter if she fought or ran? Tower would tell everyone soon enough. Luke would learn the truth. She’d lost everything already. “I’ve got to get out of here,” she whispered.

Luke tugged her against him, his stance protective, as if he might do battle. For her. What was she doing? She was a cop, not that scared girl anymore. Even Luke believed in her skills, her identity as a sniper. She couldn’t let Tower win.

When Luke pivoted her toward the front door, she shook her head. “Wait. I’ve got to talk to Sarge first.”

“Do it later. You don’t have to stay.”

“I. Can’t. Run.”

Luke lifted her chin and stared into her eyes. He smiled slightly. “I get that, but be smart. You shouldn’t have gone with him without a rep. Tower’s not stupid, and he’s out to bring you down. Don’t play into his game.”

“It won’t happen again. From now on, I control the moves.”

Luke clasped her hand in his, and together they entered the SWAT den. Sarge’s door was closed, his blinds drawn. She sank onto a bench and Luke settled down next to her, his thigh touching hers. He kneaded the back of her neck, his fingers lingering on that small spot at her nape that made her legs tingle. The comfort of his touch made her want to lean against him, soak in some of his strength. But she couldn’t show weakness. Not here.

“Okay,” he said. “No audience for the moment. What happened?”

“He had me shoot the Remington. The scope’s windage was off by one complete revolution.”

Luke let out a low whistle. “It’d be a quick and easy adjustment, but you’d need expert knowledge to know what to do.”

“The scope appeared to be aligned perfectly. Nobody would’ve been able to tell until the weapon was fired that it’d been sabotaged.”

“Tower has the skills,” Luke said.

“I can’t prove he did anything, but if he did, he’s not in it alone. Someone’s feeding him information about my past, Luke. He knows things he shouldn’t know. Things no one should know.”

Sarge’s office door flung open. Jazz snapped straight, and Luke’s hand dropped. Her skin cooled at the loss of his caress as Tower strode through the room, triumph exuding from every pore. “I’ll set up the hearing date, Sergeant. Incompetents don’t belong on your team.”

Sarge didn’t call her to his office. He came to her, which didn’t bode well. “You thinking sabotage?”

“For a few minutes during that ballistics test, Tower made me wonder. But I couldn’t have made that mistake, Sarge. A full revolution. It’s impossible.”

“Tower’s probably involved,” Luke said. “Everything that’s happening to Jazz is no coincidence. The vandalism, the shot fired at us, and two hours ago someone tailed her to the gun range.”

“Why would Tower go to the trouble?” Sarge shook his head. “I don’t buy it, unless there’s something you’re not telling me, Luke.”

Luke said nothing, but a knowing stare passed between the two men.

“Fine,” Sarge said. “I’ll be the first one to blink. The IA investigation came up too quickly. Usually I get wind of that sort of thing, but this flew in out of nowhere. It’s suspicious, but Tower’s father is a powerful man. You go down this road without more evidence, Jazz’s career won’t survive.” He speared Luke with a glare. “Your career will be over too.”

“You think I care about that when this bastard might have contributed to landing my brother in the hospital?”

“Your theory could hold water if you tie Tower to the tail
and
the sabotage.”

Jazz struggled to focus. She hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours, but there had to be something she’d missed. “Tower comes down here all the time, especially lately,” she mused. “For someone with experience, turning the windage knob wouldn’t have taken a few seconds. One turn and the shot’s off fifteen inches.”

“He’d have had to get your rifle out of the vault,” Sarge said.

Jazz bit her lip in thought. “Not if it was already out…” Her voice trailed off then she raised her chin in triumph. “I know when Tower could’ve done it. The day you called me into your office about the IA investigation, I left the Remington on my desk to clean it. When I came out, Tower and his redheaded girlfriend were at my desk.”

Jazz let her mind drift back to the razzing the guys had given Gabe. “The woman. She flirted with Gabe…She could be working with Tower as his distraction. That would make sense. The next time I used the Remington was at the hostage site.”

Sarge frowned. “I’ll look into what started the IA investigation—carefully, slowly. For now, I’m ordering you out of here, Jazz. Nothing is going to change before tomorrow. You’re a mess. You have to face the department shrink in the afternoon. Go home and recharge. Tired people make mistakes, and that’s something you can’t afford to do.”

“But Sarge—”

“Get out. I need time to go over some options that won’t see us both fired.”

“You need to get rid of a dirty cop,” Luke snapped.

Sarge rose. “And that would make your exposé, wouldn’t it?”

Luke’s face turned to stone, a sure sign Sarge had surprised him.

“You think I haven’t heard about your little investigation?” Sarge said. “There are no secrets around here. If that shot at Jazz’s apartment
was
aimed at you, there are a lot more suspects than you imagined. Take my advice. Don’t go off half-cocked and get yourselves into a situation that we can’t control. I don’t plan on losing my best sniper because of Tower’s personal vendetta. Let me do my job so Jazz can keep hers.”

She hadn’t heard the words aloud before. Hadn’t even let herself think she might really lose her place on the team. The pain was so swift and intense Jazz swayed on her feet.

Her commander frowned. “See that she gets some food and sleep, Montgomery. She looks like hell.”

“I’ll take care of her,” Luke promised, “and we’ll find out who’s behind this. I won’t stop until we do.”

Jazz looked up into his determined face. The once-broken nose, the strong jaw, they all told her more than his words. He wouldn’t give up. Ever. Mostly for Gabe, she knew. He would fight for her too, but for how long? He seemed to believe in her
now
, but he didn’t know the whole truth. What would happen when he learned who Jazz Parker
really
was?

The noonday sun streamed through the windows of Luke’s SUV, and the sheriff’s office disappeared in the rearview mirror as he ended his cell call and plugged the dying phone into the charger. “Good news. Gabe’s doing better. He’s still unconscious, but he’s no longer in a coma. The doctors are more hopeful about his leg too.”

“Thank God,” she said as she leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes, her bag in her lap.

Luke watched as she unconsciously stroked the stuffed clown fish peeking out of the zippered top, her fingers fondling the soft toy as if searching for comfort. “You seem as attached to Hero as Joy.”