Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Doubtful. “Conflict of interest,” Huck said firmly. “You’ve got it and you know it. Back off, Norrs. The state is taking this, and I will keep you and your office informed.” Damn, he hoped he had the juice to take the case. “Let’s go find this guy’s perch.”
They crossed under the tape with minimal words, Norrs matching Huck’s pace while York huffed behind them, muttering about assholes.
“Huck.” A willowy blonde ducked her head against the rain and hustled up to him, her phone out and pressed toward his mouth. “You heard the shot, right? You yelled ‘gun’ before most of us realized what had happened.”
He kept his face expressionless. “No comment.”
“Come on,” Rachel Raprenzi said. “You were a sniper and you must’ve recognized the sound. Who do you think tried to kill Dr. Caine?”
“No comment.” He could not believe he’d once been engaged to the ambitious journalist. She’d thrown him under the bus for a story once, and he’d never let her do it again.
She didn’t move her phone away from his face. “I know about your time in the military, remember? You should talk to me so I get the facts right.”
The woman didn’t care about facts. She cared about ratings. Sure, she knew he’d been a sniper, but he’d never confided in her. Not once about that time in his life. “Watch out for slander this time,” he murmured, not forgetting she’d accused him of being a serial killer just a month ago.
“I’m sorry about that, but when Zeke Caine kidnapped me, he made it seem like it was you. I was one of his victims, too.” She pushed a strand of hair away from her smooth face.
Huck motioned for one of the county deputies, who ran up, eyes wide. “Make sure none of them follow us. Thanks.” He ignored Rachel’s sputtering and moved out into the street.
The three of them cut through the edge of the crowd, drawing a few camera lenses and more than one shouted question. Huck didn’t break stride. He didn’t even glance at the press.
The sidewalk shimmered with rainwater. Old brick storefronts blurred past in Huck’s periphery as they moved toward the Co-Op tower. Half the top floor windows were punched out from storms or vagrants. A place like that, quiet and forgotten, made the perfect blind.
York pulled a key ring from his jacket as they approached. “The city gave me master access after the copper thefts last year.” He grunted as he unlocked the rusting side entrance to shove open the door, its hinges squealing loud enough to echo off the buildings behind them.
The inside smelled like dust and waterlogged insulation. Graffiti crawled across the hallway walls like veins. Huck took the lead up the narrow stairwell, flashlight beam bouncing off cracked tile. His steps remained nearly silent.
“You think they stayed long?” Norrs asked from behind him.
“No,” Huck said. “But long enough to get the shot right. And they weren’t in a hurry on the way in.”
Norrs sneezed twice. “How do you know?”
“They didn’t go through the front entrance. No smashed lock. They had a key or a tool set.”
York blew out a breath behind them. “So what, we’re looking for someone with real estate access and a rifle habit?”
“We’re looking for someone who understands patience,” Huck said.
They reached the twelfth floor. The landing was wide, empty except for old office chairs and broken-down electrical panels. Puddles reflected the pale daylight slipping through shattered glass.
Huck scanned for footprints in the dust. Something more than the usual. Ten feet from the west-facing window, he stopped. “Here.”
The gravel and dirt along the floor had been disturbed and flattened in a tight oval. Prone position. Elbows, belly, bipod legs. An old radiator beside it had been shifted just enough to offer cover. The shooter had created a nest. Clean. Temporary. Huck crouched and aimed his flashlight.
Brass glinted near the baseboard.
“Round was fired from here.” He picked up the casing delicately in his gloved hand. “Seven-six-two. Could’ve been Lapua, maybe a custom load.”
York stood behind him, arms crossed tight. “They leave a signature?”
“No,” Huck said. “They left competence. That’s worse.”
“Any prints?”
“Not if they wore gloves. Which they did.” Huck turned toward the window, kneeling at the spot where the shooter had lain. The angle was perfect. The courthouse steps lined up directly in the center of the broken glass frame. He imagined Abigail standing there. Head, shoulders, vest. The timing had been exact.
Norrs moved slowly around the space. “There’s no second casing.”
“Because there was no second shot,” Huck replied. “One round. No wasted motion. They weren’t here to make noise.” But the sniper had failed.
York looked unconvinced. “Could’ve been a warning. Could’ve been meant to scare.”
Huck stood and turned to face him. “He aimed for her chest and had no way of knowing she wore a vest. Shit. I watched her walk by me and didn’t know. It’s an aberration and not one I would’ve planned for in this case.” He studied Norrs. “You’re paranoid. I didn’t read that in you.”