Pamela Clare - Striking Distance

Laura couldn’t stand to think about it, the very idea making her stomach knot.

And suddenly she felt weary to the bone.

She was tired of being afraid, tired of seeing good people get hurt and killed, tired of feeling like every day was an uphill battle. Life had been challenging enough just trying to put body and soul back together, hold down a job, and find Klara.

But now . . .

What had happened today had reopened something dark inside her, punctured a deep hole in her sense of self, and exposed the brokenness that was still inside her. For a time, she’d been shut down. She hadn’t been able to think clearly.

Had she made any true progress? How could she still be a prisoner of this terror?

Allt kommer att bli bättre med tiden.

Everything will get better with time.

Would it?

Laura got to her feet, tucked the thick envelope into one of her drawers, then walked toward the bathroom.

JAVIER HEARD THE water go on in the shower and nodded to the others.

McBride spoke first. “Our guys found Derek Tower with a bullet in his chest on the top level of the parking garage. He was armed—an HK Mark 23 and a tricked-out AR-15 that was loaded with five-five-six green tip.”

Armor-penetrating rounds.

“Is he dead?”

McBride shook his head. “He’s in surgery at University Hospital. No word on his condition, but it doesn’t look good.”

A cold sense of loathing settled in Javier’s chest. “So Tower is our man after all.”

“What’s the first rule of assassination?”

“Kill the assassin.” Javier didn’t like the way this was coming together. “Maybe Tower was the shooter and someone showed up to take care of him, or Tower came to take out the shooter and it went sideways big-time.”

“How would a former Green Beret get mixed up with terrorists?” Hunter asked.

McBride shrugged. “Regardless of how it went down, there has to be at least one more person involved, someone bad enough to get the better of Tower.”

“If Tower isn’t our shot-caller, he must know who is.” Darcangelo ran a hand over the day’s worth of stubble on his jaw. “I just hope he survives.”

“How about Agent Killeen?” Javier knew Laura would ask.

“She made it through surgery. They had to transfuse her, but she made it. The round shattered her hip, broke her pelvis, and severed her sciatic nerve. They had to replace the joint. They’re not sure how much nerve function she’ll regain.”

“Jesus!” Javier hated to think of the long road that lay ahead of her. If Tower was behind this . . . “It’d be best not to tell Laura yet. She really likes Killeen. She’s going to take it hard, and I don’t think she can handle anything else tonight.”

“Obviously, it was a mistake for us to let Laura do the interview at the studio,” McBride said. “We asked the station not to announce it, but they couldn’t resist. That gave our shooter a couple of days to plan. He got the studio’s address, was probably watching when she arrived, using the hour she was inside to get into position.”

That made sense to Javier. “Whoever he was, he had good night optics, and he knew how to shoot. If Laura hadn’t tripped . . .”

He let it go, unable to say it, the very thought making his heart trip.

“So the shooter sucks with ANFO, but he’s got some solid sniping skills.” Darcangelo seemed to consider this apparent contradiction.

“Not just solid, buddy. Rock fucking solid.” Hunter looked over at McBride. “I stood where he stood when he took those shots and scoped them myself. It was a good three hundred yards, but he hit everything he wanted to hit—except for Laura. He wasn’t just firing random shots, at least not until the end. He fired at her, missed. Then he took out the SUV’s engine and its tires, immobilizing the vehicle, clearly hoping she’d take cover inside.”

And then he’d have had her.

McBride pointed to Hunter. “He’s not just making shit up, Corbray. Hunter here served as an army sniper. Earned himself some medals, too. For a while he held the record both for confirmed kills and long-distance marksmanship.”

“So the guy we’re looking for can shoot, but somehow missed Explosives 101. That’s strange.” Then it dawned on Javier. “Do we know for certain that the shooter is the guy behind the car bomb?”

McBride shook his head. “We can’t be sure these two attempts on her life were made by the same person. We have no idea how many suspects might be involved or whether they’re part of a cell. We have no clue how Tower is connected to this or why he was shot. All we have are more pieces to the puzzle, and that puzzle keeps getting bigger. We’re pulling surveillance video on the parking garage. Hopefully it will give us some answers.”

“DPD is canvasing for witnesses,” Hunter said. “This happened in the middle of downtown Denver. Someone must have seen something.”

Javier hoped so. “The pieces need to start coming together—and fast. It was close today, man, too close.”

“Hell, yeah, it was,” Darcangelo said. “We got ahold of the news footage, then slowed it down. That round missed her head by no more than an inch.”

Javier’s stomach seemed to hit the floor.

McBride met his gaze. “You saved her life. You realized what was happening before anyone else. She’d have been dead the moment she regained her footing if you hadn’t been there.”

Somehow that didn’t make Javier feel better. “So what’s the plan?”

“We work the case,” McBride said. “We pull surveillance video, question Tower if and when he wakes up, and strengthen security around this building. Until we know for certain Tower is our shooter, we cover all adjacent rooftops and keep this place under tight surveillance. Laura can’t set a foot outside her own door. They took a shot at her today because they knew exactly where she was going to be and when. But they haven’t tried to hit her here, which tells me they’ve scoped it out and decided it’s too risky.”

Javier would see to it that the risk level got even higher.

“Any chance it would be safer for her in Sweden?” Darcangelo asked. “She’s got family there, right?”

“She’d have to give up the life she’s built for herself, and she doesn’t want to do that.” Javier couldn’t blame her. She’d already lost more than most people could comprehend. “Besides, what’s to stop these guys from boarding a plane and taking a little trip to Stockholm? You think they can provide security in Sweden that we can’t?”

“Good point.” McBride glanced at his watch. “We need to get some sleep.”

They stood.

“Just a warning,” Hunter said, pointing to Javier. “You made prime time.”

“That’s what I hear.” Javier already knew.

Nate had called an hour ago to tell Javier that his face was all over the television. Thanks to Channel 12, where he’d made the mistake of introducing himself, all of the stations had reported his name, broadcasting it to the world together with live-action footage and still shots of him throwing Laura to the ground, covering her body with his, and getting her out of the line of fire.

“You’re in it now, bro,” Nate had said. “All the same, I’m glad you were there. You were the first one to react. You saved her life.”

Javier hoped the brass at NSW felt the same way.

Yeah, right. You’ll be lucky if they don’t hand you your ass.

“Thanks for what you did today, Corbray.” McBride shook Javier’s hand. “Nate said you were the best, and now I see why. I’m glad we’ve got you on our side. If you ever leave the Teams and need a job, you know where to find me.”

LAURA SAT ON the edge of her bathtub hugging her bathrobe around herself, fighting hard to hold herself together. “Was anyone else hurt . . . or killed?”

Javier knelt on the floor in front of her with a first-aid kit, dabbing antibiotic ointment on her skinned knee, his hands in white sterile gloves. “A reporter got creased by a ricochet, but he’s going to be fine. McBride says he’s already home.”

“So many people might have been killed. You might have been killed. Oh, God, Javi, if you’d been shot—” The thought stopped her breath cold.

“I wasn’t.” He looked up at her, his brown eyes warm. “Let’s stick with the positive, okay?”

“Okay.” She would try.

He studied the scratches and bruises on her knee. “I think you need to ice this. I didn’t mean for you to get scraped up.”

“Next time you shove me out of the path of a bullet, be gentle, okay?” She gave him a smile, fighting the urge to reach out and touch him. “You saved my life.”

“Walking in those damned shoes saved your life.”

“I’ve never been graceful in heels.”

“Thank God for that.”

From somewhere out in her bedroom, her cell phone rang.

“Who is calling this late? Did you talk to your folks?”

“Yes.” Her mother and grandmother had been asleep, so they’d gotten the news from her. They’d been very upset, of course, and had asked her again to come back to Sweden. “It’s probably Gary calling to apologize—or make excuses for himself. I should have known he wouldn’t keep his promise. I’ve seen him do that before. I just didn’t think he’d do it to me.”

“That bastard is lucky he was in D.C. and not in the station tonight.” Javier peeled the tabs off an oversized adhesive bandage and stuck it carefully over the wound. “He and I would have had a serious confrontation.”

Somehow Laura doubted the confrontation would have been verbal. It touched her that Javier cared that much about her. He cared so much that he’d put his life on the line for her today. But she didn’t want that.