“What you’re seeing was taken from hours of footage we spliced together from several different cameras at the garage. In a moment you’ll see Tower drive up. Here he comes.”

Tower appeared at the wheel of a metallic bronze BMW X3, rolled down his window, and took a ticket, disappearing as he headed into the garage. The footage cut to the top floor of the garage, where he emerged moments later, parking directly across from the position Javier thought the shooter must have taken.

McBride pointed at the television. “He drives straight to the upper floor of the parking garage. He doesn’t get out. He doesn’t do anything but sit there.”

“So the bastard must have known what was about to go down.”

“It seems so.”

The footage cut back to the entrance of the parking garage, the time index in the corner showing that about forty minutes had gone by.

“Here’s our shooter,” McBride said.

Javier felt Laura tense as a blue Honda Civic pulled up, a man with a white glowing ball for a head at the wheel.

She frowned. “He’s hiding his face using infrared LEDs.”

“How did you know about that?” Javier was fairly certain this wasn’t common knowledge.

“Oh, please.” She gave him a look. “Investigative reporter?”

McBride paused the playback. “Does anything about him look familiar to you?”

Laura studied the image, leaning toward the TV. “No.”

“We ran plates on the car, but it was reported stolen from in front of a private home Thursday afternoon. There are no city surveillance cameras in that neighborhood, so we’re hoping to find witnesses.” McBride pushed Play again. “Watch where the shooter goes. He stops on the fourth floor—one floor down from Tower.”

Javier watched as the shooter parked facing south. He climbed out of his G-ride, range finder in hand, and began to scope his shot.

McBride paused once more. “Does anything seem familiar to you?”

Laura watched intently, then shook her head. “No. I’m sorry.”

“Here’s where it gets interesting.” McBride pushed Play again. “If this gets too difficult for you, let me know, okay, Laura?”

McBride fast-forwarded through an hour’s worth of footage, the image getting darker as the sun set. When it slowed again, there was a split-screen image, one side showing Tower, the other showing the shooter.

Tower stepped out of his Beemer, looked around, then walked to the southern side of the garage and looked in the direction of the television station, the AR-15 in hand. He glanced at his watch, then looked down at the television station again through his night scope. Meanwhile, one floor down, the shooter got into position with an M110 sniper rifle equipped with a bipod—and a suppressor. He flipped out the bipod, rested the weapon on the concrete ledge, and began adjusting his sights.

It sickened Javier to think the shooter was about to focus on Laura.

Minutes ticked by, both men in position, Tower periodically checking his watch.

“Here’s where the shooting began,” McBride said.

A knot of dread in her stomach, Laura watched as the shooter, with his eerie ball of light for a head, held absolutely still—and pulled the trigger. That was the shot that had nearly killed her and sent concrete fragments spraying into her face. It was quickly followed by four more.

On the other side of the screen, Tower turned and ran for the stairs, while the shooter kept firing, the jerk of the rifle the only sign that he’d pulled the trigger. One of those bullets had hit Janet, Laura realized, dread turning to nausea.

Abruptly, the shooter stood and began to pack his gear. He froze and glanced toward the stairwell.

“He’s made Tower. He can see him there.” Javier pointed to a section of the stairway that was exposed. “See?”

The split-screen image became one as Tower reached the fourth floor, his weapon raised. But the shooter was ready for him, squeezing off two shots just as Tower fired. Tower fell back, arched and writhed on the concrete, then went still, a pool of blood spreading around him, while the shooter got quickly into his car and drove away, leaving Tower for dead.

“Stop, please!” Laura had seen enough, the sight of Tower’s suffering and the memories it roused too much. “I can’t.”

Zach stopped the DVD and retrieved it from Laura’s machine. “I’m sorry, Laura. I was hoping that you might recognize something about him.”

Laura wished she had, but without so much as a glimpse of his face, the man who’d tried to kill her was nothing more than a ghostly headless body.

Javier sat in silence for a moment, seeming lost in thought. “So we know Tower knew what was going to happen, and we know he wasn’t the shooter.”

Zach took a gulp of his coffee. “Like I said, the footage raised more questions than it answered.”

“Was he there to take the shooter out and clean up loose ends?”

“If he was, why did he do such a bad job of it?”

While the two men discussed the footage, Laura found herself reliving her last conversation with Tower.

I want the truth about why my men are dead. Since you’re the key to my getting that info, terminating you wouldn’t make much sense, would it?

Laura spoke, interrupting Javier and Zach. “What if he was trying to stop the shooter? What if he was trying to protect me?”

Zach seemed to consider this. “I suppose anything is possible, but the best way to protect you would’ve been for him to share what he knew with law enforcement. He’s in extremely critical condition. Apparently the wound and blood loss were so severe that he was thrown into something called adult respiratory distress syndrome and is close to pulmonary failure. But we’ve got him under guard. If he survives, we may get some answers. If not, we’ll have to find those answers ourselves.”

For a time there was silence, each of them lost in thought, the puzzle pieces shifting in Laura’s mind without coming together. Most of the time, the details of an investigation fascinated her. This time, she just felt overwhelmed.

Javier broke the silence. “Whoever the shooter is, he moves like a man with military training.”

“Interesting you should say that. I got the same impression. So did Hunter.” Zach held up the plastic bag with the spent casings once more. “Whoever our terrorist is, the rounds he used all had U.S. military headstamps.”

“Headstamps?” Laura had never heard the term before.

Zach pointed to the flat bottom of one of the casings. “Those are the markings pressed into the bottom of a casing showing when and where it was manufactured.”

Javier shrugged. “That doesn’t tell us a damned thing. He could’ve bought the ammo anywhere—online, at a gun show, on the black market. He could have stolen it. Someone could have bought or stolen it for him. But why would a skilled sniper or hired gun leave his shell casings behind? That’s just sloppy.”

“The casings were clear of prints, so perhaps he didn’t think they mattered. Or maybe the firefight with Tower made him rush. Like I said, lots of questions, not a lot of answers.” Zach pulled out a notepad and glanced through it. “As for the bombing investigation, the FBI has confirmed that all of the bomb components were purchased in the Denver metro area, so our guess is we’re talking someone local, perhaps Al Zahrani.”

Laura had a hard time believing it could be Ali, but she didn’t say that. She knew Zach and all the members of the task force had been working tirelessly to solve this case. “Thank you, Zach. I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

Zach stood, concern in his gray eyes. “I can’t imagine how hard this has been for you, Laura, but we are doing our best to catch the guys responsible for this and put them behind bars. We’re all working through the weekend, and we won’t stop until you’re safe again.”

Javier held out his hand, and the two men shook. “Thanks.”

“Thank you. Call if anything comes up.”

Laura watched as Javier locked the door behind Zach, then stood and, without saying a word, walked into his embrace.

* * *

JAVIER HELPED LAURA finish making supper, keeping the conversation light. She was quiet, almost withdrawn, understandably upset by what she had seen. But she didn’t want to be alone. She came easily into his arms when he reached for her, holding his hand while they ate, as if his touch alone made her feel safer.

The surveillance footage had upset him, too. But he wasn’t afraid—he was pissed off. Whoever that son of a bitch was, Javier wanted him dead. If he was the one to put a bullet through the bastard’s skull, so much the better.

After supper, they did the dishes, then stretched out together on the sofa to watch another episode from season one of Downton Abbey, one of Laura’s favorite shows. He stroked Laura’s hair, her head pillowed on his chest, the fingers of his other hand twined with hers. Being close to her like this was the most natural thing in the world, and yet it wasn’t easy. The silky feel of her hair, the scent of her skin, the soft press of her body against his, triggered memories of this afternoon’s kiss, made him burn for her.

What a strange kind of intimacy they shared. It was like nothing he’d had with a woman before. They were closer than they’d been in Dubai, and yet they hadn’t done more than hold each other at night and kiss a couple of times. Granted, that last kiss had blown his mind, but the longing for more was there.

Oh, hell, yes, it was.

She’d taken a big step today, but he didn’t want to push things and make her uncomfortable. Of course, she had nothing to worry about. Javier had been a special operator for most of his adult life. He’d gone long stretches without a woman, making do with the occasional combat jack to take the edge off. He could handle this.