Кей Хупер - Blood Ties

“Where did the shot come from? With all the echoes, I couldn’t tell.”

“I think it came from the other side of the valley.”

“A hunter?”

“I don’t think so.”

Diana didn’t have to be urged to continue on. Or to hurry.

“Stay down.”

DeMarco’s heavy weight lay on her for only an instant before he was rolling away, weapon in hand, eyes narrowed as he peered through the underbrush to scan the mountain slopes surrounding the valley below them. One of his hands lay only inches from the murdered woman’s skull.

“Sorry,” he added briefly.

Without moving otherwise, Hollis fingered the neat hole in the shoulder of her jacket and managed a shaky laugh. “Sorry? Because you probably saved my life?”

“As fast as you heal, that’s debatable. No, I’m sorry I had to knock you down like that without warning.”

“There wasn’t really time for a warning. I get that, believe me.” Hollis was a bit proud of the fact that her voice was—almost—as calm as his. She rolled onto her belly but continued to hug the cold ground as she drew her weapon. “I don’t suppose that shot could have been accidental.” It wasn’t a question.

He answered anyway. “Probably not. That was a high-powered rifle, and I doubt it’s the sort of weapon used by hunters in these parts.”

“Then somebody was shooting at me?”

“At one of us. Or intending to shake us up.”

Hollis wondered if anything had ever shaken up DeMarco. Somehow she doubted it.

“I don’t see anything,” she said after a moment, scanning the area as he was—or at least as much as she could make out through the underbrush. Not that she was all that sure what she was looking for. “Speaking of which, how the hell did you know that shot was coming?”

He didn’t reply immediately, and when he did his tone was almost indifferent. “I caught a glimpse of something from the corner of my eye. Probably sunlight glinting off the barrel of the gun.”

Hollis glanced up at what had become, hours before, a heavily overcast sky and said, “Uh-huh. Okay, keep the mysterious military secrets to yourself. I don’t mind being told it’s none of my business.” Despite the words, her voice was, to say the least, sarcastic.

“It’s not a military secret, Hollis.”

Something she couldn’t identify had crept into that indifferent tone, and for some obscure reason it pleased her. “No?”

“No.” He glanced at her, then away, as he added, “I can feel it when a gun is pointed at me or anywhere close to me.”

“Always?”

“So far as I know.”

“Is that a psychic ability?”

Again, he hesitated briefly before replying. “Bishop calls it a primal ability. Guns pose lethal threats: I sense a threat. It’s a survival mechanism.”

“Sounds like a handy one, especially in our line of work.”

“It has been, yes.”

“You still sensing a threat?”

“Not an imminent one.”

“Meaning the gun isn’t pointed this way anymore, but the shooter might still be… wherever he or she was?”

“Something like that.”

“Then maybe we can get up off the ground now?”

He sent her another glance. “I could be wrong, you know.”

“Are you?”

He didn’t answer immediately, which surprised her. From the first time they’d met, she had sized up DeMarco as a man full of self-confidence. Possibly to a fault. She figured he was the sort who would view any hesitation as weakness.

That was one reason she always felt slightly on the defensive with him, because she was prone to hesitate. A lot.

Deciding this wasn’t one of those times, she gathered herself to get up off the ground. Instantly, DeMarco’s free hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, holding her still just long enough.

The bullet hit the tree nearest them with a dull thud, bark went flying, and the craa-aack of the shot echoed as the first one had.

If Hollis had gotten up as planned, she likely would have taken that shot just about dead center in her chest.

DeMarco released her wrist. “Now we can get up.” He did.

Hollis remained where she was for a moment, studying the reddening marks of his grip on her arm. Then she accepted his outstretched hand and got to her feet. It struck her as she did that she was completely confident in DeMarco’s certainty that the gunman would not shoot again, and she wondered about that.

She really did.

“So it was intended for me,” she said, holding her voice steady despite her pounding heart. “I was the target.”

A rare frown drew his brows together as he continued to scan the mountain slopes facing them. “Maybe. Depending on his position, we could have been at least partially visible even when we were on the ground. Or maybe he couldn’t see you about to get up, and that was just a final shot aimed where we were a few minutes ago, intended to keep us pinned down here and give him more time to get out of the area. Either way is possible. We should be able to determine a rough trajectory using the bullet that struck that tree, and the first one if we can find it.”

“And if the trajectory confirms what you suspect?” she asked, knowing he had a point to make.

“Then the shooter was on the other side of the valley.”

Hollis looked, then frowned as she slowly holstered her gun. “I’m not all that good at estimating distance, but… that’s not close.”

“No. But for a trained sharpshooter with a good scope, not an impossible distance.”

“You’re thinking he missed on purpose?”

“I’m thinking with the sort of gun and scope I suspect he’s using, he was more likely to hit what he was aiming at than to miss with the only two shots he fired.”

“He might have missed with the first shot only because you were quicker. Have I said thank you, by the way?”

“You’re welcome.” But DeMarco was staring toward the other side of the valley, his eyes narrowed again. “Why draw attention to his presence? Dumb idea. We wouldn’t suspect he was there otherwise. He could have watched every move we made here.”

“Why would he want to?”

“That’s the question. Possible answers: Because he wants to see us in action. Because he wants to observe our reaction to this victim, this dump site. Because we’ve been here only a couple of hours, new players he wants to get to know. Or… because he likes to watch. Likes to see how people—law enforcement or otherwise—react to what he’s left for us.”

“But we’ve agreed this body wasn’t meant to be found.”

DeMarco nodded. “So … he wouldn’t expect to see us here. Any of us. Anyone, for that matter. He had every reason to expect no one would be at this location.”

“Which means neither of us was a target?”

“Not a target he would have expected or planned for. A target of opportunity maybe. We were here, one or both of us are on his hit list, so he took his shot. But if he didn’t expect anyone to find this victim, what’s he doing on the other side of the valley with a high-powered rifle? And why was it more important to him to shoot at one or both of us, giving away his presence, rather than simply waiting and watching in order to gather intel?”

Hollis wasn’t sure what she would have replied to that, so it was a good thing that Quentin and Diana arrived then. Both had guns drawn and were visibly alert and wary.

“We heard the shots,” Quentin said.

DeMarco explained, with a minimum of words, what had happened.

Hollis silently poked one finger through the bullet hole in her jacket.

Characteristically, Quentin’s comment to her was somewhat flippant. “You just can’t stay out of trouble, can you?”