Julie Leto - Line of Fire

Adam pulled out his cell and dialed into the command system. He got Max on the line.

“Are we clear?” he asked.

“The attorney is back inside and paramedics are tending to Yube, though there isn’t a damn thing they can do except pick up the pieces. Mrs. Nelson is en route to the hospital, as is the paramedic I sent out.”

Adam couldn’t miss the self-recrimination in Max’s voice, but he didn’t comment.

“Third floor is empty. SWAT is sweeping the fourth and fifth floor offices. Stay put until all’s clear,” the chief added.

“No shooter?” Adam asked, disbelieving. If the SWAT teams had so much trouble making their way to the top floors, how could the shooter have escaped so easily? The fact that the sniper hadn’t been on the roof concerned Adam greatly. Metal detectors and X-ray machines greeted each and every courthouse visitor. How was the weapon brought in? He thought back to the craziness that had ensued immediately after Craven released Yube. Could someone have slipped through Security in the chaos, undetected?

“If the sniper is still in the building, we can’t find him,” Max answered. “We’re sending up two more teams and we’re guarding the stairwell. I have teams on the outside watching all the windows. Unless there’s another escape route that we don’t know about, we’ll get him.”

Adam frowned. “Maybe it was an inside job.”

Max didn’t sound any happier about that prospect than Adam was. “Maybe. We’ll check out everyone still in the building. You still with Craven?”

“Yes. The situation is under control.”

A knock sounded. Judge Craven moved to answer the door, but Adam shouted ahead. “Who is it?” he called out, holding the phone to his chest.

“Randolph, sir. I’m with SWAT. Checking in.”

With Adam’s permission, the rookie entered and did a quick sweep of Craven’s office—coming up empty, as Adam had expected. Despite the growing suspicion that the incident was over with no perp in custody, Max ordered Adam to remain with Judge Craven and his assistant until the floor was clear. Max shared Adam’s instinct that the hit wasn’t random. Until they knew more, they had to assume that anyone associated with Yube’s release was in danger. For all they knew, Faith had been a target as well. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a great stretch to think the vigilante who’d pulled the trigger on Yube and Faith could have it in for the judge who released Yube.

Adam also acknowledged that the whole tragedy might have been haphazard, a fortuitous accident perpetrated by a lunatic with a gun, but no agenda. They had no idea—and wouldn’t, until Adam and his team of detectives broke the case.

F OR WHAT SEEMED LIKE the tenth time, Faith shook her head at the paramedic stationed a few feet away from her and declined treatment. While she appreciated the fact that the emergency medical technician simply wanted to help, she preferred to sit here, sip her bottled water, ignore her scraped knee and hope the police would interview her soon. She’d already borrowed a cell phone—hers was in her briefcase on the other side of the yellow tape—and checked on Roma, who’d been evacuated after running back into the building. Next, she’d called her foster parents to assure them that she was okay. Once someone took her statement, she’d go show them in person. Besides, what she wanted most of all in the world right now was a slice of her foster mother’s guava chiffon cake. Faith could already taste the silky texture of the baked confection, the sweet lightness of the whipped cream icing, the distinct tropical flavor of the glaze.

Her stomach growled.

Great, now she’d made herself hungry. A wonderful addition to feeling traumatized and exhausted.

To take her mind off her appetite, she glanced through the crowd milling through the lobby of the courthouse building and wondered where Detective Guthrie had disappeared to. She owed him, at the very least, a sincere thank-you. When he’d pinned her to the wall, he’d likely saved her life. Even if she hadn’t been the target, she could have been hit.

But before Faith could decide exactly how to word her gratitude, Adam emerged from the stairwell behind Judge Craven, who had his arm wrapped around a distraught young woman in a pink dress. Chief Zirinsky approached the judge and, if Faith remembered correctly, his law clerk, Mindy, and directed them to a bank of chairs near his makeshift command center. Two uniforms hurried to stand watch, not unlike the one who’d been trying to stand discreetly behind her; she could practically feel his breath on the back of her neck.

Adam made a beeline for her.

“You okay?”

Though Adam was likely the hundredth person to ask her that question in the last thirty minutes, this time, the sentiment spawned a lump in her throat. She coughed into her hand, then took another sip of water.

“Thanks to you.”

He chuckled. “For God’s sake, I left you out there with Yube’s body for company. I’m really sorry about that.”

“Hey, you had to do your job.”

“Just like you had to do yours this afternoon,” he commented, but there was no condemnation in his voice. More like resolve, as if he’d forced himself to understand.

“Lot of good it’s done now. Someone decided to be judge, jury and executioner without the benefit of the legal system we both love. Was the vigilante caught?”

Adam eased into the chair beside her. “No, but we’ll catch him.”

She smiled, but the effort cost her. Damn, she was tired. Bone weary. She attempted to sit up straighter, until a sharp pain between her shoulder blades caused her to wince. “I believe you. I don’t know why my statement is important. I didn’t see anything.”

Adam motioned the uniform over, then borrowed a pen and paper. He nodded for the guy to step away, and the cop immediately complied. Once they were alone, he poised the ballpoint over the pad, then hesitated.

“You up for an interview?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Adam quirked an eyebrow. For the first time, she noticed how incredibly warm his eyes were—a rich caramel brown with flecks of gold that would likely catch the light on a sunny day.

His voice was deep, but gentle. Like a wave meant for floating rather than surfing. She wondered if Adam ever caught the waves, if he ever experienced the rush of riding the ocean on a mad dash toward land.

“We could postpone this until later,” he said. “You look like you’re in pain.”

“Nah, just a little sore. That’s the price of skipping my workouts for the past three weeks.”

“No pain, no gain,” he commented.

“So they say,” Faith acknowledged, though right at this minute she’d like to slap the idiot who came up with that stupid phrase. “Go ahead with your questions, Detective. The sooner you do your thing, the sooner you can catch the sniper—and do it by the book, okay? I won’t be defending this creep, but someone will be.”

He frowned, cleared his throat and then proceeded. “Had your client received any specific threats?”

She snorted. “You’re kidding, right? About a gazillion of them at last count.”

“Any to your office?”

“Half there, half to his home, which he immediately forwarded to me. Roma kept records.”

“Any of them specific?”

“What, like ‘I’m going to shoot your head off in the courthouse plaza if you walk in this case’?”

He met her sarcasm with another frown.

“Sorry,” she said, not really meaning it. “I tend to get snippy when I’m tired and hungry.”

“Not to mention traumatized.”

“Excuse me?”

“That was one nasty crime scene, Faith. It’s okay to lose it a little.”

“Are you the department shrink, too?”