J.T. Ellison - What Lies Behind

“Grant made me uncomfortable. I had a sergeant way back who used to buddy up to us grunts, then use what we told him to make our lives hell. I got the sense Grant would do the same.”

“You’re a shrewd judge of character. Despite my own personal drama, Grant does have a reputation. He isn’t one to be messed with. He’s a true believer. There’s no gray in his world. You’d already be in a cell if you’d talked to him. Now, tell me about the shooting. Whatever possessed you to pull the trigger?”

“Dude was about to take out my principal. I didn’t have a choice.”

Saying it aloud made him feel better. He’d done right. He’d done his job.

“The principal being James Denon, head of Denon Industries, one of the world leaders in oil and gas, mining and the like.”

“Correct. He had business in the city, hired our firm to do his protection. He wanted to be subtle—he didn’t want anyone to know he’d been to the States.”

“So he chose a small, untried firm out of Washington, D.C.?”

“Small, yes. Untried? Hardly. We’ve got more experience in these matters than most.”

“New, then. A new firm.”

“All right. Yes. New.”

“Any idea why he chose you?”

“We were recommended to Mr. Denon by a friend.”

Lawhon tipped his head. “What friend?”

“My partner booked the job. You’ll have to ask him for a name.”

“I’ll do that. The man you shot hasn’t been identified. He had a sniper rifle and enough ammunition to kill every person on that tarmac. Why were you so sure he was going after Denon?”

Xander shifted in his seat. It was a good question, and he needed to be sure of his answer. “Logic. It was a setup. Had to be. Whoever took out the contract on Denon knew we were his people on the ground, and knew our procedures. Once Denon was on the plane and in the air, he ceased to be our responsibility. We were leaving when we got the call the plane was coming back. It was a well-orchestrated plan to get us out of the way.”

Lawhon sat back in the chair. “Pretty elaborate.”

“Yes. Whoever wants him dead hired someone who knows close-protection protocols.” And was using a United States Army–issue enhanced sniper rifle, one Xander himself had used many a time. He didn’t mention that tidbit.

“How did you know for sure the guy was after Denon?”

“Once the plane taxied back and the passengers disembarked, he had multiple opportunities to shoot whomever he wanted. The tarmac was full of people. He was waiting. We’d told Denon to make sure he was last off the plane. I did not engage until it was clear the principal was in mortal danger.”

At that, Xander leaned forward, caution forgotten.

“I didn’t shoot until I saw his finger go for the trigger, Mr. Lawhon. I wouldn’t kill a man in cold blood for the fun of it. That’s not how I roll.”

Lawhon watched him for a moment. “No,” he said softly. “I don’t believe you would. So here’s the deal. We’re going in with a justifiable homicide claim. You were protecting your boss, whose life was in danger, who hired you to look after him. I think that will fly, no problem. If not, we’ll take it up with the judge. He’ll see reason.”

“Jesus, this isn’t going to go further than this, is it?”

“You mean to arraignment and a trial? I hope not. It’s going to be up to Grant how far he wants it pursued.”

“Then let’s get him in here and I’ll give a statement. I’m ready to talk, to explain my side of things. I can’t sit here anymore, pretending all is well with the world.”

“First, we need to talk about a media strategy.”

“What?”

“Regardless of how this goes down, Xander, you’re going to be the lead at the top of the hour on every news channel in the country. Your name and image will be put out there. Like the cops sitting outside this door, half the people will want to congratulate you, half will want you prosecuted. Unfortunately, it’s the latter half who are the most vocal. So we need to be prepared. I want you safe, out of harm’s way and out of a jail cell.”

“Okay. If you say so.”

“Good.” Lawhon smiled again. “Now, tell me everything.”

Chapter 16

Georgetown University Medical School

THE MOMENT THEY were given the go-ahead, Fletcher and Sam got into his car and made the short drive to the Georgetown University campus. The dean of the medical school, Dr. Nate Simpson, and Sam’s immediate boss, Dr. Hilary Stag, were waiting for them in the dean’s office.

Hilary looked genuinely upset; the smile lines around her usually merry eyes were set and grim. The dean looked no better—a happy, rotund man with a white goatee and wire-rim glasses, Sam had always thought he looked a bit like Santa Claus, minus the red suit, but this morning he was frowning and dour.

What, exactly, had Tommy Cattafi done?

After the introductions were made, Dean Simpson settled down to business. “No sense beating around the bush. If Cattafi survives, and I do hope he does, despite all of this, you can ask him yourself what he was up to.”

Hilary crossed her long legs. She was wearing sheer hose that made a shurring noise each time she moved. “He was found in the gross anatomy lab, Samantha. In a state of undress. One of the corpses had been...interfered with.”

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