Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“Just received a text from Laurel, who’s on her way to Elk Hollow for an unrelated case. Abigail is going to be fine and can probably go home later today. Bullet hit the vest and just sliced across her arm.” He studied the able-bodied agent. “Why was Dr. Caine wearing a bulletproof vest?”
Norrs flushed. “She’s had a couple of threats lately. I figured it might be somebody from her dad’s congregation, or maybe someone who’s against pot farming, so I made her wear it.”
Huck doubted very seriously that anybody could make Abigail do anything. Sometimes he forgot the doctor also owned a successful marijuana farm. “You probably saved her life. Send me the threats.”
Norrs’s thick chin lifted. “I’m looking into it.”
Huck sighed. “This isn’t a federal matter, and you know it. I’ll see what I can do to get assigned to it.” In Washington State, Fish and Wildlife officers were fully commissioned and could work on any case. However, an attempted murder case was a rare one for his department. Yet . . . he was a sniper. Or had been one in the army, anyway.
The shot earlier had cracked like the world had flinched.
Norrs looked toward the street. “I can’t believe someone shot at my woman.” Anger flushed red across his face. “Nobody saw a shooter? Not even a vehicle?”
Huck shook his head. “One shot, suppressed. Not random. Not close. The kind of shot that didn’t come from panic. It came from planning.”
Norrs’s chin dropped. “You’re saying a sniper shot her?”
“Yeah.” The plaza was loud with working deputies, humming camera crews, and reporters shouting names over each other.
Huck crouched low by the point of impact and saw a small chip in the granite column just left of where Abigail had been standing. He pictured her again. Five-nine, squared off slightly at an angle. The round had hit the upper part of the vest and clipped her left arm. That meant the shot had come down, not across. A high trajectory. The shooter hadn’t been on street level.
He turned slowly, scanning rooftops above the crowd and the press vans. The Tempest Grain Cooperative building loomed three blocks away and was made of red brick, twelve stories, busted windows, and no tenants. High enough. Dead-on line of sight. It was the only thing tall and vacant enough to work.
Boots approached fast on the sidewalk, heavy and irritated.
“Jesus Christ,” Genesis Valley sheriff Upton York growled as he ducked under the tape, eyes scanning the chaos like it personally offended him. He wore his city uniform, his thin brown hair in a comb-over, and his pudgy face sharply shaven. “You turn your back for one second and killers are taking rounds on courthouse steps.”
“Accused killer,” Norrs snarled. “She’s innocent.”
York looked toward the reporters angling for position. “Sure she is. Jesus. You’re blind, man.”
Huck couldn’t agree more. He didn’t look at either of them. “Single round. Suppressed. Took the victim in the vest, hit her arm as well. Entry angle’s too steep for ground level.”
York frowned. “You’re saying this came from a building?”
“Not just any building. That one.” Huck pointed toward the old Co-Op tower. “Top floor. Angle matches. Nothing else has that line.”
Norrs whistled. “That’s what—six, seven hundred yards?”
“Closer to eight-fifty,” Huck said, standing now. “Wind was low. Shooter had time. No panic in the shot.”
York’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. Around them, deputies pushed the press back toward the secondary perimeter, where two local news anchors were already reporting live from just beyond the tape.
Norrs appeared beside them, eyes following Huck’s line. “You think this was a hit on Abigail? Just her?”
“If they wanted more bodies, they’d have fired again,” Huck said. He turned from the courthouse, gaze still locked on the distant rooftop. “This was deliberate. Clean. Controlled.”
York squinted up at the tower. “You think he’s still up there?”
“No,” Huck said, already moving. “I think he left exactly when he wanted to leave. Let’s go find it.”
York made the mistake of grabbing his arm. “This is my scene, Officer. The crime happened in Genesis Valley, and I’m the Chief of Police.”
Huck didn’t have time for this crap. “The state is taking over the investigation.” He didn’t want a pissing match over jurisdiction. “This was a sniper shot, and I once worked as a sniper. I’m happy to keep you in the loop, or we could investigate together, but I’m not messing around here.”
Norrs cleared his throat. “You know, I believe the FBI would like concurrent jurisdiction. The victim has received threats via email, which triggers federal jurisdiction.”
Rain matted York’s thin hair to his head, giving his comb-over a thicker look. “Could’ve been somebody local, and you know it. That’s not enough to give the FBI jurisdiction, and as the local, I’m not asking for it.”
“In addition”—Norrs continued as if York hadn’t spoken—“the victim is not only dating an FBI agent but is the sister of one. That proximity could give jurisdiction.”