Chapter Eight
Alanna loaded her weapon. She studied the firing setup and watched Quaid and Mackey do a similar routine.
It had been Mac’s request that both she and Quaid get some tactical training first thing this morning, and she hadn’t argued.
She hadn’t requested permission of Dr. Cait or Drucker, either.
She’d donned double ear protection and hoped for the best.
Lately, her job at the FBI involved more desk than field.
Some testing of her skills against the ear pain mattered.
The foam plugs went in first, followed by the headset.
It dulled the noise, warped the sound – flattening, stretching, like everything came through a layer of static she couldn’t clear.
It didn’t matter.
She wasn’t here to listen.
She was here to execute.
She understood Mackey wasn’t satisfied with excuses. He had a bigger concern about safety in the field from this predator, and, if rumor was true, didn’t accept half effort.
“You’re thinking too much.” Mackey’s flat tone irritated. “Target doesn’t wait for you to get comfortable.”
Alanna kept her eyes on her target.
“I’m not thinking. I’m choosing.”
She fired and finished off four rounds of firing, unsatisfied with the respectable shots. Too much time off the range.
Quaid was firing, and she paused to watch him. Smooth. Fast. No hesitation. Lethal with solid control and accuracy. His military foundation was obvious, refined by experience.
“Try again,” Mackey coached, his eyes showing he’d recalibrated his comments. “Faster this time.” He left her to it and went to his own lane.
She reset her stance without argument, but watched him for a minute, too. Mackey didn’t just shoot. He executed. No wasted motion. No adjustment after the fact. Every round landed exactly where he intended, like the outcome had been decided before he ever pulled the trigger.
She forced herself past the ear pain, reset, and fired again.
The world had been off-balance since the blast, but she had to shoot anyway.
Focus narrowed to the target, she took the shots with no hesitation.
She unloaded her weapon and set it on the shelf, then pulled her ear protection and foam plugs.
She moved to where the two men were observing her.
“I need to stop, Mac. My ears are ringing. Give me a few minutes.”
Mackey eyed her. “All right.”
Whether early morning or personality, his short answers were right up her alley.
“Dr. Hunter will give me a ranting lecture if I cause further damage.” She put a hand over her left ear.
Quaid stopped at her side and pulled his ear protection, too. “She’ll take us out first.”
Mackey took a few minutes and studied both their targets. “Not bad.” Quaid’s was close to perfect.
On closer inspection, she noted her accuracy needed work.
Mackey grunted. “Decent. Both of you.”
“I haven’t had a great deal of range practice since I moved to LA from Virginia six months ago. Job isn’t giving me a lot of time for it.”
“FBI Qualification not the same as mine.” That was the most words from him all morning.
Alanna chose silence. She liked that Mackey demanded more.
Especially now. Yesterday still weighed on her.
The time spent telling Quaid about her past had helped get her thoughts in order, so when she talked to the rest of the search team, she’d been able to succinctly state the order of events without losing her shit.
But the immersion in the mess meant her body was tight with fear and flush with anxiety.
She’d hardly slept. She’d beg for coffee, but would Mackey understand how essential that was to her mental well-being? The excuse sounded lame.
Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. Mackey frowned. She ignored him and took out the device. Her boss. Great. She hadn’t reported in. He wouldn’t be happy with her either.
“It’s my boss. I have to take this.” She stepped away, answering as she went. “Good morning, sir.”
“Why am I only now finding out from both the San Diego Police Department and the LAPD that you were involved in a shooting two days ago and were possibly hurt in an explosion?”
Nick Ryker hated getting slammed sideways by things he wasn’t told. He was a great boss, much like Mackey, who had no tolerance for lack of communication.
“I’m trying to figure out what the hell is going on before calling you.”
“You’re first call, Williams, is always me. Hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.” The ringing was tapering off, so it was only a little lie.
“Brief me.” She slipped outside the range to the parking lot and went to their car. The alarm beeped. Jerking, she turned back to the front of the building. Quaid stood there, key fob in hand, and let her in the vehicle. Stupid safety mistake, and she knew it.
“Williams.”
“Getting somewhere I can talk, sir.”
He stayed silent while she got in the car and slammed the door. The silence of the car eased the pressure on her ears.
“Minor injuries, sir. And QM has a great doctor. I’m getting good care. Not exactly sure of the parameters. Assassin attempted to shoot Quaid Daniels in the parking lot at QM two nights ago, only it turns out he might have been after me.”
“Say that again” His demand struck a nerve.
“I triggered something.”
“How? Not this cold case I sent you there for?”
“No, sir. That one is progressing.” How the hell did she tell him she’d been using off time and FBI assets to search for Esme? Straight out. She hadn’t been on his team long enough to get away with anything else. “Something on me, I think.”
“One of your cases?”
“No, my past.”
“I admit I’m not up to speed on your background, Williams, so you’d better go into detail.”
“I only have what I suspect, sir. Nothing concrete.”
“And yet, it triggered something. Sounds like it’s more concrete than you think.”
Thankful again that Quaid had walked her through the attack, she started at the beginning. “An incident from when I was fifteen and homeless. I interrupted a man assaulting a friend.”
Did she spit it all out? Would she lose all her credibility?
“Honestly, I’m looking for this old friend. I was hurt in the altercation, and she disappeared. It’s a sixteen-year old cold case. I’m searching Southern California morgues for Jane Does.”
“And you think this assassin is the man?”
“Likely. All the information is fluid. We sorted out enough details to eliminate Quaid Daniels as the target.” Jeezus, Alanna. Say it. “I recognize him. He’s the man who attacked my friend all those years ago.”
“You’re there to work on a cold case, Alanna.” That he switched to her first name didn’t comfort.
“Yes, sir. I am. But I used to live here when I was homeless. The man who was taking care of me on the streets disappeared two weeks ago. I’ve been searching for him.
SDPD thinks he was badly hurt in a street fight, but no body.
This man who attacked us in the parking lot, no name yet, knows Whit, my guardian from those years. ”
“And your search triggered all this?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
The man sighed heavily enough for her to hear the exasperation. “Your. First. Call. Is. Me.”
“Yes, sir. I understand.” Quaid was at her window, arms crossed, face neutral. Covering her back.
“Write me a report on the progress on the Tenney case asap. We’ll keep this other under wraps for the moment, but I’m in the loop. You can’t wear the badge going rogue. I won’t have it.”
“I understand.” She bit her lip, trapping the relief needing to escape.
“You’re good, Williams. It’s why I put you on this cold case. The Tenney family has some powerful friends. They expect progress. But there’s procedures. Follow them and call me tomorrow with an update.”
“On which?”
“Both, and don’t get hurt again. Include those details in another report, please.” He disconnected.
She blew out a huge breath, blanked her phone, and opened the door.
“Not happy I take it?”
“He has a point. I can’t go rogue with this. I’m an FBI agent. I know the process, the law, and the protocols. I should have…”
“Stop. I get it. We’ll do that going forward. Still doesn’t change the steps we need to take. Are we leaving? Or are you firing some more?”
“I need to stop. I get what Mackey’s saying, but my ear hurts. I need a rest.”
“You need a cup of coffee and a Cait check up. Unfortunately, she’s doing Delaney’s surgery this morning, so we’ll have to swing by the medical bay and have Drucker take a look.”
Alanna groaned, then held up her hands in surrender. “He won’t be happy with me, I know. I have to write a report on the cold case and explain my injuries, both to be turned in by the end of the day.”
“Covering bases?” Quaid sent a text message. “Telling Mackey we have to leave.”
“No, it’s Ryker’s way of reminding me who is in charge. He’s not wrong. What’s the deal with Delaney?”
“Got hurt in Afghanistan and his arm didn’t get treated correctly. He’s struggled with it for years. Cait met him in the ED. She’s going to fix it. In the process, we hired him. He’s a good supervisor. He was living on the streets, too. It’s how he knows Whit.”
“Yeah, I got that part. So she’s doing it because…?”
“She can.”
Mackey strode out the front door, opened the back of the SUV, and deposited their weapons. Quaid shut her door and got in the back. Mackey got in front to drive.
“Sorry, Mac. I’ll try again tomorrow.”
He nodded. “I need coffee.”
“You are not alone,” she muttered, closing her eyes and rubbing the bridge of her nose. Reports, threats, pain… hell of a way to start the day. At least all her shots were in bullseye territory on the target.
&&&&&&&&&&
Quaid left Alanna to her medic visit and report writing and went to his office.
After keeping himself close to her since the shooting, he needed a minute to think.
He was diving into the deep end with her, not his usual relationship behavior.
Those were best described as one, gone, repeat with another woman. He guarded himself better these days.