Chapter 3
A light rain began to mist the plaza as the crime scene tape flapped uselessly against a growing wall of press and bystanders.
Huck finished reading the text from Laurel and tucked his phone in his back pocket. Truth be told, he liked her safely away from this scene. “Norrs?”
Agent Norrs finished a phone call and strode toward him. “What?”
“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.”
Doubtful. “Conflict of interest,” Huck said firmly. “You’ve got it and you know it. Back off, Norrs. The state is taking this, and I will keep you and your office informed.” Damn, he hoped he had the juice to take the case. “Let’s go find this guy’s perch.”
They crossed under the tape with minimal words, Norrs matching Huck’s pace while York huffed behind them, muttering about assholes.
“Huck.” A willowy blonde ducked her head against the rain and hustled up to him, her phone out and pressed toward his mouth. “You heard the shot, right? You yelled ‘gun’ before most of us realized what had happened.”
He kept his face expressionless. “No comment.”
“Come on,” Rachel Raprenzi said. “You were a sniper and you must’ve recognized the sound. Who do you think tried to kill Dr. Caine?”
“No comment.” He could not believe he’d once been engaged to the ambitious journalist. She’d thrown him under the bus for a story once, and he’d never let her do it again.
She didn’t move her phone away from his face. “I know about your time in the military, remember? You should talk to me so I get the facts right.”
The woman didn’t care about facts. She cared about ratings. Sure, she knew he’d been a sniper, but he’d never confided in her. Not once about that time in his life. “Watch out for slander this time,” he murmured, not forgetting she’d accused him of being a serial killer just a month ago.
“I’m sorry about that, but when Zeke Caine kidnapped me, he made it seem like it was you. I was one of his victims, too.” She pushed a strand of hair away from her smooth face.
Huck motioned for one of the county deputies, who ran up, eyes wide. “Make sure none of them follow us. Thanks.” He ignored Rachel’s sputtering and moved out into the street.
The three of them cut through the edge of the crowd, drawing a few camera lenses and more than one shouted question. Huck didn’t break stride. He didn’t even glance at the press.
The sidewalk shimmered with rainwater. Old brick storefronts blurred past in Huck’s periphery as they moved toward the Co-Op tower. Half the top floor windows were punched out from storms or vagrants. A place like that, quiet and forgotten, made the perfect blind.
York pulled a key ring from his jacket as they approached. “The city gave me master access after the copper thefts last year.” He grunted as he unlocked the rusting side entrance to shove open the door, its hinges squealing loud enough to echo off the buildings behind them.
The inside smelled like dust and waterlogged insulation. Graffiti crawled across the hallway walls like veins. Huck took the lead up the narrow stairwell, flashlight beam bouncing off cracked tile. His steps remained nearly silent.
“You think they stayed long?” Norrs asked from behind him.
“No,” Huck said. “But long enough to get the shot right. And they weren’t in a hurry on the way in.”
Norrs sneezed twice. “How do you know?”
“They didn’t go through the front entrance. No smashed lock. They had a key or a tool set.”
York blew out a breath behind them. “So what, we’re looking for someone with real estate access and a rifle habit?”
“We’re looking for someone who understands patience,” Huck said.
They reached the twelfth floor. The landing was wide, empty except for old office chairs and broken-down electrical panels. Puddles reflected the pale daylight slipping through shattered glass.
Huck scanned for footprints in the dust. Something more than the usual. Ten feet from the west-facing window, he stopped. “Here.”
The gravel and dirt along the floor had been disturbed and flattened in a tight oval. Prone position. Elbows, belly, bipod legs. An old radiator beside it had been shifted just enough to offer cover. The shooter had created a nest. Clean. Temporary. Huck crouched and aimed his flashlight.
Brass glinted near the baseboard.
“Round was fired from here.” He picked up the casing delicately in his gloved hand. “Seven-six-two. Could’ve been Lapua, maybe a custom load.”
York stood behind him, arms crossed tight. “They leave a signature?”
“No,” Huck said. “They left competence. That’s worse.”
“Any prints?”
“Not if they wore gloves. Which they did.” Huck turned toward the window, kneeling at the spot where the shooter had lain.
The angle was perfect. The courthouse steps lined up directly in the center of the broken glass frame.
He imagined Abigail standing there. Head, shoulders, vest. The timing had been exact.
Norrs moved slowly around the space. “There’s no second casing.”
“Because there was no second shot,” Huck replied. “One round. No wasted motion. They weren’t here to make noise.” But the sniper had failed.
York looked unconvinced. “Could’ve been a warning. Could’ve been meant to scare.”
Huck stood and turned to face him. “He aimed for her chest and had no way of knowing she wore a vest. Shit. I watched her walk by me and didn’t know. It’s an aberration and not one I would’ve planned for in this case.” He studied Norrs. “You’re paranoid. I didn’t read that in you.”
Norrs looked around the dusty area. “Not paranoid. I just love her.”
Well, shit. Abigail Caine was a predator, pure and deep. She had no problem using people and no hesitation when it came to killing. The farther Huck kept Norrs from this investigation, the better. “I need to interview you.” Well, after he managed to get assigned the case. Somehow.
He and Laurel should’ve stayed in Cabo.