Kill Shot Page 2

  Not that Rick could name just one scenario when people committed atrocious acts all the time. His stint as a Marine Scout Sniper and five years with the FBI had proved that. He could rattle off dozens, maybe hundreds of horrible things he feared, but honestly, he couldn’t narrow down the list to the worst thing.

  Let it go. You’ll know soon enough.

  He changed his focus to his phone until Cal breezed in with a big smile on his face and settled into the nearest chair. Rick wasn’t big on smiling, but he couldn’t keep his mouth from turning up. Not even with the tension in the room. Since Cal’s recent marriage, he’d lost some of his intensity. Not on the job. He was still a guy who had the team’s back, and they could count on him. He just smiled a heck of a lot more now, and it was contagious.

  “I never knew getting married could slow a guy down so much,” Brynn teased.

  Cal’s smile widened. “Hey, we moved farther away from here is all it is.”

  Shane rolled his eyes. “Right. Maybe we should start a pool on how long it takes before you call Tara.”

  Kaci grinned, looking more like a teenager than a woman in her early thirties. “I’ll take five minutes after we’re airborne.”

  “Five?” Shane asked. “Nah, he won’t make it that long.”

  Max clapped his hands. “Let’s get started, but before we do, Shane, put me down for fifteen minutes. Since we’re hassling Cal, I figure he’ll hold out longer.”

  Cal shook his head and the team chuckled, but it was a nervous laughter, as Max would soon give the go-ahead to open the binders.

  The armed guard poked his head through the doorway and eyed the group, ending the last of the laughter. He was warning them to leave the binders intact and not to remove any of the confidential material. Max gave a firm nod of acknowledgment and the guard closed the door, sealing them in. The minute this briefing ended, he’d check the binders, then put them in a burn bag to be disposed of at FBI headquarters.

  “I don’t have to tell you that our briefing is highly classified,” Max said. “And you’ll curtail any discussion of the material to private, secured locations.” He let his gaze travel over the group, pausing at each person to make his point.

  “Aren’t these directions overkill?” Shane leaned back in his chair. “We’ve been through so many classified situations that the protocol is second nature.”

  Max pinned Shane with an intense stare. “You haven’t been through anything like this, I assure you.”

  “So let’s find out what this is,” Rick said, hoping to move things along.

  “Open your binders, read the intro paragraph, and then we’ll review it before getting into a discussion of the mission.”

  Rick tore through the seal and flipped to the first page. He read only one line before his mouth fell open, and he shot a look at Max. “Self-steering bullets. Our op is about self-steering bullets?”

  “Yes,” Max said with deadly calm.

  “A horrifying bullet that gives a novice shooter the same skills as a highly trained sniper,” Rick grumbled. “You weren’t kidding when you said this is my worst nightmare.”

  “Can someone explain, please?” Kaci asked.

  “It’s simple, really,” Rick said, but if the mission involved these bullets, it would be anything but simple. “The EXtreme ACcuracy Tasked Ordnance program, EXACTO, has done what was once thought impossible. Under the Department of Defense’s umbrella, EXACTO created a small-caliber bullet with continuous guidance to target. And don’t be confused by my ‘small-caliber’ comment. I mean small only in comparison to a missile. We’re talking .50 caliber here.”

  Cal let out a long, low whistle. Second to Rick, Cal possessed the greatest experience and weapons training on the team, so the self-steering bullets weren’t news to him.

  “Missile guidance in a .50,” Brynn muttered. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I wish I was,” Rick replied. “And in case you’re not up to speed on rifles chambered for .50-caliber ammunition, this rifle is considered one of the most destructive weapons legally available to civilians in the U.S. The bullets will shoot through armor plate and reinforced concrete.”

  Kaci’s face paled. “How does this smart bullet work?”

  “The ammo’s paired with a custom infrared scope. The bullets have optical sensors in the tips that communicate with the scope and send signals to fins in the bullet to adjust the path to the target. As long as the shooter keeps the scope trained on the target, the bullet will adjust course to hit the target. Even circling back if needed.”

  “So any yahoo with this scope and these bullets could kill a mark without any training?” Brynn clarified.

  Rick nodded. “Takes a special weapon without a rifled barrel, but yeah, anyone on the street possessing these tools instantly becomes a highly accurate sniper and can take out a target at an extreme distance without a lick of training. The record sniper kill for a .50 without the aid of this technology is a mile and a half, and the bullets travel twenty-eight hundred feet per second. Means the shooter would be long gone before anyone figured out where the round originated.”

  “Whoa,” Shane said.

  Max scowled. “Exactly.”

  “Then I’m assuming we have state-of-the-art security for this ordnance,” Cal said, using the common military term for weapons and ammunition.

  Max widened his stance. “Yes, but—”

  “Wait,” Rick interrupted as their mission became clear to him. “You’re not going to tell us someone stole the self-steering bullets?”

  “I’m afraid a rifle, scope, and three dozen bullets fell into the wrong hands about three weeks ago.”

  “Three weeks ago! And we’re just being called in now?”

  “The Department of Defense tried to retrieve the prototype themselves, but failed.”

  Rick made strong eye contact with Max. “So our mission is to retrieve this weapon and ammo before someone gets killed.”

  “Unfortunately,” Max replied, his gaze uneasy, “someone has already died, and our mission also includes hunting down the killer.”

  Chapter 2

  Atlanta, Georgia

  1:30 a.m.

  Olivia parked outside the rental bungalow where she lived with her sister Dianna and Dianna’s two children. Olivia stared at the warm glow from a streetlight filtering through tall oak trees and trying to wash away dusty shadows clinging to the house. Dianna had been expecting her for hours, but the detective had taken her back to the scene and now the memory of Ace lying in a pool of blood drained her energy and she couldn’t move.

  Ace. Poor Ace. Gone from this world. Dead. Murdered. How could that be?

  Tears pricked her eyes, and she swiped them away. She worked hard not to get emotionally involved with her clients. It took great mental fortitude. Sometimes she failed, and Ace was one of those times. She’d never crossed a professional line with him—or any client, for that matter—but she’d invested much of herself in his recovery these past three years. She’d be lying if she said his care was simply a job, or that his loss didn’t cut her to core.

  The bright-red bungalow door swung open, and Dianna stepped onto the tiny porch. She shifted her three-month-old baby higher on her shoulder and impatiently curled her arm to beckon Olivia. Baby Natalie’s cries tugged at Olivia’s heart, so she forced herself out of the car and toward the house. Apparently she didn’t move fast enough, as Dianna charged down the steps and across the lawn.

  “It’s bad enough that you’re so late,” Dianna said. “But then you just sat there, and I thought I’d have to haul you out of the car.”

  Olivia bit back her retort. The last thing Dianna needed tonight was for Olivia to share her experience. She had to do what she told her clients to do—put aside unhelpful thoughts. Leave the past behind and live in the present. She’d think of Dianna needing help and no more drama. The morning would be soon enough to talk.

  “As I said in my texts,” Olivia replied, working hard to keep h
er tone from sounding snippy, “I was having a bad day.”

  “You’re having a bad day! Wylie’s been acting out, and Nat’s been screaming nonstop. I’m about to pull my hair out.” Dianna settled Natalie into Olivia’s arms.

  “Hi, precious.” Olivia snuggled the baby close and hoped the scent of her sweet shampoo would help calm her own nerves. She swayed until the baby’s cries turned to whimpers.

  Dianna sighed, her breath seeming to go on and on. “I’m sorry for being so cranky, Sis. I really am. I’m exhausted and at the end of my rope. You know I appreciate your help, right? I mean, I’ve never been a leech like Harrison or Mom.”

  “No, you haven’t.”

  Dianna once was independent and self-reliant. Strong, positive, and a joy to be around. Until her marine husband walked out on her and their children a few months ago. She’d sunk into a deep depression, so Olivia had convinced her to move back to Atlanta to share a house. Olivia soon saw the extent of Dianna’s depression and recommended she see a local psychologist. Thankfully, counseling had helped, but Dianna still needed a sleep aid at night, so Olivia had taken on the responsibility of getting up when Natalie and Wylie needed something. Tonight would be no different. And in fact, Olivia was glad to have the baby to care for when thoughts of Ace kept her awake.

  Olivia dredged up a smile for her sister. “Let’s get you inside and in bed.”

  Dianna’s flip-flops snapped as she marched across the lawn brown from a dry and sweltering summer. Inside she popped her sleeping pill into her mouth, grabbed a glass of water, and chugged until ice clinked to the bottom.

  “Okay, so nothing’s different from yesterday. If Natalie gets too fussy and you want to take her for a ride to calm her down, her seat’s in my car and here are the keys.” She tapped her key ring lying on the counter.

  “Got it,” Olivia said.

  Dianna filled her glass again before trudging down the hallway. Not only was she physically tired, but the loss of her husband and the life they’d been building added to her fatigue. Thankfully, Dianna didn’t share their mother’s and brother’s belief that counseling was pointless. Olivia had argued with her family for years about their misguided opinion of the profession. They thought it a waste of time, but she was committed to helping as many people as she could.

  Or she had been until lately, when she’d started to notice the failures more. She’d always been a positive person, so what had changed? Was she just tired from caring for the kids, or was it more?

  “I think it’s time to face facts, precious,” she whispered to the baby as she pulled her close and snuggled. “If I don’t get a break soon, I’ll burn out, too, and won’t be any good to anyone.”

  * * *

  Atlanta, Georgia

  3:30 a.m.

  Home.

  Rick was home, and he didn’t much like it. He stepped from the plane well ahead of his team, his feet hitting the tarmac at Dobbins Air Reserve Base in a suburb north of Atlanta. The humidity slapped him upside the head and dampened his clothes.

  Yeah, he was home all right. Hard to forget eighteen years of sweltering days even into fall. Playing on the football field and fighting to breathe thick air. Looking up at the packed stands where fans sipped icy drinks. Not his father, of course, but his mother had attended every game when she wasn’t on his father’s arm at some social event.

  He hadn’t been back here since his buddy Levi’s wedding three years ago, and the steamy humidity felt foreign. Sure, it would have been so easy on that trip for Rick to stop in to see his mother and father, but he and his parents were estranged. Estranged, ha! His dad’s fancy word to say they couldn’t abide seeing one another and hadn’t been together for seventeen years. Rick didn’t need his father’s fancy language. His money or his prestige either.

  Rick had everything he needed. A job where he made a difference each and every day. A small house to call home. His refurbished 1948 Harley Panhead plus enough money to hunt, fish, and mountain climb whenever he had the free time. He’d also kept in contact with Yolanda, the family cook who’d practically raised him. He’d need to make time to see her while he was in town.

  That was enough for him. Had to be enough.

  The team tromped down the stairs, and Rick shook off his memories to do the job he’d been dispatched to do. He raised a finger to warn two young agents with overly eager gazes to stay put as they climbed from black SUVs near the hold of the plane.

  Rick faced the team. “Mind getting the equipment unloaded while I talk to the local agents?”

  Kaci swiped the back of her arm across her forehead, then fanned her face. “I think everyone agrees with me when I say we’re not much into hauling equipment, especially in this heat. But we’re even less into talking to green agents who look like driving us to the crime scene equals taking over the world.”

  “We were once that eager.” Shane chuckled.

  “Speak for yourself,” Rick replied, earning a laugh from the group as Max came barreling down the steps.

  He peered at Rick. “Thought you’d want to know that the autopsy’s scheduled at eight.”

  “Any chance we can push it to a later time so I can calculate the bullet trajectory and interview the witness first?”

  “I’m not sure rescheduling is a good idea.” Uncertainty clung to his words.

  Rick had never seen Max waffle, and he would seize the moment. “The deceased isn’t going anywhere, so the autopsy is the only investigative piece that’s not time sensitive. Forensics is a different story. Thunderstorms are predicted in the afternoon, as they usually are when the temps heat up in Atlanta. I’ll need to locate the shooter’s hide before rain or people inadvertently destroy evidence. And with every minute that passes, the witness could change her statement.”

  “Didn’t someone mention that she’s a well-respected doctor?” Cal asked. “If so, maybe her observations are more clinical in nature, and she won’t have hazy recall like so many witnesses.”

  “Doctor or not,” Brynn said, “trauma like she just experienced could skew her perception.”

  “And she’s not an MD, but a PhD,” Max added. “A clinical psychologist specializing in treating trauma and PTSD.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” A sour feeling settled in Rick’s stomach.

  “No, is that a problem?”

  “Problem?” Rick mumbled, trying to wrap his head around the fact that their only eyewitness was a shrink—a profession prior experiences had taught him to be wary of.

  Max eyed him. “If it is, let me know now so I can pull you from lead.”

  “No problem,” Rick replied, hoping he was right. “But her credentials won’t stop me from having Kaci do a deep background check on her.”

  “Are you thinking she might not be on the up-and-up?” Kaci asked.

  “You know the person who finds a body is always under suspicion for having a connection to the crime,” Rick replied. “And the deceased is her client, which means we have to be even more diligent in vetting her. Being a highly respected doctor doesn’t change that.”

  Max stepped closer. “It’s going to take time for Kaci to photograph the scene before you can access it. I could try to arrange for you to interview Dr. Dobbs near the scene while you wait for access.” He flipped open a thick binder. “Like I thought. Her cell number’s in the report. I’ll make a call right now and get her down there. Then arrange with the locals to find a quiet spot to hold the interview.”

  “And if she doesn’t agree?”

  Max’s eyebrow rose. “You doubt my ability to convince her of the importance?”

  Rick didn’t doubt Max’s abilities. He doubted the doctor’s willingness to help. “People are unpredictable.”

  “But if anyone can get her there, Max can,” Brynn said.

  She spoke the truth, so Rick nodded. “Then let’s get to work.”

  Max shifted the binder under his arm and dug out his phone. The team headed for the hold of the plane, where Rick
greeted the agents.

  The tallest guy shot to attention and took eager steps toward Rick. He did his best to be accommodating, but when the guy’s excitement had him jingling his car keys, Rick snatched them from his hand. “What can you tell me about the shooting?”

  “Um…well…just that there was a shooting. Oh, and your team is here to investigate.”

  “And?”

  “And…well…I…” He ran a quick hand over his baby face and shrank back. “My job is to drive you all to the crime scene, but I haven’t been read in on the investigation.”

  “Read in or not, you must have heard some gossip.”

  He shook his head hard. “I know it’s gotta be big if y’all are here, but honestly, no one’s even speculating because we don’t know enough to start.”

  The answer Rick wanted to hear. The only way to keep the news of the stolen self-steering bullets from reaching the press was to contain the number of people in the know.

  “You can both ride in the second vehicle,” Rick said. “We’ll need the cars during our stay. Arrange for someone in your office to pick you up at the scene.”

  The agent sputtered something about being required to drive, but there was no way Rick would let a rookie drive him in his hometown.

  “Take a seat in the other SUV now so you’re ready to depart the moment we are.” Rick eyed both agents until they complied, then pocketed the car keys and pitched in loading gear.

  Max still stood to the side, but Rick hadn’t counted on him to schlep equipment anyway. Rick wasn’t known for his ability to schmooze and make nice, so as long as Max was on this deployment, Rick would take advantage of it and have him run interference with local officials and obtain any needed warrants from judges.

  After the final case was loaded, Rick closed the hatch and turned to the team. “Shane and Kaci, you’re in the second vehicle.”

  Shane rolled his eyes. “Don’t much like being a kid who has to sit at the second Thanksgiving table.”