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Faith closed her eyes for a moment and repeated that last bit of information to herself, hoping beyond hope that she was telling the truth.
A DAM DASHED INTO THE LOBBY of the courthouse, sparing one last glance at Faith through the glass doors before rushing toward Police Chief Max Zirinsky and his assembled emergency team.
He hadn’t expected hysterics from a cool customer like Faith Lawton, and she hadn’t disappointed him. The woman could think on her feet, and he had to trust that she’d be safe until they could catch the maniac who’d popped George Yube. Yeah, Adam thought the guy should have paid for his decades of crime, but vigilantes pissed him off nearly as much as criminals. The cops might not be perfect, but nine times out of ten, they did their jobs and they did them well.
The lobby echoed from the sound of combat boots on the terrazzo floor. Adam glanced around, not surprised to see the large space free of civilians. The SWAT team, headed by Flint Mauro, swarmed into the space, dressed in black and wearing intense expressions. Courage Bay had one of the best SWAT teams in California. They were in good hands.
“How’s the attorney?” Max asked the minute he spotted Adam coming toward him. Though only five years from turning fifty, Max Zirinsky could bench-press his weight with ease. Dark haired with cool green eyes, he was the kind of cop who belonged at the top. Quick with a joke, but deadly serious when it came to fighting crime, Max had the respect of everyone in law enforcement, with the exception, perhaps, of the many criminals he’d locked away.
“She’s cool. Staying put until one of your guys can reach her.”
“What about Mrs. Nelson?”
Adam shook his head. “Not good. Faith’s trained in CPR, but she can’t get near her until we stop the shooter.”
He had noticed Lorraine Nelson’s chest rising and falling, but otherwise had seen very little movement. She wasn’t young. She needed medical attention and she needed it now.
Max clapped Adam on the shoulder. “Ms. Lawton won’t have to put herself in danger. I’m suiting up one of the paramedics in SWAT gear and sending her out with Flint. He’s pulling out a bulletproof shield from the riot gear. Thinks he can angle it and keep them safe until they can determine Mrs. Nelson’s condition.”
Adam nodded, not the least bit surprised that in minutes, Zirinsky had the situation as near to under control as possible. He wondered if the chief was going to send him out of the building while the rest of the team worked this operation. Courage Bay had a crack Incident Command System. With the city on the ocean, surrounded by mountains and sitting on a fault line, the Courage Bay community had to be ready for emergencies. As chief of detectives, Adam wasn’t usually involved unless the emergency was crime-related. Like this one. But snipers were SWAT’s business, not his. At least until the danger passed.
Still, he had a personal interest in not only bringing Faith back inside safely, but also catching the sniper alive and making sure he paid for his crimes. He’d had enough of slippery criminals today. He wanted to make sure this arrest went down by the book—and that was a job for a top cop.
Max engaged his walkie-talkie. “Johnson, where are the blueprints?”
“Prints?” Adam asked.
The voice on the other end of the walkie-talkie answered. “We’re still looking, Chief. Someone misfiled them.”
Max let out a stream of curses from between clenched teeth. “I need the prints, Johnson. There’s got to be another way onto the third floor!”
The walkie-talkie crackled again. This time, the voice belonged to Dan Egan, the fire chief.
“Fire’s out, Max. Smoke is thick, but the fans are working wonders. Send your men up.”
Max grinned, his gaze sharpening at the prospect of catching the shooter. “Two teams are on the way. One for the shooter, the other for evacuation.”
At his signal, the teams stormed the stairwell. Adam’s adrenaline surged through his veins, and he bounced on the balls of his feet. Damn, the SWAT guys couldn’t screw this up. He wanted this sicko caught, not killed, though he’d accept killed if that would keep Lorraine and Faith and anyone else trapped on the ground safe. Still, if Adam were up there, he could try to control the situation.
“Max—” Adam began, but knew the minute he caught the twinkle in his chief’s eyes that he wouldn’t have to finish his question.
“Grab a Kevlar and take the rear position. You supervise the arrest only, got it, Guthrie? I don’t need you down, too.”
Adam dashed to the neat pile of supplies by the door and snatched a bulletproof vest. He shrugged out of his jacket and slipped into the protection, checking his weapon and extra clip before saluting the chief on his way to the action.
Once out of sight, he fisted his hands and let out a low-key “Yes!”
He’d wanted to snare a bad guy today. And he might still get his chance.
F AITH NEARLY JUMPED FOR JOY the minute she saw the SWAT team easing toward her. One held a large black shield with a clear slot to see through. The other carried a medical kit. Thank God! Lorraine, who’d just started coming around, was going to be treated.
“They’re coming, Lorraine,” she said, sounding as encouraging as she felt. “Just hold on. Don’t move. The SWAT guy has a shield. He’ll block you, keep you safe. Can you hear me, Lorraine?”
A low groan was the only response, but that was good enough for Faith. She folded her hands together and repeated another litany of prayers for Lorraine. She’d never felt half so spiritual as she did today. And though she couldn’t do anything for George, if Lorraine lived, she might sleep when night finally fell.
Time seemed to pass in slow motion. Days seemed to elapse before the SWAT team reached Lorraine, months before the paramedic had a diagnosis: heart attack. Lorraine needed immediate medical help, but the paramedic couldn’t administer treatment out in the open.
“Base, this is Mauro,” the man with the shield said into the radio strapped to his shoulder. “We need a gurney. Now!”
No response. Faith’s stomach dropped to her knees.
“Base, this is Mauro!”
His radio wasn’t working. He gestured toward the doors, and in a split second, two more SWAT guys burst out—two shields in front of them, a gurney pulled behind. They didn’t know the precise angle the shooter was aiming from—for all they knew he could still shoot them in the head. Faith held her breath, willing Lorraine’s rescuers to succeed.
As soon as the gurney was secure, the two new SWAT members formed a wall with the shields, two on the ground and one angled to protect from shots from above. The paramedic worked furiously, with the second SWAT guy assisting her in lifting Lorraine onto the cart.
Suddenly, a succession of gunshots rang out from above. Faith screamed and ducked, folding herself into a tiny ball, watching from beneath her arm as bullets slammed into the limestone, random, unfocused, splintering the plaza so that fragments bit at her cheek and hands. The SWAT team scrambled toward the exit, the bulkiest man barking orders in rapid succession. The paramedic seemed completely focused on Lorraine, not realizing that she had stepped out from behind the barricades. A bullet broke through their moving shield and struck the paramedic in the arm. Blood spurted as she yelped in pain, but the leader dragged her over Lorraine’s legs and, pushing the wheeled gurney quickly, managed their escape.
Then all went silent. Deadly silent. The kind of silent that creeps beneath the skin and chills to the bone. No sirens. No gunshots. No voices. Nothing but her own ragged gasps for breath. Faith fought the hyperventilation that would occur if she didn’t pull herself together. She held her breath, counted to ten, blew the air out slowly and then began again until she achieved a halfway decent calm.
George Yube was dead. Lorraine was critical. Now the paramedic had suffered a gunshot wound to the arm, if not worse. Faith blinked tears out of her eyes, trusting that the same police department she’d crucified in the courtroom would find a way to end this nightmare.
CHAPTER THREE
A S SOON AS THE SWAT detail cleared the smoke from the fire that had raged through the stairwell, Adam tore off his oxygen mask. His shoes squeaked as he walked across the hall, the soles sucking up the moisture from the fire sprinklers. Dan Egan had disengaged the automatic waterworks, but the damage was done. As the SWAT team moved stealthily in front of him, he stopped and kicked off his loafers. He wouldn’t have much traction, but he’d have the element of surprise—if the shooter was still on the loose.
They’d exited the stairwell on the fourth floor. A second SWAT team had scaled the roof and reported that the sniper was not there, nor was there any evidence he’d ever been this high up. The stairwell from the roof into the building had been blocked by a rusted-out panel from a colossal air-conditioning unit, leaving the teams sent up from the lobby to find the sniper. They split up, the first team proceeding to the fifth floor, the second filtering onto the third, with Adam bringing up the rear of the final group, which exited on the fourth. Max reported civilians here and ordered Adam to see to Judge Craven, whose hysterical court clerk had kept them from evacuating.
Despite Adam’s raging need to stick with the team as they moved down the hall to search for the sniper, he obeyed the order to protect Craven. If the shots weren’t random, anyone associated with Yube’s release could be in danger. That included the judge—and Faith. Adam swore under his breath, trying not to replay the scene again, as he had all the way up the stairwell. He’d hated leaving her. No matter how logical the decision had been at the time, no matter how safe he’d considered her to be, shoved up against the wall and out of the sniper’s sights, Adam had still abandoned her in the courtyard with only a dying woman and Yube’s bloody body for company.
He’d heard Max’s update to the team. SWAT had rescued Lorraine Nelson, but what about Faith? Was she still out there? Was she terrified or was she still clinging to that steely attitude she’d exhibited before he left?
From the other side of Judge Craven’s door, he heard sobs, as well as a man’s voice attempting to soothe. He knocked, quietly announced who he was, then turned the knob. Locked. Good for Craven.
A second later, the judge opened the door, looking nothing like the cool-headed, wise vanguard of law and justice he appeared to be on the bench. His tie was nearly unknotted and his sleeves and hands were darkened by soot. His usually slicked-back hair now hung across his eyes.
“Detective, we need a paramedic team. She’s inconsolable.” He gestured toward a young woman sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth. Tears ran in beige rivulets down her cheeks, tinged with black from her eye makeup. In a white sweater and pink dress, she hugged herself tightly, wailing loudly and resembling a miserable child rather than the twenty-something Adam guessed her to be.
He nodded at the judge. “They’ll be up as soon as the area is secure. May I?”
The judge nodded. Adam holstered his gun, relocked the door behind them and crouched next to the weeping woman. He saw no signs of physical trauma.
“What happened?” he asked.
Judge Craven smoothed his hair back and seemed, with Adam’s presence, to gain control of his normally refined and dignified manner. “Her brother died in the Oklahoma City bombing, and she lost a good friend in the World Trade Center. She’s petrified of terrorists. I’d guess post-traumatic stress disorder, though I’m no expert,” he said sadly.
When Judge Craven disappeared into his private bathroom, Adam leaned back on his heels for a second, hoping to hear something from the hallway to indicate that it was safe to move them out of the office. He heard nothing. Aside from the communications between the command center and the teams swarming the buildings, there’d been no activity from the sniper since that last random volley of shots, which had occurred only moments after the SWAT teams entered the smoky stairwell.
He touched the young woman’s arm. A quick glance up at her desk and the engraved nameplate told him who she was. “Mindy? I’m Detective Adam Guthrie. You’ll be okay. You’re completely safe in here. The SWAT team is in control. As soon as we secure the area, we’ll get you medical attention. Whatever you need.”
If she heard him, she gave no indication, just continued to rock and whimper. Adam glanced around the office, noticing a spilled can of diet soda dripping across the clerk’s desk. She’d probably dropped the drink when she heard the shots and screams. The sirens and sprinklers outside the office must have added to her terror. Yet her clothes were dry, indicating that she hadn’t ventured into the hallway. She must have dropped to the floor, where she’d been ever since.
Again, Adam thought about Faith, still outside, safe from the gunfire but not from the terror. Everyone had a breaking point, even sassy attorneys who looked as smooth and sweet as butter in a soft yellow suit. What would make her go over the edge? Seemed to him that a dead body with Yube’s injuries—gunshot between the eyes, the back of his skull likely blown out—might do the trick. Right now, Faith’s only view was that horrid violence, and for that most of all, he cursed himself again for leaving her alone. Knowing that Max had just ordered Flint to go back out and provide cover for Faith calmed Adam somewhat. But not much.
He didn’t know why he felt so responsible. Maybe his brother, Casey, a fellow cop, was right when he claimed Adam took the whole “protect and serve” thing too seriously. Still, a man was dead. Two women, Lorraine and the paramedic, were injured, and countless others terrorized—all in what amounted to a few moments of deadly fury.
Judge Craven emerged from the bathroom, his shirt changed and his hands clean. He held out a fresh but damp towel to Adam, apparently for Mindy, then crouched beside the woman, a small cup of water cradled in his hands.
“Mindy, have a sip, won’t you? We’re perfectly safe now, with Detective Guthrie here.”
For the first time, Mindy acknowledged their presence. She met Craven’s caring gaze, then, with violently shaking hands, reached for the cup. Craven smiled at her kindly and held the glass to her lips.
The usually stoic judge then took the towel from Adam and wiped the woman’s face clean, turning the terry cloth so that he never used the same spot twice. When he was done, he held up the towel, now streaked in beige, pink, black and red.
“I hate to tell you, Min, but you’ll have to redo the war paint before you go on your big date tonight,” Craven joked.
Mindy snuffled, and for the first time since Adam entered the room, spoke. “I’m so sorry, Judge Craven. I don’t know what happened. If you hadn’t come back when you did…”
Adam narrowed his gaze at the judge. “Where were you, Judge Craven? You weren’t out trying to play hero, were you?”
The judge leveled Adam with an indignant look. “I leave the heroics to the professionals such as yourself, Detective Guthrie. I checked the stairwell, but the fire and smoke were impassable. Mindy and I were stuck up here—until you arrived. Can we leave now?”
Adam pulled out his cell and dialed into the command system. He got Max on the line.
“Are we clear?” he asked.
“The attorney is back inside and paramedics are tending to Yube, though there isn’t a damn thing they can do except pick up the pieces. Mrs. Nelson is en route to the hospital, as is the paramedic I sent out.”
Adam couldn’t miss the self-recrimination in Max’s voice, but he didn’t comment.
“Third floor is empty. SWAT is sweeping the fourth and fifth floor offices. Stay put until all’s clear,” the chief added.
“No shooter?” Adam asked, disbelieving. If the SWAT teams had so much trouble making their way to the top floors, how could the shooter have escaped so easily? The fact that the sniper hadn’t been on the roof concerned Adam greatly. Metal detectors and X-ray machines greeted each and every courthouse visitor. How was the weapon brought in? He thought back to the craziness that had ensued immediately after Craven released Yube. Could someone have slipped through Security in the chaos, undetected?
“If the sniper is still in the building, we can’t find him,” Max answered. “We’re sending up two more teams and we’re guarding the stairwell. I have teams on the outside watching all the windows. Unless there’s another escape route that we don’t know about, we’ll get him.”
Adam frowned. “Maybe it was an inside job.”
Max didn’t sound any happier about that prospect than Adam was. “Maybe. We’ll check out everyone still in the building. You still with Craven?”
“Yes. The situation is under control.”
A knock sounded. Judge Craven moved to answer the door, but Adam shouted ahead. “Who is it?” he called out, holding the phone to his chest.
“Randolph, sir. I’m with SWAT. Checking in.”
With Adam’s permission, the rookie entered and did a quick sweep of Craven’s office—coming up empty, as Adam had expected. Despite the growing suspicion that the incident was over with no perp in custody, Max ordered Adam to remain with Judge Craven and his assistant until the floor was clear. Max shared Adam’s instinct that the hit wasn’t random. Until they knew more, they had to assume that anyone associated with Yube’s release was in danger. For all they knew, Faith had been a target as well. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a great stretch to think the vigilante who’d pulled the trigger on Yube and Faith could have it in for the judge who released Yube.
Adam also acknowledged that the whole tragedy might have been haphazard, a fortuitous accident perpetrated by a lunatic with a gun, but no agenda. They had no idea—and wouldn’t, until Adam and his team of detectives broke the case.
F OR WHAT SEEMED LIKE the tenth time, Faith shook her head at the paramedic stationed a few feet away from her and declined treatment. While she appreciated the fact that the emergency medical technician simply wanted to help, she preferred to sit here, sip her bottled water, ignore her scraped knee and hope the police would interview her soon. She’d already borrowed a cell phone—hers was in her briefcase on the other side of the yellow tape—and checked on Roma, who’d been evacuated after running back into the building. Next, she’d called her foster parents to assure them that she was okay. Once someone took her statement, she’d go show them in person. Besides, what she wanted most of all in the world right now was a slice of her foster mother’s guava chiffon cake. Faith could already taste the silky texture of the baked confection, the sweet lightness of the whipped cream icing, the distinct tropical flavor of the glaze.
Her stomach growled.
Great, now she’d made herself hungry. A wonderful addition to feeling traumatized and exhausted.
To take her mind off her appetite, she glanced through the crowd milling through the lobby of the courthouse building and wondered where Detective Guthrie had disappeared to. She owed him, at the very least, a sincere thank-you. When he’d pinned her to the wall, he’d likely saved her life. Even if she hadn’t been the target, she could have been hit.
But before Faith could decide exactly how to word her gratitude, Adam emerged from the stairwell behind Judge Craven, who had his arm wrapped around a distraught young woman in a pink dress. Chief Zirinsky approached the judge and, if Faith remembered correctly, his law clerk, Mindy, and directed them to a bank of chairs near his makeshift command center. Two uniforms hurried to stand watch, not unlike the one who’d been trying to stand discreetly behind her; she could practically feel his breath on the back of her neck.
Adam made a beeline for her.
“You okay?”
Though Adam was likely the hundredth person to ask her that question in the last thirty minutes, this time, the sentiment spawned a lump in her throat. She coughed into her hand, then took another sip of water.
“Thanks to you.”
He chuckled. “For God’s sake, I left you out there with Yube’s body for company. I’m really sorry about that.”
“Hey, you had to do your job.”
“Just like you had to do yours this afternoon,” he commented, but there was no condemnation in his voice. More like resolve, as if he’d forced himself to understand.
“Lot of good it’s done now. Someone decided to be judge, jury and executioner without the benefit of the legal system we both love. Was the vigilante caught?”
Adam eased into the chair beside her. “No, but we’ll catch him.”
She smiled, but the effort cost her. Damn, she was tired. Bone weary. She attempted to sit up straighter, until a sharp pain between her shoulder blades caused her to wince. “I believe you. I don’t know why my statement is important. I didn’t see anything.”
Adam motioned the uniform over, then borrowed a pen and paper. He nodded for the guy to step away, and the cop immediately complied. Once they were alone, he poised the ballpoint over the pad, then hesitated.
“You up for an interview?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Adam quirked an eyebrow. For the first time, she noticed how incredibly warm his eyes were—a rich caramel brown with flecks of gold that would likely catch the light on a sunny day.
His voice was deep, but gentle. Like a wave meant for floating rather than surfing. She wondered if Adam ever caught the waves, if he ever experienced the rush of riding the ocean on a mad dash toward land.
“We could postpone this until later,” he said. “You look like you’re in pain.”
“Nah, just a little sore. That’s the price of skipping my workouts for the past three weeks.”
“No pain, no gain,” he commented.
“So they say,” Faith acknowledged, though right at this minute she’d like to slap the idiot who came up with that stupid phrase. “Go ahead with your questions, Detective. The sooner you do your thing, the sooner you can catch the sniper—and do it by the book, okay? I won’t be defending this creep, but someone will be.”
