Fatal Vision: SEALs of Shadow Force, Book 5 Page 11
Surely the shooter had had plenty of opportunities to take out Colton. Less so of Connor since the kid lived at SFI Headquarters, while Colton was always in motion, traveling, working, living in dive apartment buildings with little to no security. He was an easy target, so why hadn’t the killer come after him?
“You investigated for weeks after Shelby was shot and found nothing. What makes you think it’ll be different this time?”
Colton headed for the stairs. The dragon inside his chest had asked him the same question that morning. Was still, mocking his seemingly futile attempts to understand any of this.
The one thing different this time around was that the three of them were there, in Good Hope, together. Two of the taskforce members and the man they’d rescued.
Was it possible 12 September was watching their every move? Did they plan to take Connor, Shelby, and him all out in one fell swoop?
It would make sense if 12 September worked that way.
But the MO was all wrong.
He punched the security app as he hustled down the stairs, Connor falling in behind him. “Vesper, activate smoke detectors and carbon monoxide sensors.”
“Yes, Shinedown,” the sexy voice responded. “Smoke detector sensors and carbon monoxide sensors now activated.”
Salisbury greeted him at the bottom of the stairs. “Come on, mutt,” he said to him. “Let’s go outside before I leave.”
“I’ll take him out,” Connor volunteered.
And be on perfect display for whoever might be out there? Fat chance. “I got it. You check on Shel, show her how to use the app, would you?”
“Sure.”
His friend didn’t suspect a thing, and for a second, Colton wondered if he should come clean, tell Connor his suspicions. But if he was wrong—and there were still plenty of factors at play that could take the investigation in an entirely different direction—then he could cause his friend to carry even more guilt than he already did.
Connor was just coming out of the lingering depression and constant PTSD he’d suffered after his time at the hands of 12 September. They’d killed two members of his unit and tortured him for months. He was still obsessed with bringing down the entire organization.
All it took was one thing to trigger all of that again.
Colton needed more facts, and answers to his questions before he dropped that kind of bomb on Connor.
While Salisbury watered every bush for the second time that day, Colton scanned the area, walked the property, and looked at the house from every angle. What he really wanted to do was kidnap Shelby and take her to a safe house. One in DC where Beatrice and the other Rock Stars were only minutes away in case anything went south.
But she would never leave her family and friends right now, and he couldn’t keep her shut away forever. The solution wasn’t putting her in a tower where no one could reach her. The solution was to find this asshole, whoever he was, and shut him down.
If that meant shutting down the entire 12 September group, Colton would do it.
The farmhouse sat on three acres, surrounded by the crop fields. The house and farm had belonged to Shelby’s grandparents.
The Good Hope-Good Homes housing development on the other side of the road had started during the boom of the early 2000s. It had petered out during the crash, the builder declaring bankruptcy and leaving multiple house skeletons standing unfinished. They were scattered every fifty yards or so, the ones closest to the main highway full of families and kids. Only the last to be built, out here at the end of the cul-de-sac, were empty.
The shooter that night had been in the house west of Shelby’s, using the window that faced the front porch to set up his rifle.
Colton had gone over the entire place with a fine-tooth comb, trying to figure out the exact spot where the shooter had stood, how long he’d been there, where he’d gone after he’d nearly killed Shelby. Having been an expert marksman himself, he knew how a sniper thought, what he carried, how he moved.
Yet after the shooting, he’d been so rattled, he’d had trouble getting into the sniper’s frame of mind. He hadn’t been able to go through the house skeleton to do his own research until after the cops and Feds had already trampled the place. If they’d found any trace evidence, they’d kept it to themselves. The trail wasn’t just cold by the time Colton finally left Shelby’s side at the hospital, it was completely nonexistent.
Dirt flew as Salisbury’s claws began digging, bringing Colton’s attention back to his own house—Shelby’s house. Something grey appeared under the dog’s paws and Colton leaned down to get a better look.
A semi-flat football. Probably left there years ago by a young Jack, and over time, it had ended up buried.
Colton pulled it out with one hand and ruffled Salisbury’s fur with the other. “Good nose there, dog.”
He tossed the football out past the porch and watched Salisbury chase it. There’d been times he’d dreamed of playing catch and throwing the football with his own son back here. Those dreams seemed a million miles away now.
Beatrice had texted him about Paulina’s condition, saying it looked like she was stable, but it would be a long haul back to living on her own. His boss was even now trying to pull strings with child services to find Marcelo a nice home with a foster couple close to the hospital.
Salisbury hustled back, the ball in his yap. He dropped it at Colton’s feet.
Colton bent down and stared the mutt in the eyes. “Should I leave you here to guard the place or take you and your nose for trouble with me?”
Salisbury wagged his tail, leaned forward, and planted a sloppy kiss on Colton’s nose.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
He and the dog went back in the house, Salisbury carrying the flat football once more. Connor and Shelby weren’t in the dining room and he followed their voices to the kitchen.
Their heads were bent together at the dining room table as Connor showed her how to use the Vesper app.
“That’s pretty damn cool,” she said, looking up to smile at Colton. “Not only can I use it for security, it can control the ceiling fans, water heater, lights, and sprinkler system.”
“You don’t have a sprinkler system, Shel,” he reminded her.
“I may have to get one, just so I can play with this more.”
He patted her shoulder. “The kit was missing a couple of screws. I’m going to head to the hardware store and grab some. I’ll be back in a bit.”
She grabbed his hand before he could remove it from her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Connor can help me whip up something for lunch. Then we better get back to the case.”
The feel of her soft hand on his made him want to stay. “Did you find more details on your laptop?”
“Nothing significant.”
“Have you seen the file on your shooting?”
She shook her head. “A few weeks ago, I called my friend, Denbe, at the office. He told me neither the police nor the Bureau found anything of merit. They’re not even sure where the shooter stood when he fired.”
Which didn’t make sense. While the local police had limited resources, the FBI could estimate where the shooter had been standing from the angle of the wound on Shelby’s head. They should have had the bullet, so they could run ballistics. At the very least, they could have figured out what type of weapon had fired it.
This Denbe character had probably told her that because he didn’t want her worried. Discussing her shooting would dredge up emotions the doctors didn’t want her experiencing yet.
“All right. See you in a bit.”
He kissed the top of her head and headed for the front door. Salisbury ran ahead, sensing he was in for a ride.
“Let me move my truck,” Connor said, following him.
Colton held up a hand. “Just give me your keys. I’ll take care of it.”
Connor dug them out of his pocket and tossed them. “Be careful, man.”
Colton nodded.
Salisbury jumped into his truck and they took off, Colton waiting until he was a block away to pull over.
His first call was to Beatrice.
His next was to Agent Theo Ingram.
Chapter Nine
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WHAT WAS BELLS up to?
The former SEAL had jockeyed the trucks in the driveway, finally peeling out in his older Ford with the dented back fender and rusty running boards, and driving away. His muffler growled a loud, inharmonious song as he accelerated.
Inside the house, Shelby wasn’t alone, but who was with her? The man studied the second truck, a rental. Was this a friend of Bells’?
Did Colton Bells have friends? He certainly had a mountain of enemies in this town.
With the scope, the man had watched Bells and the other man move around the house, working at the windows. A distant memory, a photograph he’d seen of a soldier, beaten and emaciated, took root in the man’s mind as he chewed on a granola bar. He couldn’t match the glimpses of the second man to that memory, and yet, it tugged at him. He never forgot a face, even one bloodied and bruised.
What had intrigued him was that they appeared to be installing a security system.
He chuckled at their hard work, finishing off the bar and stuffing the wrapper into his pocket. A security system couldn’t keep Shelby safe from him. She trusted him. Maybe more than she trusted her ex-husband.
The thought of her and Bells living together in the house sobered him, firing up the rage that Bells always invoked. The SOB didn’t deserve a woman like Shelby. She was far too smart, too beautiful for him. Bells was a killer and soon he would pay for turning Peter into a sack of bones, blood, and nothing else.
Shelby would pay, too. Bells moving in with Shelby had one advantage—it made his job a little easier. Shelby wasn’t without blame—she’d covered up the mistakes in Baghdad. It was a shame to waste such beauty and intelligence, but one way or another, she would pay too.
The man kept an eye on the truck, watching as it turned the corner. He moved to a different window, one facing northeast toward town and saw the cab of the truck through the skeleton of one of the houses.
After rounding the corner, Bells pulled over at the curb.
Zooming in, he saw the man talking on his cell phone, one hand rubbing his eyes as though tired.
“Looking haunted, there, Bells,” the man said. “Haunted and weary. Soon, you’ll be six feet under. You’ll have plenty of time to pay for your sins then.”
Bells spoke into his phone for a minute more, then punched buttons and looked out his windshield. Another, shorter conversation this time before he hung up, tossed the phone on the dash and drove off.
The man returned to the window facing Shelby’s house. Adjusting his scope, he zeroed in on the front living room window. The gauzy curtains were drawn but the blinds were slightly ajar. Another click of the scope and he could carefully peer through the curtain.
He saw no movement. Maybe later when he came back he should bring his parabolic mic and listen in.
Behind him, he heard the distant growl of a vehicle…one with a loud, rusting muffler.
What the…
The echo of a slamming truck door raised the hair on the back of his neck.
Danger.
He heard the bark of a dog.
Bells.
The SOB had come calling. Well, wasn’t that just like him?
Bells had combed through every inch of this abandoned house after the shooting, looking for clues.
There weren’t any. The man had made sure of that. With all of his kills, trace evidence didn’t exist. He’d considered leaving something to put the authorities on the trail of Bells, but really, what was the point? Setting up others was so easy after all these years. Easy to the point of him growing bored with that game.
“Salisbury!” Bells called in the distance. “Wait!”
The dog was already sniffing around.
Shoving the scope into an inside front pocket of his jacket, the man slipped through a window opening that had never been closed.
Too easy.
He faded into the shadow on the west side of the skeletal building. Someone really should knock these houses down. They were the perfect place for criminals to hang out.
Through the unfinished wall, he heard Bells moving around.
A smile crossed his face as he stealthily walked into the neighbor’s backyard and used the line of tall bushes hiding the ugly skeleton to get to his car.
SALISBURY HAD HIS nose everywhere, running, sniffing, peeing.
Colton followed along, wiping sweat off his neck. Fall didn’t mean much in Oklahoma—the temp was already cruising past seventy.
Inside the shade here, it was a bit cooler. He and Salisbury passed what would have been the formal living room area, a spot marked out for the staircase, the kitchen. He’d gone over the entire place several times after the shooting, but he’d been too emotional then, enraged by the fact Jack had kicked him out of the hospital and blamed him for what had happened to Shelby.
At the time, Colton had railed at the accusation. Now, he wondered if Jack hadn’t been correct.
From the time he’d met Shelby, he’d known better than to drag her into his world. Contaminating her—that’s what Jack had called it.
While Colton hated to agree with the man on anything, Jack wasn’t far off the mark. Colton had drawn Shelby through the muck of his poor-white-boy-with-no-parents and a strong case of ADD craziness, tainting her.
Three months had gone by since that night where his world had nearly ended on the front steps of their house. Weather, animals, other humans…they all could have destroyed the shooter’s scent or anything he, the locals, and the FBI had missed.
His dragon chuffed out a sigh. Taking another sweep of the place was a waste of time.
Damn dragon. It had been part of him his whole life, raging at everything and everyone. He’d tried so hard to control it as a kid, but once puberty hit, the thing had come back on steroids. It wouldn’t let him concentrate, wouldn’t let him just be normal.
Trouble at school, the Home, everywhere he went. They’d put him on medication. Then more drugs when that one didn’t work. The cycle never ended—new drugs, new doctors, no hope.
The dragon had only ever listened to Shelby. She was the only one who could tame it, and during their teen years, she worked hard to help him tame it himself. He’d still gotten into trouble, but less frequently, less severely.
And usually, she was as much the culprit as he was, always up for fun to relieve the stress her parents put her under, but the few times they got caught, he never let her take the fall.
The thought made him smile. Sometimes the dragon needed to be let loose. Shelby had understood that in a way no one else had.
Leaving her for the Navy had been the hardest thing he’d ever done up to that point, but he’d had few options in Good Hope. He’d thought he was going to be a pilot, working for the local small airport, but the place had financial problems and he got laid off. Being in the air, off the ground, had always brought the dragon relief.
Shelby had insisted the military would be good for him. As always, she’d been right. He’d planned to hit up the Air Force, then found out he had a better chance of manning a plane if he joined the Navy. The Navy had helped him tame the beast, bringing his scattered focus into a trained, laser-sharp point. He hadn’t cut it for flight school and ended up a sniper.
So while Shelby did her beauty queen thing and attended college, Colton became a SEAL.
Every training exercise, every mission, Shelby was front and center in his mind. The dragon went into hibernation.
Until that
night in Baghdad.
Now, dragon be damned, a part of him had this tiny bit of hope that something—anything—would give him a fresh lead.
Because he damn sure needed one.
He’d pulled over and called Beatrice to pretend he was still abiding by her deadline so he could ask her to pull strings, talk to her contacts, and see if there was a way for her to get her hands on the dead men’s autopsy reports. She worked miracles on a daily basis; surely this would be a piece of cake for her.
During the call, she’d taken the information and told him she’d get back to him. No reassurances or platitudes—that wasn’t her style.
Salisbury zoomed into another empty room, nose to the ground. Colton followed. After speaking to B, he’d called Ingram to ask for a copy of the report on Shelby’s shooting. The woman who’d answered the phone had sent his call to Ingram’s voicemail and Colton had left a message.
Fat chance the stick-in-the-mud ASAC would cough up the report to him, but if he had to, he’d sic Shelby on the man.
Next he’d go downtown and hit up the local PD. The Bureau had taken over their investigation before it even got off the ground, but it wouldn’t hurt to rattle some cages and see if anything shook loose. Maybe they at least had the initial photos of the scene. He needed to know about the type of rifle, the bullet. He needed to compare that information to the three dead men’s autopsies.
Please come through for me, Beatrice.
Salisbury’s nose came up and he sniffed the air. Like someone had goosed him, he let out a bark and took off.
The dog was no coonhound, but he had a nose on him. Colton jogged to keep up.
Salisbury led him straight to the back window—or at least where it should have been. A gaping square was all there was, next to an empty doorframe where the back door would have been.
The door and window faced Shelby’s house.
Salisbury went into sniff mode again, nose to the dirty concrete floor, tail wagging eagerly. He probably smelled the scent of some animal that had come through. There were plenty of bird droppings and it looked like mice had made the place a home during the past winter. In places, the wooden beams had been attacked by termites.