Читать книгу Line of Fire - Julie Leto, Julie Leto - Страница 9

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.”

He frowned, cleared his throat and then proceeded. “Had your client received any specific threats?”

She snorted. “You’re kidding, right? About a gazillion of them at last count.”

“Any to your office?”

“Half there, half to his home, which he immediately forwarded to me. Roma kept records.”

“Any of them specific?”

“What, like ‘I’m going to shoot your head off in the courthouse plaza if you walk in this case’?”

He met her sarcasm with another frown.

“Sorry,” she said, not really meaning it. “I tend to get snippy when I’m tired and hungry.”

“Not to mention traumatized.”

“Excuse me?”

“That was one nasty crime scene, Faith. It’s okay to lose it a little.”

“Are you the department shrink, too?”

“Am I crossing the line?”

Faith took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She had a habit of turning into a real toad when she hadn’t had a meal and felt as if she hadn’t slept in two weeks. But she had to admit, the prospect of climbing beneath the sheets of her bed, in the dark, didn’t appeal to her at the moment. Not when the image of George Yube’s dead body seemed imprinted on the inside of her eyelids.

“No, Detective, you’re not. I’ll deal. I’ve seen worse.”

“Like when?”

“I’m a defense attorney. Crime scene photos cross my desk every day.”

“It’s a little different when the blood is real and might drip onto the tip of your shoe.”

She couldn’t help but look down. Her shoes were gone. The SWAT team member who’d facilitated her removal from the plaza had instructed her to leave her heels behind so she could run faster. At the time, they weren’t sure the sniper had been neutralized. Apparently, he hadn’t, though they’d made it into the building without any more gunfire.

“I’ll be okay. I always am.”

“Survivor, huh?” he asked.

She realized she’d known Adam Guthrie for years, yet they were practically strangers. He had absolutely no idea how the term survivor had practically been invented for people like her. But hers wasn’t a physical survival so much as an emotional and spiritual one. Not that she’d escaped the backlash of isolation and mistrust entirely, but every day, she made progress.

“You could say that. So…” She was suddenly anxious to cut to the chase. “I’ll have Roma prepare the records she kept of the threats, for whatever good they’ll do.”

“And if you receive any other information—”

“You’ll be the first person I’ll call.”

He nodded, but the movement was just short of agreement. He stood and waved at Max, who gestured him over.

“Excuse me a second?”

Faith motioned in Zirinsky’s direction, too tired to argue about how she wanted to go home—now. “Be my guest.”

Adam patted her shoulder before he dashed off toward his superior. His silent acknowledgment of Faith’s exhaustion taunted her frazzled emotions. Great, where did she finally meet a guy who was actually in tune with her feelings? At a courthouse after a shooting. And though he’d rescued her and was one hot hunk of man, could she pursue him? Not unless she had an appetite for conflict, not to mention irony. On a daily basis, she represented the criminals he was determined to put in jail. Not exactly the strongest foundation for a long-lasting relationship.

But a fling?

Hmm.

Faith leaned forward, cradling her head in her hands. She must be more tired than she had thought. She did skip lunch preparing for Yube’s hearing. Maybe she was delirious or, at least, near to it. To even consider a no-strings-attached affair with a man like Adam Guthrie, she had to be losing her mind. Sure, he was handsome in a rugged, tough sort of way. Mel Gibson-ish, without the accent. And he had a strong code of moral ethics. Even though his department had screwed up on more than one occasion, not once had he tried to cover up the mistakes. He owned up to the flaws, and from what she’d read in the papers, put procedures in place to ensure the cops didn’t make the same mistake twice.

Worst of all for her, he had a sweet sense of humor. Sexy, ethical and compassionate. If he told her a good joke—preferably one that didn’t rely on skewering a lawyer for the punch line—she’d be a goner. How could she resist him?

She couldn’t. Not in her current emotional and physical state. She needed to get out of here before she did something really stupid. Like ask him over to her place.

A commotion from the outer doors drew Faith’s attention. Standing with her fists on her ample hips, her foster sister, Kalani, was telling a poor uniformed officer exactly how things were going to be.

“Listen, Officer, I appreciate that you don’t want the public at large stomping through your crime scene. But if you don’t move aside and let me see my sister, this woman at large is going to stomp all over your butt.”

She punctuated her very real threat by clomping her foot on the floor and shimmying her neck and shoulders in that soul-sister way that sent most men running for cover. The young officer glanced around, possibly hoping for backup, but not moving out of the way. Faith chuckled. She figured she’d better lend him a hand or she might find herself spending the rest of the evening defending her own sister on assault charges.

Shoeless and aching, Faith stood and crossed the lobby. “Officer, please let her through. You can check with Detective Guthrie. He just took my statement.”

He spared an impotent scowl at Kalani, then marched off in the direction Faith had seen Adam disappear with the chief. Instantly, Kalani ran toward her, her dark hair secured in a swinging ponytail, a lei of lilies peeking out from the oversize Tommy Hilfiger shirt she’d thrown over her sarong. Her shift at the restaurant wasn’t over until midnight, so apparently she’d taken off during the dinnertime rush.

Faith half expected to be bowled over, but as usual, her sister managed more control than anyone expected from her and folded Faith into a gentle hug. Kalani nurtured the reputation that she was a tough-talking, street-smart, piss-and-vinegar Hawaiian woman with an attitude. And in truth, she was all those things. Unless she liked you. Then she was a pussycat.

“Faith! God, I couldn’t believe when I heard on the news. That’s what you get for defending scumbags like Yube, and I don’t care if that hurts your feelings.”

Faith rested her cheek on her sister’s shoulder and inhaled the warm sweet scent of coconut oil. Faith didn’t know if the scent came from the kitchens of their parents’ Hawaiian restaurant, Sunsets, or if Kalani had eschewed kitchen prep work today in favor of hitting the beach.

“It only hurt my feelings the first time you said it. Yube is dead, Kay.”

“I know. Don’t expect me to grieve.”

Faith shook her head and broke the hug. No one in her family made any secret of the fact that they hated her chosen profession, even if they loved her unconditionally. Her foster father, Maleko, would have preferred she’d specialized in corporate law, so she could take over the business end of the restaurant’s operations. Her foster mother, Melelu—called Lu by everyone who knew her—didn’t much care what field of law she practiced, so long as she wasn’t in danger. Unfortunately, criminal lawyers tended to hang out with an unsafe element.

What they didn’t understand was that the risk didn’t appeal to her any more than it did to them. She had no love for people who knowingly and willfully broke the law. But thanks to her own experiences with her mother, the woman who’d given birth to her in poverty, who had worked her fingers to the bone to put a roof over Faith’s head and food in her belly, Faith knew that the innocent sometimes got caught up in the manipulations of the guilty.

She was nine when her father died, and barely eleven when the police barged into their tiny apartment in Los Angeles, yanking her, kicking and screaming, out of her mother’s arms. The rage, confusion and resentment still lingered, closer to the surface than Faith would ever admit. She’d been damn lucky to be placed with the Apalo family just a few days later. Melelu had somehow known how to deal with Faith. She’d told her the truth, with no sugar-coating. Her real mother had been arrested for dealing drugs.

Sylvia Lawton had had no money for bail or a decent lawyer, so very soon after her arrest, she’d gone to prison. And not long afterward, she’d died.

While in college, Faith had finally found the courage to request all the documentation on her mother’s case. What she’d read had horrified her, and that was long before she’d entered law school and fully comprehended the incompetence of her mother’s defense, who’d urged her to plead guilty. The state’s case against her mother had been shaky—based almost entirely on the testimony of jailhouse snitches—but even Faith’s untrained eye could see her mother’s innocence. Faith had decided that no other child should have to lose a parent, even for one night, because the police or the prosecutor didn’t have their ducks in a row. In fact, no one deserved to serve a moment in jail if there was a reasonable doubt that they had committed the crime.

Unlike Faith, Kalani had never gone one night her entire life without her parents to take care of her, even during college, since Kay had chosen to live at home. Mal and Lu Apalo never left Kay or Faith, not for business trips or vacations or even stays in the hospital. Sure, George Yube’s children were grown, but his grandchildren worshiped him. For them, Faith had decided to at least take a look at the case against the once-respected doctor.

Now he was dead. Oh God—had someone called his kids?

“Contrary to popular belief, Kay, George Yube will be missed,” Faith muttered.

“By you?”

Faith shrugged, then realized that if she didn’t change the subject soon, she’d have nightmares for weeks. “I hardly knew the man, but murder is a horrible crime, no matter who the victim is. Look, I had to give a statement to the police and I think they’ll let me go now. Please tell me Lu made her guava cake for tonight’s luau.”

Kalani’s tanned face brightened with her wide, toothy smile. “You kidding? If Mama doesn’t make her guava cake every night, we lose business. I promised I’d call her as soon as I found you and made sure you were okay.” She glanced around and spotted a bank of phones by the security station. “I’ll be right over there.”

Faith nodded, then looked around for Adam. He wasn’t hard to find, when likely he should have been. With the exception of the SWAT team, every other male in the place was wearing a suit or a police uniform. Since more than half of the men in the lobby were cops, the majority of the guys milling around were also tall and well-built. Still, Faith’s gaze zeroed in on Adam as if she’d developed handsome-hunk radar in her irises. Or maybe she’d formed a connection to the chief of detectives that she wasn’t yet ready to acknowledge.

When she started toward him, he waved, but continued to issue orders to the man standing beside him.

“Tim, check in with Sam Prophet immediately. I want to know about the incendiary device in the stairwell. Anything he’s got.”

The detective made a note in a PDA. “He promises an initial report by morning. His first guess was that it was a small explosive, remote controlled, specifically placed to start a very smoky fire.”

Adam swore mildly, but enough for Faith to catch his intensity. She already knew he took his cases personally, but seeing him in action added a layer of understanding she wasn’t sure she wanted to possess.

“There goes the random-shooting theory,” Adam said. “I also need the visitor list from courthouse Security before you leave. Call me on the cell when you’ve got it. And contact Ms. Lawton’s assistant. She had a collection of threats Faith and Yube received. They kept records—for a brief time, anyway—and I want them. I’ll handle everything else.”

Tim glanced over his shoulder at Faith and frowned.

“You sure, boss? I mean, taking the choice assignments for yourself could hurt department morale.”

Despite Tim’s obviously teasing tone, Adam’s jaw twitched, and Faith could almost feel a wave of cold emanating from his frosty response. Apparently, Adam Guthrie had his limits.

Through clenched teeth, he said, “I’ll buy pizza for everyone on Friday. Will that do?”

Tim grinned, gave Faith a polite salute and then left.

Adam crossed over to her and, with a soft chuckle, banished any seriousness from his face.

“So, you ready to get out of here?”

Faith sighed. “You’re kidding, right? I’ve been ready for hours. What about my briefcase and purse? They’re still outside.”

“I have a uniform standing by. As soon as Forensics releases the scene, he’ll bring your things directly to your home. I’ve already ordered someone to check out your car, just in case.”

Faith was suddenly very glad Kalani had come to the courthouse. Without her keys and driver’s license, she wouldn’t have any way home or, even if someone gave her a ride, any way to get into her house. Kalani had an extra set of keys on her key ring.

“Do you need me to come by the precinct tomorrow and sign my statement?” she asked.

“We can decide in the morning.”

He gestured toward the glass doors. The sun had set, and television camera lights glared on the other side. She groaned. The last thing she wanted was her sorry-looking image broadcast on the eleven-o’clock news. She patted her hair, looked down helplessly at her grubby hands and filthy suit.

Then his words hit her.

“What do you mean, we? ”

Adam increased his pace, seemingly ignoring the fact that she’d stopped walking.

“I’m going home with you, Ms. Lawton. And I’m staying the night.”