Blood Ties

CHAPTER 10

ROXANNE WOLF CHECKED the perimeter of Serenade for the fourth time, moving slowly and being very, very thorough. She also had to be extremely cautious—because it was quite dark all around the outskirts of downtown due to the power outage, and because the small town was still playing reluctant host to more cops, more FBI agents, and way too much media, not to mention electric-company crews still working to restore power.

Which meant there were a hell of a lot of unfamiliar faces wandering around, strangers roaming not only the scene of the bomb blast but the entire town, even this late.

Flashlights jabbed through the darkness here and there, several times narrowly missing Roxanne as she slipped through the night.

“I could trip over him and not know it,” she muttered softly.

He could be right in the middle of everything, Gabriel agreed as his twin returned to the roof of a building very near the edge of town, where she had one of the best vantage points possible—and three separate ways down.

“Normally I’d say there was a slim chance,” Roxanne told him. “But not this time. This bastard has balls enough for anything. Hell, he could be carrying a badge of some kind, or be tech support or EMS or one of the media; in all the chaos, who’s going to think about screening I.D.s to make damn sure everybody is who they claim to be?”

Miranda will.

“When she gets back here, sure. But it’ll take way more time than I like to check everybody.” Roxanne raised her binoculars and studied the brightly lit center of downtown. Dozens of cops in various uniforms and nearly as many FBI agents, wearing windbreakers sporting the acronym prominently, were still moving about with clipboards and notebooks and the tools necessary to interview witnesses and collect and tag the evidence literally scattered over two blocks.

The media people remaining this late had been herded into one area at the north end of Main Street, held back from the cops and technicians working the scene by yellow crime-scene tape and several watchful deputies.

The part-time deputies, Roxanne had noted, looked more than a little shell-shocked, but they were clinging to training and doing their best to be professional in the face of chaos none of them could have been prepared to face working in this pleasant small town.

Picture-postcard perfect. Gabe’s voice was wry in her mind. The chamber might want to rethink the advertising.

“Yeah.”

The muted roar of several portable generators powering the big work lights was the loudest sound in the otherwise unnatural quiet of the small town. It set Roxanne’s teeth on edge. She had the restless, skin-crawling uneasiness that warned her something darker than the night was prowling Serenade, and she had learned to trust that very human sense.

Yeah, he’s close. But I can’t quite get him. It’s almost like… there’s too much negative energy blocking me. Interference of some kind. Maybe the violence of the bomb. Or maybe something else.

“Maybe just him. Right in the middle of everything, like you said. Why do I feel like he knows us a hell of a lot better than we know him?”

If he’s been watching long enough, he very well could. He must have found our tracker and ditched his car. Came back here with a different ride. And he’s probably been on foot since then, moving around. We won’t be finding him or his things in a motel room, not again.

“Dammit. I wish Miranda would get back here.”

She’ll be here soon. In the meantime, whatever the other cops and the media are doing, the SCU agents are focusing where they need to. Identifying that staged shooter on the theater’s roof. Although…

“Although what?”

I’m beginning to wonder if that even matters, Rox. Five’ll get you ten when they I.D. the guy they’ll find he was a hunter out in the woods yesterday, maybe last night.

“Because?”

Because those were the clothes he was wearing, because the backpack held minimal rations and camping gear, and because I don’t believe our guy had all that much time to get fancy.

Roxanne shifted a bit to keep her muscles from cramping up but was wary of moving very much, even though it was dark.

“So he found an easy victim and just left him up here with the gun. Makes sense. But…”

But what?

“I sensed the shooter on that roof, Gabe.”

Sure you did—at first, before we got to the old theater building. But by the time we got there, you were already saying what you felt was different, odd.

“Okay, but if I was sensing him because he’d been there, how’d he get off that roof so fast—and get himself positioned at street level at the corner of the courthouse blocks away?”

They knew he’d been there because he had left them a mocking bit of proof: a shell casing, standing neatly on end right there on the concrete—with a circle of red chalk around it just to make sure the dumb-ass police couldn’t possibly miss it.

Bastard.

I don’t know, Rox. I still doubt he took the chance of coming out the way he must have gone in, by the front door. Too many people would have seen him leave. Maybe he had a rope and managed to rappel down the outside of the building while we were inside. He could have come down in that little alley between the theater and the next building over. I doubt anybody would have seen him.

“Maybe—though we didn’t find any sign a grappling hook was used, did we?”

No. But we weren’t really looking for that, were we?

“Point is, I shouldn’t have felt anything at all once the real shooter was off that roof, not if the dead guy was an innocent victim.”

Maybe you were picking up residual energy from the gun, Gabriel offered.

“Yeah. And maybe it was something else.”

Like what?

“I don’t know. But the possibilities are scaring the hell out of me.”

From another vantage point not so very far from where he was perfectly aware Roxanne watched, the sniper did his own sweep of the town, gazing through infrared binoculars of a highly advanced design, his lips pursing unconsciously as he noted the continued presence of numerous law-enforcement officers.

That wouldn’t make things easier.

Not that he cared. He loved a challenge. Besides, it was a not-unplanned-for development.

He changed the settings on the binoculars as he focused on the brightly lit few blocks around the heart of town, where most of the activity was centered. He spotted one individual in particular down there, tracked the methodical and professional actions with a critical eye, and waited for a moment of stillness and privacy to make contact.

Any trouble?

The response came back immediately, strong and clear.

Of course not. The I.D. is absolutely authentic and so am I. With all the new people here on the scene, nobody’s going to question me. They’ll never suspect a thing.

BJ wasn’t so sure. Maybe and maybe not.

I’m telling you, they won’t expect this, especially if you keep doing your job. And he keeps doing his. Where is he?

You don’t know?

Don’t play games with me, BJ. If you aren’t keeping a leash on him, we’re all fucked.

He’s occupied with his latest toy, all right? He’ll be perfectly happy for at least the next eight or ten hours.

And he won’t be found?

Something else BJ wasn’t too sure of, but he didn’t allow even a tinge of doubt to creep into his response. Not a chance in hell.

Good. So we’re ready for the next step.

We’re ready. Any preference?

With so many profilers around, we don’t want to go getting too predictable. I vote we take out a noncombatant.

It was a possibility they had discussed. In fact, they had discussed just about every possibility either of them had been able to dream up.

Best to be prepared, always.

That’ll be easy enough. Whole town is crawling with them, even at this hour.

So pick your shot. But wait. Until she gets back. Until she can see it happen. We need to keep her rattled and off balance.

BJ considered. Don’t know that I’ve ever seen her rattled.

She needs to feel threatened, under attack.

She doesn’t already?

Some. But not enough, because he’s not here yet.

You’re sure?

Very sure. We can’t finish this, once and for all, until he’s here.

Copy that.

Now leave me alone for a while. I need to concentrate.

Copy that.

BJ closed the door in his mind with the ease of a lifetime’s practice and used his other senses as he continued to scan the busy little town. It wouldn’t be so easy this time, he knew, to take his shot and get away clean. Not even with night providing excellent cover. Because there were more people hunting him now, including the Wolf, who had already come too close too many times in the past twelve or so hours.

He really wanted to take out the Wolf. Both Wolves.

But that wasn’t the plan. Not yet, at least.

He swept the town again and then occupied himself for several minutes mentally going over his escape route, until he was sure there wouldn’t be a wasted motion or a wasted moment.

When he was sure the plan was solid, he went back to scanning the town, considering first this potential target and then that one, deliberately looking for something unexpected.

Something none of them would see coming.

And all the time he searched, he listened for the sounds of a returning helicopter.

Haven

Bailey dropped her shoulder bag onto a chair and sighed as she studied John and Maggie Garrett. “Do you really think this is a good idea?”

“I think it’s a lousy idea,” John said without hesitation.

“I’m not crazy about it myself,” Maggie added. “But she’s absolutely adamant about it, Bailey.”

“She’s twelve years old, Maggie. Do you really believe she should be the one making the decision?”

“Yes. I do.”

Without showing much surprise, Bailey merely said, “And what does Bishop say?”

“You know what he said. He told you to come and get Ruby and take her to Serenade.”

“Serenade. Where a bomb went off and one of our people was shot. Where a serial killer dumped two of his victims and where a sniper—possibly the same serial killer—is at large, still armed and probably still pissed. Where the media is nosing around and way too many cops are tripping over one another, and the townsfolk are scared witless. That Serenade?”

“That Serenade.”

“Jesus, Maggie. I knew Bishop would go out on some pretty long limbs, but I never expected to see you on one of them.”

“There’s a lot at stake.”

“I know what’s at stake. And I know what Ruby is capable of. But she’s just a kid.” Bailey shook her head. “Look, ethics and morals aside, what about legalities? You two were appointed Ruby’s temporary legal guardians, along with Bishop and Miranda, while Ruby’s mother and those other weirdly passive church members are assessed by psychologists and social services. But there are rules about temporary guardianship, and I can’t believe any judge would think it’s a good idea to take Ruby to a town where we have an active investigation going on. Especially one that’s turned as violent as this one has.”

Her voice steady, Maggie said, “Ruby wants to go. One of her guardians will be there. We have legal permission.”

“Jesus,” Bailey repeated.

“Keep her safe,” Maggie responded simply.

Without pointing out all the difficulties in that request, Bailey said instead, “While she does what? And what does any of this have to do with her, anyway?”

From the doorway of the study, a very small voice said, “I have to be there. In Serenade. It’s important.”

Bailey turned her head to look at Ruby. “Why?”

“I can’t tell you that. I’m sorry, but I can’t. It could change the wrong things if I told you. It could make it all worse.”

“Did you tell Bishop?” Bailey asked directly.

“No. But… I think he knows why. Part of it anyway.”

Bailey looked at Maggie with lifted brows. “And that doesn’t make you curious as hell?”

“What do you think?” Maggie sighed. “But if I’ve learned anything in my life, it’s that people have to be free to make their own choices.”

“Agreed. People. Not kids. Kids need us to watch over them. We both know that.”

Shaking her head slightly, Maggie said, “In case you hadn’t noticed, Ruby is a very old soul.”

“I am,” Ruby offered gravely. “And I haven’t been a kid in a long, long time, Bailey.”

“Still.”

“It’s okay. I know what I’m doing,” Ruby said.

Her frowning gaze on the serious girl, Bailey said, “Ruby, it’s dangerous there. People have been killed. People have been… hurt. Badly hurt. It’s not a place where you should be.”

“I wish I didn’t have to go there.” Steady though her voice was, there was a forlorn note in it. “I wish…. But I have to.”

Maggie looked at Ruby for a long moment, seemed to hesitate, then said to Bailey, “The jet’s standing by. Galen will meet you at the other end and take you to Serenade. You’ll get there before dawn, and with all the commotion, chances are good nobody will even notice. There’s a house very close to the B&B where most of the team is staying. He’ll get you there safely and keep watch afterward. You’re to keep Ruby inside and out of sight.”

In clear protest, Ruby said, “But, Maggie—”

“That’s the deal, Ruby. You stay inside and out of sight. You obey Bailey. If there’s anything you need Miranda or the rest of the team to know, you tell Bailey and let her relay the information. But you do not go outside or even show your face at a window. And if Bailey or Miranda tells you it’s time to go, you don’t argue. Understand?”

Ruby nodded slowly. “I understand.”

“What about Lexie?” Maggie asked, referring to the absence of Ruby’s constant companion.

“I’ve given—She’s going to stay here with Cody, if that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay. But are you sure, honey?”

“I’m sure. She hates plane rides. She loves Winston, Reiko, and Archie,” Ruby added, referring to the three dogs belonging to the Garrett household. “And, besides, it’ll be… quieter here. So she won’t be afraid.”

“And you won’t have to hide her?”

“I don’t expect I’d have to. But…just in case. She should stay here with Cody. He’ll take care of her.”

Maggie nodded. “Is your bag ready?”

“Yeah. I packed a while ago. I’ll go get it.” And when John took a step forward, she waved away help, adding, “It’s okay, the bag is on wheels. I can get it.”

When she had gone to get her bag, John shook his head and said, “That kid really is way too old for her years. Christ, I hope Bishop knows what he’s doing.”

“He usually does,” Bailey said, her tone more wry than reassuring.

“Okay, but since when does he use kids as soldiers?”

“She was a soldier against Samuel at that church of his,” Bailey reminded him quietly. “Without her very powerful help, they never could have defeated the bastard.” {see Blood Sins}

John shook his head. “That was different. She’d been left for dead and pretty much had to be there, had to help them fight—in pure self-defense if nothing else. But there was no deliberate, premeditated decision to put her in the line of fire.”

“Well,” Bailey murmured after a moment of silence, “a good lawyer could probably argue it the other way. Bishop being Bishop and all. But I get your point.”

Maggie said, “He seems determined to keep her out of the line of fire in this case. And as safeguarded as possible. But she wants to be in Serenade, and he agreed it was a good idea. Maybe he believes she’ll see something that’ll help.”

“She saw what happened to Diana while she was here,” John reminded his wife. “Far away from Serenade. For all the good it did. We couldn’t stop it, after all.”

“Because we couldn’t get in touch with them in time. If something else is going to happen and she’s closer to the scene, there may be time enough for a warning to make a difference.”

“Miranda’s a seer, and she’s on the scene.”

“And you know as well as anyone that seers have little if any control over what they’re able to see. Miranda didn’t have a premonition, not about what happened to Diana. But Ruby did.”

“There’s nothing to say she’ll have another one.”

“There’s nothing to say she won’t.”

John gave up that argument; none knew better than he that, gentle though she was, his wife possessed a core of steel. And she was stubborn as hell when convinced she was right about something. “Look, I have no idea exactly how many agents are there by now, or even what specific psychic abilities are being focused on the investigation, but I’m willing to bet that every SCU agent and Haven operative in Serenade has a lot more experience than a twelve-year-old girl. Experience with psychic abilities and with defending themselves from a determined enemy.”

“I’m not so sure,” Bailey said. “You didn’t see what Samuel did to his flock. And I mean the ones who survived.”

“I saw these kids,” he told her. “I’ve heard them cry out in the night and I’ve seen what it does to Maggie to take away at least some of their terror and pain. I know they went through hell, Bailey. Which is why I don’t believe Ruby should be going into a war zone.”

It was Maggie who said quietly, “John, you know I don’t like this any better than you do. If Bishop had been the one asking, I would have said no without hesitation. But it wasn’t him. It was Ruby who asked to go. Who insisted she had to. Ruby feels with every fiber of her being that she has to be there.”

Bailey said slowly, “And you don’t find that odd, Maggie? Odd that Ruby specifically saw what would happen to a woman she’d never met before? A woman to whom she had no connection?”

“It happens.”

“To older psychics, yeah, some, though not many. But virtually never with kids. They need a connection. It can be as simple as a touch or as complex as a psychic link or a blood relationship, but they need some kind of connection. You know that.”

“She met Quentin. I assumed the connection was there.”

“What if it wasn’t?”

“Bailey—”

“What if it wasn’t, Maggie? What if Ruby’s connection is to someone—or something—else entirely?”

To that question, Maggie had no answer.

It was John Garrett’s habit to check the big house every night before going to bed. They had an excellent security system for both the house and grounds, and the three large mixed-breed dogs who lived with them had the run of the house and were very protective, especially of Maggie. But he nevertheless needed to check doors and windows for his own peace of mind before he could relax and sleep.

Not that there, so far, had been any trouble here. Still.

The dogs accompanied him on his nightly rounds, their relaxed attention additional proof that nothing threatened the house or its occupants, at least for now. Which was all the reassurance John ever expected.

There were several Haven operatives living and working in the house currently, but that wing of offices, common spaces, and bedroom suites boasted its own self-contained security system—plus another four dogs, at the moment—and he never felt the need to either check the locks or invade the privacy of those who, by necessity, considered this a second home.

Finally satisfied that everything was as safe and secure as possible, he returned to the bedroom floor of the private wing.

“Go to bed,” he told the dogs quietly, and each obeyed at once, retreating to their individual comfortable beds tucked away in niches of the hallway near the master bedroom.

John wondered why he bothered. By morning he would, as usual, wake to find at least two of the dogs sharing his and Maggie’s bed, with the third sprawled across the bedroom sofa.

Shaking his head in wry amusement, he went into the master suite, leaving the door open a bit because, if he didn’t, Maggie would just slip out of bed sometime in the middle of the night to let the dogs in.

“Everything locked up tight?” She was at the window, her back to him.

He was instantly alert, bothered by a note he recognized in her voice. Pain.

“Yeah. Are you okay?” He crossed the room and put his hands on her shoulders, feeling the tension, the slight tremors. “Missing Ruby already?”

He felt a stronger tremor shake her.

“Yes,” she murmured. “I miss her.”

“Maggie, are you upset that she didn’t tell you why she felt so strongly that she had to be in Serenade?”

“Not because she didn’t tell me.” She turned to face him, and he saw that she had been crying. “Because she did.”

Serenade

Special Agent Tony Harte looked at the post-midnight activity still going on around Main Street and shook his head. “Has anybody been keeping track of all the law enforcement and the technical people working here? The electrical crews, FBI agents, the county sheriff’s department, Tennessee Bureau of Investigation, plus fire departments and EMS units from about three counties. It’s beginning to look like a First Response convention.”

Special Agent Jaylene Avery glanced up from the bagged shell casing she was examining and said, “The sheriff thought of that hours ago, Tony, long before he left for the hospital. He assigned that task to his chief deputy. What’s his name—Scanlon? The one over there near the courthouse, looking harassed.”

Tony followed her gaze until he located the tall, well-built, middle-aged man who wore his crisp uniform with an air of definite authority. “Oh, Neil. Met him earlier. Now that I think about it, he wanted a good look at my badge and wrote down the number.”

“He’s the one keeping track, at least of law enforcement,” Jaylene said. “Though I doubt he’s had time to authenticate anybody. Just gathering names and badge or other I.D. numbers is taking hours. Nobody’ll really stand still for him, poor guy.”

“At least the bomb squad from the TBI has done their thing and gone away.”

“They didn’t have much to do,” Jaylene pointed out. “Collect a few bomb fragments that aren’t likely to give us much more information than we already have. We all know we aren’t dealing with a bomber specifically, so there isn’t likely to be an identifying characteristic about that bomb. We know he’s not a terrorist. We’re reasonably sure his motive isn’t money. So all their expertise was fairly wasted.”

“I’d just like to know where the bastard is now. It doesn’t take any extra powers to feel that creepy sensation of being watched. And, speaking of, are you getting anything from that shell?”

“Wish I could say yes. Unfortunately, I can’t.” She frowned. “Nothing at all, no sense of the sniper’s personality or motives. I might as well be holding a rock for all the vibes I’m getting.”

Tony sighed. “It was worth a try.”

“Are you getting anything?” she asked him.

“Other than the general sense of panic and fear all around us, no. That’s pretty damn strong, though, to be coming through to even my low-degree telepathy. Almost crackly with static. It’s beginning to give me a headache, and that doesn’t happen often, believe me. People are very worried that the sniper-slash-bomber isn’t finished.”

“I don’t blame them. That’s worrying me too. And the media isn’t helping.” She nodded to an area about a block from their position near the blast site, where yellow crime-scene tape stretched across the road and, along with several deputies, held back the small but determined crowd of reporters and film crews jostling for the best angle from which to report on the bomb. And the murders.

The twenty-four-hour news cycle, the modern bane of law enforcement everywhere—at least as far as Jaylene was concerned.

Tony nodded but said hopefully, “If they stay the rest of the night and want any sleep at all, it’ll have to be in that roach motel on the edge of town, so maybe they’ll start clearing out anytime now.”

“I don’t think so. The ones who were going to leave left, before midnight. The rest are more stubborn. Or just believe they’re onto a bigger story than the one Sheriff Duncan offered.”

“Well, two murdered bodies and a bomb blast might spell ‘probable survivalist with a grudge,’ but I don’t think that’s as uninteresting as the sheriff obviously hoped it would be.”

“Still better than ‘probable serial killer with a trail of bodies in three states and a new taste for bombs,’” Jaylene pointed out.

“True enough.”

“Anyway, I think the media is here for the duration. Unless something a hell of a lot more interesting happens elsewhere.”

“Yeah. And I guess it’d be wrong to hope for a disaster somewhere else.”

Jaylene looked at him with raised brows.

“Kidding,” he explained.

“You sure?”

“I swear. Look, at least most of the locals decided they didn’t much fancy being on TV and retired to their homes. Probably barricaded their doors and cleaned their guns.”

“I think I would if I were them,” Jaylene murmured.

“Yeah, I’m not all that happy out here under the work lights myself. When people like Galen and the twins believe our sniper is still too close for comfort, I pay attention.”

“Me too.”

“I hate body armor, Jay.”

“Me too,” she repeated. “But there’s no sense making it easy for the bastard, right?”

Tony sighed. “Right. And has anyone warned all the media people that standing out here in the glare of their own bright lights without any protection at all might not be the best idea in the world?”

“I’ve warned them twice myself.”

“Idiots. Sheriff Duncan has given them the only statement he means to until at least tomorrow—I mean later today—so all they can even do now is film on-the-scene bits for cable news and the morning shows. Still, far as I can see, we’ve got a lot more talking heads than actual investigative journalists, so maybe even those that stay won’t be nosing around.”

She continued to eye him. “You’re a glass-half-full kind of guy, aren’t you?”

Appearing seemingly out of thin air to join them near the sidewalk, Galen said, “He definitely is. Except about the weather. For some reason, the weather tends to bug him.”

Tony started at the first word. “Damn, will you quit doing that? That’s three times so far. You’re worse than a cat, sneaking up on people.”

“I didn’t sneak. I walked. You just didn’t hear me.”

Jaylene smiled faintly but said to Galen, “Any word on Diana?”

“She made it through surgery, but the next forty-eight hours are going to be critical. I take it the doctors aren’t too hopeful—but let’s call them glass-half-empty sort of guys and hope for the best ourselves. Miranda’s on her way back with Duncan.” He glanced at his watch. “They should be touching down in another half hour or so.”

“How about the others?”

“Staying, I take it. I didn’t ask why.”

Soberly, Jaylene said, “I know why Quentin’s staying. I don’t know the other two well enough to guess.”

“DeMarco staying puzzles me,” Galen admitted. “Unless he has a personal stake or Miranda ordered him to stay, I’d expect him to be heading back here, where all the action is. We could definitely use him, especially if the sniper isn’t done.”

“If Diana was a planned hit, DeMarco may be staying as guardian,” Jaylene offered.

“That’s not a role he favors. Watching and guarding are too tame for his tastes.”

“Since when is guardian duty tame?” Tony wanted to know. “Didn’t it get you shot last time?”

“Yeah, but that’s an unusual outcome. Mostly it’s a lot of watching and waiting for something you hope isn’t going to happen.”

Mildly, Jaylene said, “After more than two years undercover, maybe DeMarco’s ready for a lower-key job.”

With a grunt, Galen said, “Trust me, if he’s low-key it’s because the role calls for it. Otherwise, it isn’t in his nature. Guy’s wired and ready to blow pretty much all the time.”

“That sounds dangerous,” she said, still mild.

“It is. But he also has incredible control and self-discipline. And if you tell him I said so, I’ll deny it.” Galen shrugged. “Anyway, I guess we’ll find out all about it when Miranda gets back. Or not.”

Tony said, “I gather you didn’t find anything on the last sweep?” Galen was one of several agents who had been prowling the perimeter of the town all evening, and Tony couldn’t help but wonder how many times they had missed each other by a hair in the darkness. Then again, maybe ex-military types had special signals they exchanged in such situations.

Tony imagined Galen sounding some kind of birdcall in the night and hastily pushed the ridiculous image from his mind. He managed to do so without laughing out loud, which he considered something of an accomplishment.

Unaware of his fellow agent’s amusement, Galen said, “I found three roaming locals with shotguns, which I confiscated after escorting the owners back home. I am not winning any popularity contests here.”

“I doubt any of us are,” Tony said. “Two days ago this was a peaceful town. Look at it now.”

Jaylene said, “We were following a killer. It’s not our fault the trail led here.”

Frowning, Galen reached for the bagged shell casing she was still holding and studied it for a moment before looking at his companions. “Maybe it is our fault. I mean, granted, none of our people appeared to be targeted before those shots at Hollis and DeMarco on Tuesday. But one working theory is that this is about us—about the SCU. Right?”

“Yeah, that’s what Bishop said when he gave Jaylene and me our orders,” Tony agreed.

“Okay. Then if this bastard is only now taking shots at us, maybe it’s because this is where he wanted us to be.”

“Which,” Tony said slowly, “raises the question: Why here? If we’ve been lured or led, why is the showdown here?”