back to town. It took a while for him to find the address still flashing on his beeper, but when he got close, the red and blue lights led him the rest of the way.
He slowed his truck and turned into a side street, catching a glimpse of the War Wagon down another. Along with the surveillance gear it contained, the enormous customized Winnebago was equipped with every high-tech communication device known to man. The team used the equipment to stay in touch with each other and to reach the station during a call-out. More than a single bullet hole on the side explained how it’d been used for cover once or twice as well.
Three black and whites—the arriving officers probably—had the nearest routes barricaded. Ryan eased his truck to the curb just outside their line of sight. Despite his pronouncement to the dog, there was no need to deliberately aggravate anyone.
He looked around as he climbed out of the truck. The area wasn’t one that generated a lot of calls. An industrial park made up mostly of warehouses and loading docks, the complex was located on the outskirts of town. He couldn’t remember having ever received a call from here, and now he understood why. The place was empty. There were no tenants in any of the buildings. An air of desertion hung over the entire area.
A sudden movement near one of the black and whites caught his eye. An older man wearing the uniform of a security guard bent over as he talked to the officers inside the car. He’d probably been the one to call in. But what in the hell was going on? Ryan realized too late he should have taken the time to listen to his radio before jumping in the truck and driving over here. The awareness of what he’d done—acting so impulsively—suddenly registered. Where had his deliberateness gone? His careful thinking? He never did anything without much consideration, but the boredom and agony of sitting all day had brought him to this.
Thanks, Dr. Worley, he thought bitterly. If it weren’t for you, I’d know what the hell had happened and I wouldn’t be standing here like some ignorant kid, gawking instead of helping.
The thought barely had time to register when a shot rang out.
Ryan fell to the pavement automatically, the truck his only protection. A second report registered almost immediately, the sound coming from somewhere inside the complex. Ryan chanced another look toward the clump of buildings. He couldn’t see any team members, but he didn’t expect to. If they were doing their job right, they were already in place, as silent and invisible as ghosts. He lifted his gaze to the roofs of the nearest buildings. There were no easy holes, he thought. No place Lena could have put a shooter without someone seeing him take his place. He looked a little closer, though, and then…there!…right by the fourth building on the left. He caught a glint of metal, the hint of the slightest movement. No one else but Ryan would have seen it, and his gut tightened as he realized what it meant. It had to be Chase Mitchell, the countersniper for Team Alpha.
Ryan spoke Maria’s name like a curse. He should have been up on that hot, humid roof. It should have been him doing the job, not Chase.
When the third shot sounded, Ryan was prepared. Listening closely, he cataloged the popping noise, relaxing as he did so. He wouldn’t have bet his life on it, but he was ninety-nine percent sure he’d just heard an air rifle go off and nothing more. Peeking around the edge of his tire, he caught sight of the security guard and two uniformed officers. The excited gestures of the older man led Ryan to the obvious conclusion. This is what had brought out the team. The old guy had heard something or seen something, then the uniforms had shown up and shots had been fired.
As soon as Ryan had figured it out, the situation appeared to be over. The front door of the nearest building banged open. Sliding cautiously up from his spot behind the vehicle, Ryan looked over at the building. Three men wearing black came out. He squinted in the dying sunlight and made out their faces—Peter Douglas and John Fletcher, two of the rear-entry men, and J. L. LeBlanc, a front entry officer. In between their cordon was a figure in jeans and a T-shirt.
From his long distance vantage point, Ryan couldn’t tell much more, but their body language confirmed his initial assessment. No one looked too nervous, and in fact, when Peter said something into the headset microphone the team members wore, he grinned as he spoke. He wouldn’t have done that if there had been a serious gun involved. The three officers walked the suspect to the black and white and a few minutes later, the uniforms took off with their shooter in the back seat. Ryan caught a quick glimpse as the car sped by. The only thing visible was a blond head hanging down—a young kid headed in the wrong direction, in more ways than one.
Ryan stuck around for another half hour, but there wasn’t anything else to see. What he did witness—the team gathering around the War Wagon for their debriefing—only made him wish more that Maria Worley would take a flying leap off the top of her office building and land in the Gulf. Ryan thought briefly of storming up to the Winnebago in defiance, but it wouldn’t be worth it. Lena would kick his ass all the way back to the office and he’d look like a fool.
Finally, after a bit more useless watching, he trudged back to his truck and climbed inside, the summer sun fading, as it could sometimes do, seemingly within an instant. In that moment—in that quick second between light and total darkness—he happened to look west, directly into the glare, and a movement caught his attention. He blinked, then blinked again, holding his hand up to shade his eyes against the blinding rays.
He saw nothing but the orange ball of the sun against a glowing sky and finally decided he had imagined the motion. Then he saw it again. A small figure behind one of the warehouses, a black baseball cap on his head, a blue backpack hanging off one shoulder. Ryan’s breath stopped in response, the adrenaline flowing before he assessed the situation. It was just a kid, he realized, a kid watching the action just as Ryan had been doing. As Ryan watched, the youngster turned around and loped away. A few minutes after that, Ryan left the scene as well, the bitter taste of exclusion his primary sensation.
He was sitting on the deck after midnight when the question finally hit him.
How had a kid gotten to a deserted warehouse so far out on the edge of town?
He reached for his cell phone he’d brought to the deck out of habit, but before he could finish dialing the number, he stopped, his fingers growing still. If he told Lena what he’d seen, she’d be pissed because he was there. She might even add more time to his “sentence.” Chances were, the kid’s appearance meant nothing anyway. Ryan had passed a trailer park a mile or so before the complex. The boy had probably walked over from there to see what all the excitement was about. He ought to be home studying instead, Ryan mused. Why did he even care?
Why did Ryan?
Dropping the phone, Ryan answered himself. He was off active duty now. It didn’t matter what he thought about the case. He was out of the picture. Leaning his head back into the recliner, he stared at the endless black sky above him. He could see Ginny’s face in the stars and for one crazy minute he even thought he smelled her perfume. Cursing to himself, Ryan closed his eyes. Beside him, the dog sighed softly, then settled in to wait.
CHAPTER THREE
MARIA ADJUSTED the fresh tulips and freesias that sat on the corner of her desk—for the third time that morning. The fussing was pointless, but she had to do something and she didn’t want to look at her watch again. If she did, she’d only get more angry than she was already. After a second, she gave up and looked anyway. It was twenty-five past the hour.
She stood suddenly and crossed to the window. A summer storm was threatening to move in, with billowing clouds hovering over the water, turning the green sea into a metallic gray. She watched a line of sailboats head for the marina and thought about Ryan Lukas. She’d been pretty
