perimeter wall until he got to the row of the stained glass windows, and then he lowered himself to the floor and proceeded to the doors.
The shots stopped for only a couple of seconds. Not for reloading, Katelyn soon learned. And they didn’t stop because the gunman was finished for the day. The break was so the person could change out rifles. The sound of the new shots told her that much since it was a different calibration. Whoever was doing this had certainly come prepared to kill but wasn’t necessarily an expert marksman. The stray bullets were landing everywhere—which, of course, made the situation all the more dangerous.
Katelyn made her way right along behind Joe Rico. Trying to time it perfectly to coordinate with his efforts, she sheltered her eyes and used the grip of her gun to knock out the glass that formed the image of the archangel, Michael. The glass was solid and held in place by not just strips of lead solder but also a sturdy frame. It took several hard jabs before she managed to dislodge enough of it so she could see into the parking lot.
Pressing her back against the narrow section of wall next to the doors, she rotated her body and did a quick check outside. She had a fairly good view of the building—and the dozen or so windows facing the church. Too many windows, and the reflection of the early afternoon sun didn’t make things easier. She quickly scanned them all as best she could.
No shooter in sight.
Yet, he had to be there.
Somewhere.
Because he was still firing.
While still low on the floor, Rico reached up and turned the old-fashioned brass handle on the door. He opened it a fraction and looked out. Katelyn waited for a signal so she could return fire.
And just like that, the shots stopped.
She felt another surge of adrenaline slam through her. A bad-feeling kind of surge. If the gunman wasn’t shooting, then he was likely making his getaway.
That couldn’t happen.
Because she knew in her heart that he would continue this until someone stopped him.
It was a risk, but Katelyn moved closer to the window so she could check the parking lot and the grounds. Rico did the same to the door. He stood, took position and aimed.
“Think,” she whispered to herself. If she were a killer, what would be her escape plan? Not the parking lot. Too visible. Not the side either since it bumped right against a fairly busy street.
No.
He’d go out the rear of the building and slip into the myriad of old shops and businesses that were crammed into this particular part of the downtown area.
Katelyn heard the sound of sirens the moment that Rico opened the door wider. Mumbling something, he peered out. He’d perhaps come to the same conclusion as she had. The gunman was getting away.
“Stay put,” Rico ordered.
It was a logical order.
Katelyn needed to stay there to protect the guests. Still, part of her wanted to go after the gunman.
“Hold your positions,” Garrett called out from the arched entryway that led into the church. Katelyn glanced at him and saw that he had his phone pressed to his ear. “Backup is in pursuit of a white car that just sped away.”
Katelyn released the breath that she didn’t even know she’d been holding. She glanced at Rico, but he didn’t seem any more eager than she was to let down his guard. So they did the only thing they could do. They waited with their backs literally against the wall and their guns ready.
“Is anyone hurt?” Rico called out to the guests.
The response varied, most still layered with panic, but from what she gathered, no one had actually been shot. Nothing short of a miracle. Katelyn said a quick prayer of thanks for that and then turned to the man who’d given her so much grief about being here.
“Still think I’m the wrong person for this case?” she asked Rico.
“Yes.” No hesitation whatsoever.
The analogy of butting her head against a brick wall came to mind. “But I guessed right about the gunman picking this particular wedding. Even in your book that has to count for something.”
He made another check of the parking lot. “It doesn’t count for much.”
Crouching there among shattered glass and the smell of gunfire, it seemed petty to dislike this man because he was arrogant and hardheaded, but that didn’t prevent her scowl. The scowl didn’t lessen either when Garrett called out something else.
“It’s over already. Backup lost the guy in pursuit,” her brother announced.
“It’s over,” some of the guests repeated. Slowly, they began to come out of hiding. Hugging each other. Crying. Praying. Most still in shock.
Katelyn groaned and scrubbed her hand over her face. Judas. This wasn’t over. In fact, that buzz in the back of her head told her it wasn’t over by a long shot.
The killer had just gotten started.
Chapter Three
Joe reread the overview of the proposed mission that Lieutenant Brayden O’Malley had handed him just minutes earlier. The overview didn’t read any better the second time around, and he didn’t hold out hope that a third read would make it any more palatable.
There were quite a few points of contention so Joe chose the first one. “You really think the shooting day before yesterday was a result of a botched burglary of the building next to Sacred Heart church?”
“No,” O’Malley readily answered. “But I’d rather have the press report that than link it with the shooting that happened a week earlier.”
Joe nodded, but the two shootings wouldn’t stay unlinked for long. All it would take was another incident, and unfortunately another incident was probably in the planning stages. That is, if the gunman hadn’t already finalized his next hit. But the real question was—was the killer linked to the matchmaking agency or the florist?
Or neither?
The or neither was the most troublesome scenario of them all. If the shootings weren’t connected through the businesses, then maybe they had a thrill killer or just a plain psycho on their hands.
Not that they didn’t have that anyway.
But Joe preferred his psychos to keep to a discernable pattern, because with hard work and some luck, patterns could be identified.
“The shell casings taken from the two crime scenes didn’t match,” Katelyn said, reading from a copy of the overview. She gave a weary sigh. “So that complicates things.”
“It just means our shooter likes to trade off weapons,” Joe advised her. “It doesn’t mean the crimes aren’t related.”
Another sigh from her. This one wasn’t weary. It had a you-think? tinge to it.
“Arguments?
