“But . . . ?” Curiosity and pursuing facts was part of her makeup, and what made her so impressively good at her job.
“If he was gone when you got there, how can you be certain he was there in the first place?”
“Indentation in the dried grass.”
“Was he going to shoot us?”
“I don’t believe so.”
She frowned. “Why not? I don’t understand.”
“He would have had a better shot before we reached the truck.” It may not have been the ideal shot, especially if she was the intended target, but it would have been the best opportunity. Once they reached the truck he’d lost his line of sight.
If she’d been the intended target . . .
He inhaled, then slowly released his breath, attempting to quell his rage. If anything happened to her . . .
He would not allow that to happen. Not on his watch. “From now on you’re glued to me,” he said.
Her nose crinkled in that adorable way that made him smile despite the circumstances. “What?”
“I can’t be positive he was simply watching us. He could have been waiting for the opportune moment to strike. Either way, until we catch this guy, you’re stuck with me.” He’d brook no argument on the matter.
Much to his astonishment, she simply nodded in assent, and gratitude filled him at her lack of protest. Being in a sniper’s crosshairs could have that effect.
Thank you, Father, for protecting us today. Please equip me to protect Finley. Shield us in the shelter of your wings. Put a hedge of protection around us, and lead us to Jane Doe’s killer before he reaches us.
He was coming for them. Griffin felt it in his bones. The man was fixed on them.
Glancing at the sky, he was thankful the encroaching darkness would provide them with an added layer of cover.
He truly believed their watcher was simply that—a watcher, at least for now, but he wasn’t taking any chances—not when it came to Finley. He was shifting into full protection mode, deciding just then to take a leave of absence until he was certain she was out of any danger. He had plenty of vacation time to use up.
“How did he know we’d be at the range?” she asked, still shivering.
He cranked up the heat as they pulled out of the lot.
“Did he follow us there? Was he one of the men we spoke to? Did he go out to wait for us?”
That was an awful thought—that they’d been face-to-face with Jane Doe’s killer—but he was more concerned the man had followed them there. That he’d been on them all along.
11
F inley and Griffin entered the lab shortly after six that night, her heart still jerking with flutters every few beats, flipping and tossing in a disconcerting manner. Whether from the close call and the knowledge of being in a sniper’s crosshairs or from the knowledge that Griffin would be glued to her, she couldn’t be certain. Either way, her heart was hammering.
Patricia, the saint who kept the lab running and properly stocked, approached dressed in her overcoat and scarf.
“How are you doing?” Finley greeted her, praying she didn’t ask in return.
“I still can’t believe John is gone.”
“Me either.”
With a sigh, Patricia shook her head. “I hate to rush off, but I’ve got a half hour to pick Matt up from indoor soccer practice, and with 95 traffic this time of day . . . I’m really pushing it. ”
“Drive safe.”
“Thanks. Oh, UPS delivered a package a few hours ago. I told him to leave it on your desk as usual.”
“Thanks.”
Patricia smiled. “You two have a nice night.” Swiping her card through the reader, she gave Finley a quick wink before the automated doors swung open and she stepped out of the lab.
Attempting to ignore Patricia’s prodding, she focused on the large digital clock on the wall—the neon-blue numbers bright against the black rectangular background. “Everyone else should be here soon. Want a cup of coffee or espresso while we wait?”
“Sure. I’d love a double espresso.”
“No idea
“If he was gone when you got there, how can you be certain he was there in the first place?”
“Indentation in the dried grass.”
“Was he going to shoot us?”
“I don’t believe so.”
She frowned. “Why not? I don’t understand.”
“He would have had a better shot before we reached the truck.” It may not have been the ideal shot, especially if she was the intended target, but it would have been the best opportunity. Once they reached the truck he’d lost his line of sight.
If she’d been the intended target . . .
He inhaled, then slowly released his breath, attempting to quell his rage. If anything happened to her . . .
He would not allow that to happen. Not on his watch. “From now on you’re glued to me,” he said.
Her nose crinkled in that adorable way that made him smile despite the circumstances. “What?”
“I can’t be positive he was simply watching us. He could have been waiting for the opportune moment to strike. Either way, until we catch this guy, you’re stuck with me.” He’d brook no argument on the matter.
Much to his astonishment, she simply nodded in assent, and gratitude filled him at her lack of protest. Being in a sniper’s crosshairs could have that effect.
Thank you, Father, for protecting us today. Please equip me to protect Finley. Shield us in the shelter of your wings. Put a hedge of protection around us, and lead us to Jane Doe’s killer before he reaches us.
He was coming for them. Griffin felt it in his bones. The man was fixed on them.
Glancing at the sky, he was thankful the encroaching darkness would provide them with an added layer of cover.
He truly believed their watcher was simply that—a watcher, at least for now, but he wasn’t taking any chances—not when it came to Finley. He was shifting into full protection mode, deciding just then to take a leave of absence until he was certain she was out of any danger. He had plenty of vacation time to use up.
“How did he know we’d be at the range?” she asked, still shivering.
He cranked up the heat as they pulled out of the lot.
“Did he follow us there? Was he one of the men we spoke to? Did he go out to wait for us?”
That was an awful thought—that they’d been face-to-face with Jane Doe’s killer—but he was more concerned the man had followed them there. That he’d been on them all along.
11
F inley and Griffin entered the lab shortly after six that night, her heart still jerking with flutters every few beats, flipping and tossing in a disconcerting manner. Whether from the close call and the knowledge of being in a sniper’s crosshairs or from the knowledge that Griffin would be glued to her, she couldn’t be certain. Either way, her heart was hammering.
Patricia, the saint who kept the lab running and properly stocked, approached dressed in her overcoat and scarf.
“How are you doing?” Finley greeted her, praying she didn’t ask in return.
“I still can’t believe John is gone.”
“Me either.”
With a sigh, Patricia shook her head. “I hate to rush off, but I’ve got a half hour to pick Matt up from indoor soccer practice, and with 95 traffic this time of day . . . I’m really pushing it. ”
“Drive safe.”
“Thanks. Oh, UPS delivered a package a few hours ago. I told him to leave it on your desk as usual.”
“Thanks.”
Patricia smiled. “You two have a nice night.” Swiping her card through the reader, she gave Finley a quick wink before the automated doors swung open and she stepped out of the lab.
Attempting to ignore Patricia’s prodding, she focused on the large digital clock on the wall—the neon-blue numbers bright against the black rectangular background. “Everyone else should be here soon. Want a cup of coffee or espresso while we wait?”
“Sure. I’d love a double espresso.”
“No idea
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