The Eyewitness Page 6

  “I told you everything.” Her gaze followed the firemen running into the building. “This wasn’t the sniper. He could get at me anytime he wants.”

  Her words sent a chill down Alec’s spine. “He can’t be in two places at once. Dispatch texted me the address of the latest shooting, and it’s almost an hour away from here. This sure as hell isn’t his pattern,” he said as he touched her chin to get her attention. “Figure out how you know Shadow Man, and fast.”

  Chapter Seven

  Emersyn hadn’t stepped foot in St. Luke’s Catholic Church in months, even though a sense of peace always filled her the moment she sighted the gothic pillars and complex patterns of multicolored lights radiating from the stained-glass windows. She was at war with her faith. And the Big Guy could go suck it. If God allowed her father to die, well, she could do without God. So, she was confused why she’d come here of all places.

  She rested her head on the steering wheel. For six long years, she’d driven herself hard to become a forensic scientist, and working beside someone like Angela McCain was a dream job. In one hour, she’d flushed it all down the toilet.

  Her first instinct was to call her mother, but she would hear soon enough about the lab accident. Emersyn was Joe D’Azzo’s daughter; her life was one big, fat fishbowl. Her mom would tell the aunts, and the news would dribble down to Tessa and Nathan. Tessa would give her the “what were you thinking” look and her brother would hug her and whisper, “Shit happens. Find a shovel and clean it up.” Good advice, if she only had a clue where to find a shovel big enough for this mess.

  There was no need to make her mother worry. Emersyn removed her cell from her pocket and sent a text. The mere mention of St. Luke’s would place a smile on her mother’s face.

  A gust of February air hit her like a brick of ice when she opened the car door. Her damp clothing sucked the rigid cold right into her bones. She made a dash for a side entrance and entered the sanctuary. The light glow of candles and the ever-present aroma of incense and wood polish calmed her heart. She may have been angry at God, but this place had been home for the last twenty-six years. She eased down onto the bench behind the center pillar.

  She leaned her head on the back of the pew and closed her eyes. Big mistake. Her mind slipped right back into the lab moments before hell broke loose. There was no warning, just a blast of cold water raining down from the ceiling. And for some reason, her first thought was Shit, what did I do?

  Before that, she hadn’t moved from her spot near Ben for an hour. Sure, she was tense, full of nervous energy. What was on that damn sample? But she had sat still, quiet on her stool, rereading the same paragraph over again as she waited for Ben to finish his test. This wasn’t her fault.

  “Then why do I feel so shitty?”

  “Emersyn?”

  She recognized the deep voice instantly. Father Anthony. Heat rose into her cheeks. Cussing in church, not cool. Without removing her hands from her face, she whispered, “Sorry. It’s been a bad day.”

  “Can I help?”

  She met his stare. What always drew her to him were his eyes. There was pain there. Father Anthony had seen too much in his life. Whatever he’d experienced, his reward was immeasurable compassion. And what was said to Father Anthony in this place stayed here.

  Emersyn used her palm to wipe the moisture from her cheeks as she scanned the sanctuary. “You’re ready to lock up. I can go.”

  “You just got here. Do you want to be alone?”

  “No.” Her gaze returned to the cross hanging above the altar. “We’re at odds these days.” She faced her priest. “Please don’t tell me to let go of my anger.”

  “Have I ever told you what to do, Emersyn?”

  That made her laugh, and she needed the release. “Maybe a time or two, Father Anthony.”

  “I understand your anger. Been down that road myself. It’s normal, but holding on to it never solved anything. At some point, we have to change.” He studied her for several seconds then asked, “Is there some way I can help improve your shitty day?”

  Loaded question. Her life was shredding at the seams, and she didn’t have a clue how to pull it together. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Everything in her wanted to spill the weird things that had been happening since she woke from surgery. Instead, she said, “I always think I have things under control, then I don’t.”

  “That’s normal, considering the circumstances.”

  “My father . . . I see him . . . or I saw him . . . ”

  Shut it. The words had left her mouth so fast, she could only pray he didn’t hear her. She’d never spoken to anyone about her father’s bedside visit. What was that? He had seemed so real at the time. And what did “Listen to me” mean? If . . .

  No. Her father was dead on scene, and dead men don’t leave messages.

  “Say again?” Father Anthony asked.

  She squirmed in the pew as her eyes darted around the church. “I really can’t, Father A.” Yup, she was crazy, the stark-raving kind of crazy.

  “You’re seeing Joe?”

  She sighed. “Just once. After I woke from surgery, he was standing in front of me.” Her fingers raked through her waves. The pull from the knots and tangles seemed to center her. Things like this were supposed to be private, never to see the light of day.

  “And you think you are—”

  “Crazy as a loon and would really like for you to forget I said anything.”

  He placed a hand on her arm. “Can I assure you that you’re not crazy?”

  “Then what would you call it?”

  “A miracle.”

  She couldn’t help the laugh that came up her throat. “Not from where I’m sitting.” Again, dampness clouded her vision. No more tears. She took in a cleansing breath and swallowed the burning lump in her throat. The words that came from her mouth were barely a whisper. “You believe me.”

  “I have experienced a few things over the years that are too strange to even put into words. The idea that your father is with you doesn’t surprise me at all. He loved you a great deal.”

  “Then why the hell did he leave? I need him, damn it.” A deep, wrenching sob broke free. Father Anthony sat still, allowing her a chance to release the grief. It took some time, but she found her control again.

  “Did he say anything to you?”

  “Just what he has always asked of me.”

  “And that would be?”

  “He wants me to listen to him. I don’t understand what he expects.” Emersyn intertwined her fingers and rested them on the back of the pew in front of her. “I may have lost my job today. There was no time to prevent anything, because at the time, there was nothing wrong.”

  “Back up.”

  She took a few moments to fill him in on the last couple hours at work as well as her visit to the sniper’s nest and the armed men from the hospital. His posture stiffened with each revelation.

  “Is Nathan aware of the attempts on your life?”

  “He was at the hospital.” She checked her watch. “And by now, I’m sure he’s been told every detail of today’s fiasco,” she choked out. “Whatever happened in the lab had to be an accident, and those fools in the hospital had the wrong room.”

  “Maybe . . . Maybe not.”

  “You sound like Alec.”

  “Your father trusted his partner. It wouldn’t hurt to listen to him.”

  “Not in this lifetime.”

  Father Anthony chuckled. “You two still haven’t buried the hatchet?”

  “We aren’t on the best of terms. I’m trying . . . ”

  “Forgiveness is hard, forgetting is even harder.” He gave her clasped hands a pat. “From what I know about Alec, he’s a little hard around the edges, but I trust him. Nathan and Alec will tell you there is no such thing as a coincidence.”

  “If I could ID Dad’s killer, I would, in a heartbeat.”

  “You know more than you think.”
Father Anthony tilted his head, his stare intense, serious. “Like your father, you’re sagacious, methodical. It’s these traits that will make you a great forensic scientist. One thing to keep in mind is nothing is as it seems when you’re dealing with a cold-blooded killer.”

  “While I was in the tree, it was as if I were inside the sniper’s head and could see what he saw. My pulse was racing like I’d run ten miles, and then it just dropped.”

  Father Anthony took hold of her hand, his grip a little tight for comfort. “Use that. Don’t discount what you saw, what you felt.”

  A new fear edged into her gut. The next words out of her mouth were none of her business, but she had to know. “When you were with Special Forces, were you a sniper?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Can you explain the heart thing?”

  A gray paleness formed around his eyes and mouth. When he answered, his voice was harsh, as if he’d turned into someone else. “When you’re ready for a kill, your heart beats so fast, so hard, you think it’s going to pound right out of your chest. But then the training sets in, and you consciously lower your rate to forty, fifty beats per minute.” He paused for a moment then asked, “Is that what you felt in the sniper’s nest?”

  “Yes, and somehow, I lost almost an hour.”

  “Then you have a connection to the killer, and you must find it, Emersyn.”

  Her damp clothing wasn’t what caused the shiver that sliced through her. “You really believe this happened,” she said, the burning in her throat returning with a vengeance.

  “I’ve known you all your life. If you say it happened, then it happened.”

  “I can’t talk to Mom about this. I don’t understand that. We’re so close, but this will scare her. She’s been through enough. As for Nathan and Tessa, they’re dealing with their own grief and have their own problems. I don’t want them to worry that I’ve gone off the deep end.”

  “I’m glad you talked to me. Emersyn, your mother isn’t the only one who has been through a lot.” His expression softened. “You may not believe this, but you have it together more than you give yourself credit for.”

  She scooted from the pew. “I appreciate that. And I needed the talk.”

  “I’m here if you need me.”

  There was one question she had to ask even though she didn’t want the answer. “Do you think the man who killed my father is after me?”

  “You are a loose end. He can’t take the chance that you’ll remember something.”

  “That’s not comforting, Father A.”

  His hard expression reminded her of Alec. “You weren’t asking for comfort, but truth. Joe taught you what it means to keep your guard up, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s a meaning behind his words, Listen to me. Stay vigilant. Be aware of everyone around you.”

  “And trust nothing. Got it.”

  Any comfort this place had given her the moment she entered disappeared into thin air.

  Chapter Eight

  It had been a long time since Emersyn sat in her father’s chair. As a young girl, she would twirl around in it until she made herself dizzy. That free spirit had either died along with her father or was shoved out of reach.

  Her father’s old barracks was quiet, his office deserted. Since no one was around to tell her to get the hell out, she closed the door, keeping the lights off.

  The room still held his presence. It was as if at any moment he would walk in and hold a hand out to her. She would give him a hug, and he would steal the chair.

  A tear slid from the corner of her eye, and she gave it a swipe. Grief had to go on the back burner for now. Tessa said often enough that emotions interfered with logical thought. Deal with the facts first and then lick wounds.

  Yesterday’s events had ripped Emersyn’s confidence to shreds. What was she supposed to do next? The local and national news had spent the night discussing what could possibly be another sniper murder. Angela McCain had to be working the case; Emersyn hadn’t heard a word from her.

  Go home, Emersyn. The words still stung. Should she show up at work and hope her identification card still got her past security, or continue waiting to hear from Angela? As for Alec, she had hoped he would check in on her at some point last night.

  After leaving Father Anthony, she’d dropped by the hospital to check on Ben. His wife was sitting with him. Instead of entering his room, she’d moved past the door without disturbing them.

  Maybe the accident was her fault after all. She’d underestimated her father’s killer when she climbed that tree. Ben had paid the price.

  She’d crawled out of bed at daybreak after a sleepless night and had breakfast with her mother. She told her version of the lab accident, leaving out the part about sneaking evidence in under her supervisor’s nose. She left the house with her coffee mug and her messenger bag over her shoulder like she had done the last couple of days. Only problem—she didn’t know where to go once she was in her car. So, she went to the one place she wanted to be.

  She took out one of the new writing tablets her father kept in his top right drawer. Lists were her superpower. First logical thought: her father knew his killer, or at least the person who’d hired the killer. She eyed the large room beyond the office. She had known the men and women who used that cluster of desks for most of her life. That one of them could be involved made her sick to her stomach.

  Her gaze zoomed in on the photos of her family on the bookcase. There was one of them at the beach, and the other, at one of the many D’Azzo reunions. The pen she’d given him when she was about twelve still rested in the frog paper-clip holder she’d insisted would help him appear less intense.

  A door slammed somewhere in the building. She quickly shut the open drawer as Oliver Gates moved past the office. He stopped and backtracked. Before he could get a word out, she blurted, “I didn’t know where else to go. I’m not here to meddle.”

  He moved into the office. “I heard about yesterday. What can I do?”

  That was the last thing she’d expected to hear. Although she hadn’t done anything to cause the flood in her lab, she had ignored a direct order from her superiors—and him.

  “My mistake,” she said. “I’ll clean it up.”

  “Angela McCain is a good woman. Give her time to calm down.”

  “I wasn’t sure if I would be welcomed there today.”

  “If you’re here for information about yesterday’s shooting, there is none. We know no more than what was plastered on the evening news.”

  “I’m here because I needed to be close to Dad. No agenda.”

  Gentleness settled into Oliver’s features. “Then stay as long as you need. I can make a couple calls if you want.”

  “Thank you, but please don’t.” As he moved away, she called him back. “Oliver, since no one has gathered my father’s things, would you mind if I boxed them up?”

  “You don’t have to do that. I can get one of the guys to do it.”

  “It will help me feel useful. You must need this space.”

  Oliver eyed the room. “It’s Alec’s office now. I doubt he’ll use it.” He took a moment to study her. “If it’s not too upsetting, I would appreciate the help. Joe kept the key to his locker on the keychain in the middle drawer.”

  “Maybe once I’m done, he won’t find it so hard to be in here.” And knowing Alec would occupy the office made the chore easier.

  It took forty-five minutes to pack away Dad’s locker, sort through the odds and ends on the bookcases, and empty the desk drawers.

  As the barracks filled with the day shift, they put their heads inside the door to say hi but didn’t enter. Her presence was making everyone uncomfortable. The lab accident had spread far and wide, as she’d expected. They either didn’t know what to say or were struggling with the same finality she was. Joe D’Azzo’s official portrait would hang with the other fallen officers, but any sign of his presence would soon be erased from the b
uilding.

  Alec, however, had not made an appearance. She wasn’t foolish enough to think he would be happy to see her. On the contrary. She expected to be hit with full-fledged pissed-off male. If she was smart, she would be long gone before he arrived.

  After dusting the bookcases, she removed each drawer in his desk and dumped any loose debris into the trash bin before wiping down the inside. Her father liked things tidy. It was important that she left the office the way he would have.

  She opened the large center drawer, but something blocked the track. Her fingers hit a piece of rectangular plastic wedged between the grooves of the right-side track. With her nail, she worked it loose. The flash drive had a piece of wrinkled tape on one side but was clear of any notations.

  When had her father started using flash drives? He was old school. Computers, in his opinion, were good for one thing: searching for information. But a flash drive? The man struggled remembering his password. Whatever he’d put on it, he clearly didn’t want it shared. Goose bumps covered Emersyn’s skin. He must have taped the drive to the top of the drawer, and it eventually dropped into the track.

  Oliver cleared his throat, and she met his stare as her hand slipped inside her pants pocket and allowed the flash drive to pass through her fingers.

  “Hi. This should be the last box,” she said, moving around the desk.

  “You made progress.”

  She turned her back on him and took in a calming breath. “I have the center drawer to go through, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

  He secured the lid on one of the boxes. “As much time as Joe spent in this office, you would think there would be more stuff.”

  “He wasn’t a ‘stuff’ guy. One thing I couldn’t find were his old notebooks. Do you know what happened to those?”

  Oliver shook his head. “If they weren’t in his desk or on the bookcase, he must have stored them with each case file.”