heart thudding hard against hers.
Laura felt her knees go weak.
With slow, drunken steps, Javier backed her up against the wall, his lips and tongue relentless, his fingers working her hair from its twist, his erection hard against her hip. The feel of his arousal and the hard press of the wall behind her elicited delicious memories of the afternoon in Dubai when he’d picked her up, wrapped her legs around his waist, and fucked her up against the wall.
The memory and the man and the moment came together, naked desire flooding Laura’s veins like a drug. She arched into him, her fingers caressing the shifting muscles of his back, the stubbled line of his jaw, the steel of his shoulders.
He lowered his lips to her throat, possessing the sensitive skin beneath her ear, caressing, nibbling, teasing. A hand closed over her breast, the delicious shock of it making her jerk and gasp. His thumb flicked her hardened nipple through the cloth of her shirt, unleashing a flood of liquid heat between her thighs. “Were your stretch marks the only thing holding you back from letting me touch you like this?”
His breath was hot against her throat, his voice strained.
“Yes. No!” She looked into Javier’s eyes, her pulse still racing, his words resurrecting old fears. She wasn’t sure how she would react if they actually tried to have sex. “What if I’m not ready for this?”
His lips, wet from kissing, curved in a smile. “I guess we’ll have to take it slow.”
He’d just lowered his mouth to hers again when his cell phone rang. He squeezed his eyes shut and drew reluctantly away from her, seeming to recognize the ring tone. “I’m so sorry,
Disappointment almost made her moan. “NSW again?”
He nodded, reached into his jeans pocket. “My platoon commander.”
JAVIER HAD JUST gotten off the phone from having his ass chewed by the platoon commander, who’d let him off with a warning, when his folks called to find out why they’d seen him on the news and how he was connected to Laura. That call had been interrupted by one from McBride, who said he was on his way over to update Laura on the investigation and to ask her to view the surveillance video from the parking garage.
So much for picking up where he and Laura had left off.
“You think she’s up for it?” McBride asked.
Javier looked over to where Laura stood, frozen in the act of making a salad as she listened to Javier. “Yeah, I think she is.”
Fifteen minutes later, McBride sat in Laura’s living room, a cup of freshly brewed coffee in hand. “The photographer bonded out.”
So the
“If he shows up here again, I’ll—”
McBride’s gaze narrowed. “If he shows up here again, you’ll call the cops.”
“That’s what I was going to say.”
“Right.”
Laura poured herself a cup of coffee and sat beside Javier, her hand sliding easily into his, her fingers cold. He’d known she was nervous, but he hadn’t realized how nervous. He got up, turned on the fire, and sat down beside her again.
“First, this isn’t for the paper,” McBride said. “Agreed?”
Laura nodded.
“Tower wasn’t our shooter.” McBride held up a clear plastic bag with spent shell casings. “We recovered these at the site. Whoever tried to kill you, Laura, was firing 7.62 NATO AP rounds, not five-five-six.”
Laura looked puzzled. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what that means.”
“Tower was carrying an AR-15 armed with five-five-six green tip, a specific armor-piercing round. The shooter’s weapon used a different caliber.”
“I understand.”
McBride held up a DVD. “We’d hoped the surveillance video from the parking garage would give us all the answers we want, but so far we just have more questions. Laura, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to watch this.”
“Of course.” Laura took the disk and popped it in the player, then turned on the television and handed the remote to McBride. When she sat down beside Javier again, her fingers were even colder.
McBride leaned closer to Laura. “I know this won’t be easy for you to see, but I’m hoping you’ll recognize something about the shooter—the way he walks, how he’s dressed, or something he does. Even the smallest detail might help us identify him.”
Javier had to hand it to McBride. He was doing his best not only to catch a killer, but also to keep from traumatizing Laura further. Then again, Nate wouldn’t have considered McBride a friend if McBride had been an asshole.
“I’ll do my best,” Laura answered.
McBride pushed Play, and a greenish image flickered to life, showing the entrance of the parking garage with a time stamp of sixteen hundred hours—a good two hours before Laura had arrived at the television station.
“What you’re seeing was taken from hours of footage we spliced together from several different cameras at the garage. In a moment you’ll see Tower drive up. Here he comes.”
Tower appeared at the wheel of a metallic bronze BMW X3, rolled down his window, and took a ticket, disappearing as he headed into the garage. The footage cut to the top floor of the garage, where he emerged moments later, parking directly across from the position Javier thought the shooter must have taken.
McBride pointed at the television. “He drives straight to the upper floor of the parking garage. He doesn’t get out. He doesn’t do anything but sit there.”
“So the bastard must have known what was about to go down.”
“It seems so.”
The footage cut back to the entrance of the parking garage, the time index in the corner showing that about forty minutes had gone by.
“Here’s our shooter,” McBride said.
Javier felt Laura tense as a blue Honda Civic pulled up, a man with a white glowing ball for a head at the wheel.
She frowned. “He’s hiding his face using infrared LEDs.”
“How did you know about that?” Javier was fairly certain this wasn’t common knowledge.
“Oh, please.” She gave him a look. “Investigative reporter?”
McBride paused the playback. “Does anything about him look familiar to you?”
Laura studied the image, leaning toward the TV. “No.”
“We ran plates on the car, but it was reported stolen from in front of a private home Thursday afternoon. There are no city surveillance cameras in that neighborhood, so we’re hoping to find witnesses.” McBride pushed Play again. “Watch where the shooter goes. He stops on the fourth floor—one floor down from Tower.”
Javier watched as the shooter parked facing south. He climbed out of his G-ride, range finder in hand, and began to scope his shot.
McBride paused once more. “Does anything seem familiar to you?”
Laura watched intently, then shook her head. “No. I’m sorry.”
“Here’s where it gets interesting.” McBride pushed Play again. “If this gets too difficult for you, let me know, okay, Laura?”
McBride fast-forwarded through an hour’s worth of footage, the image getting darker as the sun set. When it slowed again, there was a split-screen image, one side showing Tower, the other showing the shooter.
Tower stepped out of his Beemer, looked around, then walked to the southern side of the garage and looked in the direction of the television station, the AR-15 in hand. He glanced at his watch, then looked down at the television station again through his night scope. Meanwhile, one floor down, the shooter got into position with an M110 sniper rifle equipped with a bipod—and a suppressor. He flipped out the bipod, rested the weapon on the concrete ledge, and began adjusting his sights.
