The cold outside meant Adams Hall, with its high, arched ceiling, was chilly inside. Chilly enough for many in the crowd to keep their coats or jackets on, at least until more people showed up and their combined body heat warmed up the large space. Marsh didn’t smile, but he could have. He would not stand out in the crowd by keeping his raincoat on. It hid his deadly intentions.
And that was a good thing.
* * *
“Taxi!” Carly’s voice was loud and shrill as she flagged down the first cab she spotted. She jumped in, glad to be out of the sharp wind.
“Where to, ma’am?” the driver said with a musical lilt to his voice that Carly pegged as probably Jamaican or Bahamian—but definitely from the Caribbean.
“Old Town University. Adams Hall.” She referred to the piece of paper she pulled from her pocket, and read him the address.
The driver wrote the destination on his trip sheet, then depressed the meter’s flag. “Do you mind if I turn on some music?” he asked as he pulled away from the curb.
“So long as it’s not rap.”
The driver laughed. “Oh no, ma’am.” And soon the sounds of reggae filled the cab’s interior.
I was right, Carly thought with a tiny smile. Caribbean for sure.
Almost immediately she tuned out the upbeat music, because her mind was focused on only two things—making sure Shane was safe, and making sure she didn’t put him in more danger by becoming a target herself.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on that moment a week ago Saturday when Shane had been shot at and she’d chased after the sniper. She wasn’t a stranger to gunfire, so while the shots had startled her, she hadn’t been frozen with fear, either. She’d grabbed her smartphone and had done what she’d done her entire adult life—she’d gone after the story.
She visualized in her mind every move she’d made, every step she’d taken, right up until Shane had tackled her as the shot from the sniper’s rifle whizzed harmlessly overhead. But in those seconds before, she’d seen the man’s bearded face. Had captured him on video.
The tech guys at the network had done their best to blow up and enhance the images, but the end result really hadn’t been sharp enough to see the details she remembered now. The deep-set eyes. The shape of his body. The way he pulled the rifle into his shoulder and took aim all in one smooth motion. Practiced. Professional.
She’d told all this to the Phoenix police, of course, and to the FBI. And she’d worked with a sketch artist. But the sketch artist couldn’t possibly capture the way the man moved.
And suddenly Carly knew if she saw this man again, if she saw him running or taking aim, she would know him. The hat and the beard were probably disguises, so she couldn’t let herself be fooled into looking for them. No, she needed to search for those deep-set eyes. The stocky build. The smooth way he moved.
And she needed to do it without letting him see her.
* * *
Shane and his brother parted company once Niall had escorted him to the building adjacent to Adams Hall. As arranged, the five panel members debating whether or not climate change actually existed, and the cadre of university students from the debate club sponsoring this event, were assembling there an hour ahead of time. But Shane had arrived very early to allow Niall enough time to do his thing in Adams Hall.
He ran through his notes while he waited. He considered rehearsing his opening speech once more, then heard Carly’s voice in the back of his mind saying at breakfast, You’ve practiced your speech until you’re word perfect. And frankly, I’m sick of hearing it. I’ve posed mock questions for you until you could answer questions on this topic in your sleep, and you have...if that mumbling I heard last night means anything.
He’d laughed at her dry tone and her words this morning, but now he acknowledged she was right. That control thing he had going extended to just about everything in his life, including his need to be hyper prepared for any contingency.
It had been a mistake letting himself think of Carly, though, because now he couldn’t get her out of his mind. He sat facing the door—you always faced the door unless you wanted to be taken unawares—but he wasn’t really seeing it. He was seeing Carly as she’d looked the first time he’d made love to her. God, he hadn’t even gotten his pants off. Hadn’t even undressed her. He’d been a Hellfire missile locked on target, and he could still remember the explosion that had rocked his world.