Crossfire (26 page)

‘‘So, do you have time for that interview now?’’ Valentine approached Cait, microphone in hand and a cameraman in tow. ‘‘I figure this latest twist is really going to start freaking people out, so if you’d like to go on the air and reassure people that they should continue living their lives, we can make the eleven o’clock news.’’

As much as she hated interviews—Joe had always handled those when they’d partnered at SPD—Cait had to give credit to the newswoman for seeming to take a charred corpse in stride.

Plus, she did have a point. If they didn’t handle this carefully, people could begin to panic. And the last thing any of them needed was for citizens to start arming themselves for protection. That was a sure way to end up with accidental shootings.

‘‘You’ve got it,’’ she agreed. ‘‘You’ve also got yourself a kitten.’’

The smile Val flashed was nearly as bright as the ATF’s klieg lights. ‘‘Lucky for me my landlord allows pets.’’

Cait had the feeling the hunky pub owner would allow his tenant any little thing her heart desired.

‘‘So, how’s it going?’’ she asked, glancing over at Joe Gannon, who was standing nearby. His posture, as he leaned against the fender of the news van seemed casual enough, but she noticed that his eyes were constantly scanning the group, watching for anything that might pose a threat to his client. ‘‘With Joe?’’

‘‘He’s very sweet. And very hot. If he wasn’t already married, and I wasn’t, well’’—she paused, as if seeking the right word—‘‘somewhat involved, I might consider hitting on him.’’

‘‘You wouldn’t be the first,’’ Cait said.

And probably not the last, since Valentine was definitely right about him being hot. Cait figured a good percentage of the female population had gone into mourning when the former cop was taken off the marriage market.

The cameraman set Cait up far enough away from the car that late-night viewers wouldn’t be subjected to the sight of a charred corpse right before bed. But he also allowed for a shot of the task force team swarming over the site and a long shot of the burned vehicle.

‘‘Your nose is shiny,’’ Valentine said.

‘‘That’s probably from the Vicks,’’ Cait said. She’d learned the trick of rubbing VapoRub above her upper lip to mask the smell of death during her homicide days.

‘‘Well, it’ll look like hell on TV.’’

Valentine held out a tissue.

Cait sighed, obediently wiped it off, then, aware of Quinn watching her, felt like a fool as the newswoman swept some powder over her nose, chin, and cheeks with a soft black brush.

‘‘I’m not trying out for America’s Next Top Model,’’ she grumbled.

‘‘You also want to get your message across. Which you can’t do nearly as well if viewers are distracted by your glowing face,’’ Valentine countered.

The newswoman swept a brush through her long dark hair, touched up her red lipstick, did a voice check for the cameraman, and began the interview.

‘‘An unidentified victim has been found in the trunk of a burned car out in the marsh not far from Somersett,’’ she informed the viewers, her expression appropriatelyserious. ‘‘Although members of the joint task force are still in the process of conducting an investigation, the car is thought to possibly have been used in the recent shootings in our city.

‘‘I’m here with FBI Special Agent Caitlin Cavanaugh.’’ The camera lens widened to include Cait. ‘‘Special Agent, I know from the calls and e-mails we’ve been receiving that people are concerned about their safety while this sniper is on the loose. We reported on our six o’clock newscast about a run on firearms and Tasers at local gun stores. What advice can you give our viewers?’’

‘‘The first is to remain calm,’’ Cait responded. ‘‘The second is that more citizens carrying around guns on our city streets, or even in their homes, is not the answer. It’s much more likely for someone to mistake a family member or other innocent person for a threat, which could result in a tragedy none of us want.

‘‘For those viewers who’ve bought guns and have children in the homes, I’d remind them to make sure they use trigger locks. Which, if they didn’t purchase with their weapon, they can pick up for free, without any required paperwork, at the Somersett Police Department.’’

The Program Child Safe was something Joe had lobbied the city council for funds for while he’d been on the force, and although there was no way to prove its effectiveness, there hadn’t been a single accidental shooting in Somersett since its inception.

‘‘Do you advise staying indoors until this shooter is apprehended?’’

Cait welcomed the softball question that allowed her to address people’s fears.

‘‘I understand how some people might consider that an option, but it’s extreme. And a difficult way to live. Obviously we have a situation right now where any public venue risks becoming a potential shooting event. One of the safest things people can do is to go about their normal lives, while thinking about shaving minutes from the time they’re exposed in any target zone.’’

‘‘And how would you suggest doing that?’’

‘‘Well, for instance, instead of buying an entire week’s worth of groceries, which involves time putting several bags into your car, park close to the store and buy just what you need for that day.’’

‘‘The snipers in Washington, D.C., shot several victims at gas stations,’’ Valentine said. ‘‘I’ve spoken with service station operators who say their business is down seventy-five to ninety percent over the last twenty-four hours.’’

‘‘I’m not surprised, but there are some methods for handling that as well. Rather than stand next to your car while pumping the gas, lock in the hands-free mechanism on the nozzle. Then go into the store to pay, rather than using the credit card option at the pump. This should cut your exposure time from five or six minutes to a minute and a half.’’

‘‘And every minute saved is a minute tipped in your favor,’’ Val said.

‘‘Exactly.’’

‘‘What do you advise people to do if they happen to be somewhere a shooting event happens?’’

‘‘If they happen to be by a car, duck down in the front, beside the tire.’’

‘‘It seems there’d be more coverage behind the middle of the car.’’

‘‘The front is better, because of the heaviness of the engine block, which makes it more difficult for a bullet to penetrate,’’ Cait said. ‘‘Be patient. Resist the urge to look up, because all you’ll do is garner attention.

‘‘Also, it’s important for everyone to be proactive. If you see something suspicious, make a note of it right away. Because if events do suddenly unfold, you won’t have time to document details, and you may, in the heat of the moment, forget what you’ve seen.

‘‘We’re definitely not advising citizens to risk their lives attempting to capture this shooter or shooters. Just the opposite. But we do need everyone to be thinking about not just his or her own safety, but being a good witness as well. So we can apprehend this suspect and we can all get back to living our normal, everyday lives.’’

‘‘Thank you, Special Agent Cavanaugh, for that helpful advice.’’

Valentine turned her most serious look to the lens as the camera moved in for a close-up. ‘‘This is Valentine Snow, for WBUC, reminding viewers to stay alert. And stay alive.’’

As the camera lights switched off, Val groaned. ‘‘God, that sounded so corny.’’

‘‘Well, it’s not a bad thought,’’ Cait said, even though she somewhat agreed that it sounded a bit over the top.

‘‘Well, if it manages to save even a single life, it’ll be worth sounding like a small-market moron,’’ Val decided.

They didn’t speak much on the way back to town. Quinn figured Cait was thinking about the grisly crime scene, which had reminded him of too many of the things he’d witnessed during his years in the military.

Amazingly, even through the odor of death that they were both carrying on their clothes, he could smell her piña colada hair.

‘‘Something funny?’’ she asked, making him realize he’d been smiling. Which, under the circumstances, was undoubtedly inappropriate.

‘‘It’s your hair.’’

‘‘My hair?’’ She might be a tough-as-nails special agent, but she still possessed enough feminine vanity to lift a hand to the red spiral curls.

‘‘It still smells great.’’

‘‘Well.’’ She lifted her arm and sniffed at her jacket sleeve. ‘‘If that’s truly the case, it’s probably the only part of me that doesn’t stink. I can’t wait to get into the shower.’’

The mental image of her wet, naked, and slick with soap created a spike of lust. ‘‘That makes two of us.’’

The only light was the soft glow from the dashboard, but that didn’t keep him from noticing the way she narrowed her eyes at that, as if wondering exactly how he meant the murmured comment.

‘‘We should have taken two cars,’’ she said. ‘‘So you wouldn’t have to drive all the way back out to the marsh again tonight.’’

‘‘As it happens, I’m staying in the city.’’

‘‘Really? Why?’’

‘‘Because my house is going to be overrun with Tremayne Construction crews.’’

‘‘Ah. About time.’’

‘‘I just needed the right motivation.’’ Like the thought of getting Cait into a real bed beneath the skylight John Tremayne was going to cut into the bedroom roof.

‘‘Hmm.’’ She didn’t say anything, but he could tell when she was thinking, and he suspected her thoughts had moved from that dead body and burned car.

‘‘Will you be able to get a hotel room? This time of year?’’

‘‘Look around.’’ Harbor View, which was one of the busiest streets in the city on any night, but more so during Buccaneer Days, was so deserted Quinn figured it’d be possible to shoot a cannon down the street without hitting anyone. ‘‘Seems the town’s pretty much emptied out.’’

‘‘Worrying about getting shot tends to take some of the fun out of partying,’’ she muttered as he pulled up in front of her apartment building and cut the engine.

She turned toward him.

‘‘You know, there’s no point in your wasting your money on a hotel room.’’

He paused as he pulled the key out of the ignition. Don’t screw this up.

‘‘Is that an invitation?’’

She shrugged. ‘‘It’s been a stressful couple of days. You’re the one who suggested a remedy.’’

‘‘Yeah. I seem to recall saying something like that.’’ Although it had been only a few hours ago, it seemed like a lifetime.

The thing to do, he decided, was just to lay his cards out on the table. She might shoot him down, but hey, no risk, no reward.

Got any more clichés, McKade? he asked himself.

‘‘But here’s the deal. I think I’ve sorta changed my mind,’’ he heard himself saying.

‘‘Oh.’’ Her entire body stiffened. ‘‘Well, that’s certainly your privilege.’’

‘‘It’s not that I don’t still want you,’’ he said.

‘‘And here’s where I admit I want you,’’ she said. ‘‘So, what’s changed?’’

‘‘I’ve waited a long time for a rematch,’’ he said. ‘‘And I came to the conclusion, driving out to the marsh, that if we’re going to have a round two, I want a commitment.’’

‘‘A commitment?’’ She looked at him as if he’d admitted to being her sniper. ‘‘What, like you want to go steady? Maybe have me wear your SEAL class pin on my cheerleader sweater?’’

‘‘That wasn’t what I had in mind.’’ Though the idea of Cait in a short, tight, midriff-baring cheerleader outfit definitely caused another spike of lust. ‘‘I probably do have my trident stashed away somewhere, if you’d like it. But I’ve decided I don’t want to just be the guy you fuck as a brief escape from this case. If we go to bed, I want some intimacy.’’

Her expression revealed the same surprise he would have felt if someone had suggested this situation to him only two days ago.

‘‘Granted, it’s been a while since I’ve had sex,’’ she said. ‘‘But unless things have suddenly changed, getting naked usually means intimacy.’’

‘‘True. But there are different kinds of intimacy. I’m talking about the whole ball of wax.’’

She tilted her head. Studied him with serious, guarded eyes. ‘‘Actually, it sounds a lot more like a ball of strings.’’

‘‘Use whatever metaphor you want.’’ A muscle ticked in his jaw. ‘‘But if you want my body, Special Agent, you’re going to have to take the entire package.’’

She skimmed a long, slow look over him.

‘‘It’s not a bad package, so, sure, I can live with that.’’

‘‘I’m not just talking about my body or what fits where.’’ Though he remembered them fitting together really, really well.

‘‘What? Like a relationship?’’

Why was it that a word that had always given him hives suddenly seemed unreasonably attractive?

‘‘Something like that, I guess. Like I said earlier, I’ve never been real big on sharing, and I damn well refuse to share you.’’

‘‘Well.’’ She glanced out the passenger-side door window at the empty sidewalk. ‘‘I suppose that means I’ll have to send that long line of would-be suitors extending down the block home.’’

‘‘I’m not joking.’’

‘‘No.’’ Cait blew out a long, labored sigh, turned back toward him, and subjected him to a searching look. ‘‘I can see you’re not. The thing is, I don’t understand.’’