Page 77 of Crosshairs

When the operator answered, she alerted him there was a possible shooter at Austin Kingston’s residence. “I don’t know the address.”

Minutes later Ainsley grabbed the armrest as Linc peeled out of Rocky Springs behind Hugh. Sam’s flashing blue lights led the way.

They lost the phone signal just outside Rocky Springs, but when they neared Port Gibson, Ainsley called Drew’s dad. “Are you home?”

“No.” Voices murmured in the background. “I’m having coffee with friends at the Donut Shop.”

She sucked in a breath. “Drew called me and I think someone shot him while we were talk—”

“What! No—I just left him half an hour ago washing cars. He was fine.”

“Listen to me, Austin. Get home as fast as you can and check on him.”

She looked at her phone to see if the call had dropped. It was that or Austin hung up. Then, surprising herself, she lifted upprayers for the boy. She’d prayed more in the few days she’d been home than she had the entire time she’d been away.

When they arrived at the Kingston mansion, police cars filled the driveway and more patrol cars sat on the tree-lined street. Linc parked behind Hugh, and Ainsley bolted from the Tahoe. She raced to the back of the house. Police were combing the backyard. Her gaze went to a bucket of soapy water and a water hose that sat next to a silver Lexus.

“Is Drew all right?” she asked the Natchez chief of police, Pete Nelson.

“He’s on his way to the hospital, hanging on by a thread,” Nelson said. “Austin Kingston said you were talking to his son when this happened. Did he give any indication of who shot him?”

“No.”

“Why did Drew call you?”

She rubbed her arms. “He was at Connie Hanover’s place last night and saw the person who shot her. The shooter must’ve ID’d him as well. Were there any witnesses to what happened here?”

Nelson rested his hand on the butt of his gun. “Apparently not.”

Ainsley scanned the area. “How about security cameras?”

The chief pointed to the back of the house. “One there, but where Drew was washing the car is out of its range.” He turned and pointed to the far side of a detached garage. “One there too, but the same problem.”

She turned to Linc. “Do you think this could’ve been Maddox?”

He chewed his bottom lip. “I figure it’s the same shooter who was at the Hanover place last night. Evidently, whoever it was missed their chance to silence Drew last night. Probably followed him home and waited for an opportunity to do this.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. Too many people were getting shot. “If Drew dies...” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

“He’s not dead yet,” Linc said. “The person who shot him is the bad guy, not you.”

If only she could believe that.

Once it was evident there was nothing they could do at the crime scene, she said, “Now would be a good time to set up that whiteboard I was talking about.”

“I have a conference room at my office. There’s a board already set up,” Pete said. “My officers can take care of the crime scene.”

Doing something constructive would ward off the helplessness engulfing Ainsley. They followed the chief to the jail.

“Coffee?” Pete asked.

“No thanks. I’ve had your coffee,” Linc said, laughing.

Ainsley and Sam and Hugh declined as well and followed the chief to the conference room, where a large whiteboard was center stage.

“It’s all yours,” Pete said.

Ainsley hesitated. She had done this dozens of times, but never with so much riding on her ability to put together all the pieces floating around this case. Now was not the time to doubt her ability. She marched to the board and picked up a dry erase pen and with a firm hand wrote Hannah Dyson’s name at the top. Then she made three columns. In the right column, she wrote Connie Hanover’s and Drew Kingston’s names.

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