Page 82 of Disarming Caine

Antonio pulled open the glass door, and Dominico held his arms out for a hug.

“Before forensics sent the evidence from the gym to NIBIN, I took it for a detour.”

Via Calabria was only two lanes wide, and it wasn’t busy. A black car slowed next to Antonio’s SUV and stopped. No space behind us, so he wasn’t parallel parking. Maybe letting a passenger out?

“Based on what you showed me yesterday at Dr. Ferraro’s, we did a visual comparison on the bullet casings from the gym—”

I stretched up in my seat to look into the car next to me. The blond passenger—slight stature, hair at shoulder length, likely male—was talking to the driver, but not exiting. Maybe they were lost or had broken down and needed help.

Or maybe… The moment at Mason’s when I noticed the slowing car flashed through my brain.No. Relax, Sam.Black was a common vehicle color. People stopped all the time.

The security guy approached casually. He was tall, broad, with dark brown hair. Sunglasses and an unzipped gray ski jacket. Designed to blend in, but the tight smile on his lips likely wouldn’t have reached his eyes, and the unassuming walk was well-cultivated.

Deep breaths. Claude’s got this.

“—they were a match to the shooting at Mason’s Gallery.”

“Shit!” I fell back into my seat, eyes still on the car next to me. That made three shootings, aimed at people involved in the Scott case: Rhonda, me, and now Lucy, who’d been my right hand.

Or the people asking questions about the Constable, like Antonio suggested. Rhonda after she asked about the painting, Lucy after she canvassed the neighborhood, but Antonio and I hadn’t gone there until yesterday.

“What about the evidence from my place?”

The security guy rapped on the driver’s window.

“It’s missing,” she said. “NIBIN doesn’t have your paperwork. We apparently didn’t retain anything here, either.”

“How can that happen?”

The driver and security guy exchanged some words, arms stretching down the road and moving like they were discussing directions. The security guy waved and headed back to his car.

“But if you were right…” Janelle hadn’t slowed down the entire time, but now she paused. “That means the shootings at Mason’s, your place, and the gym were all with the same gun. And I know I said same gun doesn’t mean same shooter, but that’s a big coincidence, and I—”

A deafening crack sounded from the car next to me, and I jumped in my seat.

Gunshot.

“Sam!” yelled Janelle over the phone.

Two more shots, so rapid I could barely keep track of what happened. The Ferraro’s glass shattered. The passenger grabbed the driver. Claude spun, tossed his jacket open, hand diving for something at his belt. The driver knocked the passenger back.

Three more shots.

The security guy fired a Taser and hit the side mirror.

My eyes flew to Ferraro’s. No one was standing and the shooter’s car blocked my view of the floor.

Ice splintered in my veins, breath lodging in my throat.

His laugh.

His smile.

The look in his eyes when he told me he loved me.

I had to make sure he was alright.

The black car sped off, slamming into Claude, sending him stumbling into the oncoming lane. I had to check on him, but he recovered almost immediately.

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