Page 5 of One Final Target

“He’s gone?” she asked.

The man turned to her. “Yeah. I’m trying to figure out where he’d possibly be heading. I need to call this in.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, and Jodie had a chance to look him over.

He was tall. Jodie stood almost six feet and he was at least a couple of inches taller than she was. Dark-red hair cut short, he was a little on the thin side, but he looked fit, wearing jeans and a blue flannel shirt over a dark-blue T-shirt. His shoulder holster was visible as the flannel shirt flapped open. It was cold—Jodie was in a jacket—but she figured, like most guys, the cold didn’t seem to affect him.

From his side of the conversation, he was familiar with the area, and no doubt he was a cop. He was talking perimeters and search parameters.

He also wore only one glove, on his right hand, and she wondered why. Then she saw the right side of his face. Scarring ran up from his collar, along his neck, across his jaw to his ear. The ear itself was scarred, bent, and odd-looking. He’d obviously been seriously injured at one time, by fire, Jodie thought.

Something niggled at the edge of her memory, but she couldn’t quite grasp the thought.

He finished his call and faced her. “The sheriff’s department is notified and they’re responding. They want us to sit tight. They’ve also notified the CHP. Are you okay?”

His eyes took her attention away from the scars. They werewarm pale-green eyes, but they were also alert and intelligent, his gaze piercing. She doubted this man missed much. He’d already proved his prowess by spotting a sniper on a dull, overcast day.

“I’m fine, thanks to you.”

“I’m glad I pulled up when I did. What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Oh, sorry, we haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Detective Sam Gresham, San Bernardino County Sheriff’s office.” He reached his gloved hand out.

The name was vaguely familiar to Jodie. The SBCS office had led the IED investigation—but she had no recollection of Sam Gresham.

“Detective Gresham?” She stared, trying to place him, pull on the thread of a memory, as she extended her hand. “I know all the deputies on the investigative team...”

“And you’ve never met me.” He released her hand and nodded. “I’ve just been assigned to homicide.” He pointed to the blanket, effectively changing the subject. “This guy was prepared to be here for a while. I don’t know how long you’ve been here, but did you hear him drive up?”

Jodie thought back to her arrival. Had she heard anything? After a moment she shook her head. “All I heard was the wind.”

She walked toward the blanket, careful where she stepped, cognizant of evidence lying all around. She decided this must be how a victim of a burglary felt, coming home to find her house trashed, leaving her vulnerable, exposed. When she looked toward where she’d been standing mere seconds ago, she could see how clear a shot this guy had from the ridge.

But who and why?

“I only just got here. I—” She swallowed, turning back toGresham. “At most I’ve been here five minutes. I heard nothing out of the ordinary.” She’d been lost in her own thoughts.

Gresham nodded and studied the pile of casings, eyebrows knit together tight. After a few seconds, he waved a hand around the area. “Let’s walk back down the ridge. A uniform should be here soon. I’ve got my radio in the Jeep. I’d like to hear what’s going on.”

Jodie nodded and followed Gresham back to the cars.

“Wow,” she said, noting his listing vehicle. “He killed your car. Guess I’m responsible for this.”

Sam inspected the damage. “You’re not responsible for anything; only the shooter is. This will be a test of my insurance policy for sure.”

He opened the driver’s door and reached inside, coming out with a police radio in his hand. He switched it on, and Jodie listened to a cacophony of radio traffic. It took just a second for her ears to sort everything out and then understand what was happening. Officers were enroute to their location and on the lookout for the man on the ATV. Gresham got on the air and suggested they try Snow Valley, a ski resort a few miles farther up Highway18.

“Man,” he said, “I’d like to be in on this search.”

Jodie agreed. Who else could the shooter have been other than the person who set the IED? The thought of finally catching the person responsible for killing her friends had her struggling to keep from grabbing the radio, jumping in her car, and speeding away to join the search.

“You said you’ve just been assigned to my case.” She still struggled to remember why his name was familiar. “Where were you before? And why now?”

“Yeah, I guess I should explain.” He put the radio on the hood of the Jeep and shoved his ungloved hand in his pocket. Jodie noticed the wind had picked up.

“A couple of months before this happened—” he waved his gloved hand around the blackened foundation—“I was injured on duty. A drunk driver obliterated my patrol vehicle.” He brought the hand to his scarred cheek and gave her a crooked smile. “Just a bit of the lasting mementos from the crash. I want to go back to patrol, but the department psych is resistant. For the past month I’ve been pushing papers. Being moved to your case is a promotion of sorts.”

Recognition sparked. Now Jodie remembered reading about what had happened to Sam Gresham. Rick Farmer was the name she remembered, Gresham’s partner. It had been a horrific accident; Gresham barely survived, but Farmer expired on scene. Many members of her department attended the funeral. She hadn’t been able to because her task force was working in Antelope Valley at the time.

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