Page 13 of One Final Target

He would have to dig. Somewhere in the reports, in the interviews, in the pile of paperwork related to King and the explosion, hid someone with a strong personal motive and animosity. And Sam was determined to throw the curtain back and find the individual. He’d make a list and research each person one by one.

His thoughts drifted back to his observations of the day, of the scene, and of who he now considered the target. Danger notwithstanding, Sam was captivated by Jodie King. Despite being shot at, she remained cool, calm, and collected, trying to help in any way she could, though she was way out of her jurisdiction and not even on the clock. Her professionalism told him she’d been a good cop, steady and thoughtful, not given to making emotional decisions.

Yet she’d quit and she’d lashed out at George. Indeed, from what he and George had observed, she was far from healed after the loss of her team. Sam never thought of quitting, even at his lowest. People told him he’d have to quit, and he was ornery enough to want to prove them wrong. Guilt still walked in lockstep with him, but somehow the thought of turning in his badge seemed a bigger betrayal of his friendship with Rick.

Sam wondered if he’d ever be in a place with Jodie where he could ask her why she left the PD. Maybe with time her anger and hurt would ease.

By the time King had followed her uncle down the mountain, Sam was chagrined to realize he also had a personal motive behind getting to know her better. He wanted to see more of the tall, blonde ex-sergeant with the amazing brilliant-blue eyes.

CHAPTER8

“YOU’RE SURE YOU’RE OKAY?”

Jodie closed her eyes and tried hard not to fall apart. Uncle Mike didn’t just escort her home; he came in with her, still worried about her and upset about the shooting.

“Yeah, not even a nick.”

“I didn’t mean just physically.”

“I’m just tired. Please don’t worry about me.”

Mike grabbed her in a hug and Jodie felt her throat thicken. She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t want to think about the deputy who got shot because of her. She didn’t want to think about anything.

“I’ll always worry about you,” he whispered.

If she moved, she’d lose it. Mike had taken her in when herparents died—he was a father to her. He’d also been the reason she became a police officer, to follow in his footsteps. She didn’t know how to ease his pain or his worry—she couldn’t ease her own, much less anyone else’s.

Once he was sure she was okay, Mike left. As she closed the door behind him, Jodie’s energy faded. She didn’t even have the energy to shower. She got into bed, closed her eyes, but could not sleep.

The day kept running through her mind: the shots, Gresham, the chase, the wounded deputy, and the encounter with George Upton. For some reason, anger with the old cop flared up again and she had trouble getting past it. He’d sounded like the department psychologist, Dr. Bass, who encouraged her to move on from the IED. The idea of moving on infuriated Jodie.How do you move on when four good friends and officers are blown up on your watch?It was not easily forgettable. The trouble was old cops and psychologists always thought they knew everything. At least in Jodie’s experience.

She forced her thoughts to Sam Gresham, the only bright spot in the day. Jodie was glad she’d met him. But her last conversation with him had also stirred up something negative. He was right to ask who would have known she was going to visit the site.

I didn’t even know until about thirty minutes before I got in the car.

The next morning, the conversation was still replaying in Jodie’s head.“Someone is watching you.... For some reason this guy is still after you.”She hadn’t gotten much sleep, so now, with the dawn just breaking, she did what always seemed to calm and center her. Surf.

Jodie zipped up her wet suit, grabbed her board, and exited the garage area of her apartment complex to cross the street to thebeach, probably checking the quiet street more carefully than she would have before the events of the previous day. She’d always felt safe here in Seal Beach. The small-town feel increased her sense of safety, and she loved the proximity to the ocean. She’d waited on a list for a year and a half before this apartment across the street from the Seal Beach pier and shoreline came available. Now she’d been here for a year and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. It was well worth the high rent.

It was also where she’d met Gail Shyler and decided she wanted the sharp officer on her team. Seal Beach PD had been as good to Jodie as her own department. It had been a good place to land and live after the tragedy.

In a few minutes Jodie was in the water and on her board paddling out beyond the break line. Several guys were already in the water, and she recognized a few. Since it was Sunday, the water could get crowded. This time of the morning it was all regulars, good swimmers and good surfers.

There was a swell coming in, some nice-size waves, and Jodie tried to empty her mind and concentrate only on the sea and her board. She tried to find the zone, the place where what mattered was her board and the wave, a peaceful place unencumbered by worry or angst.

It eluded her.

Sam Gresham and being shot at kept intruding on her thoughts. Realizing someone still wanted her dead sent ice through her veins. Something good came out of it, though. She’d thought a month ago that the investigation needed new eyes—now it had them.

Gresham’s being on the case was a godsend for Jodie. He understood her need to find the truth behind the IED. Maybe he even understood a bit of the grief and guilt she still felt.

Jodie stayed in the water for a couple of hours. After catching some good waves, she made her way to shore and returned home for a shower and light breakfast. For the first time in months, she had enjoyed her time in the water, even though good feelings engendered guilt. Just about any pleasant feeling made her feel guilty.

While she ate, she fought to beat back the guilt and concentrate on something else. Checking news headlines online, Jodie was happy to see that the cop who got shot was in serious but stable condition. She scanned all the news sites for information about the manhunt. There wasn’t much. Logan’s shooter was still at large—he’d fled off the mountain. Where to? she wondered. The news brought up Hayes and then rehashed the IED and the loss of her team. She turned her computer off.

Smiley hadn’t put out a description of the shooter yet. Maybe Logan was hurt more seriously than they’d said. Jodie never considered the shooter was Hayes because lying in wait did not fit what she knew of his MO. Hayes was an in-your-face thug, according to his rap sheet. Acting as a sniper would have been more out of character for him than the bomb.

Her phone pinged with a text. It was Tara Corson, asking if she felt up to lunch, then a walk on the pier.

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