Page 10 of One Final Target

Three months later she couldn’t deny that the blast had certainly done a number on her faith. Jodie felt as though she was limping along on the fragments of what she grew up believing.Another saying Jodie had heard was: If tragedy could destroy a person’s faith, then the faith was not worth keeping. True enough. She couldn’t say she’d lost her faith completely. Jodie still believed in a God who was sovereign. But that belief felt wobbly and anemic. The why question tormented her. The absence of a clear answer rubbed like a raw blister. She had no choice but to keep asking.

“You’d better believe I’m stuck in the past!”she’d wanted to yell at the man. But as the seconds ticked by and her anger faded, she conceded to herself that he shouldn’t be a target for her anger. She grudgingly admitted to herself that she understood every word he’d said. Before the blast, she probably would’ve said the same thing to him if their roles were reversed. She’d grown up in church and knew all the Christian platitudes tossed at people when they faced hard, painful situations. The debate with herself was did she truly believe them now?

The old cop wasn’t responsible for the blast three months ago or the shooter today.

Jodie worked to refocus her thoughts. Sam and the supervisor were walking through the scene, marking evidence. A sheriff’s lab unit pulled up. With the snow beginning to fall harder, they would need help to collect everything quickly.

Jodie stepped forward to help. She didn’t want to be mired in a pit of self-pity any more than she wanted to be stuck back at the day of the explosion.

Everyone pitched in, following the direction of a sheriff’s lab tech. They started by carefully developing a perimeter. Shell casings were dispersed about the area, ejected when the shooter sprayed bullets in her direction. From the looks of it, he moved as he fired. Some casings were several feet away, and the team didn’t want to miss anything. Next came the energy drink cans, trash,and blanket. They moved as quickly as they could, to ensure that nothing got too wet before it was carefully packaged. The work helped to ease Jodie’s anxiety. She held out hope that what the shooter left behind would lead them to the identity of the man.

“As scary as it is to have someone shoot at me,” she told Sam as they put the last of the evidence bags into the lab vehicle, “I hope this opens the investigation back up.”

Everyone’s breath hung in the air, the temperature dropping as daylight waned and the snow fell harder and faster. A layer of flakes had built up on Sam’s shoulders. He nodded in agreement and some snow flaked off.

Jodie continued. “No one in custody for what happened is like an open wound. I can’t help but think I should have known, or I should have done—”

“What a twisted path, Jodie. It’s fruitless to stew about things we can’t change.”

She stared at him. “You sound like Dr. Bass.”

Sam smiled. It was sincere and warm, and it caused Jodie to relax, unclench her fists.

“Wish I had you on tape, prove to my Doc Roe that what he’s been telling me has sunk in.”

“I want someone held accountable. True, it can’t undo what’s been done, but...” Her voice trailed off because Jodie couldn’t articulate exactly what closing the case would mean or do for her—yet.

The smile faded, and she saw the detective mask slip back over his features. “Believe me, I understand.”

CHAPTER7

SAM WONDEREDif he really did understand Jodie. She lost her team through no fault of her own. His struggle with his own feelings of guilt about Rick made placing blame a sensitive subject. Doc Roe would say he was comparing apples to oranges. Rick’s death was a tragic accident. The loss of Jodie’s team was premeditated murder. Yet they were both tortured by what they should have done differently.

He thought about the situation with Chad Logan, praying the deputy would be okay. The trouble with this job was how easy it was to second-guess—Monday-morning quarterback. Jodie was right: Chad probably should have waited for backup.

Maybe I should have too. If I’d waited for thefire department before getting out of the car, maybe I would have seen the drunk in the rearview mirror and moved the car out of the way.

The truth he’d just spouted to Jodie pierced. Nothing could be changed now.

Sam worked to concentrate on the task at hand. He thought about Jodie’s admission that the loss of her team was an open wound. It grated because she didn’t know who rigged the IED. His open wound grated because he did. George believed there was a plan in everything.“God can’t be God if there’s something he doesn’t control,”he would say. And Sam believed the same. He just didn’t feel it where Rick was concerned.

A part of him wondered if God’s back was turned the night of the accident.

“Sam?”

“What?” Sam willed his thoughts back to the present, untangling the feelings of guilt and loss.

Jodie was talking to him. “My uncle is here to escort me off the mountain before the roads get too bad.”

She turned and an older man stepped up. He was a tad shorter than Sam, and his light hair looked white with the snow falling on it. Deep-blue eyes met his gaze and Sam knew he was being sized up. He also saw the resemblance to Jodie in those eyes.

“Sam Gresham?” He held his hand out. “Mike King.”

They shook.

“I remember your name from the reports. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. I can’t thank you enough for what you did for my niece.”

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