Page 37 of Montana Manhunt

Amused, Violet shook her head and started up the stairs. They still creaked in the same places from her time as a resident. The roof had been a refuge for her and Cami when the neighbors grew too rowdy for them to study.

Six floors later, she tugged on a pair of rubber gloves and twisted a knob to the door opening to the roof. Violet scanned the area. Empty.

“Go low,” Noah murmured. “Don’t want to draw attention.”

Right. She crouched and moved away from the door so her teammates could join her.

Noah looked at Grant and signaled him.

After a slight nod, he moved in a low crouch to the other side of the roof.

“Fan out,” Noah murmured. “Hopefully, the shooter didn’t police his brass. I’d love to get a shell casing with a fingerprint on the surface.”

How likely was that? Violet had a feeling they wouldn’t find much. She went to the left side where she and her sister had frequently waited for the neighbors to go to sleep and found signs of other people using the roof for an escape. Ironic. She’d changed so much since she left Morrison, yet this town seemed to be caught in stasis.

She quickly searched her area and came up with zip unless you counted cigarette butts, crushed beer cans, and three empty condom wrappers. Violet looked over at Rayne.

Her friend shook her head. Nothing on her side, either.

Sirens sounded as more officers raced to the hospital to help with the search for the gunman and shooting victims. Hopefully, no one had been hit by stray bullets. The SUV had bullet holes along the left side of the vehicle. If they were lucky, the Morrison police wouldn’t notice the damage.

Violet sighed. The boss wouldn’t be happy about the damage and neither would the insurance company.

Noah crouched low and bent to pick up something from the shadow of a roof vent. He looked satisfied and uttered a soft whistle to catch Grant’s attention. “Got anything?”

“Scuff marks. You?”

“Shell casing. Shooter was sloppy.”

“We can’t remove the only evidence.”

“No worries. He missed two shell casings.”

“Then let’s get out of here. The cops are setting up a perimeter. Won’t take long for them to head in this direction.”

“Copy that.” Noah dropped the shell casing into a small bag, slipped it into his pocket, and signaled Violet to lead the way back downstairs.

Thank goodness. She felt exposed out here. The last thing they needed was to be caught at the scene of the crime.

Violet eased open the door, checked the stairwell, and started descending the stairs. Her teammates followed in her wake.

As they neared the first floor, the sound of shouted commands drifted into the stuffy enclosed space.

She froze. Violet knew that voice anywhere. Fitz Hanson. Not good. She glanced over her shoulder at Noah. His expression was grim.

Signaling the others to go back to the second floor, she hurried up the stairs to the door. She peered into the dim hallway. Empty.

Breathing easier, Violet motioned for Noah and the others to follow her. According to Cami, Harriet White still lived on this floor. Mrs. White was the reason she and her sister had survived as well as they had during their senior year of high school. The kind woman had taken pity on two scared teenagers who knew nothing about cooking or balancing their meals properly and taught them how to take care of themselves. They owed her a debt of gratitude for her kindness.

Cami had been visiting the older woman every week, bringing her food and running errands for her. Mrs. White wasn’t able to get out as easily, and the sisters had split the cost of her groceries. Violet would have to arrange for meals to bedelivered. The errands, though, were another matter. She’d have to think of an alternative.

Violet led Noah and their friends along the corridor until she reached apartment 225. She knocked on the door.

“Coming, coming. Give me a minute,” someone inside the apartment said.

She smiled. Mrs. White sounded exactly the same as she had years ago when the older woman had seen her off on the bus to boot camp.

The chain rattled, a dead bolt shifted, and a lock on the knob turned. A moment later, the door swung open and there stood Amanda White. Nothing about the dear woman had changed except for more gray hair and a few more lines on her beloved face.

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