Page 68 of Philly
But now she had nothing.
Well, nothing but a familiarity with the hitman’s voice and the knowledge that he either hailed from New York City or spent a great deal of time there. His accent had tipped her off to that.
A volley of footsteps echoed through the canyon, pulling her from her thoughts. Accompanied by huffing and puffing so loud it almost masked the pounding of their feet.
Local law enforcement.
She slid her gun into the pocket of her leggings and raised her hands but paused near an outcropping in case she was wrong.
The first to see her was a woman about her age, her long blond hair in a braid hanging over her shoulder. She drew to an abrupt halt when she spotted Callie, and two more officers came up behind her. One appeared to be an older man of Hispanicdescent and the other a white man so young that Callie fleetingly wondered if the local department had a high school training program. But of course, if they did, they wouldn’t be likely to bring a kid on the hunt for a shooter.
“Callie Parks?” the woman asked, clearly the one in charge.
“Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “If you know who I am, then Gabriel Walker sent you this direction, and he would have told you that I’m armed. It’s in the pocket of my leggings,” she said, turning slightly. Protocol required they collect her weapon, and she wanted to get it over with quickly so she could get back to Gabriel.
The woman eyed her, then gestured the older man to approach. He holstered his gun and approached with both caution and confidence. She stayed very still as he reached over and slid her Glock out of the cozy pouch.
When he returned to his team, the woman lowered her gun and gestured for the younger man to do the same. After securing his gun, he unhooked his flashlight and pointed the beam toward the ground. The light bounced up, reflecting off the canyon walls, creating enough ambient light for the four of them to see.
“I’m Officer Stretsky,” the woman said. “And these are Officers Villabos and Macnamara. The shooter?”
Callie glanced over her shoulder. “The river,” she said, a ball of frustration weighing her stomach down. “He had an accomplice with a boat. It was heading south.” She glanced down at her palms, then lifted them. “But I took a header and didn’t make it in time to see anything.”
The woman’s gaze ran over her. “Looks like you took more than a header.”
“He fired three shots at me. Missed, obviously, but the sandstone debris is like Barbie-sized shrapnel.”
A flicker of a smile touched the woman’s lips. “We’ll find the bullets?”
Callie nodded. “I didn’t pick them up, but not sure if they embedded in the rock or bounced and landed on the ground. There was a fourth, but he aimed up. All shots were taken in the canyon that heads to the river.”
Stretsky turned and looked at the younger man. “You know the one?” He nodded. Again, she gestured with her head, and both men moved forward. When they passed her, the light of the flashlight bouncing eerily against the red sandstone, she looked to Stretsky.
“Is Joseph okay? The victim?” she asked.
“You must be freezing,” she replied, pulling her own flashlight from her utility belt. “Let’s talk as we walk.”
Callie fell into step beside her, and they began the trek back. The officer adjusted her stride to match Callie’s limping one.
“They took him in the ambulance to the local hospital and will airlift him to Las Vegas,” she said.
“He was alive when he left?” Callie clarified. Stretsky nodded. “And is someone treating Gabriel? He was shot, too. Nicked in the calf.”
“He informed us of that when he explained the shooting at your cabin, too, but the teams were focusing on Mr. Nolan when I left. Can you tell me what happened?”
Callie bit back a sigh. She wanted silence, a soak in the huge-ass tub in her and Gabriel’s cabin, and assurance that Gabriel’s leg was tended to. But she knew the drill.
As they walked, she talked, telling Stretsky about Gabriel spotting the shooter through their sliding door, the shot, the ducking behind the bed for cover. Then she moved on to tell her about following the shooter south, hearing the suppressor, finding Joe, then her subsequent chase through the canyon. She even mentioned her fall again, as much as it galled her to relive.
“Your fiancé mentioned you’re former FBI?” Stretsky asked as they emerged from the canyon and the resort came into sight. No flashing red and blue lights greeted them, though.
She nodded, not caring if Stretsky saw. She could see Joe’s cabin, and Gabriel would be there. Hopefully getting his leg looked at by the EMTs in charge of the one ambulance still parked on the road.
“And you quit to be with your fiancé?” Stretsky asked.
Despite her fatigue and worry and self-recrimination, a smile tugged at Callie’s lips imagining the yarn Gabriel spun for local cops.
Rather than get defensive, she chuckled and shrugged. “What can I say, the things we do for love. He would have come to DC, but he’s not a city boy.”
