Page 50 of Fatal Vision
Shoving the scope into an inside front pocket of his jacket, the man slipped through a window opening that had never been closed.
Too easy.
He faded into the shadow on the west side of the skeletal building. Someone really should knock these houses down. They were the perfect place for criminals to hang out.
Through the unfinished wall, he heard Bells moving around.
A smile crossed his face as he stealthily walked into the neighbor’s backyard and used the line of tall bushes hiding the ugly skeleton to get to his car.
SALISBURY HAD HISnose everywhere, running, sniffing, peeing.
Colton followed along, wiping sweat off his neck. Fall didn’t mean much in Oklahoma—the temp was already cruising past seventy.
Inside the shade here, it was a bit cooler. He and Salisbury passed what would have been the formal living room area, a spot marked out for the staircase, the kitchen. He’d gone over the entire place several times after the shooting, but he’d been too emotional then, enraged by the fact Jack had kicked him out of the hospital and blamed him for what had happened to Shelby.
At the time, Colton had railed at the accusation. Now, he wondered if Jack hadn’t been correct.
From the time he’d met Shelby, he’d known better than to drag her into his world. Contaminating her—that’s what Jack had called it.
While Colton hated to agree with the man on anything, Jack wasn’t far off the mark. Colton had drawn Shelby through the muck of his poor-white-boy-with-no-parents and a strong case of ADD craziness, tainting her.
Three months had gone by since that night where his world had nearly ended on the front steps of their house. Weather, animals, other humans…they all could have destroyed the shooter’s scent or anything he, the locals, and the FBI had missed.
His dragon chuffed out a sigh. Taking another sweep of the place was a waste of time.
Damn dragon. It had been part of him his whole life, raging at everything and everyone. He’d tried so hard to control it as a kid, but once puberty hit, the thing had come back on steroids. It wouldn’t let him concentrate, wouldn’t let him just be normal.
Trouble at school, the Home, everywhere he went. They’d put him on medication. Then more drugs when that one didn’t work. The cycle never ended—new drugs, new doctors, no hope.
The dragon had only ever listened to Shelby. She was the only one who could tame it, and during their teen years, she worked hard to help him tame it himself. He’d still gotten into trouble, but less frequently, less severely.
And usually, she was as much the culprit as he was, always up for fun to relieve the stress her parents put her under, but the few times they got caught, he never let her take the fall.
The thought made him smile. Sometimes the dragon needed to be let loose. Shelby had understood that in a way no one else had.
Leaving her for the Navy had been the hardest thing he’d ever done up to that point, but he’d had few options in Good Hope. He’d thought he was going to be a pilot, working for the local small airport, but the place had financial problems and he got laid off. Being in the air, off the ground, had always brought the dragon relief.
Shelby had insisted the military would be good for him. As always, she’d been right. He’d planned to hit up the Air Force, then found out he had a better chance of manning a plane if he joined the Navy. The Navy had helped him tame the beast, bringing his scattered focus into a trained, laser-sharp point. He hadn’t cut it for flight school and ended up a sniper.
So while Shelby did her beauty queen thing and attended college, Colton became a SEAL.
Every training exercise, every mission, Shelby was front and center in his mind. The dragon went into hibernation.
Until that night in Baghdad.
Now, dragon be damned, a part of him had this tiny bit of hope that something—anything—would give him a fresh lead.
Because he damn sure needed one.
He’d pulled over and called Beatrice to pretend he was still abiding by her deadline so he could ask her to pull strings, talk to her contacts, and see if there was a way for her to get her hands on the dead men’s autopsy reports. She worked miracles on a daily basis; surely this would be a piece of cake for her.
During the call, she’d taken the information and told him she’d get back to him. No reassurances or platitudes—that wasn’t her style.
Salisbury zoomed into another empty room, nose to the ground. Colton followed. After speaking to B, he’d called Ingram to ask for a copy of the report on Shelby’s shooting. The woman who’d answered the phone had sent his call to Ingram’s voicemail and Colton had left a message.
Fat chance the stick-in-the-mud ASAC would cough up the report to him, but if he had to, he’d sic Shelby on the man.
Next he’d go downtown and hit up the local PD. The Bureau had taken over their investigation before it even got off the ground, but it wouldn’t hurt to rattle some cages and see if anything shook loose. Maybe they at least had the initial photos of the scene. He needed to know about the type of rifle, the bullet. He needed to compare that information to the three dead men’s autopsies.
