Tennessee Takedown. Lena Diaz

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СКАЧАТЬ panic that had started inside her faded beneath his matter-of-fact tone. “The answer is no. I don’t have any enemies. Not that I know of.”

      “You didn’t recognize the shooter, correct?” he asked.

      “I’ve never seen him before.”

      “Did he speak to you, call you by name?”

      “No. He just...smiled, this really creepy, spooky smile.”

      His brows lowered. “What do you mean?”

      “I was at the copier, with Stanley Gibson. The shooter shot Stanley, and when I turned around, he looked directly at me and...smiled. That’s when I ran. I hid and kept going from aisle to aisle as he went through the room. I tried to stay a step ahead, but he caught up to me. He was on my aisle, but he was crouching down. I climbed over the wall to the next aisle before he reached my cubicle.” She shivered and tugged her hand out of his grasp. The wind was colder now, making her shiver. She wrapped her arms around her middle.

      Detective Gray motioned to one of the uniformed policemen nearby. “Get Miss Parrish a jacket, please.”

      “That’s not necessary,” she said. “If someone could please...get my purse...out of my cubicle inside, so I can get my car keys, I’ll just go home. If you’re finished with your questions?”

      “By the time the officer retrieves your purse, I will be.”

      Ashley told the policeman where her purse was. He headed back toward the building.

      “Does the name Todd Dunlop mean anything to you?” he asked.

      “No. Was that the shooter’s name?”

      “I can’t officially confirm that at this time.”

      “I understand. No, I’ve never heard that name before.”

      He asked her several more questions about her routine and whether she’d seen anything out of the ordinary when she got to work this morning. He asked her about any recent firings, but she wasn’t aware of any.

      “I’m sorry, Detective. But other than the officers of the company, I haven’t even spoken to most of the people who work here. I’ve been stuck in a conference room most of the time, poring over years of financial reports. I wish I had better answers for you.”

      “You’re doing fine, Miss Parrish.” His white teeth flashed in a reassuring smile.

      The policeman returned with her purse. She thanked him and he hurried away.

      “May I go home now?” she asked the detective.

      “Of course. I’ve got your address and your phone number. If I think of more questions, I’ll stop by or give you a call. When are you leaving town?”

      “The end of the week.”

      He walked her to her car.

      She tried to unlock the car three times, but her hands were shaking so hard she couldn’t get the key in the lock.

      He gently took the keys from her and unlocked the door. “The clicker’s broken, I assume?” He held up the electronic key fob attached to her key chain before handing back her keys.

      “I think it’s the battery. I keep forgetting to replace it.” She slid into the driver’s seat.

      “You should get that fixed as soon as possible, as a security precaution,” he said.

      She nodded, in full agreement. After today, she was suddenly hyperaware of how dangerous the world could be. Fumbling for her keys when a simple click of a button could unlock her door didn’t strike her as smart.

      “Detective Gray?”

      He crouched down beside her door, giving her that same kind smile he’d given her earlier. “Yes?”

      “I’m sorry that I interfered, back inside. I thought I was helping, but I realize now that I could have gotten you hurt—” she swallowed hard “—or killed.”

      “You were very brave. You have nothing to apologize for. Everything worked out.”

      She offered him a shaky smile. “You saved my life. I don’t know how to pay someone back for something like that.”

      “Fix that clicker. That’s payback enough. Then I won’t have to worry about you fumbling with your keys.” He fished a business card out of his pocket and handed it to her. “If you think of anything else you want to tell me about what happened, anything that can help us sort through this mess and figure out why this guy picked Gibson and Gibson, give me a call.”

      * * *

      DILLONWATCHEDTHEsurprisingly brave, pretty little auditor drive away in her aging dark blue Chevy Lumina. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen one of those cars on the road. Obviously Ashley Parrish wasn’t making a fortune in her chosen occupation, which made any obvious financial motive for the shooter to target her seem unlikely.

      “Did she tell you anything useful about the shooter?”

      Dillon turned at the sound of Chris Downing’s voice behind him.

      “No. But she’s pretty shaken. She might think of something later.” He glanced past his friend. His boss was standing with the rest of the SWAT team, his face animated—not in a good way—as he spoke to them. “Let me guess. Thornton sent you to get me.”

      “Yep. He’s riled up like a preacher on Easter Sunday, all fire and brimstone raining down on our heads for going in against orders.”

      Dillon let out a deep sigh and started toward his boss, with Chris at his side. He wasn’t in the mood to take a tongue-lashing right now, but he’d have to endure it to try to keep his job, and to keep his men from being blamed for what had essentially been a mutiny.

      Regardless of the consequences, he had no regrets. The three wounded survivors they’d pulled out had lost a lot of blood and wouldn’t have lasted much longer if they’d waited. And he didn’t know what would have happened to Ashley Parrish. She wasn’t the only survivor they’d rescued, but she was the only one the shooter had essentially stalked through the building.

      Maybe he’d stop by her house on the way home tonight, to make sure she was okay and see if she’d thought of anything else that might help with the investigation. Their initial inquiries hadn’t yielded any connections between the shooter and Gibson and Gibson. If the shooter had never worked there, and had never conducted any business with the company, why would he choose this particular office complex?

      It was isolated, a few miles out of town, which might have made the shooter think he could shoot the place up and escape before the cops got there. But if he’d wanted to kill a lot of random people, there was a mall five minutes away that would have yielded plenty more potential victims. So why had he chosen Gibson and Gibson?

      Dillon would lay odds it was something personal, and he’d bet his ten years as a detective that the personal part was somehow related to the woman who’d just driven off in a beat-up old Chevy with a key fob that didn’t work.

      * СКАЧАТЬ