Snapped (16 page)

Sophie hiked up the porch steps, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

Seconds ticked by. Then minutes. She heard the dog again. Then a distant car.

She tried the bell.

A few seconds later, the door swung back and he was standing there in the gray-blue light of his TV. He wore jeans and a rumpled T-shirt. His hair was matted on one side, and from the dazed look on his face, she figured he’d been asleep.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hey.” His voice sounded gravelly. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked her up and down, lingering for a moment on her bare legs.

Maybe she should have worn jeans instead of shorts, but this was an impulsive visit. She’d grabbed the first clothes she’d spotted on the floor when she’d gotten out of bed to do this.

“Sorry to wake you.”

“I’m just watching the game.” He looked more alert now as his gaze dropped to her legs again, then lifted to her face.

“May I come in?”

He stepped back to let her inside, and she stood in his foyer with her hands clasped. She turned to look at things. With a pizza box on the floor and a mound of sneakers piled in the corner, the interior was more like what she’d expected. A beer bottle sat on the coffee table beside a closed laptop computer.

“Sorry it’s late. I—”

She didn’t finish because he kissed her. Gently, not hard, but it was shocking anyway, especially when he
backed her up against the door and slid his fingers into her hair. He’d been drinking beer, and she wondered how much as his tongue swept into her mouth without the slightest hesitation.
This
. This was the tingle she’d been desperately missing and only seemed to feel anymore when she was with him. It felt natural, completely, as if he’d been waiting around all night for her to just show up here and interrupt his baseball watching. She slid her arms up around his neck and pulled him closer and savored the big, solid feel of him pressed against her. This, this,
this
. God, why had it taken her so long to figure it out?

And now it was too late. He was going to hate her tomorrow.

She braced her hands against his shoulders and gave a little push, but he didn’t stop kissing her until she turned her face away.

“Stop.”

He pulled back and gazed down at her with a look of disbelief.

“Sorry.”

His eyebrows tipped up.
“Why?”

“I didn’t mean to come over here and do that.”

The heat in his eyes told her he didn’t mind at all. His hand slid out of her hair and dropped to his side. He made no effort to hide the fact that he was totally aroused as he stepped back from her. And he shouldn’t have to, because this was her fault.

“Sorry,” she said again. “I came by to talk about something. Could we sit down maybe?” Without waiting for an answer, she went to the sofa and perched on the
edge of a cushion. He watched her with a mistrustful, heavy-lidded gaze as he sank down beside her.

She cleared her throat. “I just want to tell you that I think you’re a really good cop. I may have made you think otherwise. At breakfast this morning, I mean.”

He rested his forearms on his thighs and turned to stare at her, looking wary now.

“I have so much respect for what you do, you have no idea. And I want you to know that.”

“You came here to tell me that.” He said it as a statement, not a question.

“Yes, and also, thank you. For being … good at what you do. Not just now but before.” She’d thought she’d be able to talk about last winter and how he’d helped her in the aftermath of her attack, but now the words were stuck in her throat, and she thought she’d choke if she tried to get them out. Tears stung her eyes, and the thought of unraveling in front of him made her panicky. That wasn’t why she’d come here.

Or was it? Maybe her friends were right. Maybe she did need counseling.

He turned to look at her, and his expression grew concerned. “Come here.” He draped an arm over her shoulders, and she started to pull away. “Relax, I’m not going to jump on you.”

She rested her cheek against his chest and for a few moments she closed her eyes and let herself feel safe. The tight, strangled feeling went away and she relaxed. Just the smell of his T-shirt had a calming effect on her.

It felt so nice just to sit next to him. She realized this was the most unguarded moment they’d ever
had together, probably because she’d interrupted his sleep.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t a lie. She
was
okay now. But as the silence stretched out, she knew she needed to leave.

He took her hand and played with her fingers. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good.” Pause. “Can I jump on you now?”

She laughed and felt the tension drain out of her. She ducked out of his arm and stood up. “I have to go.”

He stood, too, and rested his hands on his hips and gazed down at her with a look that was both puzzled and worried.

“Go back to your game,” she said.

“Actually, I was sleeping.”

“I know.”

She went to the door and was relieved when he reached over to open it for her. He wasn’t going to twist her arm, which was good, because she wasn’t sure she could resist even a little persuasion.

“Thanks for listening.” She stepped onto the porch, into the warm summer night that smelled like lawn clippings, and she felt a pinch of regret.

It seemed like she was saying good-bye.

Sophia climbed the steps up to her apartment as he watched from the shadows. Out late again. With the cop this time? He wasn’t sure. He also wasn’t sure what she knew.

The man dug the key fob from his pocket and waited
for the light to go on in the bedroom. Then he crossed the parking lot and opened her locks with a chirp. He scanned the area for witnesses before inserting the spare key he’d stolen from her kitchen drawer and bringing the Tahoe to life. He reached for the navigation system. A few taps of his finger, and he discovered what she’d been up to the last few days—starting with Friday night, when video footage of Himmel’s car being towed away had been plastered all over the news.

The man surveyed the screen in front of him. She’d seen the pictures. And then she’d gone exploring.

He stared at the map for a moment, then took out his phone. He punched in a ten-digit number he’d memorized years ago but never used.

Someone picked up, but there was no greeting. He hadn’t expected one.

“It’s Sharpe,” he said.

A long silence, and then finally, “Go ahead.”

He glanced up at the bedroom window, where the light was still on. “We’ve got a problem.”

Jonah made his way through the bullpen and dumped his keys on the desk he hadn’t sat behind in more than five days. Neglected case files were stacked beside his phone. Messages and faxes were piled in his in-box. He tossed the ballistics report he’d just picked up on top of all of it and logged on to his computer.

His phone trilled at him, but he ignored it as he searched for a message from Minh, who’d promised him a fingerprint update this morning.

The trilling stopped, but then his cell started up. Cursing, he jerked it from his pocket.

“Macon.”

“We’re in the interview room. We need you in here.”

Jonah fired off a reminder to the CSI before joining Reynolds in the cramped, windowless chamber that doubled as a conference room for private meetings. Four unhappy faces greeted him as he entered.

“Another lawsuit’s been slapped on us,” Reynolds said without preamble. “Got word this morning.”

Jonah’s gaze skimmed over his lieutenant, Chief Noonan, and Ric, before coming to rest on the county’s
district attorney. It had to be serious for them to be seeking a legal perspective so early in the game.

“Someone’s suing the department or …?”

Reynolds tossed his pencil down. “The department, the university, me, you, Ric.”

“Suing us personally?” Jonah looked at the D.A.

“You’re not listed as defendants, but your names are in the body of the petition,” she said. “It’s unlikely they’ll go after you individually because of the sovereign immunity rule, which basically means you can’t personally get sued for doing your job.”

“Still this is a major pain in the ass, not to mention a publicity nightmare,” Noonan said.

Jonah looked at his partner, who sat at the end of the table with his arms crossed. The grim look on his face was even worse news than the D.A.’s presence. Ric wasn’t a worrier.

“Who’s the plaintiff?” Jonah asked the D.A.

“Robert C. Kincaid.”

“
Kincaid’s
suing us?”

“For the wrongful death of his wife,” Ric said. “Evidently if we’d stormed the roof sooner, she’d be alive today.”

Jonah remembered the grieving widower with the kid on his lap during Saturday’s service. He’d looked stricken. Helpless. Overwhelmed by sadness.

Apparently not too overwhelmed to be thinking about cashing in on his wife’s death.

Jonah turned to the D.A. “Do we need to be worried?”

“What kind of question is that?” Reynolds demanded. “We sure as shit better be worried! He’s going to try and squeeze us for millions of dollars in front of a sympathetic jury!”

“I’d like to say no, that it’s just a frivolous money grab,” she said. “However, you never know with these things. You all will have to consult a defense attorney who specializes in these sorts of cases. But I’ll say this: It’s definitely not good.”

“The department’s legal counsel is on his way up from San Antonio,” Noonan said. “We’ve got a whole stack of these things to sort through. This is just the most recent.”

“And the most personal,” Ric said tightly. “Every one of us from the takedown team is mentioned in the lawsuit.”

The door opened, and Sean poked his head in the room. “Yo, you guys need to see this. CNN’s on campus again.”

Noonan grumbled something and left the room. Reynolds followed.

Jonah stayed behind. He’d had it up to his eyeballs with the media coverage, and about the last thing he needed to see was yet another “inside story” about the Summer School Massacre. He felt a hard ball of bitterness forming in his gut. A lawsuit from Kincaid, of all people.

“We should have expected this,” Ric said bitterly. “Can’t have a tragedy in this country without people lining up to get rich off it.”

Allison stepped into the room and looked at Jonah. “You get my message?”

“What?”

“Those door codes are a dead end,” she said. “At least in terms of establishing some inside connection between the shooter and the university. I was in the central maintenance office this morning and they’ve got a master list posted there, right by the door, listing all the
access codes. Anybody could have gotten a look at them with minimal effort.”

Jonah shook his head. Another lead gone. Just what he needed today.

“Yo, Jonah.” Sean looked in again. “You need to come out here, man.”

Jonah stepped out of the room and fixed his attention on the department’s only television, which was mounted on the wall in the waiting area beyond the reception counter. A couple of uniforms and plainclothes cops were gazing up at it now.

Jonah plunked his hands on his hips as he recognized the reporter, Tom Rollins. “That guy’s local. I thought you said CNN.”

“Just watch,” Sean told him. “CNN picked this up from some station out of Austin.”

“Turn it up!” Reynolds yelled across the room, and the woman at the reception desk scrambled for the remote.

“—another chilling firsthand account from a part-time student caught in the crossfire during Wednesday’s deadly massacre. Is there anything else you want the victims’ families or the viewers at home to know about your harrowing experience?”

The camera panned away from the reporter and came to rest on a woman.

Jonah’s stomach dropped. Sophie wore a conservative navy blazer and had her hair pulled back in a neat bun. Far from the wild-eyed woman who’d shown up ranting at the bar the other night, this one was completely calm and composed.

“Christ, she looks like a Sunday-school teacher,” Ric muttered. “What’d she do to her hair?”

“It was just so frightening,” Sophie told the reporter. “As I said, I just kept thinking I was next. My heart breaks for the victims and their families, but it’s a comfort knowing the police have been doing everything they can to identify the person or persons responsible for this.”

“I’m sorry, did you say ‘persons’?” The microphone inched closer. “Are you saying there could be more than one?”

“What the hell is she doing?” Reynolds flashed an accusing look at Jonah. “What is she talking about?”

“I can’t comment on that,” Sophie answered. “I’ve already been interviewed at length by investigators, and beyond that, I have nothing to say.”

“But you think there’s someone else responsible? Besides James Himmel?”

“I can’t comment on what I saw that day. I will say this, though …” Jonah’s stomach took another dive as Sophie looked straight at the camera. “The police have made it clear they are totally committed to this case. They’ve sent all the evidence to our nation’s top private forensic lab—”