Kathryn said, "I'm learning from him. Jake almost seems like a father to me, but you could be my sister."

"Heh. You should see my sister."

Lieutenant Cowell moved away from Jake and squatted near Oswald's body. He peered up to where the bullet had pierced the front window. Cowell went to the window, where a few bits of cracked safety gla.s.s lay on the floor, blown inward. He looked back at Oz and then through the bullet hole at the rooftop of a low building across the street.

"Take a look."

Jacob stepped up and peered through the window with Cowell.

"The shooter was following you. Or more likely waiting for you. How long were you in here before the shot?"

"Two, maybe three minutes at the absolute most. It wouldn't have been possible to follow us here and then have time to set up that kind of shot through gla.s.s. The shooter was lying in wait."

"Who knew you'd be here today?"

"I guess any number of people within the S.O. could have known I had the appointment with the shrink, but n.o.body knew I'd be stopping at this bank."

"n.o.body knew you'd be here today?"

"Just Oz. Jill told him we'd stop by and say h.e.l.lo."

"What about your partner?"

Jacob thought carefully before he answered.

"Yeah. I told her what my day looked like, but-"

"I'm just keeping my mind open. The list of people who knew you would be here today is yourself, Jill, Kathryn, and Oz. Jill or Kathryn could have mentioned it to others. And we'll never know if Oz mentioned it to others."

"Wait. Jill said Oz said something about a lunch date. And he had a woman in his bedroom the other day."

"Name?"

"He was coy about it."

"We've got detectives at his apartment now. I'll let them know we want info on a female visitor. And we'll have prints by this afternoon. I doubt she wore gloves."

"I can't believe he's gone."

"Look, Jacob, you're in danger, you know that, but honestly, I'm more afraid for Jill. We've got to get her far away from here. Out of state would be ideal."

"What?"

"This shooter is killing the people around you. f.u.c.k, Jacob, he's killing them in front of you. You said yourself he could have killed you last week if he'd wanted to."

"You're right."

An overwhelming guilt settled on Jacob's chest. By hiding what had happened at the shooting range, he'd potentially put Jill in harm's way. He should have told her.

Cowell said to Jacob, "I just need you a little while longer, then I want you to be with your wife. Away from here. Let's get Jill home for now. We'll send a unit with her."

Jacob walked across the lobby to Jill and Kathryn. Kathryn walked away to give them some privacy.

Jill looked up at her husband and read his face.

"We need to be worried now, don't we?"

Jacob crouched down and met her gaze. He stroked her arm.

"Who would be hunting you?" she asked. "Or are they hunting us?"

"That's what we're going to figure out." Jacob cleared his throat. "I have to tell you something." And he told her about someone taking a shot at him at the range. He told her he was sorry for hiding it from her.

"I should have told you."

She nodded. Yes, you should have. But he saw in her eyes that she wasn't going to hold on to this. She had already forgiven him. She didn't have to say the words.

"We have to go away, don't we?"

Jacob nodded. "There's a unit here to take you home."

"I'll pack light."

"I'll catch up with you soon."

Jill stood and Jacob kissed her forehead.

He watched her walk out the front entrance, but then she turned around and came back in. He thought his wife was coming back to him, but instead she walked up to Kathryn. She put her hand on Kathryn's arm and spoke. Jacob wasn't a lip reader, but he knew what Jill was saying to his partner. I trust you. Watch over him.

Jacob watched Jill leave the bank and get into the patrol cruiser waiting for her outside.

Jacob went back to Cowell and looked to his lieutenant for direction. What next?

"You and Sesak are coming with me. We're pulling all your case files until we can come up with at least one suspect."

"But all of my cases are dead."

CHAPTER 21.

Jill packed clothes into an overnight bag. She was crying freely now. She was indulging herself. She saw a shadow flicker outside her bedroom door. It was the deputy a.s.signed to her. She went to the bathroom to wipe the tears from her face. She didn't want him to see f.u.c.kin'Denton's wife in a moment of weakness.

The EMTs had cleaned her up when they checked her for injury, but there were still little clots of blood in her hair. And little lighter bits of dried matter that she didn't want to think about. There wasn't time for a shower, so she ran a brush through her hair, but the clots wouldn't break. Screw it, she thought, I'll make time, and jumped in the shower.

Once she was clean, dried, and dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, she felt at least a little better. But then she threw up in the toilet. No warning, no preliminary nausea. Just enough time to pivot to the porcelain bowl and hurl. The same thing had happened yesterday. And the day before that, too. And her period was almost two weeks late. She hadn't mentioned it to Jake. There had been false alarms in the past, and her periods grew more and more irregular the older she got. She saw no point in getting Jacob worked up and worried over it, so she just kept it to herself. Well, almost kept it to herself. She'd thrown up when Susan was here for tutoring, and confessed that she "wouldn't mind" being pregnant. Other than that she kept it to herself. And hoped it might be true this time. That maybe Megan wouldn't have to give her one of her babies after all.

She felt cold and knew it was the shock and stress and the after-effect of the vomiting. She had dressed and was trying to get a sweater down from the closet shelf when she heard someone call out, "Mrs. Denton?"

She walked out of the closet and was irritated to find that the uniformed deputy had opened the closed door and walked into the room. He'd entered her bedroom without her permission. He hadn't even knocked. Unless she hadn't heard him because she was vomiting.

She knew who he was. Billy Simon. Simple Simon. Jake didn't like him. He'd applied for SWAT as a spotter on the sniper team, but had been rejected three times. Simon had held a grudge, but petty jealousies and grievances were as common in police work as they were in any other field. It meant nothing. When a cop or a cop's family was in danger, they were brothers and sisters. They took care of their own.

Still, he shouldn't have just walked into her bedroom.

He had two bottled waters in his hand.

"Just wanted to check on you, Mrs. Denton. Make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine."

"I hope you don't mind," he said and indicated the waters. He held one out to her, but she shook her head no. So he'd taken a peek inside her refrigerator? The guy was kind of a creep. Not professional.

And then she suddenly felt like she was going to cry again. Why was she being such a b.i.t.c.h? He'd come into the bedroom to ensure her safety. With the shower, she'd been in here far longer than she'd intended. He walked in unannounced in case something bad was going down. He was putting his life on the line to ensure her safety. And she was going to begrudge him a bottle of water?

And the tears came, and she hated herself for being so emotional. She actually started choking and sobbing. Racked with grief for Oz and fear for her husband's life.

Simon put down his water bottle and put a hand around her shoulder. Rubbing her back. The other hand running up and down her arm. And she was repulsed by the feel of him. He felt like a reptile. His hands felt sweaty and awkward like a boy who had never touched a girl before. Or a lizard who had never touched a girl before. But what was he supposed to do when confronted by a wailing woman? What choice had she given him? She tried to get herself under control just so he could stop touching her. G.o.d, she wished Jake was here.

Then he was stroking her hair. And that was just too much. Lizard claws in her hair. She pulled away. It was a rude rebuke-I don't want you to touch me-and they both knew it.

"Thank you. I'm fine now. I-"

There was a knock at the front door, and Jill thought, Thank G.o.d. Saved by the bell.

Simon unholstered his weapon. Jill was startled. No wonder they called him Simple Simon. He was like a kid playing dress-up, pretending to be a cop.

Alone in her bedroom, Simon and Jill stared at each other, the drawn weapon between them. This felt weird to Jill on so many levels. Like there was some kind of unwelcome s.e.xual tension, but also like there was a threat. With the shock and stress of the day, she couldn't tell if it was just because her perceptions were off, skewed.

The knock came again. More insistent this time. But it wasn't a cop knock. It lacked authority. But it was enough to break the weird tension between them. Jill followed Simon into the hall, through the living room, and he motioned her to the door. He positioned himself so that he would be behind the door and nodded at Jill to open it.

Jill had time to wonder why Simon didn't simply answer the door himself. Wouldn't it make more sense for the armed deputy to open the door than the unarmed woman who might have a killer after her? Especially with a marked unit out front? Either way, Jill never opened her door until she knew who was on the other side.

She had a .45 in a holster fixed under the coffee table. In fact, she had weapons in strategic locations throughout the house. But her hand instinctively moved to her right hip. Her personal weapon, a model 26 Glock 9mm that she normally wore when she was home alone, was in her overnight bag. She hadn't wanted Simon to see it on her-it was concealed, but most cops could spot the telltale bulge-so she'd put it in the bag. She would put it on her hip when they got to their destination. She had a concealed carry permit but thought Simon might be uncomfortable knowing she was armed. Still, her fingers itched to grab the gun hidden under the table, but she let that idea go and called out, "Who is it?"

"Jill? It's Susan. I took your advice about the father in my novel. I've got the revised ma.n.u.script. All printed up. Is everything okay?"

Thank G.o.d, Susan. Little, rodent-like Susan. Her own personal hamster. Jill did not want to be alone with Creepy Simon a second longer. Not a hamster. A possum. Could possums fight?

Jill moved to unlock the door, but Simon motioned with his gun and stopped her.

He shook his head: Not a good idea.

At a scarred old conference table at the Sheriff's Office, Jacob, Cowell, and Kathryn were gathered. They each had a laptop in front of them, and stacks of old folders-case files-were piled high around them. They were poring through Jacob's old cases and reports. Just looking. For anything. They had crime scene investigators on-site at the bank and the secondary scene of the rooftop across the street where the shooter likely took the shot. The bullet had been located, and preliminary results (simple visual inspection) indicated that the bullet that had taken Lee Staley's life was most likely a Sierra HPBT, as had been used in the other shootings. Science felt that the bullet was in good enough shape for ballistic fingerprinting, but that would take time. So far, no additional evidence had been found.

Detectives and technicians had collected evidence from Oswald's apartment with no immediately useful information having been discovered. There was no sign of anybody living at the apartment other than Oz. They had found only books and bottles and bullets, the expected detritus of a lonely, old, alcoholic gun nut. Prints had been lifted from doork.n.o.bs, gla.s.sware, tabletops, dirty dishes, the bathroom, and all the other usual surfaces, and were currently on priority processing at the lab in Sacramento. As far as anyone knew, Oz had been a shut-in, so the prints would most likely belong to Oz himself, Jacob, Deputy Palucci, Detective Cortez, and Detective Hasan. Some of the prints, they were hoping, would belong to the girlfriend who was supposed to have met Oz for lunch that day. Although, if she and Oswald had just started seeing each other, you could hardly blame her for turning around and scramming from a bank surrounded by police cars and emergency response vehicles. But it was essential that they talk to her. She was really the only lead, the only human avenue of investigation they had.

A secretary brought in more folders. These were older case files that had yet to be scanned and digitized. Included were cases that were part of Jacob's day-to-day activities as a patrolling deputy.

"Got something here," Kathryn said. "Domestic disturbance. Jake's report notes that the husband had a 'large' gun collection. All legal."

"I remember," Jacob said. "h.e.l.l of a nice collection."

"Rifles?"

"No. All handguns. Revolvers mostly."

"Put it aside for now," Cowell said.

Kathryn asked, "What were the flags you mentioned before, Lieutenant?"

Cowell said, "Where there were close relatives left behind. If a family member made a threat. Or tried to sue the county. Or if the perpetrator might have had ties to organized crime. Drug families. Christ. I don't f.u.c.king know. Anything. Even if you just have a feeling."

Jill stared at Simon's drawn weapon. She wondered what he was going to do with it. From the other side of the door, Susan's furry little nocturnal voice said, "Jill?"

Jill motioned for Simon to lower his gun and said, "She's a student of mine."

Jill unlocked the door and swung it open. Susan scurried through, wearing an oversized gray cardigan, tan corduroy slacks, and black boots. Her little paw hands were clutching her marsupial handbag. She saw Jill's pale color, felt the weird vibe, and said, "My G.o.d! Jill! What's going on? There's a patrol car-"

The door shut, and Susan saw Simon standing there, weapon drawn but barrel down at his side.

"Jill! Are you okay? My G.o.d! Is it your husband?"

Jill took Susan's face in her hands, trying to calm the woman. Bring her down a notch.

"No, it's not Jake. A friend of ours was murdered today. n.o.body knows what's happening. I may be in danger. You need to leave." Even though she wanted Susan here with her, Jill knew she couldn't put her student's life in danger just because she wanted a chaperone.

"Leave? You're in danger?"

"Yes. Leave now, Susan. Please."

Susan turned to Simon and nodded at the gun in his hand.

"Let me get this straight. Someone got murdered, Jill might be next, and your job is to protect this silly b.i.t.c.h?"

A deer-in-headlights glaze clouded Simon's eyes. With those few words, everything had just shifted, but his mind refused to latch onto what exactly it meant. Nonetheless, cop instinct kicked in, and his gun hand twitched and began to rise. Too late, though.

In one fluid motion, Susan pulled a handgun from her bag and shot Simon squarely between the eyes. The report was deafening inside the house. Susan showed no emotion whatsoever.