“Why don’t you check your e-mail. See if your friend has gotten back to you.”
They’d barely reentered their assigned quarters at the administration building before Jolie issued the suggestion. Dace studied her for a moment, but every sign of vulnerability had been firmly bricked away.
She’d had ample time to recover her poise during the car ride back to police admin. She’d engaged Truman in a conversation regarding the security at Soldier’s Square, the park where the memorial was to be held the following day. And even Dace had found himself distracted by talk of K-9 units, countersnipers, full perimeter security forces and protective positioning on the dais tomorrow. Only two entrances would be open and access would be controlled by busing the general public and media in.
But now they were alone, and he had to consider whether to let her use the case to regain a professional footing or take the opportunity to pry out even more information about her past.
He had no problem hitting a guy when he was down, if it would get him the information he wanted. But somehow he couldn’t bring himself to use the events of the past couple hours to leverage more personal details from her.
Realizing that pissed him off. He was going soft. No doubt about it. He’d promised himself just last night that he was going to take every opportunity to learn more about what made Jolie Conrad tick. Because she didn’t share willingly, he was going to grab any chance he could to force the answers from her if he had to.
But he really no longer needed to. Brushing by her, he crossed to the laptop he’d been using and brought up his e-mail account. That brief encounter with Trixie had connected enough dots that he could complete the picture for himself. It also made it easier to understand where Jolie’s distrust regarding family came from. And a whole lot harder to blame her for those defenses that were so much a part of her.
If Trixie had been his mother, he wouldn’t just have defenses, he’d have constructed a goddamn fortress.
So he let her set the tone and shifted his focus to the investigation. If he were honest with himself, he didn’t really want to see her eyes go desolate again. Didn’t want to see the hint of vulnerability that had flickered before she regained control. She deserved a freaking break, a chance to recover. He was going to give her that much. If that meant he wasn’t being objective, well, she’d never know the difference, would she?
He felt a spark of adrenaline when he sat down at the computer and saw an e-mail from Ben. The subject header read: You owe me. “It’s here.”
Jolie came to stand behind him, reading over his shoulder as he brought up the e-mail. Ben had grandiose ideas about what his help was worth, as usual, and it was accompanied with the usual good-natured insults traded between Marines of Charlie and Bravo companies. But as Dace downloaded the accompanying attachment, he had to admit that if the info panned out the way they hoped, he’d be inclined to think of a fitting thank-you for his buddy. Hopefully one that wouldn’t cost him a month’s paycheck.
He wasn’t big on having people reading over his shoulder, but this time he welcomed another pair of eyes. “Any of these names sound familiar?”
“Let me get that list I made.”
He typed in a command to print a copy of the attachment and then returned to the document to read further. There were a lot of names, but they’d be cross-referencing surnames with those on the parolee list. And if that didn’t yield a hit, they’d look at the records they’d gotten from the visitor logs and next of kin from the prisons.
“Did you make me a—” A copy of the parolee list was jammed into his hand a moment before Jolie crossed again to the printer to collect the downloaded pages from OMPF/PERMS. She returned with the pages and pulled out a chair next to him, spreading the papers out before her.
It was a daunting task. Ben’s list was arranged alphabetically rather than in order of date of release from military service. “The robberies started several months ago. Let’s concentrate on the military releases in the past two years who had OPFOR or Special Forces duties. You take the first ten pages of names, I’ll take the next ten.”
His lips twitched. She was methodical in organization, whether it came to the lists she made or the way she approached a task. It came, he supposed, from having no control in the first years of her life.
He put the sheaf of papers aside and turned his attention to the computer screen. “Okay, shoot.”
“Abel.”
They worked in near silence for almost three hours. When they came to Jones the work slowed to a crawl as they cross-checked the common surname between the two lists and the prison records. Dace hated to think of how long it was going to take them to get through the Smiths.
As it turned out, they didn’t have to find out. Jolie reached out, grabbed his arm. “Marker, Adam Kevin. Take a look.” He leaned over to read from the paper she was holding out for him, rather than trying to find the copy in his own pile. “Paroled twenty-two months ago from NSP-Nevada, where he did a fifteen-year stint for armed bank robbery. Born in Santa Monica forty years ago.”
“Right age,” Dace muttered, reaching for the next page she produced. This one was from OMPF/PERMS. “David John Marker.” He exchanged a grim look with Jolie. The HT had asked to be called John. “No Special Forces history but long stints on OPFOR units, first in Afghanistan, then Baghdad. Released thirteen months ago. Born…” He frowned. “In Utah? Thirty years ago.”
He grabbed the sheaf of material they’d requested from the prison systems. “Did we get a response from NSP?” He began riffling through them.
“They’re in alphabetical order.”
He shot her a look. “Of course they are.” None of the Jones matches had panned out, but Marker wasn’t as common a name.
“Well, we know now they aren’t father and son,” Jolie said. “But they could be brothers. Maybe half brothers, to explain the difference in ages.”
Pulling out the NSP sheet, Dace put it on the table between them, running his finger down the list of names until he found Marker. Fifteen years was a long time but the list of visitors was remarkably short. Either the man hadn’t had much family, friends or both.
But one name appeared on the list on an almost yearly basis.
Marker. David, John.
“You called it, half brothers.” Dace sat back in his chair, a little surprised they’d actually found a connection. “Earlier in the sentence David showed up a couple times a year. That slows down about the time he joined the Army. Every twelve or fourteen months. Which would have correlated with his leave.”
“The feds would have tracked the parolee angle first thing.” Reservation sounded in Jolie’s voice. “If this is our guy, why didn’t he pop for them when they were following up on the lead?”
Dace shook his head. “He covered himself somehow. I don’t know. We can’t be sure this is our link until we get them to run a DNA match on the HT from the blood at the scene with the samples military personnel give. And that isn’t a database we can access.”
“So we give it to the chief. The FBI’s antiterrorism unit and Homeland Security are connected to this case. There isn’t a government database in existence that DHS can’t get to.”
“We just have to convince Sanders the connection is solid.”
Jolie glanced at her watch, then stood, began collecting the papers they’d been working with and putting them in order. “And then he has to convince the feds. It’s a quarter to five. He wanted to see us at the end of the day anyway. Let’s give him what we have and we can go over the rest of the list at home tonight.”
His stomach clutched. Home. Once they’d had a home together, but he didn’t read anything into the word the way she used it now. He finally understood just how unlikely a pair they had made three years ago. He who had considered a home and family as a natural course of things. And she, to whom both must have seemed alien.
He rose when she did, following her to the door. It was humbling to admit that she’d nailed him dead to rights with the accusation she’d leveled at him earlier. He was no one’s idea of a white knight—she was dead wrong on that—but protective, yeah. Hard to deny it. Today marked the second time he’d tried to get her taken off this detail and gotten his ass chewed because of it.
It was damn ironic that he still felt compelled to shield her from physical danger. Especially since he was beginning to understand that no physical harm could rival the emotional damage inflicted by her childhood.
* * *
“So, let me get this straight.” Sanders rubbed his jaw with one pawlike hand. “You’re saying knowledge of incendiary devices similar to the ones used on Conrad’s car and at the bank site could have been acquired in the military. And you’ve got a guy with that expertise recently released from service, who is a half brother to a paroled bank robber.”
“That’s right, sir.” Jolie took the lead in the conversation, more than a little surprised that Dace let her. If he were sitting there contemplating how he could get her off this assignment again, she’d be better prepared this time. Dealing with Trixie gave her a lot of hands-on experience counteracting manipulation.
“To eliminate David Marker as a suspect,” she continued, “we’d need a test run comparing his DNA—which was taken from the blood left at the site—to his DNA sample in the military databases. With the high level of federal involvement on this case, it shouldn’t be difficult.”
“Problem is, Fenholt seems pretty damn certain their information regarding activities of a terrorist sleeper cell is accurate.” Sanders surveyed them both from beneath lowered brows. “I’m sure they’ve been over the recent parolees with a fine-tooth comb. They’d have nailed this Marker if he were the least bit suspicious.”
“Maybe that means he’s smart enough not to arouse suspicion,” Dace put in. “We’re the ones who talked to the HT. There was no hint of any terrorist leanings. No clue of disenfranchisement with this government or its policies. Trouble with authority, sure. If we accessed his full military personnel file, I’m willing to bet we’ll find plenty of references to insubordination, or worse. But he told us himself, he was in the bank because that’s where the money was.”
“And you think it’s as simple as that?”
“We both do.”
Sanders drummed his blunt-edged fingers on the desktop. “Well, it’s worth checking out. I’ll try to push them to get it done quickly. Is that the only connection you’ve made between the ex-military and parolees?”
“It’s the first so far, and we’re halfway through the list,” Jolie responded. “We’ll finish it tonight and let you know if we find anything else.”
“Do that.” A change in his expression heralded a shift of topic. “I had a long meeting with SAC Fenholt and some of her unit. They seem to agree with you that your appearance tomorrow is vital if they hope to draw the subject out.”
Jolie had to school herself not to glance in Dace’s direction. But she could feel her heart thudding in her chest in anticipation of the chief’s decision.
Folding his arms on his desk, he leaned forward, lowered his voice. “No one in this department would blame either of you for sitting this one out. What they’re asking of you…well, it’s a risk some wouldn’t feel worth taking. I’m giving you both an opportunity to stand down. No questions asked. No consequences. Think it over carefully, because it’s your last chance.”
“My mind hasn’t changed since I volunteered for this, sir,” Jolie said firmly. The only difference between her first agreement and now was the mounting body count. “He has to be stopped. I’m willing to do my part.”
“I’m going to be there, too.” Dace’s voice was inflexible.
The chief nodded. Jolie couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disappointed. “I’ve arranged some further security for you. You’ll arrive in a department-issued armored vehicle. A three-sided canopy over the dais will limit positioning of a sniper.” Despite herself, Jolie felt a shiver crawl down her spine. “Of course, K-9 units will be in continuous use and a full police presence will be maintained. If something goes down, for God’s sake, don’t try to be heroes. Get the hell out of there. Once you leave, bystanders will be a whole lot safer.”
Mingled relief and anticipation worked over her. The detail would go forward and maybe, if they got real lucky, this case would be broken by this time tomorrow.
If they got even luckier, she and Dace would live through it.
* * *
Saturday dawned with clear skies and projected temperatures in the mid-seventies. The memorial service was scheduled for 10:00 a.m. Because of the difficulty getting the armored vehicle through a large crowd and close to the stage, Dace and Jolie would arrive two hours early, but remain in the vehicle until starting time.
Like any well-laid plan, it was destined to fail.
The first hint of trouble came when a tap sounded on Jolie’s bedroom door shortly after dawn. Sleep had been elusive. She’d lain there for hours before dozing off, and then wakened just a few hours later.
She refused to believe that sleeping alone had anything to do with that.
Last night she and Dace had worked until after midnight, but had found no other connection similar to that of the Marker brothers. Regardless of the feds’ terrorist link, she shared Dace’s confidence that the half brothers were a solid lead. She only hoped it was treated with the urgency from the Bureau that it deserved.
Jolie opened the door to see Dawson and Dace standing in the hallway. Neither had shaved. Dace was bare-chested, while Dawson had a half-buttoned shirt on. But it was the agent’s bare feet that startled her the most. She’d never seen him any less than meticulously dressed.
Foreboding pooled in the pit of her stomach.
“What’s wrong?”
“I need both of you to come downstairs.” The fed was already moving toward the steps, so Jolie cocked a brow at Dace. He lifted a shoulder. Whatever it was, the agent hadn’t seen fit to tell him either.
Since she was decently dressed in an old tee and pajama shorts, she padded down the stairs behind Dace. It occurred to her that had she not elected to sleep in the spare bedroom last night, the fed would have found her in Dace’s bed, where she’d slept Thursday night.
When they got downstairs Dawson was seated at the kitchen counter. Dace and Jolie took a chair on either side of him. Habit had Jolie looking in the direction of the automatic coffeemaker. She had a feeling she was going to need the fortification.
“I don’t want to alarm you,” the agent began.
Too late, Jolie thought. Nerves were already jumping and quivering in her stomach.
“But you deserve to be kept abreast of the most recent developments in the security detail for today.”
“Just spit it out,” Dace muttered. He wasn’t, Jolie recalled, much of a morning person. For that matter, neither was she.
Dawson looked at each of them in turn, his expression sober. “As you know, security has been tight at the memorial location. Top-level scrutiny. Special Agent in Charge Fenholt and Special Agent Pedersen, from the antiterrorism unit, walked it yesterday evening. But a couple hours ago the K-9 units were brought back to the site to do another thorough sweep and then to remain throughout the ceremony.” He drew a breath. “The dogs are responding to dozens of spots throughout the inside perimeter.”
“Dozens?” Jolie was stunned. “Dozens of bombs?” Was that possible? Dace had guessed that David Marker had been the explosives expert. But he could have taught his brother what he knew before he died.
“There haven’t been any explosives discovered.”
Somehow Jolie didn’t find Dawson’s declaration particularly reassuring. Either the explosives were so well hidden they wouldn’t be found until too late, or the K-9 units were failing in their task.
“Someone got in there,” Dace said flatly. “Scattered a scent—probably gunpowder—at various points to distract the dogs, divert the handlers and the bomb squad. And there wouldn’t be much purpose in distraction if there weren’t an IED planted on the premises. At least one.”
Jolie could see from the agent’s expression that he’d arrived at the same conclusion.
“We’ve got an ATF bomb squad in place in addition to your local unit. You can be assured that public access will be limited until we’re certain the site is safe.”
Dace stood and without a word strode for the stairs. Jolie frowned at his abrupt departure, but her mind was on the information the agent had just imparted.
“So there was a breach sometime between the time those dogs left yesterday and this morning. Not exactly comforting.”
Dawson had the grace to look ill at ease. “It would appear so. I haven’t been to the site myself in the past twenty-four hours. But the security plans were painstaking. I don’t see how a breach could occur. But no plan is infallible.”
Silently, Jolie agreed. Any strategy was only as good as the people implementing it. All it took was one distraction. One guy out of position. And a patient outsider would have the opportunity he sought.
Dace was jogging back down the steps. Jolie recognized the blown-up picture he clutched in his hand. He crossed to Dawson and laid it down in front of him. “I think you need to make copies of this and hand it out to the security detail at the scene.”
The agent picked it up to study more closely. “Markham, right? Why do you have a picture of him?”
“Adam Marker,” Dace corrected. “And we think it’s possible that this is the guy we’re looking for.”
“Marker. That’s it.” Dawson set the picture down and shook his head. “I don’t know what makes you suspect him, but I can tell you he’s not our guy. I checked him out myself, shortly after the first robbery.”
“How can you be so sure it’s not him?”
Before answering Dace’s question, the man got up and went to the coffeemaker, poured three mugs of coffee, then delivered one to Jolie. He picked up the other two containers and set one in front of Dace, retaining the other.
“He had an alibi for all but one of the robberies,” he replied finally. “He was at work. Learned automotive repair at NSP and has been steadily employed for a small auto-repair business in Bakersfield since shortly after he was paroled. I’ve talked to his boss. Seen his time cards. He checks out.”
Disappointment blooming, Jolie wrapped her hands around the steaming mug and lifted it to sip. Okay, they knew the feds would have followed up on the recent parolees. But the link they’d found between the Marker brothers had seemed so promising. “Any chance his alibi is phony? Maybe bought and paid for?”
Dawson lifted a shoulder, the gesture curiously casual for a man usually so proper. “Anything’s possible. Just like it’s possible that Joseph Welch’s medical records showing he isn’t ambulatory could be phony. Or that Jeremy Saul wasn’t at his grandmother’s bedside for a month prior to her death, during three of the robberies. Anything’s possible. But probable? No.”
Jolie recognized the names of the men he mentioned as others on the list of recent parolees. “You really believe members of a sleeper cell are responsible.”
“Those details are classified.” The man drank, his eyes sliding shut in appreciation of the strong brew. “But trust me. They are convincing.”
A cell phone rang, and immediately Jolie looked around for her purse. Since she wasn’t living with Trixie at the moment, she didn’t feel the need to lock it up each night. Not that she had a car to lock it in anymore.
But it wasn’t her phone or Dace’s. Agent Dawson walked by them and picked up his cell from the coffee table next to the couch. She listened unabashedly but could tell nothing from his side of the conversation.
Feeling Dace’s gaze on her, Jolie lifted her eyes to meet his, reading his thoughts with an ease that frightened her. He wasn’t ready to give up on the Marker lead. Neither was she. But they had more important things to worry about for the next few hours.
Dawson snapped the receiver of his cell closed, looking a bit rattled. He recovered almost immediately, smoothing his expression to a reassuring mask. “They’ve found an explosive. ATF is containing it as we speak. The rest of the units will continue to follow up on all of the dogs’ alerts, but I’m willing to bet you were right.” He nodded at Dace. “The distraction was all about calling our attention away from the bomb.”
Her skin prickled. “Where’d they find it?”
At first Jolie didn’t think Dawson was going to answer. His gaze slid past hers. “It was attached to the plywood skirting below the dais.”
* * *
Nine fifty-seven a.m. Two minutes later than the last time Jolie had checked her watch. Time had crawled to a stop since the armored vehicle had halted next to the stage, fifteen minutes ago.
The past few hours had been spent in a state of uncertainty. Sanders had refused to allow the memorial to go forward until all alerts had been thoroughly checked out. Dace and she had paced his town house, not knowing whether their mission that day would be aborted or not. They hadn’t been given the word that the assignment would go forward until forty-five minutes ago.
The park was bustling with activity. Jolie estimated there were well over a thousand people, not counting the wall of blue uniformed officers who’d come to pay their respects. She knew there would be even more law enforcement in plain clothes. It seemed improbable that the subject would appear, risking detection in such a heavily guarded arena.
But he’d successfully infiltrated the security once. Jolie was well aware that a motivated subject could do so again.
There was little doubt this subject was motivated.
Misgivings circled in her mind like busy little ants. What if the discovered explosive had been a decoy? What if another was still waiting out there somewhere, ready to detonate when the stage was occupied?
She scanned the area. The dais was the logical site for an explosive, with her and Dace as the targets. But if the subject didn’t mind mass carnage, he could have planted a larger one farther away. Maybe on that statue of a Civil War soldier astride a horse. Or several hundred meters farther, in the fountain that spouted water in the air like a trio of belugas. There were several locations that could secret an IED. They’d have to trust that the dogs had done their job. That the distracting scent hadn’t confused them.
Another glance at her watch. A minute had ticked by. Several men were unfurling a canopy atop the stage. Jolie watched with approval. The edge was trimmed with triangular pennants that would snap and move in the breeze even now causing the American flags to flap from flagpoles around the park. If the subject was out there with a rifle, the pennants would be a diversion. He’d also be forced to adjust for the wind.
She clasped her hands together, cracked her knuckles. And sitting here doing nothing was going to make her a raving paranoid before they even got to the stage.
“What’s the holdup?” she muttered to Dace. “Where’d Truman and Dawson go?”
He turned from the opposite window. If he was suffering from any nerves, it didn’t show. “These things never begin on time. Too many bureaucracies to coordinate.” He studied her, probably seeing more in her expression than she would have liked. “It’s a zoo out there. The subject isn’t likely to know that the explosive has been discovered.”
Meaning, of course, that he probably wouldn’t be here to follow up with a sniper shot. It wasn’t that Jolie didn’t appreciate Dace’s attempt to reassure her. She’d been a negotiator long enough to be well versed in human psychology. The truth was, the only predictable thing about this subject was his single-minded motivation to avenge the HT’s death.
“Do me a favor and stay alert anyway, all right?” The words slipped past her guard without her conscious permission.
Dace’s green eyes darkened. “I suppose it’s useless to suggest you stay in the vehicle for the duration?”
That shot her spine with steel. “Useless and offensive.”
He nodded. “I figured. So I won’t say anything.” Before she had a clue to his intentions, he leaned over, cupped her nape in his palm and covered her mouth with his.
Pent-up emotion poured into the kiss. Jolie could sense his frustration and something else. Something that might have been fear for her safety. His desire to shield her didn’t annoy her as much as usual. She happened to be just as scared for him. And remorseful that he’d gotten into this thing because of her.
His tongue swept into her mouth, staking a claim. She didn’t need comforting arms or encouraging words. She needed this unvarnished demand she could meet with her own. A quick hot pressure that reminded her of everything between them, past and present. And diverted her attention nicely from what might be out there waiting for them.
There was a rap at the window, and their lips parted even as the door was pulled open.
“Final security sweep has been executed. We’re going to start.” Truman ducked his head into the vehicle. “You two ready?”
With effort, Jolie tore her gaze away from Dace’s. “More than.” She reached for her sunglasses, placed them on her nose.
“Then let’s do this.”
She slid across the backseat and out the open door. Immediately, she was flanked by Truman and Dawson. When Dace joined them a moment later, two agents Jolie hadn’t seen before came to stand next to him, one on each side. Each of them moved toward the stage in tandem with their security.
Jolie’s glance encompassed the crowd and beyond. The sea of people stretched endlessly. A center aisle had been left in front of the stage.
She climbed the steps, one agent in back of her, one in front. Half a dozen people were already waiting there. Chief Sanders, resplendent in his dress uniform. Deputy Chief Grey. Mayor Owens, a woman whose policies Jolie had never much cared for. A couple councilmen. SAC Fenholt.
They filed to the far end of the stage and stopped. Jolie noted large framed posters atop stands scattered across the front of the stage. She knew without seeing the front of them that each would depict a likeness of one of the fallen officers. She doubted anyone in the crowd would realize the pictures served as yet another impediment to a sniper trying to get a clear shot.
Below, next to the center steps, was a table. Eight folded flags, each with a single white rose, sat atop it. The reminder of the officers’ deaths solidified her sense of purpose. Regardless of the outcome, if there was a chance her appearance here today could bring their killer to justice, it was a risk worth taking. There was a familiar humming in her veins as Chief Sanders went to the microphone and began to speak. Adrenaline did a crazy little tap dance along her nerve endings as she turned her gaze to the mass of people before her.
Sanders spoke eloquently of the officers’ sense of duty. Their selfless sacrifice in the face of danger. Jolie felt Truman stiffen on the other side of her, heard him murmuring something in the discreet mike he wore attached to his earpiece via a thin cord. She saw what had alerted him. There was a disturbance in the crowd after Sanders called up the first officer’s widow. The agents on either side of her stepped forward, closing ranks, effectively shutting her from view.
It was another moment before they stepped back again. She saw that a member of the press, jockeying for a photo as Sanders walked down the front steps to the stage to meet the widow and hand her the flag and commemorative rose, had caused the disturbance.
Jolie released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Chief Deputy Grey announced the second officer’s name. There was a glint of something in the distance, beyond the fountains. It was ridiculous to wonder if it were the sun bouncing off a rifle barrel. A shooter would be positioned in a tree. In the heavy shrubbery surrounding the park. The most accomplished sniper might be accurate from up to a mile away. But the subject hadn’t tried shots at that distance. She was willing to bet any attempt would come from no more than five hundred yards.
With the plentiful vegetation, there would be no shortage of hiding places.
She shifted her attention to the women coming one by one up to accept their flag and flower. One woman walked slowly, her figure heavy with child, and the sight hurtled Jolie back in time. The changes in her body brought on by pregnancy had been foreign. More than a little frightening. How much more terrifying it would be for this woman, knowing that the child she would bear would never know his father.
She could feel a thin trickle of perspiration crawling from her nape down her spine. The air was mild, but the bulky level-III vest with ceramic plates she wore beneath her ill-fitting oversize shirt increased her body temperature. Each time a camera flashed, she could see the agents beside her tense. But her attention remained on the unknown woman. She wondered how she planned to cope with the tragic events that had made her a single parent.
Odd, given her and Dace’s occupations, but she had never once considered the possibility of having to raise Sammy on her own. A cop couldn’t think about the risks on the job every day and still be effective. If she’d given it any thought at all, she had no doubt it would have terrified her enough that Dace would never have managed to persuade her to go through with the pregnancy.
She’d been alarmed enough over the situation as it was.
The podium mike gave a loud screech of feedback. Jolie jerked, nearly diving to the floor in response. Her heart jackhammered in her chest. With grim effort, she willed her pulse to quiet. Another officer’s name had been announced, Laeten’s. The couple making their way up the center aisle was slight. Frail. Laeten’s parents. Jolie seemed to recall hearing that the man had divorced years ago.
She’d lost track of time. How many names had been called? How many folded American flags handed to grieving relatives? Her gaze dropped to the table set up in front of the dais. Two flags left.
The perspiration was a pool at the base of her spine now. The body armor she wore weighed almost four pounds. The loose-fitting shirt she’d had to wear over it was unseasonably heavy. And the slight breeze stirring the leaves on the park’s trees wasn’t reaching the semi-enclosed stage.
The sound of a motor split the air. Jolie craned her neck to see a motorcycle speeding through the far end of the park. She looked at Dace. With only two entrances in and out of the area, how the heck had the rider gotten through the outer perimeter?
She wasn’t given an opportunity to examine the question. The federal agents nudged her to get her moving across the stage. With a start, Jolie realized the service was over. The entrance of the motorcycle, now nearly three-quarters of the way across the park, had drowned other sounds out.
Dawson was the first down the dais steps. Jolie followed, still distracted by the scene playing out across the park. Several plain-clothed officers were moving toward the motorcyclist. The driver revved the motor, increasing speed. Jolie had descended the first two steps when she felt a sting on her leg and looked down, stunned to see a large, jagged piece of wood distending from her pants leg.
“Get down! Get down!”
A heavy weight knocked her off her feet, and she tumbled down the remaining stairs. She heard screams. The sound of the motor, farther away this time. And the crack of a second shot.
Jolie hit the ground with enough force to drive the breath from her lungs. Someone—Dawson? Truman?—pinned her to the ground.
But the arm next to her face wasn’t clothed in a dark suit coat. It was enclosed in a blue shirtsleeve. It wasn’t an agent on top of her, it was Dace. And there was blood spattered on the fabric. A small pool forming on the ground next to her hand.