‘When did he shoot Agent Spangler?’ Marcus asked.
‘I don’t know exactly,’ Deacon said. ‘He hadn’t been dead long. The ME will have to give us the time frame.’ He closed his eyes tight. ‘God. I have to tell his wife.’
Scarlett squeezed Deacon’s arm sympathetically. ‘I can do it,’ she offered.
Deacon shook his head. ‘That’s okay. You did the last one. Plus I recruited him from the field office into the joint task force with CPD. Zimmerman will go with me.’
Zimmerman, Marcus knew, was the special agent in charge of the FBI’s Cincinnati Field Office and Deacon’s direct boss. Marcus knew this because Zimmerman had visited him in the hospital. He’d seemed like a decent man.
Scarlett dropped her hand back to her side. ‘If you change your mind, let me know.’
‘I will.’ Deacon turned to Marcus. ‘Why did you want to know when he was killed?’
‘Because I’m trying to put the pieces together in my mind,’ Marcus said, ‘to get the timeline straight. If he was killed as soon as he parked back there, then the shooter had to have been here before you arrived, which would mean he was likely left to guard the house. But since he wasn’t dead that long, the killer probably came back to find something – or someone.’
‘You think he came back for Tabby?’ Scarlett asked.
Marcus shrugged. ‘Maybe. Whoever broke down the door could have shot Anders and his family and left their bodies here, but they didn’t.’
Scarlett nodded. ‘They dragged them out kicking and screaming, according to Tabby.’
‘Lots of bullet holes in the walls upstairs,’ Deacon said. ‘There was a definite struggle.’
‘They might have killed them when they got them away from the house,’ Scarlett continued, ‘so that they didn’t leave any bodies for us to find. They didn’t take Tabby because Chip had shoved her under the bed.’
Deacon frowned. ‘It doesn’t make sense that he’d try to save her from the thugs that broke in after nearly killing her himself.’
‘She was trying to reach for a cell phone when I found her,’ Marcus said. ‘Chip might have shoved her under the bed not to save her, but so that she could save them later. Maybe he left the phone so that she could call the police, but she was beaten too badly to crawl out and get it once the intruders were gone.’
‘Vince, what can you tell us about the phone?’ Deacon asked, motioning the man over.
‘It’s a throwaway,’ Tanaka said. ‘The number doesn’t match the one that the victim used to text your cell phone, Mr O’Bannion,’ he added before Marcus could ask that very question. ‘It’s bagged and tagged. We’ll check it out at the lab, see if we can figure out who it belonged to.’
Scarlett was frowning. ‘If the intruders had known Tabby was here, they would have searched until they found her. I don’t think they would have left her here to be a witness.’
‘So Chip was keeping secrets from his dealer,’ Deacon said thoughtfully.
‘Secrets they might have since forced out of him,’ Marcus said. ‘That’s why they didn’t kill them here – they wanted answers.’
‘Like maybe who killed Tala?’ Scarlett asked.
Marcus nodded. ‘It keeps coming back to her.’
Scarlett retrieved her phone from where it had fallen when she and Marcus barreled through the door. ‘I’m calling in for a security detail to stand outside Tabby’s door at the hospital. If the shooter did come back to find her here, he might try to get her there. She may be our only witness to what happened here. If she lives.’ She made the call, then handed Marcus’s cap-cam to Tanaka, who put it in an evidence bag.
‘Wait,’ she said with a frown when Tanaka opened evidence bags for the trackers Deacon still held. ‘Why did they leave the trackers?’ she asked.
‘What do you mean?’ Tanaka asked.
‘I’m trying to get the timeline straight in my mind too,’ she said. ‘If the intruders came in through that door, they would have walked right by these trackers on the floor on their way to the stairs. They kidnapped the Anders family, firing shots in the process. They had to think that the cops might be called at some point. Why leave the trackers here for us to find later? Why not take them?’
‘Especially since they’re a match for the one you took off Tala,’ Deacon added.
Tanaka shrugged. ‘I can’t venture a guess right now. Did you get the serial numbers from these two?’ he asked, holding up the bags with the trackers.
Deacon nodded. ‘I did, thanks. I’ll check it out ASAP and get back to you. I’m off to pick up Zimmerman.’ He glanced at Marcus. ‘Lie low for a while, okay? Twice in one day . . . I’d hate to see them get a chance to get lucky on a third try.’
‘I’ll keep my head down,’ Marcus said. It was the most he would promise, because he didn’t want to lie to Deacon.
Scarlett’s pointed gaze said that she hadn’t missed his evasion and that he hadn’t heard the end of the matter. ‘I’ll start tracking down Annabelle,’ she said to Deacon.
Deacon sighed wearily. ‘Zimmerman and I need to notify Agent Spangler’s wife. Don’t forget about our meeting at the field office. I’ll meet you there.’
When he was gone, Scarlett moved to the open doorway, stepping around the door that lay on the floor. Silently she studied the wreckage, then turned to face Marcus, her expression subdued. ‘I’ll take you back to your office now.’
Sixteen
Cincinnati, Ohio
Tuesday 4 August, 2.30 P.M.
Scarlett buckled her seat belt, then leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. She’d been calm through the whole ordeal, but now that they were truly alone, she let herself feel the terror of those moments when bullets were flying far too close to their heads. Or, more accurately, to Marcus’s head. Those bullets had not been meant for her. A shooter good enough to follow them as they fell to the ground had aimed several inches above where her own head had been. ‘You could have been killed,’ she murmured to the man sitting beside her. ‘Again.’
‘But I wasn’t,’ Marcus responded calmly, his voice giving her chills despite the fact that the black department car, having been sitting in the August sun, was about five million degrees inside. ‘Again,’ he added, his voice dipping lower.
A new shiver raced over her skin, tickling between her legs. Swallowing a sigh, she pressed her thighs tighter together, her hands clenching the steering wheel. Words formed in her mind but disappeared before they reached her lips, so she sat there, clenched and . . . wanting.
‘Although,’ he said after a minute of absolute silence, ‘I might die of heat stroke soon if you don’t turn on the air.’
The rueful amusement in his voice shook her into action. Starting the car, she kicked on the AC. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, looking straight ahead.
‘I’m not.’
She twisted her head to stare at him, exhaling when she saw the raw desire in his eyes. ‘You can’t look at me like that.’
‘Why not?’ His lips curved, sinfully sexy. ‘I’m not a cop. No breaking of police rules there. I’m not a suspect, am I?’
‘No.’ The word she’d intended to sound businesslike and practical came out husky and breathless.
His jaw clenched and he swallowed hard. ‘You can’t talk to me that way, then.’
She drew a breath, executed a quick three-point turn, and pulled away from the line of police cars. ‘Okay.’
From the corner of her eye, she saw his lips twitch. ‘Okay to what?’
‘I won’t talk to you that way and you won’t look at me that way.’
His almost-smile disappeared. ‘Where will I, then? And when?’
She didn’t pretend not to know what he was asking. She knew what she should say, that they couldn’t have a relationship until this case was finished. Or maybe ever, at least until she knew what kind of reporter he was and what kind of threat he represented. But none of that came from her mouth.