“Sounds logical.”
“And that means we’re talking about multiple people, and they’ve got multiple targets. So far, Ollie, Brock, and Shelly, all of whom—”
“Don’t forget you.”
“And myself, yes. All of us are working on—or were working on—the Gavin Quinn case, which goes to trial in less than two days. Seems obvious someone wants to derail that trial, and they’re willing to kill to do it.”
Jeremy just looked at her. She sounded so calm and matter-of-fact about it, but underneath that, he knew she was deeply unsettled.
Just the other night, she’d seen her friend gunned down. This morning, she’d been to the funeral, but she hadn’t shed a tear, although she’d come out looking white as a sheet. From what he could see, she was processing everything the way he did, putting her emotions on lockdown.
Kira leaned back against the sofa. “So what are we dealing with? In your expert opinion?”
“Expert?”
“Wolfe Sec is a world-renowned firm. You deal with people targeted by crazies and assassins all the time. What do you think this is about? Who is doing this?”
He finished off his pizza crust, stalling for time. Then he dusted his hands on his jeans.
“I’m not sure what you’re looking for, but Liam would be the one to tell you about motive. His brother’s a criminal profiler and weighs in on some of our cases.”
“Seriously? I didn’t know that.”
“He used to work for the FBI.”
“Interesting,” she said. “But what about you?”
“What about me?”
She rolled her eyes. “What do you think? You’ve dealt with all sorts of threats. How does this rank? How worried should I be?”
Jeremy studied her face, trying not to stare at the damn cut on her cheek. But the cut said it all, really. She’d caught a piece of shrapnel in her face. How worried should she be? Very.
Jeremy had been asked that question before. Sometimes the clients wanted reassurance or soothing words. Sometimes they were in denial that the threat against them was real.
Kira wasn’t in denial, and she didn’t want reassurance or platitudes. She was a realist, and what she wanted was information. But could she handle it, or would it freak her out?
She watched him, waiting for his answer.
He cleared his throat. “There are several kinds of threats we see a lot of. On American soil, most attacks are carried out at close range and with a handgun.”
“What’s close range?”
“Less than twenty-five yards.”
She nodded.
“Then there are long-range attacks. That’s with a rifle, sometimes hundreds of yards away. Shooters like that tend to be ideological killers.”
She frowned. “Give me an example.”
“The abortion doctor who was murdered last fall. Guy shot him with a Remington seven hundred at two hundred yards.”
“Was he a sharpshooter?”
“No, but he had military training. Guys like that—ideological killers—they get in, do the job, get out. They have a plan of escape and no desire to get caught.”
“Who would?”
“You’d be surprised. Some of these up-close shooters—people like John Hinckley, who shot Ronald Reagan—that’s exactly what they want, especially if their target is a celebrity. The second they pull the trigger, they go from a life of obscurity to instant fame. They may not even care who the target is, as long as it’s someone famous enough to get them in the news. Or maybe the target is interchangeable. In those cases, personal security is everything.”
“How come?” She looked skeptical. He could tell from the worry line between her brow.
“An attacker like that takes one look at us and sees a hard target. It’s going to be a lot tougher for him to get what he’s after, which is attention. So he switches targets. The identity of the target may not even matter.”
“How does it not matter?” she asked. “If someone is willing to risk their life and their freedom, I’d think the target would mean everything.”
“Maybe it’s symbolic.” Jeremy leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “The job I just finished? That’s exactly what it was. Our guy was an American business mogul. Didn’t matter his name or what his company did—just that he was a rich American traveling in their backyard. That’s why he was targeted by Islamic extremists, and they should never have gotten near him, but we screwed up.”
“What happened?”
Kira looked riveted. And he hadn’t meant to tell her this shit, but now it was too late to go back.
He looked her in the eye. “There were six of them, divided into three vehicles. They surrounded his car and ran it off the road, hoping to either kidnap him or murder him on the spot. They hosed Roland’s car down with bullets. Missed him but managed to kill a kid who was standing on the sidewalk next to his mom. She was hit, too.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Course, that didn’t make the headlines. Even though a six-year-old died, it was barely mentioned.”
“Where were you?” Kira asked.
“Car behind, passenger side. It was a two-vehicle convoy.”
The whole thing had lasted less than a minute, but at the time, it had felt like slow motion. The seconds dragged out as Jeremy saw everything unfolding, right there in front of him, and all he could do was jump from the vehicle and try to put a stop to it, but he was two seconds too late.
“It never should have happened.” He shook his head. “This group should have gotten one look at our client’s security and picked another target.”
“Why didn’t they?”
Jeremy gritted his teeth. “Social media. They had a critical advantage. Leo Roland’s PR flack posted his day’s events online, and they were waiting for us when we pulled up. That’s why we prefer unpredictability. Unscheduled arrivals, unscheduled departures. Don’t tell people exactly what you’re doing and when, because it gives them an edge.”
“Sounds to me like the PR flack was the one who screwed up, not you,” she said.
“Same result. And it’s part of our job to control the information that goes out, or at least be aware of it. We could have had agents on the rooftops when our guy arrived, but we thought his schedule was private, so we didn’t take that step, and a child got caught in the crossfire of something that never should have happened.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Jeremy could still hear that mother wailing as she bent over her son. He wished he could erase the sound. Erase the whole day.
“I went to see her in the hospital. The kid’s mother.” He shook his head. “She was catatonic. Her sister and the rest of her kids were with her, but she couldn’t even talk.”
Kira just watched him, her eyes somber.
“Leo Roland’s been racked with guilt over it. He’s going to take care of them financially, but nothing he can do will bring that boy back. And all because some gutless fanatic wanted to grab a headline and post a video.”
“God. Did they?”
“Yeah, it’s out there.” He raked a hand through his hair. How had they gotten on this topic? She’d been asking about her case, not the job he’d just come from. He shouldn’t be dumping this on anyone, least of all someone he was protecting.