“Where does Gil fit into this?”
“Gil was completely out of his routine. He told me that most Monday mornings, he swims at the Y. Did you know he’d been on his way to the major leagues before he blew out his shoulder?”
Dale nodded. “Michael told me. Gil has quite the story.”
“He really does. Anyway, he typically goes to the Y at five a.m. for an early swim. I asked him when the last time was that he’d missed a swim. He told me the last time he’d missed a Monday was Christmas.”
“So where was he on Monday?”
“He’d stayed up to watch the Braves versus the Mets. It went to sixteen innings or something crazy, and he didn’t get in bed until after one. He reset his alarm for seven and crashed.”
“You’re thinking the attacker could have planned to hit Gil first?”
“It’s a possibility. We’re getting a warrant for the Y’s security footage. It’s a different location from the one Michael Weaver used. But it would have allowed the attacker to make a loop. Gil, then Luke and Zane, then Michael, then Jared. Jared was well-known for not being a morning person, and he never came to the office early. Luke said he was late a lot. Drove the rest of them crazy. Those Secret Service guys are competitive. All type A, opinionated, kind of aggressive. He said they rode Jared hard about it, but Jared either ignored them or told them to butt out of his business. Nothing changed.”
“Okay, so Gil was the first target.”
“I think when Gil broke his routine, it messed up everything, but my guess is the attacker had backup plans for everyone he intended to take out. He just had to get in position and wait for his opportunity. He hit Zane’s house, maybe thinking Zane would be passed out on painkillers and wouldn’t get out in time. And he would have been if he’d been able to sleep. He’d called an Uber around seven a.m. and went to a Waffle House, then instead of going back home, he wound up at Luke’s when Luke wouldn’t answer his phone. The fire marshal got back to me today. The fire at Zane’s was definitely arson, and it went fast. If Zane had been inside, it’s likely he wouldn’t have gotten out. The attacker may have been shocked when we pulled up at the house and Zane got out of the car. But he hadn’t been looking for Zane. He was looking for Gil, and when Gil came out, he got him.” Her voice broke on the last few words.
The memory of yesterday—the shot, the blood, the fear—left her blinking back tears. What was wrong with her? She took a deep breath and shook her head as if that would push it all away. “Sorry.”
“You were there, Faith.” Dale’s voice was thick with sympathy. “It’s normal to have some strong emotions about Gil’s shooting that you don’t have about any of the others. It isn’t easy to be dispassionate and objective when you watched as a man almost had his brains blown out.”
It might be normal, but Faith didn’t like it. “I was remembering that Gil had bent down.” To talk to her. “He bent down, and it saved his life. The bullet only missed by a fraction. If Gil hadn’t moved...”
There would be three dead agents.
16
FAITH LEFT DALE’SOFFICEreassured and relieved. She wasn’t going to be fired. Her boss didn’t hate her.
She went back to her desk and checked her messages. Just one. From Hope.
It was Mom. I’ve gotten the profiles removed. And I’ve talked to Mom. She says it won’t happen again.
Thanks. I know you don’t have time to be dealing with that.
Neither do you. Stay safe.
She hadn’t had time to even think about the dating profiles, not in the craziness of Gil’s shooting. A flush heated her face at the thought of anyone seeing her on that dating site. Thank goodness Hope had figured it all out.
All in all, this afternoon wasn’t ending on a bad note. Had her prayer, if that’s what it could be called, been answered? Had God sent help in the form of an understanding boss and a brilliant sister?
It could be a coincidence, but there was a problem with that theory.
Faith didn’t believe in coincidences.
She’d texted Luke two hours ago that she thought she’d be done for the day in an hour. He’d texted her back that he was in the office going over all the cases from the past year that could have triggered in someone a pathological need to kill every agent who had worked the case. He suggested she call him when she left work and they would compare notes.
Instead, she ran through a drive-through, inhaled her chicken sandwich, and drove straight to the Secret Service office. The security guard allowed her through, and she found Luke in the conference room. The table was covered with boxes of files. A huge whiteboard propped against the wall was filled with case numbers, random names, and a smattering of photographs.
Faith cleared her throat. Luke turned and smiled.
He had a slow smile. It started in his eyes, touched the edges of his mouth, and then his lips eased into a full grin over the space of a few seconds. It was endearing. Faith couldn’t explain why the intentionality of the smile made her feel like it was authentic, unlike the quick, patently false smiles she saw so often.
He put the lid on the dry-erase marker he was holding and pointed to a chair at the head of the table. “Have a seat. We’ll compare days.”
She pulled the chair away from the table, turned, and sat on the table, swinging her legs. “Mine was interesting.”
