As she described Junior lying on the carpet, Ian’s mind wandered to the autopsy and his pastor’s message that he’d caught after leaving the morgue. He’d spoken on Hebrews 6:10.God is not unjust; He will not forget your work and the love you have shown Him as you have helped His people and continue to help them.
It was one of Ian’s favorite verses, one he used as his work mantra. He was helping people. Sure, he worked for murder victims, but his job was to be their advocate and to aid the grieving people they left behind. Thinking of his job as being God’s hands on earth helped Ian stay optimistic in a job that could easily make a person jaded. He’d really needed to hear the message after the autopsy.
And in moments when he was the recipient of angry glares from people surrounding him because he’d arrested their friend, remembering why he did his job was important. Those stares were nothing compared to the ones he sometimes got from mourning families when they didn’t think he was working fast enough to find justice for their loved one.
Sierra Rice, Reed’s wife and the Veritas Center’s trace evidence expert, eyed him as she flicked straight blond hair over her shoulder. “Is the ballroom still sealed, or can I get in there to nose around?”
All eyes landed on Ian, and he sat forward. “Our forensic team has one last thing they want to do. When they finish, we’ll turn it over to the hotel manager. Should happen today.”
“Can you let me know before you release it?” Sierra asked. “I’d like to work the scene, but I want to get in there before it’s contaminated.”
He nodded. “Though you should know the manager is jonesing to get it cleaned for an event he has booked tonight.”
“Good to know. Thanks.” She slid her business card across the table to him then looked at the others. “Which means we’ll have to make it worth his while to let me have a few hours with the space.”
“We can handle that.” Maya Lane, the business founder, turned to Malone. “Don’t worry about costs. You’re family, and we take care of family.”
Ian liked the strength of the woman’s convictions. He’d heard plenty of stories about how gifted these scientists were, but he hadn’t known how much the team was a tight-knit community. What he wouldn’t give to have grown up with a family like that instead of his shallow one, where it was all about the next greatest and popular thing.
He’d once thought getting married and having his own kids would give him the family he craved, believing he could create whatever he wanted, but what made him think he knew anything about being a parent? The only example was the dysfunctional pair who’d raised him. More like nannies who raised him. He’d rarely seen a solid marriage firsthand other than a few times when he’d been invited—along with other coworkers—to barbecues that Londyn’s parents held for their business. Her mom and dad and her aunt and uncle, who’d founded Steele Guardians, at least acted like great parents on the surface.
The team investigator, Blake Jenkins, strode to the whiteboard and grabbed a marker. “So all we have is a shooter wearing pricey black attire and boots.” He jotted the information on the board before spinning to look at Ian. “What can you tell us about the gun?”
“Springfield Armory XDS.”
“Kind of a small carry for such a big guy,” Grady Houston, the team weapon’s expert said.
“Not the sort of weapon I’d choose if I planned to take someone out,” Ian said. “But it’s heavier than many small guns, and most shooters almost always shoot heavier guns better and more comfortably.”
Grady gave Ian a look of respect. “You know your weapons. Or at least this one.”
“I’m a fan and like to carry the best weapon for the job.” Ian didn’t add that he was more than a fan of weapons, that he qualified in his department with weapons and scopes most detectives wouldn’t likely use, including a night-vision scope. Not the sort of thing needed often in a city setting, but one day he knew it could come in handy. Besides, it was crazy cool.
He continued to look at Grady. “I have to admit I had to do a bit of research on this one.” Ian gave a tight smile. “It fits well in pants pockets and wouldn’t be noticeable at the reunion if he’d been a guest. That, along with the weight, is why I think the guy chose it.”
“Makes sense to me.” Grady leaned back.
“He only had two bullets in the magazine,” Ian added.
“That explains how he knew Malone wouldn’t shoot him, and he wasn’t expecting return fire,” Grady said. “Or he had another piece with him.”
Reed aimed a narrowed gaze at his sister. “I wonder if handing that gun to you and walking away was his plan all along or if he just took advantage of the situation.”
Malone’s shoulder stiffened. “But how could he know I’d be with Junior?”
“How many people who lost their parents would ignore the bait Junior put out there for you?” Reed pinned Malone with the intense stare all law enforcement officers perfected. Ian was proud of her for not wilting under it. “Not likely any.”
“And do you think the bait was true?” Ian asked. “Do you think your parents’ accident wasn’t an accident?”
Malone shifted her focus to Ian. “I doubt it.”
“I agree,” Reed said. “The collision was investigated by the county sheriff’s office, and they concluded our dad had been driving too fast for the conditions and ran off the road into a ravine.”
“True or not, I’m sure going to look at Junior’s claim.” Malone’s tone held the iron will he’d heard she’d become known for in her job as a prosecutor.
“Starting where?” Aiden Byrd asked, not at all put off by her intensity.
“I’m not sure.” Malone frowned.
