No One Left to Tell Read Free Page B

set.
    ‘So the punk sets off running and tosses the fucking gun down the goddamned storm sewer.’ Ben made a disgusted face. ‘It’s gonna take me forever to get the smell out of my shoes. Asshole.’
    ‘Did you find it?’ Grayson asked.
    ‘Hell, yeah. Guy’s a three-timer. You’ll be able to put him away.’
    Which Grayson had heard from detectives more times than he could count. Unfortunately, ‘putting them away’ wasn’t always as easy as it appeared. Still, he had one of the better conviction rates in the state’s attorney’s office. Knowing he’d put assholes like the one Ben had just cuffed behind bars let him sleep at night. Most of the time.
    ‘It’ll be my pleasure.’ Grayson gripped the bar and prepared for his final set. He’d pressed three reps when phones started ringing all over the gym and all chatter ceased.
    In a gym full of cops, this was a damn bad thing.
    Grayson racked the bar and sat up, his eyes on the men and women around him. It looked like the officers called were out of the eastern precinct. ‘What’s going on?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ Ben murmured. He waited until the guy closest to them had put away his cell phone. ‘Well? What’s gone down, Profacci?’
    Profacci started for the showers. ‘Sniper. Woman in a minivan hit. Sergeant’s just called all hands to search for the gunman. Hell of a way to start the day.’
    For a moment Grayson said nothing. His mind was racing back ten years to when a sniper had terrorized the DC Metro area. The closest victim to Baltimore had been a few counties over, but the entire area had lived in fear for three weeks. By the time the snipers were caught, ten people had died and three others were critically wounded.
    He looked at Ben. ‘I hope this isn’t what we’re all thinking it is,’ he said, then turned to the woman at the front desk. ‘Sandi, can you switch the channel to the news?’
    Sandi complied and the sixty-three-inch plasma screen mounted on the wall above them switched from replays of last night’s hockey game to the local station, where a reporter stood in front of a large sign that said Brae Brooke Village Apartments .
    Seeing who the reporter was, Grayson had to swallow his annoyance. Phin Radcliffe shoved a mike in his face every time he left the courtroom. A lot of reporters shoved a mike in his face, but Radcliffe always took it a step further. And stopped at nothing to get a story.
    ‘. . . killed by a sniper’s bullet,’ Radcliffe was saying. ‘The police have not yet given the all-clear, and residents are being told to stay indoors. We know that the victim is dead. We don’t know the status of the shooter at this time, but we do have this exclusive footage of the events as they unfolded. Be warned. The following images are graphic and may upset some viewers.’
    The image switched to a woman in the path of an oncoming minivan and Grayson found himself staring in disbelief. The woman went into a crouch and sprang, flying at least eight feet before she landed on her knees, dragging a big Rottweiler on a leash.
    Milliseconds later, the minivan crashed into a pole. There was no sound on the video, but the dog was clearly barking like a lunatic. And who could blame him?
    ‘Did you see that?’ Ben demanded. ‘Fucking gazelle.’
    Grayson had seen it and he still wasn’t sure he believed it. The camera ignored the minivan, zooming in on the woman’s face, and Grayson slowly released the breath he’d been holding. Her eyes were black as night, large and stark against the paleness of her face. Her hair was black as well, pulled into a ponytail that hung halfway down her back.
    Grayson couldn’t tear his gaze from her face, and neither could whoever was doing the filming. Curiously, the lens stayed focused on the woman and not the wrecked van.
    Instead of running away, the woman got up and ran toward the van, followed by the Rottweiler. The camera moved, focusing through the van’s front passenger window