Atonement (2 page)

A swarm of reporters buzzed outside the department office. This was going to prove interesting to get inside without being assaulted by recorders and microphones. They'd either glorify her or fry her. And since she saw some Iowa City and Cedar Rapids news vans, most likely it'd be the latter.

“Don't worry. I've got you covered.” Sheriff Hamilton punched the horn, scaring two cameramen blocking the driveway. “I think I just made one wet himself.”

Nic snickered and tugged her cap brim down. “I need a drink.”

“Tomorrow. Not with so many eyes on you.”

“Who appointed you to be my mother?”

“Rank.” He eased the Dodge around a haphazardly parked green sedan. “Who taught these yahoos how to park?”

Nic stared at the zipper of her department jacket. Nausea roiled in her gut. It had been too long since her last confirmed kill. She'd forgotten how the letdown after the adrenaline buzz left her feeling lousy. Deep inside, she could still hear the disappointed voice of the one who'd turned her into a stone-cold killer. She'd made a mistake, she'd allowed too much time, and now the wife was dead. A marine never second-guessed her orders.

Biting her tongue, she wiggled further out of sight and hugged her body. To hell with what the media or that disapproving voice thought. She did what she had to in order to save those kids. Regret churned in her chest. If only the order to shoot came sooner, the mother would still be alive.

“Kicking yourself while you're down?”

“I didn't come here to use deadly force.”

Parking the truck behind the office, Hamilton twisted in his seat; his gaze bored holes in her. The dual colors of brown and green reminded her of the spring prairie as the grass shook loose of its winter bonds. With a grunt, he swiped the side of his nose with his thumb. “It was a clean kill. I gave you the authorization. Might I add, it was a damn good shot, for what little you could see.” He pointed at the bloodsuckers. “They know jack. You did your job, and three kids are still alive.”

“You really know how to boost a woman's self-esteem.”

“Who said I was giving a woman a pep talk? I thought was talking to the best sniper in the state.”

The only sniper in the state of Iowa capable of making that shot. At the last range quals Nic beat out the top state firearms instructor, who himself had been a Marine Scout sniper in his youth. This incident was going to leak into the national media, and then the real trouble would start.

Nic brushed a knuckle across her mouth. “We going inside, or sitting here all day?”

Hamilton's brows made a V at her brush-off of his compliment, but he said nothing. Grunting again, he flung open the truck door and exited.

Nic watched him round the front of the vehicle. A new kind of regret took residence in her gut. Shane Hamilton was a great sheriff and a good boss. He never pried into her past, but treated her like he would any other deputy in the department, and gave her the space she had come to Eider to find. She should be grateful for his compliments. But too many years of trying to earn the respect of one man in her life had jaded her.

Nic peeked over her shoulder at the gathering reporters. Time to move. She popped the handle and bailed when Hamilton's wide frame blocked the reporters' view of her. She bolted through the department's back door, the sheriff hot on her heels.

McIntire County Sheriff's Department stank of aged wood and burnt coffee, but it was home. They marched down the hall, the sharp rap of their boots on the polished cement echoing through the corridor. Together, they entered the main area, designated for the deputies and officers on duty. The county attorney at the front of the room beckoned her toward the sheriff's office.

As Nic headed to the right, another figure exited the office and paused in the doorway. She put on the brakes. Detective Con O'Hanlon from the Eider city police crossed his arms and eyed her.

Why was he here?

They had crossed paths many times, which wasn't hard to do when she lived a few miles from him. The first time they met was right after she moved here. She'd gone to the diner in Eider to hear something other than the wind whistling through the trees around her property. O'Hanlon, loaded with a slice of chocolate pie and his Irish charm, tried to sweet-talk her into a night out with him. She ate the pie and waylaid him with her newly granted badge.

That hadn't stopped him. A little over a year later their departments had thrust them together for the first time on a special assignment, looking into why so many farmers in the area were finding their tractors abandoned in torn-up fields. They caught the culprits—a pair of teenage boys out joyriding and destroying expensive crop ground—and in a moment of weakness, or having just been worn down by his insisting, Nic agreed to one night out with him for the hell of it. She got cold feet. Like a coward, she jilted O'Hanlon on their date night.

Now O'Hanlon's blue eyes darted to something behind her, then back to her. Nic caught the flicker and a riot broke out in her chest. Was he investigating her shooting?

Her throat constricted as she turned to the sheriff. “What's going on here?” she whispered.

“When there's a deputy-involved shooting, an investigator from the city police comes in. That way there's no inconsistencies or cover-ups from our department. That's the way the state wants it.”

How convenient that the person to do the investigation was the one man Nic had spent the better part of three years rebuffing his attempts at companionship. She scowled. “And has there ever been a deputy-involved shooting before?”

The lack of a response and Hamilton's somber expression told her the answer.

Hoorah. I'm the first idiot to pull the trigger.

“You know the drill,” Hamilton said.

Yeah, she'd done plenty of these debriefings over the years. It still didn't get any easier.

“No regrets,” he whispered.

Right, no regrets. Explain that one to The General.

Leaving the sheriff behind, Nic proceeded toward the office. O'Hanlon stepped aside to allow her entry.

“Deputy,” he said with a nod.

Averting her eyes, Nic returned the nod. “Detective.”

Sheriff Hamilton's office was the only room in the entire building that could be used for privacy. The structure had originally been designed as a general store. It changed hands and functions until fifty years ago, when the county decided it needed a new place to house the growing sheriff's department but didn't want to spend money on a new building. They gutted and remodeled the interior to accommodate four jail cells, an open space for the deputies' desks, and the sheriff's office. Modern technology mingled with the '60s décor in a clash of god-awful orange and puke green with sleek silver and black furnishings.

Positioning herself at attention in front of the desk, Nic waited for O'Hanlon and the county attorney to take their seats. She didn't dare make eye contact with either man for fear of giving away her thoughts. The last time she'd looked through the scope before today, the lens wasn't able to shield her from the horror of watching someone die.

And for a marine sniper, that was a clear sign to cut her loose from the job.

“Deputy Rivers, you can take a seat,” the county attorney said.

“Sir, I'd prefer to stand.”

O'Hanlon's chair squeaked. “At ease, Deputy.”

She met his piercing stare. He'd kicked back in his seat with an ankle resting on the top of his knee and his hands cradling his head. The pose was both a mix of sexy and nonchalant. What an odd position for an investigator to take when questioning someone about a shooting. Like he wanted her to be comfortable around him—open up. That Irish charm oozed from him. They hadn't talked much since that fated night. Had O'Hanlon given up on pursuing her attentions? Nic relaxed her stance, clasping her hands behind her back and tipping her chin down to better look at the men.

The attorney shuffled through his legal pad, came upon a clean sheet, and then with a click of his pen he posed, ready to write. “Deputy Rivers, we're recording this as we go. You're well aware of your rights to have legal representation, and at any time you feel the need to ask for someone to come in, we'll stop and wait.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay”—the attorney scribbled something on his pad—“take us through what happened out there today at the Walker residence.”

O'Hanlon studied her as she retold her side, probably looking for the hiccups in her presentation or maybe a particular facial expression she might have when she came to a particular part. But she knew all the signs of someone poised to rip apart her words. The three NCIS investigators had done it to her after her last mission, and they'd shredded her to bits, leaving her nothing but a liability and a burden. She pushed those dark days aside and focused on the present. O'Hanlon didn't seem to pick up that her mind wandered while her story didn't.

When she finished, she focused on the attorney.

“Deputy, why did the sheriff choose you to take the shooting position? Especially when there were other deputies on hand?” the attorney asked.

A muscle in Nic's lower back twitched. “Excuse me, sir, but have you seen my dossier?”

The attorney picked up a sheaf of papers, then set them down on the desk. “Right here.”

“Then you know that I was a sniper in the Marine Corps, correct?”

“So it says.”

Heat filled her face. Either he was mocking her, or the man seriously doubted her capabilities. Tamping down her temper, Nic clenched her fingers. She'd squared off against this kind of sexism when she made it into the ranks of US Marine snipers and fought it off as she silenced every man stupid enough to want a shoot-out against her.

“If I were to hazard a guess as to why the sheriff chose me, a highly trained sniper, to take a shooting position, it might be because there was no one else there to do it. As to why the other deputies were not called on to do the deed is simple. One is a greenhorn to this job. The other was a family member of the deceased who was told to remove himself from the situation.”

“We have well-trained SWAT members in the Eider city police, Deputy Rivers,” O'Hanlon said.

Her gaze slid to him, resisting the urge to show that the sardonic smile was playing havoc on her. “I believe the sheriff asked for assistance from Eider PD, and they were on the way. But the situation had escalated to the point we couldn't wait.”

“And”—O'Hanlon shifted out of his relaxed position and placed his elbows on the desktop, leaning against it—“you just happened to have your rifle handy?”

“I always have my rifle handy. It goes with me every time I'm in the squad car. Just because I'm not in the Corps any more doesn't mean my skills aren't needed on my new job, Detective. Had I not been there? Had I not been trained as a sniper to take down threats in deadly situations, those children would be joining their mother.” She peered at the attorney. “And that, sir, is why the sheriff chose me to shoot. To save those kids' lives. If I had a single regret, it would be that it wasn't in time to save their mother.”

• • •

The Priest watched the muted scenes play across the TV screen. Yellow crime tape fluttered behind a male reporter and beyond that, the darkened home where tragedy struck. He rolled the rosary beads between the fingers of his right hand and tapped the armrest with his left. The image flashed to earlier footage of the home after the cops swarmed the place. The scene of the Walker family hostage situation ended in two deaths.

Peace filtered into his system at the sight. The family had been cleansed, the wife paid for her sins, and her husband was free of his guilt. Atonement.

But not fully. The children were still alive, and the husband hadn't died by his own hand.

The image on the TV switched to a full view of the McIntire Sheriff's Department. The cameraman had zoomed in on a female figure darting into the back of the building, with the sheriff close on her heels.

The Priest sat forward, his rosary slipping until the cross brushed the floor. A blue caption box stating that the McIntire Sheriff's Department had used a female deputy to stop the killings scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

A woman sniper?

Grasping the remote, he increased the volume.

“ … the sheriff reported they did what was best for the children. But residents are questioning the force used to end the standoff as nothing more than abuse of police resources.”

The report switched to a scene outside the sheriff's department as a truck crept past a bevy of reporters. The top of someone's head peeked over the edge of the passenger-side window.

“The deputy who pulled the trigger isn't talking, and the sheriff's department hasn't released any more statements. We were informed the Eider Police Department is investigating the shooting. People here in Eider and Cornel are still demanding answers as to why a family man like Dusty Walker would be killed in such a manner.”

The Priest turned off the TV and stood; the rosary banged against his leg as he walked into the kitchen. Halting in the center of the laminated floor, he stared at the cabinets.

There was still the matter of the missing body the police hadn't found. Dusty accomplished half the job, but the woman deputy didn't allow him to end his own life. The Priest scowled, clenching the beads. These were variables he hadn't considered before, and it meant a greater chance of failure the next time. Police interference was not a welcome sign. Had things not gone as they had, Dusty Walker might have slipped up and reported the wrong thing. The Priest couldn't allow it to happen again.

If the sinners did not atone on their own, how would they reach salvation? To ensure success with the next one, he had to outthink the sinners. He'd learn from this mistake and apply changes.