Cody McFadyen [Smoky Barrett The Face of Death (v5.0) (epub)

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.His attention to detail is legendary.One of the best testaments to his character is the fact that Elaina is his wife, and she adores him.Alan is the third member of my four-person team, the oldest and most grounded.He told me when Elaina had been diagnosed with cancer that he was considering leaving the FBI so that he could spend more time with her.He hasn’t brought it up since, and I haven’t pushed him on it, but I am never really unaware of it.Callie popping pills, Alan thinking of retiring—maybe I should leave.Let them rebuild the team from scratch.“There she is,” I hear Alan say.I start to catalogue the various reactions to my face and then let it go.Take it or leave it, boys.One of the men steps forward, putting a hand out to shake mine.The other hand, I note, grips an MP5 submachine gun.He’s dressed in full SWAT regalia—body armor, helmet, boots.“Luke Dawes,” he says.“SWAT commander.Thanks for coming.”“No problem,” I reply.I point to Alan.“Do you mind if I have my guy fill me in? No offense intended.”“None taken.”I turn to Alan and push aside all my own internal chatter, letting the simplicity of action and command take over.“Hit me,” I say.“A call came into 911 about an hour and a half ago from the next door neighbor.Widower by the name of Jenkins.Jenkins says that the girl—Sarah Kingsley—had stumbled into his front yard, dressed in a nightgown, covered in blood.”“How did he know she was in the front yard?”“His living room is in the front of the house and he keeps his drapes open until he goes to bed.He was watching TV, saw her out of the corner of his eye.”“Go on.”“He’s shook, but he musters up enough courage to go out and see what the problem is.Said she was unfocused—his word—and mumbling something about her family being murdered.He tries to get her to come into his house, but she screams and runs off, reenters her own home.”“I take it he was wise enough not to follow her?”“Yeah, the heroics only went as far as his own front yard.He ran back inside, made the call.A patrol car happens to be nearby, so they come over to check it out.The officers”—he checks his notepad again—“Sims and Butler, arrive, poke their heads in the front door—which was wide open—and try to get her to come back out.She’s unresponsive.After talking it over, they decide to go in and get her.Dangerous maybe, but neither of them are rookies, and they’re worried about the girl.”“Understandable,” I murmur.“Are Sims and Butler still here?”“Yep.”“Go on.”“They enter the home and it’s a fucking bloodbath from the get-go.”“Have you been inside?” I interrupt.“No.No one’s been in there since she got hold of a weapon.So they go in, and it’s obvious that something bad happened, and that it happened recently.Lucky for us, Sims and Butler have dealt with murder scenes before, so they don’t lose their heads.They give anything that looks like evidence a wide berth.”“Good,” I say.“Yeah.They hear noise on the second floor, and call out for the girl.No answer.They proceed up the stairs, and find her in the master bedroom, along with three dead bodies.She’s got a gun.” He consults his notes.“A nine mm of some kind, per the officers.Things change fast at that point.Now they’re nervous.They’re thinking maybe she’s responsible for whatever happened here, and they point their weapons at her, tell her to drop the gun, etc., etc.That’s when she puts it to her own head.”“And things change again.”“Right.She’s crying, and starts screaming at them.Saying, quote, ‘I want to talk to Smoky Barrett or I’ll kill myself!’ End quote.They try to talk her down, but give it up after she points the gun at them a few times.They call it in and”—he opens his arms to indicate the overwhelming presence of law enforcement around us—“here we are.” He nods his head toward the SWAT commander.“Lieutenant Dawes knew your name and got someone to get ahold of me.I came here, checked things out, called you.”I turn to Dawes, study him.I see a fit, alert, hard-eyed professional policeman with calm hands and brunet hair in a crew cut.He’s on the short side, about five-nine, but he’s lean and coiled and ready.He radiates calm confidence.He’s a SWAT stereotype, something I always find comforting whenever I encounter it.“What do you think, Lieutenant?”He studies me for a few seconds.Then shrugs.“She’s sixteen, ma’am.A gun’s a gun, but…” He shrugs again.“She’s sixteen.”She’s too young to die, he’s saying.Definitely too young for me to kill without it ruining my day.“Do you have a negotiator on-site?” I ask.I’m asking about a hostage negotiator.Someone trained in talking to unbalanced people carrying guns.Negotiator is a bit of a misnomer, actually; they usually operate in three-man teams.“Nope,” Dawes replies.“We currently have three negotiating teams in LA.Some guy decided today was the day he was going to jump off the top of the Roosevelt Hotel in Hollywood—that’s one.There’s a dad about to lose custody of his kids who decided to put a shotgun to his head—that’s two.The last team got T-boned in an intersection this morning on their way to a training seminar, if you can believe that.” He shakes his head in disgust.“It was a truck that hit them.They’ll live, but they’re all in the hospital.We’re on our own.” He pauses.“I could handle this all kinds of ways, Agent Barrett.Tear gas, nonlethal ammo.But tear gas is going to fuck up what sounds like a murder scene.And nonlethal ammo, well…she could still shoot herself even after getting hit with a beanbag.” He smiles without humor.“Seems like the best plan involves you going in there and talking to a crazy teenager holding a gun.”I give him my best sucking-lemons sour-face.“Thanks.”He gets serious.“You gotta wear body armor and have your weapon out and ready to fire.” He cocks his head at me, interest sparking in his gray eyes.“You’re some kind of super shooter, right?”“Annie Oakley,” I reply.He looks doubtful.“She can put out candle flames and shoot holes through quarters, honey-love,” Callie says to him.“I’ve seen her do it.”“Me too,” Alan growls.I’m not trying to brag, and this is not bravado.I have a unique relationship with handguns.I really can shoot out candle flames, and I really have shot holes through quarters thrown into the air.I don’t know where this gift came from—no one in my family even liked guns.Dad was gentle and easygoing.Mom had an Irish temper, but she still covered her eyes during the violent parts of movies.When I was seven, a friend of my father’s took me and my dad to a shooting range.I was able to hit what I wanted with minimal instruction, even then.I’d been in love with guns ever since.“Okay, I believe you,” Dawes says, raising his unencumbered hand in a gesture of surrender.His face grows serious.His eyes get a little distant.“Targets are one thing.Have you ever shot a person?”I’m not offended by him asking this [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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