AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Possible. Unlikely."
Ethan hesitated. "I mean... I know some women who are a pretty damn good shot. Good-looking, too."
She glanced at him, raising an eyebrow, and he suddenly flinched. "Oh... er. Sorry, did I say that out loud?"
She looked away, deciding not to comment on this strange comment which had come out of nowhere. She stared at the cigarette butt with the lipstick. "It's too... deliberate."
She stood, the heat pressing down like a physical weight, but her mind was cool, detached. The crime scene was a canvas, every detail a potential stroke in the larger picture.
She stared as the woman was pulled from the fire pit. Her leg hung limply, and the coroner was pointing at an exit wound.
Ethan grimaced at the charred remains, but Rachel's thoughts moved into overdrive.
Someone had shot the woman's leg, and judging by the exit wound, when she'd been shot, it had been at a great distance.
"What?" Ethan said, noticing her contemplative frown.
He was watching her closely. He often watched her.
She just shook her head. "Her leg..."
"Yeah, looks shot."
"Was from a distance."
"How can you tell?"
"Exit wound."
Ethan shifted side to side, still watching as the burnt corpse was loaded onto a waiting gurney.
"He's a good shot," she said quietly.
"Hmm?"
"It's been windy. Especially out here. He's a good shot. A really good shot."
"Oh... so... what does that mean?"
She frowned, staring as the coroner unit wheeled the gurney away. "Means maybe he's a better shot than just some backwoods hunter."
"Sniper?" Ethan ventured, his gaze following hers to the expanse of open land that stretched beyond the crime scene tape.
"Has to be." She paced, the dry grass crunching underfoot. "No amateur lands a shot like that. Distance. Calm. The patience to wait for the perfect moment."
"So you're thinking he's professionally trained," Ethan concluded, watching her profile, the sharp line of her jaw set in thought.
"Exactly." Her reply was clipped, final.
The sniper's perch, the trajectory of the bullet, the choice of victims—all pieces of a puzzle.
"Let's canvass the area," she decided, snapping on a fresh pair of gloves. "Look for shell casings, footprints, anything out of place."
"Copy that," Ethan said, moving off to coordinate the search.
As the officers fanned out, Rachel remained still for a moment longer, the relentless sun beating against her skin. The cigarette butt in her hand was a taunt, a clue left in plain sight to either mislead or boast.
Her orphan upbringing flashed through her mind—those years of learning to read the unsaid, the hidden truths that lay beneath the surface. Aunt Sarah's lessons echoed, the emphasis on attention to detail, on trusting her instincts.
