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“Wait,” Elle said. “This is absurd. It’s nothing more than wild speculation. Howard Rollins was the first person to be shot. Perhaps he was the target. Have you looked into his past?
“The shooter could have hit Calder while aiming at me because my Betsy book made his four-year-old cry. Anyone who would fire a gun into a throng has only one purpose, and that’s to cause death and destruction. He doesn’t require motivation beyond his own villainy.”
Calder could kiss her for saying that.
Compton said, “It was a lead worth following, if only for the purpose of elimination. But it left us at another dead end. We assigned a deputy to follow up on the other two injured men in the picture. He spoke to one of the owners, one of the brothers you mentioned. He identified the two immediately. Like Draper, both were let go, but both are now deceased. One died of an opioid overdose, the other of cancer.”
A silence followed in which they all processed that; then Calder said, “Nothing came out of the investigation into last night’s shooting?”
“Not yet. We have two crime scenes, remember,” Compton said. “Three departments are involved. Ours. The other sheriff’s office, which has lost two of their own, so they’re struggling.
“The municipal police department that has jurisdiction over the Whitley murder is small and thin on personnel with experience in handling something on this scale. There are lots of moving parts to coordinate and form some kind of cohesion. And in any case—”
“We can’t discuss it with you.” Perkins’s blunt statement stemmed the flow from his partner. “We don’t trust you not to conduct your own rogue investigation. Again.”
Compton added, “Calder, to do so could amplify the danger you and Elle are in. The shooter is still at large, and you’re key witnesses who could put a needle in his arm. From now on, keep your head down and let us do our job. Elle’s already heard this sermon.”
She stood up. “If you’re comfortable with this arrangement that Ms. Foster has so graciously extended, you can remain here. We’ll post undercover guards on the street. It helps that the house is on a cul-de-sac.”
“We’re to stay here indefinitely?” Elle asked.
“Unless you want us to place you in another safe house.”
She looked over at Calder, who kept his expression impassive. He wasn’t going to press her to stay under the same roof with him, although he couldn’t stand the thought of their being separated and of her under the watch of people whose vigilance he questioned. He had to bite his tongue to keep from telling her that she was staying with him. Period.
But his expression must not have been as cool as he’d thought, because she was fidgety when she turned back to Compton. “I hate to impose on Glenda’s hospitality indefinitely.”
“Perkins and I have discussed it with her. It’s no imposition. She told us the house stays vacant most of the time, and she’ll be recompensed for any expense.”
“But I can’t work here, and I have a deadline. I don’t have my computer. I’ve got illustrations to turn out. My publisher is waiting on them.”
“We’ll retrieve your computer from your house and bring it here. We’ll also get you whatever art supplies you need. Make a list and text it to me.”
“It’s not the same as working at my drawing board. What about clothes?”
“Ms. Foster looks like an expert shopper to me,” Compton said. “Make a list for her, too.”
Realizing she was up against an immovable object, Elle slumped back down into her chair.
“We’ll have the undercovers in place within the hour,” Compton said. “Stay put. We’ll notify you of any developments.”
With her in the lead, the two left the room. Calder could hear them explaining the situation to Glenda. He tuned them out and walked over to Elle. She was staring into near space.
“I know you hate this,” he said. “You can call them back and insist that they make other arrangements for you. Or you could ask Glenda to stay here with us, and I’ll take a sofa. Or I’ll leave altogether and find my own—”
“Calder.” She was frowning as though his monologue was interrupting her train of thought. Eventually she looked up at him. “Twice, this devil had derailed our lives. We’re shut away in here, hiding from him, living in dread of what he’ll do next if not stopped.”
She wet her lips as though speaking her thoughts even as she formulated them. “We’ve got law enforcement, lady justice, and morality on our side, yet he’s the one with all the leverage.”
He hunkered down in front of her. “I’m listening.”
She pressed her fist against her chest. “I can feel his smugness. I can sense his arrogance. Why not call him on it, publicly scorn him as a coward?”
“I like it. ‘You’re nothing special, asshole.’ ‘Wackos are a dime a dozen.’”
She smiled with uncertainty. “Something like that.”
“I’m in. How do you propose going about it?”
