

# First Mistake

A Nick Behr Mystery

By

# JT Lewis

Copyright 2018 and Beyond by JT Lewis

Cover Design by JT Lewis

Published by Medlevian Press

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the vender and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Chapter 1

About the Author

## First Mistake

Nick

Tuesday Morning

Another bullet chunks into the tree I am hiding behind...a tree that is _much_ too small to be used for such purposes. My heart is in my throat as I longingly eye my truck halfway down the block.

My first mistake was coming to see Harry Modine while leaving my weapon in the glove box. Scratch that, my first mistake was coming to see _Crazy_ Harry Modine without another person as backup!

"What the hell am I...chopped liver?" a voice behind me asks.

I glance over at Trucker, who glares back at me from under the brim of his dirty, wide-brimmed cowboy hat. He isn't hiding behind a tree, and he doesn't seem to notice the bullets flying through the air.

You _could_ call him my backup...or you _could_ call him a hallucination.

Shit!

A year ago a drug dealer we were arresting whacked me upside the head with a baseball bat. Since then, my mind has been expanded exponentially...if you can call having several competing personalities showing up whenever _they_ want an expanding mind.

"I don't know _what_ to call you," I admit, "But why don't you head on up to that porch and disable that crazy jerk for me?"

His eyes show the necessary determination, but he doesn't move.

"I would if I had a weapon," he finally replies.

"So would I!" I scream back at him, frustration ebbing out of my pores at the thought of leaving my gun in the truck.

Suddenly I'm forced to duck again when a section of bark beside me explodes in my face.

Shit!

It's hard to explain how I got in this situation...

"No it ain't," Trucker interjects, "You jumped the gun is all! That was your first mistake."

As much as I hate being interrupted by a hallucination...I have to admit that this time he is right...mostly...

Last night, a girl was found murdered, lying in the center of York Road in the middle of the county.

Why is this any of my concern, you may ask?

Because I am currently a detective on the Cambridge County Sheriff's Department...and murder is my specialty!

Trucker snickers...

"What? It _is_ my specialty!"

"Whatever, Nick," Trucker replies with a yawn. Sliding down a nearby electric pole to a sitting position, Trucker pulls his hat down low over his eyes.

"Wake me when we get some help."

I shake my head, closing my eyes to the sudden pain in my skull. My Psychiatrist tells me that the pain should go away eventually...as well as the hallucinations.

" _Whatever,"_ I mumble while glancing around the base of the tree and seeing Crazy Harry release his magazine onto the ground. Before it even hits the grass however, he has a new one shoved up the handle and has released the slide.

Chunk!

Shit!

He is already firing again!

"Harry!" I call out in desperation, "Harry...it's me...Nick Behr!"

"I know who the hell you are, you crazy bastard!" Harry calls back right before a bullet plows up the earth beside me.

"Kinda like the pot calling the kettle black ain't it?" Trucker observes dryly from where he sits.

"You're also a cop!" Harry continues, tapping the tree with three rapid shots as he speaks.

"I just came to talk!" I continue quickly, ignoring Trucker's comment.

"That was your first mistake!" Crazy Harry calls back angrily.

Monday Night

It's Monday night, and my wife and I have just finished supper. I am, of course helping with the dishes...

Ok, scratch that... _She_ is doing dishes while I am behind her...doing my best to entice her into a little dessert...if you know what I mean.

Now my wife, Amanda, _really_ likes me, so I'm thinking I'm getting the job done handily when my cell trills.

Shit!

"Behr!" I say into the phone, seething with frustration.

"Nick, it's Sam," says my newly elected Sheriff in his usual, casual style. Sam and I have been working together for years in his former capacity as Chief Deputy, and I really can't imagine having a better boss.

"Yeah, Sam," I reply, "What's up?"

"Patrol just found a woman lying in the middle of York Road...looks like she's been shot."

Shit!

I sigh as my passion withers on the vine.

"Be right there, Sam," I reply, glancing up at Amanda sadly before disconnecting.

"Sorry, kid," I whisper as I pull her into a hug, "Someone went and got themselves shot."

"Awww...That's a shame."

She then pulls me closer and whispers into my ear.

" _I'll try and keep dessert warm for you..."_

"Yesssss!" I hear behind me, not having to look to know who's there.

Alix...with an i.

Alix is my sex-craved, purple-haired punker hallucination that can't ever seem to get enough.

Of course... _she_ never _actually_ gets to have sex, much to her dismay.

"I can't wait," I grin at Amanda.

"Me neither!" Alix yells excitedly from behind me, "How about a little groping to hold me over?"

I turn and grab my jacket, shooting Alix a look that says _back off!_

She sighs before disappearing.

"You're no fun," I hear then, the voice coming from behind me.

Turning back toward Amanda, I find Alix standing beside my wife, her mouth in a grin as she tries to squeeze my wife's boobs.

I close my eyes and shake my head before moving toward the door.

"Be back soon!" I call back over my shoulder.

"We'll be here."

The door shuts behind me before I stop in my tracks!

Did Amanda just say _we_ will be here...or was it Alix? It actually sounded like Amanda...but that would mean...

Quickly shaking my head to erase the thought, I move toward my truck, trying to put the confusing conversation behind me.

I back out of the driveway and turn toward York Road, trying to get my mind centered and ready for the crime scene.

"Finally! Something exciting to look at," the voice from the passenger seat exclaims.

I glance to my right, seeing Trucker staring forward expectantly.

"And just what do you think that _you_ will be doing once we get there?" I ask the apparition, realizing at that moment how crazy it was to be holding a conversation with a hallucination.

Trucker glances at me, his face showing sudden befuddlement.

"Looking for clues I guess," he states while leaning back into the seat, "Same as you."

"But you aren't real!" I exclaim.

"Why you talkin to me then?" he shoots back.

Shit!

I hold my palm up toward his face, the implication clear.

Shut it!

It's crazy enough being crazy without acting the part and making yourself crazier.

I hold my tongue while I continue to drive. Glancing to my right, I see that Trucker has pulled the brim of his hat down low over his eyes and has pushed himself down into the corner of the seat by the door.

Fifteen minutes later, I pull the truck to the side of the road behind one of the department's cruisers, its light bar strobing brightly against the darkness.

I see Sam and one of the Crime Scene guys huddled over a body lying on the road ahead and I make my way there.

"Hey, Nick," Sam responds when he sees me approach. "Meet Jane Doe York," he continues while holding his hand toward the body as if introducing me to somebody that could reply. "So far she hasn't given up many clues that would help identify her... _or_ her killer."

I nod before squatting beside the body, taking in the area immediately around her before zeroing in on the body itself.

"Tire marks," I mumble when I catch the black skid marks on the road two feet in front of her. "Someone was in a hurry."

Sam nods, "We assume they stopped here and pulled her out of the trunk before burning rubber when they left."

I glance at our surroundings, "Not another house within a thousand feet in either direction."

Sam nods in agreement again before I lean in to have a closer look at the body.

"Small caliber hole," I continue when I notice the entry wound on her forehead, "Stippling around the wound."

"No exit wound either," the Crime Scene Tech responds as he lifts and turns the head to show me, "Probably a .22 caliber."

"The choice of the pros," I add distractedly, although I know _anyone_ could own a .22 and that they are very common in this area.

By this time I've pulled on gloves and reached for the head, turning it to better see her face. She had been beautiful, her scant makeup applied with care.

"No one recognizes her?" I ask to anyone listening. No one answers.

"No ID," the Tech finally says, a big dufus named Calvin Huss. "But I did find $80 stuffed down her bra...rumpled twenties."

"A working girl?" Sam questions the darkness as I take in her clothing.

"Clothing's kind of plain for that," I add while looking at a dress that is what I would call gingham. "More comfortable than anything...homey."

"What's a working girl get for her services now days?" the Crime Scene Tech asks then.

"Forty bucks for the real deal...sixty if she has to get naked," A voice behind me starts in explanation, "usually twenty for head."

I squeeze my eyes shut as my heart stops in my chest. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Alix grinning at me.

"What?" she asks while throwing her hands up, "A girl's gotta eat..."

I quickly stand and move to the side of the road. The thought of my sex-craved hallucination selling herself on the streets is, of course, ridiculous.

But unfortunately for me, the more ridiculous my hallucinations' antics, the harder my head spins.

I was now very close to hurling in the ditch I was so lightheaded.

"You ok, Nick?" Sam asks, walking up beside me.

I nod slowly, my eyes still closed in an effort to stave off the wooziness.

"Yeah," I finally say, "Just got a little dizzy there."

Taking a few deep breaths to calm my nerves, I turn to face Sam and Calvin. "Someone told me lately it was forty dollars for intercourse and twenty for oral sex."

"That's what I'm sayin!" Alix crows behind me. I glance over my shoulder and give her the stink-eye.

"So...let's see...she maybe had intercourse twice or had it once and sucked two guys off," Calvin replies thoughtfully, regaling us with his math skills.

" _If_ she was a working girl," I remind him, "Could just be some housewife that had to hide money from her husband."

"Could be what got her killed," Sam adds gloomily, "I've seen people murdered for less."

All three of us nod our head in agreement as the Medical Examiner's van pulls up beside us.

Jason Hornberger, the County Medical Examiner, steps out of the passenger seat. He has a serious look on his face as he approaches the body.

"Gentlemen," he states distractedly while staring at the body, studying the details.

"Pretty girl," he continues as he squats next to her and takes her face into his gloved hands, moving it side to side gently. He continues his preliminary investigation by tenderly moving his hands down her body, checking for broken bones and such.

Sitting back on his heals, he sighs. "She'll probably have some parents somewhere worrying about her, might want to check any missing persons or Amber Alerts out there."

Sam and I glance at each other.

"What are you trying to say, Jason?" Sam prods, "That she's not an adult?"

Jason shakes his head, "I'd be surprised if she was much over fourteen."

***

Sam and I spend some time at the scene after the body leaves, searching in an ever widening circle for any other clues.

"Nothing," I say when we meet back in the middle.

"Me neither," Sam replies, "This was just a dump site."

I nod, glancing at the screen of my cell to find the time.

3:00 AM.

Shit!

Amanda has been fast asleep for hours now, so there is no reason to head home.

"How about some breakfast?" I query, "Then I'll head over to the Medical Examiner's office and see if he's found anything yet."

Sam crinkles his eyes. "Jason won't be in until eight or nine Nick, why don't you just go home and get some sleep?"

I shake my head, knowing that in _this_ case he is wrong. I had gone to school with Jason Hornberger, and I knew how his mind worked.

"This was very personal to Jason," I start, "I could see it in his eyes...he has a fourteen year old daughter at home."

"Oh shit," Sam replies, "That's right. Ok, breakfast it is."

Twenty minutes later, we meet at the local truck stop, the only place open in Cambridge County this time of night.

Sam orders an egg and toast. I order three eggs, bacon, and a full order of biscuits and gravy.

Sam shakes his head at my selection while we sip our coffee. "How in the hell do you pack all of that away without getting fat?" he asks in amusement.

I shrug, "Being crazy has its advantages," I reply with a grin.

After my TBI (Traumatic Brain Injury), I moved to Arizona for six months and lived in the desert to hopefully try and heal myself. What I gained instead was an unfortunate familiarity with my various hallucinations!

While there had been many in the beginning, for the most part it was now just Trucker and Alix, with an occasional appearance by a middle-aged black man from England named Percy.

Amanda and I were separated at the time, and I was all set to spend the rest of my life in the desert...until there were a string of murders back home.

My then boss and father-in-law, Sheriff Darrell Bruner, called me back, threatening to cut off my Workman's Comp disability if I didn't return.

As you can imagine, I was met by a lot of suspicion and distrust by the people I worked with, none of them wanting to be paired up with _Neurotic_ _Nick_ as they called me then.

All except for Sam that is.

He was the only one willing to let me work the murders my own way, as well as dealing with the occasional psychopathic episode.

"So, what are your thoughts on Jane Doe York?" Sam questions. He is using the department's new policy of naming an unidentified victim by using the name of the nearest road as their last name.

I sip my coffee as I give his question some thought.

"Single gunshot to the forehead with stippling shows the shooter was close...possibly emotionally but definitely physically. The fact that the killer dumped her in the middle of a country road suggests that it wasn't a planned event and that he or she freaked out after the shooting."

"Ya think?" Trucker says, suddenly beside me in the seat. "You pick that up in your training at Quantico?"

My eyes glance his way but I keep my face toward Sam. No need to let him know that we have 'company'.

"So, probably no intent originally," Sam nods, "An amateur who shot her in the heat of some emotional factor."

"Right," I nod. "I'm also going with the feeling that it is somebody that lives close...in this county or one of the ones surrounding us. A person like that wouldn't feel comfortable for long driving around with a body in their trunk."

"Probably someone within ten miles," Trucker adds.

"Probably within ten miles," I add.

Trucker glares at me. "Thanks for taking the credit."

I ignore the apparition as our food arrives.

"Can you bring an extra plate?" Trucker asks the waitress, who of course also ignores him.

"Good thinking," Sam says when the waitress leaves. "Gives us a place to start at least," he continues while forking up some of his egg.

My mouth is already full so I don't respond immediately.

"Well ain't this a crock of overflowing shit," Trucker mumbles, "Don't give a man credit for his ideas and then don't even feed him? I'm outa here!"

As quick as that, Trucker disappears, much to my relief.

"I still can't figure out what this girl was, however," I continue after a long draw on my coffee. "A runaway? The shooter's neighbor?"

Sam shrugs, "Hopefully we'll get some identification soon, although someone that young? There's a good chance that she's never been printed, much less have DNA on file."

I nod, "The missing persons or Amber Alerts might prove more useful in _this_ instance."

Sam empties his cup and then throws some money on the table before rising. "I'll head back to the office and see if I can find anything on those lists," he says while pulling a pack of gum out of his jeans and unwrapping a stick.

"Let me know what the Medical Examiner says."

My mouth is once more full of food so I just wave as he heads to his truck. I give some more thought to what we knew as I finish my meal.

We had a good idea of what happened, as well as some search parameters to start with. If Jason Hornberger or the Crime Scene guys could come up with anything at all, we could be well on our way to apprehending the killer. With any luck we could have this case solved within a day or two.

"Amanda really missed you when you left," Alix whispers in my ear, suddenly beside me.

One of her hands is on my shoulder, the other on my thigh and working its way up.

"I sort of convinced her that you were thinking of her while you were working the scene...and that it would be ok to pretend that you were there with us..."

I gulp, unsure of what was coming next.

"So we kind of relieved the tension ourselves...a little girl on girl action..."

Everyone in the restaurant turns to stare at me when my fork drops and clangs against my plate.

***

Ten minutes later, I'm walking into the Medical Examiner's lab, the smell of alcohol and death filling my nostrils. As expected, Jason is still there, busy laboring over the body.

"Hey, Jason," I call out when I enter the lab so as not to startle him.

Looking up from the body, Jason turns to stare at me distractedly, taking several seconds before he seems to recognize me.

"Hey, Nick," he finally replies, a tight smile on his lips, "Wasn't expecting to have any company."

"Figured," I reply as I edge up next to him. "Find anything yet?"

Jason shakes his head. "I've removed the bullet and sent it up to Crime Scene..."

His shoulders suddenly slump as he stares at the body. "This poor girl, so young..."

Contemplating the personal connection this girl seems to have to him, I remain quiet while he ruminates.

Finally sighing, he once again stands up straighter. "DNA's not back yet of course, but Calvin didn't get any hits on her fingerprints so I'm not too hopeful that it will pan out anyway."

I nod, as he seems to take another moment. "There is one more thing," he mentions, turning to look at me. "It appears that she _was_ sexually active."

He turns to stare at the body again, "But apparently not in the last twenty four hours."

He sighs sadly again.

It's not in my makeup to be all touchy-feely with my friends, but I'm starting to feel the need to pat Jason on the back or something to reassure him.

Luckily...the door behind us bursts open!

Calvin Huss comes storming into the lab, carrying a piece of paper in his hand.

"I called the Sheriff when I identified the type of weapon, and he suggested that you would be here," Calvin puffs with excitement. "He said to get it to you ASAP."

I take the paper from his hand and glance over the findings:

.22 caliber

Striations point to Sturm, Ruger and Company, Standard model.

"A Ruger?" I question?"

"An _old_ Ruger," Calvin says while nodding, "The Standard model was produced between 1949 to 1981, so it's at least thirty years old. I was just going to go through the database and see if I can pinpoint any registered owners in the area."

Handing Calvin back the report, I can only nod. My mind has latched on to one word in the report...Ruger!

Innately I knew that Calvin would probably come up with a few possibilities, but I knew of one that would _not_ come up...because I was fairly certain that it was _not_ registered!

That was my first mistake.

Tuesday Morning

I had been around Crazy Harry Modine at the local shooting range before, and knew that his favorite target pistol was his 1949 Ruger.

This little bit of knowledge is what has brought me to my current embarrassing situation...hiding behind a tree while Harry takes potshots at me.

That was my first mistake.

"Seriously, Harry," I plead loudly, "I just came for some information...from an expert."

The sudden silence is deafening.

I have known Harry Modine since grade school, and am pretty certain of his innocence...at least as far as my _current_ investigation went. But Harry had been bullied relentlessly in school, and has since developed some definitive defensive mechanisms.

Essentially...he shoots first and asks questions later...especially with anyone in authority...like a cop.

"What kind of information?" he finally queries, his voice softening.

I lay my forehead against the tree's trunk with relief, noticing the coolness of the wood against my skin.

"A girl was shot last night," I reply, lowering my voice from a yell, "With a Ruger Standard."

"Well shit!" Harry yells back excitedly, "Why didn't you say so?"

"Is he fucking with us?" Trucker exclaims, pushing the brim of his hat up and staring at Harry, "Like he gave us time to ask?"

"Can I approach the house?" I question, still not certain if I can trust the crazy bastard. "Maybe you can give us some ideas of who to look at."

"Yeah, come on up Nick," Harry sighs loudly, "Want some coffee? I had just put some on when I spotted you approaching."

"Coffee would be great," I call back, getting ready to stand up.

"Roll away!" Trucker says determinedly before I can stand.

Stopping myself, I turn and stare at my apparition. "What in the hell does that mean?" I hiss loudly, already exasperated with the whole day.

"Just in case he changes his mind," Trucker replies confidently while eyeing Crazy Harry. "If you roll out of hiding before you stand it gives you a chance to observe his reaction first. If he raises his weapon...you just keep rolling."

I shake my head. "Harry ain't gonna shoot me," I declare a little too loudly.

As I prepare to push myself up however, I rethink Trucker's idea. Shaking my head at even listening to him, I nevertheless roll away from the tree...just as a new noise hits my ears.

Tunk!

Before my mind can grasp what has just happened, I quickly continue to roll into a row of Boxwood hedge, flattening myself to the ground behind them as I stare back at my previous location.

Three things quickly become apparent:

The sound I heard was _definitely_ another shot

Had I stopped to stand up...I would _definitely_ be dead by now

And finally...the shot had _definitely_ come from a _completely_ different direction

Shit!

***

Survival instincts kick in and I push up and scramble on all fours towards Harry's house, keeping behind the hedge as I move.

Although the new shooter can't possibly see me, they were nevertheless excellent guessers as divots of grass and soil keep disappearing around me.

Shit!

"This way!" Trucker exclaims, leaning out from the hedge row at the side of Harry's house and waving me forward.

Finding no other quickly available options, I deign to follow my apparition through the hedgerow and into a narrow side yard.

"Up the steps!" Trucker orders as he quickly disappears through a side door in front of me. Jumping up, I rapidly make my way up the steps behind him...and slam into the locked door!

Shit!

Bouncing off of the door and flying back ass-first into the yard again, I observe the window pane of the door in front of me explode...spattering me with safety glass as I hit the ground. Not wasting any time, I immediately jump to my feet again and run back up the steps, diving through the now-empty window opening.

Landing in a dry puddle of the rounded glass, I slide across the floor of a small room and bang my head into the side of a washing machine.

"Classy," Trucker observes while glancing around the door's broken window.

"Can't see anything," he calls back after a few seconds.

"Of course you can't!" I exclaim, rubbing my head angrily, "You're a fucking figment of my imagination!"

I look up to see Crazy Harry staring at me with wide eyes, scared shitless...of me?

"Now Nick," he says suddenly, holding his hands in front of him like he is protecting himself from a cornered lion, "We can talk through this...I need you to calm down..."

I want to laugh in his face... _Crazy_ Harry worried about _Crazy_ Nick.

Instead I jump up and move through the doorway into the main part of the house.

"Where's your phone?" I call back over my shoulder.

"Kitchen wall," Harry replies, pointing to a room farther along the hallway I'm now standing in.

Running down the hall, I slide to a stop on the kitchen's linoleum. The phone is beside me and I quickly pick it up and punch in 911.

"911," Clara the dispatcher answers on the first ring, "What is your emergency?"

"Clara, it's Nick!" I spit into the phone, "I have a sniper on top of a building across the street from 214 Nowlin!"

"Please hold," I hear before the hold music comes on...a rendition of Cosby, Stills, Nash and Young's 'Ohio' now filling the earpiece.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I scream into the phone, pulling it away from my ear and staring at it like it is some foreign cooking instrument.

"I think the sniper's gone," Harry calls back from the front of the house, "I'm going to go check it out!"

"No!" I scream down the hall as the music stops in my ear.

"No what?" Clara asks, perturbed, "Do you need assistance or not?"

Shit!

"Harry! Stay in the house!" I yell down the hallway. "Clara!" I nearly scream into the phone, "This is Nick Behr...and I need immediate assistance at 214 Nowlin! There is or was a sniper in the area... _shooting_ at people."

"Is anyone injured?" Clara replies calmly.

I know this is her training kicking in...and I know she is just doing her job...but her lack of enthusiasm is pissing me off!

"No!" I scream, "Just get somebody here with weapons! Lots and lots of weapons!"

I slam the phone down and run down the hallway to the front of the house. Harry is there, a scoped rifle in hand...with two ammo belts slung across his shoulders like some Mexican bandit.

Shit!

"Let me see that!" I exclaim as I grab the rifle and pull it from his sweaty hands.

"Hey!" he replies halfheartedly, "That's _my_ rifle!"

I ignore his complaint as I lean against the front door jam and crack the door open. Poking the muzzle out the crack, I put my eye to the scope.

Scanning the rooflines of the houses across the street, I can see nothing that points to a sniper having been on any of the roofs.

"I think they're gone," I finally say.

"I already said that!" Trucker replies quickly.

"I already said that!" Harry adds immediately after.

Shit!

"Who'd you piss off now, Harry?" I question next, turning to glare at the man that now makes me think of the Frito Bandito.

"Hey!" he exclaims, holding his hands up in surrender, "I was standing in the yard when the shooting started...not _one_ of those shots even came _near_ me!"

"He's right, Nick," I hear behind me, "It was _you_ that was in that sniper's sight."

I turn toward Trucker, staring at him while his words penetrate through to my consciousness.

" _Well shit!"_

" _If at first you don't succeed," Samson_

Asserted; "Get your ass out of there...and then

try, try again!"

Turner

" _Well shit!"_ Turner mumbled when her target dove through a window.

Glancing up, she took in her surroundings, scanning up and down the street before ducking down behind the ridge line of the roof. Tuning and sitting on her butt, she slung the rifle over her shoulder before sliding down the shingles.

As she reached the gutter, she planted her feet, the forward momentum working to throw her body upright. Taking a step into midair, she landed onto a lower roofline.

Taking two long strides across _that_ roof, she once again stepped into nothing and landed on yet a third, lower roof. From there she made her way to the edge and jumped to the ground, hurrying across the small, abandoned yard and vaulting over the fence and into an alley.

Dropping to her knee next to an old garage, she pulled out the black bag she had deposited there earlier. Quickly disassembling the rifle, she stowed the pieces in the bag before slinging it over her shoulder.

Tuning south, she made her way nonchalantly down the alley, her disguise affording her that luxury.

Who, after all, would think twice about a mail person out on deliveries?

Although outwardly calm, inside she was far from content.

If the target hadn't rolled at the last moment...

Reaching the mail truck, she slid into the seat and started the motor, pushing the accelerator slowly and pulling away from the curb.

She could hear sirens in the distance...rapidly approaching the location of her target...the target she had missed!

Shaking her head, she turned down the next street and started making her way toward the highway.

It wasn't that she hadn't missed before, although it was a rare occurrence. Her dilemma was much simpler than that...she had now inadvertently extended her mission when the reality was that she was ready to quit!

Once she had talked herself into the possibility of getting out of the business, she had been surprised as to how good she felt about the idea. What she did...or had done for the government was the only thing she had ever really known, and the possibility of getting out had never really occurred to her before last week.

When she had suddenly fallen in love!

With a civilian no less!

That had been her fist mistake.

She sighed at the memory as she made a turn onto the main road that would take her to the highway.

Unfortunately, her romance had abruptly ended as fast as it had started!

He was a good man...far too good for her. In the process of saving her whole crew...including the man she had fallen for...he had recognized the trained killer within her.

Her lack of emotion at slitting someone's throat had convinced him that she wasn't the one for him!

Shaking her head at her temporary insanity, her grip tightened on the truck's wheel.

She had other things to worry about now...she had a sister to help protect.

Unfortunately, their new mission would forestall that ending...they would have to work together until they finished the job of reigning in Samson, the man that had taught them all how to perform their jobs!

It was only their pending mission that had forced her to take this assignment off the books.

Their dwindling funds had forced her to take a side job!

Shaking her head again, she turned onto the highway and accelerated toward the city.

She needed to check in with her employer...he was not going to be happy.

She would finish this, and then she would finish her _real_ mission...and then she would see.

Maybe there was still hope for her...maybe she could _actually_ have a real life...in the future...

Nick

Tuesday Morning

I'm standing next to Sam in Crazy Harry's hallway as the Forensics team collects evidence.

"Looks like you were lucky to get out of it without any injuries," Sam observes quietly, "Damn lucky!"

I nod in reply, but my mind is trapped in the enigma that now surrounds my life...that of there being a sniper gunning for me.

"So why in the hell would there be a sniper gunning for you?" Trucker asks from down the hall where he is leaning comfortably into a corner.

I raise my eyes and stare at him.

_Shouldn't you know?_ My eyes question him.

After all, aren't you supposed to be the bravest and most tactfully proficient part of my personality?

Trucker just stares at me, chewing on a piece of straw that he has picked up from who knows where.

"By tactfully, I assume you are referring to my keen tactical mind and not some socially beneficial aptitude for saying the right thing at the right time?"

"Of course I am, you idiot!" I yell down the hall.

Shit!

I glance over at Sam who is eyeing me suspiciously.

"Anything you want to tell me, Nick?"

I take a quick peek down the hallway and see that Trucker has left me.

I shake my head no for a few seconds as I try to come up with the words to rationalize my outburst.

"I can't for the life of me figure out who would be trying to kill me," I start, changing the subject instead. "And why a sniper? Why not just shoot at me while I'm driving by in traffic...or throw a grenade in my window while I'm filling up at the gas station...or..."

"I get the point," Sam interrupts, laying a hand on my shoulder. "I don't know either, but it's pretty apparent that you've pissed _somebody_ off."

"Yeah," I reply while rubbing my hand down my face, "Seems that I must be pretty good at that."

Just then, Crazy Harry shows up carrying two cups of coffee, still wearing the crossed cartridge belts across his chest. Handing one of the cups to me, he then hands the other to Sam.

"Thanks, Harry," I say with a nod before taking a sip, realizing at that moment I've never gotten around to asking Harry about the Ruger.

Looking up, I see that he is heading back toward the kitchen.

"Harry!" I call after him, "Can we talk to you a minute?"

Shrugging, he turns and walks back to where Sam and I are standing.

"Yeah, Nick?"

"As I was saying out in the yard..."

"You mean _before_ the sniper?"

"This boy's certainly firing on all cylinders," Trucker responds condescendingly, having suddenly appeared again down the hall.

"Yes," I reply, giving Trucker a quick glance, " _Before_ the sniper. As I was saying...A young girl has been killed by a Ruger Standard. Since I know you keep track of that sort of thing, it would be helpful if you could maybe give us a list of the people that you know of in the area that own the same gun."

Harry looks down at his feet, his face grim.

"I don't think I can help you...sorry, Nick."

I'm flummoxed by his response.

"What the hell, Harry! I _know_ that you know who all owns that weapon! Hell, you guys all act like you are in a club or something!"

Harry remains still, continuing to stare down at his feet.

"It's starting to sound more like a secret society," Trucker comments from down the hall.

A light suddenly turns on in my head.

"You _do_ have a club!"

Harry shrugs, glancing up, "Our rules say to never reveal the existence of the club...or who the membership is."

"You _do_ know that you have just revealed the existence of the club, don't you, Harry?" Sam asks quietly.

Harry closes his eyes in embarrassment.

"Well shhhiitt!"

Sam glances at me and winks.

I'm relieved that he seems to have a plan, since the best I'd come up with at this point is beating the information out of Harry...which would _probably_ get me in trouble.

Trucker snickers at my thought.

"As you know, Harry, in times of high duress, I have the authority to deputize the citizenry of the county."

Harry looks up, his eyes alight with excitement.

"You're gonna make me a deputy?"

Sam nods. "Raise your right hand and repeat after me."

Harry quickly raises his right hand.

"I, Harry Modine..."

"I Harry Modine..."

"Promise to uphold the laws of Cambridge County, the State of Indiana, and those of the United States of America..."

Harry's chest puffs out in pride. "Promise to uphold the laws of Cambridge County, the State of Indiana, and those of the United States of America..."

"And to follow the orders of the Sheriff."

"And to follow the orders of the Sheriff."

"Congratulations, Harry," Sam grins while extending his hand, "You are now a 'Special' Deputy of Cambridge County."

Harry grins back. "Do I get a badge?"

Sam looks down the hall, seeing one of his _real_ deputies there. "Bryan...can you come here a minute?"

When Brian arrives, Sam holds out his hand. "Let me have your badge, Bryan, I'll replace it when we get back to the station."

Face showing confusion, Bryan nevertheless unpins his Deputy's star and hands it to Sam.

Sam immediately turns toward Harry, pinning the badge above Harry's left shirt pocket...right beside one of the cartridge belts.

"Congratulations, Harry," Sam grins while Harry snaps off a fairly decent salute.

"Thank you, Sheriff," Harry responds, "You'll never regret this!"

Sam nods before speaking again.

"Now, Harry...I'm afraid I'm going to have to order you to give me the list of the members of your club."

Starting to protest, I watch Harry's face drop as he suddenly realizes what has happened.

" _Well shit..._ "

***

Harry did indeed come up with a list of people...fulfilling his obligation to the County and the United States. He then promptly resigned.

Between the registered guns and some of those that Harry had revealed, we had come up with ten Ruger Standards in a three county area. If you narrowed that down to a ten mile radius from the dump site...we had three.

"I'll be fine by myself," I try to reassure Sam when he mentions taking another deputy to help interview the gun owners.

Except for when Sam and I work together, I usually prefer to work on my own.

Like I am ever really alone anyway!

"Usually, yes," Sam reiterates, "But now you've got a target on your back!"

"I'll wear a vest," I counter, "And sunglasses...so the sniper doesn't recognize me."

"Ha, ha," Sam retorts, not amused. "Seriously, Nick, you are _officially_ my responsibility now...I can't abide letting you go off by yourself until we figure out the whole sniper angle."

Taking a deep breath, "I'm ordering you to take one of the other deputies with you...you can have your pick of the litter."

_Great!_ I think defeatedly.

" _Fine!"_ I reply defeatedly. "I'll take Jubal Lancaster."

Sam raises an eyebrow at me, "Interesting choice."

I shrug, "He at least shows some initiative."

Jubal is the department's only Amish deputy...and as strange as _that_ sounds, his dad is also the county's only Amish electrician. This a continual and reoccurring thorn in my dad's side as he too is an electrician and doesn't believe that 'goat herding' is a sound prerequisite for doing electrical work.

"Any other orders before I go?" I ask, emphasizing _orders._

"Yeah," Sam replies while turning to face me seriously, "Don't get killed!"

" _Sometimes you get a second chance at a Mission," Samson emphasized._

" _The main thing to remember in these situations is..._

don't fuck it up!"

Turner

Turner wasn't looking forward to this 'check-in', a stipulation that her employer had insisted on.

Checking her watch again, she then dialed the number that had been given to her from the specified phone booth. She couldn't believe that there were still phone booths available in the city.

"Right on time," a man's voice answered the phone. It was the first time that Turner had actually spoken to the man, and she found the experience unsettling.

Previously, all of her assignments would be forwarded to her by her handler, an electronically disguised voice on the phone named Paxton. She now knew that Paxton had, in fact, really been Fiona, one of her identical sisters...seven sisters that she had only just discovered she had a week ago.

Apparently, they were all the offspring of some secretive cloning experiment. Funded by the government in an effort to come up with _designer soldiers_ , Turner and her sisters were nearly identical.

Nearly being the operative word...

As it turned out, both Turner and Fiona were, officially, the _weaker_ of the sisters. This was, of course, determined by those in charge of the Agency Turner had worked for. An agency run by Samson...the man that had trained her. This negative determination had been based on one simple factor...

Turner and Felicia had exhibited the negative characteristic of...developing feelings.

Once the Agency had made the decision, they set about to destroy the two 'abnormal' sisters by ordering the six 'normal' clones to destroy them.

Unfortunately for the other six, Turner was the best of them. Although it had taken an extraordinary effort over several days, Turner had now killed all of the cloned sisters except two...herself and Felicia.

Right now however, she needed to concentrate on the creepy voice at the other end of the line.

"Have you eliminated my problem?" the voice queried.

"Not yet," Turner admitted grudgingly, "The guy got lucky the first time...it won't happen again."

"You came highly recommended," the voice continued, "I _hope_ I wasn't misinformed."

"You'll get your money's worth," Turner hissed. "I may have already had an opportunity to finish the job if I hadn't had to come here and 'check in'.

The voice on the phone wheezed out a laugh.

"You're a spunky one," he said next, "And not half bad to look at either!"

Turner instantly went on alert, checking her surroundings to find the man speaking to her. It now made sense why he had demanded that she come to this particular pay phone.

"You have me at a disadvantage," Turner responded, her eyes scanning the area.

"Across the street...big brown brick building...third floor up."

Quickly moving her eyes up, she saw the vague image of an old man waving at her through the glass of a window.

"So you're in jail?" she asked when she realized that the building she was looking at was the city's Justice Center.

"A temporary situation," the voice replied, "I'm down here for a few court appearances this week. My usual home away from home is the Federal Prison in Terre Haute."

Something clicked in Turner's head...her employer had _insisted_ that the job be completed this week.

"So you wanted to be close when this guy was shot?"

Another wheezy laugh, "Nothing beats the local news when there is a fresh assassination."

"Federal prison huh?" Turner continued, ignoring the man's last statement, "You must have done something really outstanding!"

"You can read about some day...I'm writing a book. But I can't finish it until you finish _your_ job."

Turner was beginning to hate this guy. It was bad enough that she had needed to take the job, but to work for an asshole like this?

Her eyes closed involuntarily as a shiver ran up her spine. "You'll get your kill," she stated through gritted teeth. "Now if you'll excuse me...I have _real_ business to take care of."

Slamming the receiver down on its cradle, she nevertheless heard the now-familiar wheezing laugh before it was cut off.

" _Asshole,"_ she breathed while stalking off toward her truck.

Nick

"Dis es excitin," Jubal Lancaster exclaims, sitting against the passenger door of my truck. "I nary ever gets ta werk on der merders."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Trucker exclaims from beside me in the seat. "Did you pick the dumbest deputy on the force?"

I glance at him angrily.

_He's not stupid!_ I think, knowing that Trucker will hear my thoughts. _He just talks funny!_

"Your definitions of stupid and funny don't match mine then," Trucker continues, pulling the brim of his hat down over his eyes.

_You idiot! Your opinions should exactly match mine!_ I scream in my mind.

Trucker appears to be ignoring me.

"Dis es der first playce right-chere," Jubal exclaims, leaning forward excitedly, "Jesse McCoy's playce."

I nod as I pull into the narrow gravel drive. Jesse McCoy's farm is only two miles from the dump site, and Jesse has a record. One of his previous girlfriends had him arrested for Assault and Battery, although he was never convicted. Still, he had a couple of other arrests involving Drunk and Disorderly, as well as being brought in for Road Rage.

Jesse McCoy was a hothead!

It also didn't take a mind-reader to put two and two together to see an easy progression from assault of a girlfriend to shooting one.

"You mean fortune teller," Trucker interrupts.

My head snaps in his direction, my eyes asking, _What the hell are you talking about?_

Trucker sighs, "A mind reader is someone that can read someone's mind. A fortune teller is someone that foretells events. Truth be told, what you were describing _could_ actually be closer to a prophesier, someone that prophesies or predicts that something is about to happen."

"Just shut up...ok?" I blurt out before realizing my mistake.

Shit!

"All I sayd was dis es der playce," Jubal exclaims worriedly.

"I wasn't talking to you," I reply quickly, trying to relieve his worry while digging myself in deeper.

Jubal's face is a mask of confusion until a sudden realization comes to him.

"Ahhhh," he finally states, relieved, "So _dat_ is wat dey is always talkin aboot."

Trucker snickers.

Shit!

"Can we just concentrate on Jesse McCoy please?" I ask, putting the truck into park, "The potential killer?"

"Ya," Jubal replies quietly while opening the door, glancing quickly my way before sliding out of the seat.

"That was kind of like your Coming Out party," Trucker exclaims.

"That's for gay people," I correct him while sliding out of my own seat.

"Gay, crazy...whatever..."

I slam the door, hoping to shut off his useless observations.

"What the hell do _you_ want," a voice shouts at us from the house.

"Sheriff's Department," I call back, "We need to talk to Jesse McCoy."

"He ain't here," the voice replies, "He may be back next week, why don't you come back then?"

"How bout we just come up there and arrest you for lying to a police officer?" I yell back, folding my arms over my chest.

After a few moments of silence, we hear, "Ok, come on up to the house."

Grinning at Jubal, we start toward the house.

"I can't guarantee your safety though," the voice from the house prods, "This here guard dog is damn near un-trainable."

We both stop in our tracks. "I don't hear any barking," I call back.

"Silent but deadly," the man replies immediately, "Just the way I trained im!"

"I thought you said he was un-trainable?"

I hear an unmistakable _Shit_ come from the porch.

"State law also makes it illegal to own a dog that is a danger to law enforcement," I add for good measure. "We would then have the right to capture and or kill such an animal at our discretion."

"Damn," the voice calls back, "You guys got an answer for everything!"

After another few seconds, we hear a loud sigh.

"Come on up to the house then."

As we approach the overgrown porch, we are confronted by a disheveled man wearing a dirty tee shirt and tan pants. Balding and overweight, I find him an unlikely candidate for luring a pretty girl even close to him, much less getting near enough for him to shoot her in the forehead.

"We hear that you own a Ruger pistol Mr. McCoy. We'd like to request that you give it to us for testing for a case we are working on."

You can see the gears working in his mind.

"That girl down York Road?" he asks suddenly. "I got nuthin to do with that."

"We never said you did," I continue calmly, "We just want to eliminate you from the suspect list."

His gears are working in his head again before he finally says, "I can't find it."

Jubal and I look at each other, "What do you mean you can't find it?"

"Just what I said," he replies, wiping a sudden film of sweat off of his face with the palm of his hand. "I ain't seen it in three months."

I lay my hand gently on the butt of my gun before I continue. "Sounds to me like you are lying again, Mr. McCoy," I say, hoping he will finally relent and give up the weapon.

The last thing I wanted to do was start digging around the interior of the ramshackle house in front of me!

Jesse McCoy shrugs his shoulders, "You're welcome to look for yourselves!"

Shit!

"You don't want us to have to do that, Mr. McCoy," I respond in my best pleading voice, "By the very nature of our search, we could quite possibly mess up your house beyond anything that you can imagine."

Jesse McCoy looks back over his shoulder at the house before bursting out in laughter. "It'd probably be an improvement!"

Turning toward the front door, he waves for us to follow. "Come on in and get started so we can get this over with."

I glance at Jubal, who is looking back at me with a look of disgust.

"Yeah," I reply in answer to his look, "This is not going to be pretty."

Shit!

***

Two hours later, we conclude our search...finding nothing resembling a Ruger or any other type of weapon.

What we _do_ find is a predominance of roaches, mouse droppings and putrid clothing!

Standing outside of the house, Jubal and I are taking in several lungfuls of cool, fresh air.

"I tink he be telling da trute," Jubal exclaims between breaths.

"Yeah," I reply, "I think you're right."

"We all done here?" Jesse McCoy asks from behind us on the porch.

"No!" I exclaim quickly, turning to face him. "Firstly...we need someplace to wash all of this shit off of our hands," I say, holding up my hands that are now covered with a greasy, sticky grime.

"And then we need to make a list of possibilities of who might have taken your gun!"

"I can tell you that right off," he replies seriously, "I've only had but one visitor in the last two years."

My mouth drops. "You could have told us that before we spent two hours rifling through your place!" I exclaim angrily.

Jesse McCoy shrugs, "You didn't trust me...didn't think you'd believe me anyway."

Shit!

"Ok, we still need to wash up, but just who was this visitor of yours?"

"My brother's kid," McCoy replies quickly, "Just showed up one day about three months ago, claiming they just wanted to know if I was ok."

"They?" I ask when his words sink in.

"My brother's kid and a friend," he replies quickly, "Never got her name though."

"Your nephew's friend was a woman?" I ask, trying to flounder through the story.

"I'd call her a girl, although she was maybe thirteen to fifteen years old."

Jubal and I glance at each other, and then Jubal nods and quickly moves off to the truck.

"We've got a picture we'd like you to look at Mr. McCoy," I say then, looking the old man in the eye, "We need to know if this was the girl that came with your nephew?"

Jubal returns and hands me the picture, which I then hold in front of Jesse McCoy.

"That _could_ be her," he replies slowly, "Course, she didn't have that hole in her head then."

Ignoring his idiotic remark, I get out my notebook.

"Can you give me the name of your nephew...and an address?"

"I never said it was my nephew," Jesse McCoy replies, "I said it was my brother's kid."

I sigh in frustration. "I'd call that a nephew!" I reply, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Not if she's a girl," he responds with a grin, "I'd call her my niece!"

***

" _Use any technology available to you at the time to complete_

your mission," Samson stressed, "Including the normal, everyday

items that you might find in a ordinary home. They aren't sexy, but

not everything is about sex."

Turner

Turner left the local Wal-Mart with her purchases and got back into the truck. Pulling away from the lot, she headed toward the hole-in-the-wall motel that was her base of operations.

She had been surprised that they still sold the item that she had been after, but there had actually been a couple different ones to choose from.

All she needed now were the frequencies for the police scanner she had purchased, and she was certain she could find them on the internet once she got back to the motel.

Then she would be back on the road again, trying to find the target by sight while listening to the dispatches.

She was confident that she would find him again within a few hours.

If not...she knew where he lived!

Nick

"Your niece?" I ask Jesse McCoy, making certain that I had heard him right. "You think your niece stole your weapon?"

"Had to be her," Jesse replies, "I told you...no one else has been here in years!"

I glance at Jubal before speaking again. He looks scared, although I wasn't certain why.

"I'll need your brother's name and address, as well as that of your niece," I finally say.

"His name's Jake, and I don't rightly know the address but he lives out at the end of York Road before it turns into North Cambridge...you know that house with the old Studebakers in the yard? About five miles from here?"

"I know whar it tis," Jubal pipes in then, "Me Pa's hoos if jest up te rood."

I nod at Jubal. "What's the girl's name Mr. McCoy? Your niece?"

"Name's Ally or Alison or some such. I always called her squirt, so I can't tell you for a certainty."

I slide my notebook back into my pocket. "I'm going to have to ask you not to get in touch with any of them Mr. McCoy. I don't want then to know we're coming."

Jesse McCoy fills the air with laughter. "I ain't spoke to him in ten years, Deputy, He stole my inheritance when our pappy died."

"Family farm?" I suddenly ask, unsure of why I even care.

Shaking his head, "Nope, one of them Studebakers in his yard...the green one? Pappy always said it'd be mine when he died...and there it still sits."

"Now there's a minute you'll never get back," Trucker grins beside me, "Aren't you glad you asked?"

I ignore him while nodding to Jesse McCoy and turning back to the truck. Jubal follows closely behind.

Could it really be this easy? A stolen gun that leads to a young girl...one that was friends with the deceased?

"Soonds like we may-ta have dis wrap-ped up by soopper-tim," Jubal pronounces beside me.

"It's possible," I concede, although my gut is telling me it probably won't be that simple.

"Nuthin's ever simple with you," Trucker mumbles as I pull myself into the seat and buckle up beside him.

" _Bite me,"_ I whisper.

***

Jake McCoy's property could best be described as an unofficial junk yard. The first thing I notice are the two old Studebakers sitting out by the road. I also notice that neither of them has any tires remaining on them, nor even a great amount of the original metal.

Those are the centerpieces of the property however, and it only gets worse as I pull down the long driveway.

Pulling up to a house that could be a twin to Jesse McCoy's, I stop in front of it and turn off the truck.

"What the hell do _you_ want," a voice shouts at us from the house as I slide out of the seat.

"Sheriff's Department," I call back, "We need to talk to Jake McCoy."

"He ain't here," the voice replies, an eerie copy of Jesse's "He may be back next week, why don't you come back then?"

"It's déjà vu all over again," Trucker mumbles.

"How bout we cut to the chase, Jake," I yell.

"If I catch you lying to a police officer, I'll arrest you."

"If you say you have a dog and you don't, I'll arrest you."

"If you _do_ have a dog and it attacks us I'll shoot it and _then_ I'll arrest you."

A few moments of silence follow.

"Damn," the voice finally calls back, "You guys got an answer for everything!"

After another few seconds, we hear a loud sigh.

"Come on up to the house then."

When we approach, I am taken aback when I see Jake McCoy...he is the spitting image of Jesse!

"We just came from your brother's house..."

"That no good son of a bitch sent you here?" he spits angrily, "Wait until I get my hands on him!"

I hold my hands out in what is supposed to be a calming gesture.

"He didn't send us here per se, Mr. McCoy...at least not directly. We came to see your daughter...Alison."

Jake McCoy grins for the first time. "She ain't here."

I nod, "And when do you expect her back?"

"Probably never," he replies quickly, "Cause I ain't got a daughter named Alison."

Shit!

"I assume that you _do_ have a daughter, however?"

He shrugs, "There's a little whore abouts that her mother claims my sperm created." He raises his arms in mock confusion, "Personally I don't see the resemblance."

I have the overwhelming urge to slap this guy, but I take out my notebook instead.

"What name does this non-daughter go by, Mr. McCoy?" I ask then, all the while wondering to myself if I can get away with arresting this guy for being an asshole.

"Amelia," he states quickly, making the name sound like a type of snake as he says it.

"And where would I find Amelia now?" I continue.

"No idea," he replies with little interest, "Probably at her mother's house."

I shake my head, "And who is she?"

"Carla Klump is her legal name now, but I always call her The Old Hag."

"Carla's address?" I press, ready to get out of there.

Jake shrugs, "Lives above the Tavern in New Aire, up off of North Cambridge...bout a mile from here."

"Thank you for your time," I reply quickly, sliding the notebook back into my pocket and turning toward the truck.

"What'd my twin say about me anyway?" Jake McCoy calls after me.

Twins?

That explains a lot actually.

Fed up, I turn to face Jake McCoy. "He said you're an asshole...and that you took his inheritance!"

"I'm the asshole?" Jake wails, "Pappy always told _me_ that the green Studebaker would be mine when he passed!"

Shit!

Beyond finished with the McCoy brothers, I turn back to the truck and slide into the seat, backing out of the driveway as fast as I can.

"Ya tinks der pappy mighta gots der sons cornfused?" Jubal questions when we are once again on the road.

"Maybe," I answer reluctantly while turning onto North Cambridge. I already feel like there is scum growing on me from Jesse's house, and our meeting with Jake has added a bad taste in my mouth.

"We should probably call in," I say, hoping to distract Jubal from the whole McCoy line of questioning. "Let them know where we're heading and check to see if there are any updates."

"Will doo," Jubal responds while reaching for the radio mike.

While he calls in, I take in the passing scenery, trying to ease the tension that has built up during the day.

"Maybe I can help with that," Alix responds, suddenly sitting beside me with her hand on my thigh. "Let me give you a head job and I won't even charge you!"

Shit!

***

" _Sometimes an unexpected opportunity will drop into your lap," Samson advised. "If it does, take that opportunity and stick it in someone's ass!"_

Turner

Turner couldn't help but smile when she heard the transmission on the scanner!

Pulling off the road, she brought up her GPS App and punched in the information. Grinning when the results came up on the screen, she realized that she was only ten minutes from her target's next stop.

Pulling down the shifter, she accelerated toward her new goal.

Maybe she _could_ finish this today!

Nick

I pull up in front of the tavern and turn off the truck, but Jubal and I remain seated, just looking at the building.

"What are you waiting on?" Trucker asks, thankfully having replaced Alix a few minutes ago on the seat next to me.

I glance at my cell to get the time.

"It's almost 3:30," I announce, "This place will be filling up pretty soon."

"Ya," Jubal replies, "Lots a droonks."

I glance over at my temporary partner, thinking he may have a disposition against people drinking alcohol. "People drink Jubal...it's just the way of things."

Jubal grins at me. "I drunk der plenty durr-ink rumspringa," he says proudly, "Dose be fond mem-ries!"

I grin back at him before opening the door. "Let's get this over with then."

Pulling open the door to the bar, I let Jubal enter before me and then follow him inside. The tavern is a _very_ old building, having been here since before the Civil War. It also appears to have not been remodeled since Abraham Lincoln got elected...the _first_ time.

We stand at the door for several seconds as we let our eyes get adjusted to the dark interior, the pungent scent of stale beer and old nicotine infiltrating our skin and clothing while we wait.

Finally walking up to the bar, we each take a seat, waiting for the bartender to appear. A minute later, a thin woman with frizzy blonde hair approaches us from the kitchen.

'Welcome to the Tavern," she croons in a raspy voice as she walks toward us. "My, my!" she exclaims when she gets closer, "We usually don't get young hunks in here during the day!"

She spends a moment primping her frazzled hair with her hands before speaking again. "Can I get you boys _anything?"_ she asks while leaning against the bar in front of us, her eyes wide with interest.

"Anything at _all_? Doesn't have to be on the menu."

She follows the statement with a wink.

"Mmmmm," Alix purrs, suddenly on the bar stool beside me, "I bet she knows some moves we've never even heard of!"

The blood drains out of my face as unwanted images enter my head. " _Old_ nookie can be _the best_ nookie!" Alix exclaims before reaching for the woman's breasts with one hand.

"We're looking for Amelia McCoy," I dive straight in, hoping to wipe the vision of Alix's groping from my mind. "Would you be her mother? Carla Klump?"

Pushing herself back up with a disgusted look on her face, Carla reaches under the bar and extracts a pack of cigarettes. Shaking one out and lighting it with a leather-encased butane lighter, she exhales a long stream of smoke before continuing.

"Yeah, I'm Carla," she says before taking another drag and eyeing us from over her cigarette. "You've outed me, but I was _very_ young when I had my daughter," she adds, once again primping at her hair.

"We'd like to talk to Amelia," I say then, once again trying to forestall any sexual advances by the older woman.

She sighs, pointing over my shoulder with her cigarette at a big yellow school bus parked in front of the tavern.

"She's getting off of the bus, but she's kinda young for you fellows...sure you wouldn't like someone with a little more experience?"

I sigh while pulling my credentials out of my pocket and letting them flip open onto the bar, the gold star gleaming under the dim can lights recessed into the ceiling.

"We're with the Sheriff's department ma'am."

Carla's face moves to shock when she sees the badge, only glancing up when she hears the bell on the tavern's door.

"It's the cops!" Carla screams when a girl enters the bar wearing a plaid, parochial-school skirt.

Seeing the same shocked face on the girl as I had witnessed on Carla's only moments before, she drops her book bag on the floor and runs back out through the door.

"Jubal!" I yell loudly, turning toward my partner and throwing my thumb up toward the escaping girl.

"I gots dis!" he yells back at me while sliding off the bar stool and quickly running after the girl.

Turning back toward Carla, I reach out and grab her arm with my right hand while pulling out my handcuffs with my left.

"You're under arrest, Carla Klump!" I say loudly while slapping one cuff over her wrist.

"What's the charge?" she cries out in exasperation.

"Solicitation for starters," I growl, clasping the other cuff around a brass pipe that ran the length of the bar. "But I'd lay odds on Aiding and Abetting, and maybe a host of other charges once we find out a little more!"

"You're full of shit!" she screams.

I lay my finger against her lips until she shuts up.

"You have the right to remain silent," I say in a low voice, "Might be a good option for you for a few minutes."

Expecting to see Jubal returning when the bell rings on the door again, I turn to see instead five guys entering the bar. Boisterous when they enter, they all grow very quiet when they see Carla handcuffed to the bar.

"What the hell's going on here?" the largest man in the crowd growls loudly. "What the hell are you doing to Carla?"

I grab my badge off of the bar and hold it up as I stand.

"Police business, guys," I say with authority. "Best you all just go home!"

The men look among themselves before one of the other men speaks.

"But we're thirsty!"

Shit!

"As you can see," I try to reason with them, "The bartender is tied up at the moment."

Again I wait as they look among themselves with some kind of nonverbal communication.

"The way I see it," the big one speaks again, "We got two options...either we overpower you and let Carla loose so that she can serve us..."

I reach to my belt for my weapon, realizing at that moment that I have left it in the truck...again!"

Shit!

"Smooth move Ex-Lax," Trucker says from beside me, his eyes intent on the angry mob.

"What's the second option?" I call across the room in my meanest voice.

Trucker snickers at my effort.

The big guy shrugs, "You let us in and we serve ourselves."

Shit!

I feel like Custer at the little big horn...

"Custer got himself killed, dumbass," Trucker whispers in my ear.

I glance his way, my eyes pleading: _Who the hell_ _do_ _I feel like then?_

Trucker closes his eyes and shakes his head, "Just let them in Nick! It's no skin off _your_ ass!"

Shit!

"Oh what the hell," I finally exclaim, "Get your asses in here!"

The men file in, the biggest one looking toward Carla and saying, "We'll keep track of everything, Carla."

"Thanks, Hun," she replies with a smile before turning her eyes toward me with a glare.

"I got's the gurl," Jubal calls out then as he wrestles Amelia through the door. "She be da feisty oned."

Amelia is holding her own however, making each one of Jubal's steps forward involve at least one back.

I glance behind me at the men, who are once again looking at me suspiciously.

Seeing an empty table in one of the dark corners, I motion for Jubal to take the girl there. Turning toward the bar, I unlock the cuff around the brass pipe and start to lead Carla in that direction. She seems to have lost some of her fight, letting me lead her without complaint.

When we get to the table, I sit her down next to her daughter and grab the girl's arm, slapping the open cuff on her wrist.

"Hey!" Amelia complains, "That hurt!"

I ignore the complaint and sit down opposite the women. Jubal takes the seat beside me.

"How old are you?" I ask Amelia.

"Too young for _your_ old ass," she replies with a sneer.

I glance at Carla and raise my eyebrows questioningly.

Carla sighs, "She's fifteen."

I nod, "Then I need your permission, Carla, to talk to her in your presence."

"What's this about?" Amelia growls, "Never mind, I don't have to talk to you!"

Looking at her mom, her eyes pleading, "Tell him I don't have to talk to them, mommy!"

I hold up my hand to stop Carla before she says anything.

"She's correct, Carla...she _doesn't_ have to talk to us...right now anyway."

"What's _that_ mean?" Carla responds quietly.

"What it means is that if you reject having a conversation with us now, we'll have to take you in and detain both of you. You will be offered an attorney, and a Child Services officer will get involved...which will put off our conversation until tomorrow at this time...maybe the next day."

"That's bullshit!" Amelia grunts.

"Right now neither of you are under arrest and you haven't been read your rights so nothing you say will be able to be used in court...we're just looking for answers at this point."

"But you said..." Carla interrupts.

"I'm un-arresting you for the time being," I reply to her pending question, "Like I said, we're just looking for answers at this point."

Mother and child glance at each other. "Take off the cuffs then," Carla demands.

I nod to Jubal, who gets up and unlocks the cuffs.

"There now, can we all just relax for a moment?"

Both females across the table purse their lips in a pout and slide down further into their seats.

Jubal then hands me the picture of the murder victim. "We are looking for anyone that can identify this girl," I say as I place the picture on the table in front of them. "She was found on York Road last night."

Neither one looks at the picture averting their eyes instead.

"We have witness testimony that points to her being seen with you, Amelia...at least once."

Amelia looks off to her left, her eyes tearing up. "Her name's Janie Schultz."

Jubal writes down the name as I continue to eye Amelia.

"Who is she?" I ask then, "Where's she from?"

No one spoke for several seconds.

"She's a friend of a friend's daughter," Carla finally spoke. "She is...was from Cincinnati..."

I can tell by their body language that they both know what happened. I can also tell that it's eating them up inside.

I take out my notebook and gently lay it on the table, thinking at this point that we will get more out of them now with a calmer approach. Pulling the pen out of my shirt pocket, I click it open, my eyes moving from Carla to Amelia and back.

"So...what happened?"

They both look up at me, a look of fear on their faces. Then they both look down and sigh in unison.

"It was an accident," Carla starts.

Amelia starts crying then, sobbing so hard she is having a hard time catching her breath.

Carla puts her arm over her daughter's shoulder and pulls her to her.

"I'm so sorry!" Amelia blubbers, "I just...I just...c-c-couldn't doitanymoreeeee," she wails, her words all sliding together.

I glance at Jubal before continuing. "Do _what_ anymore?"

By this time Amelia is broken up so bad she can no longer communicate.

Carla pats her on the shoulder.

"The sex," Carla states matter-of-factly, "Janie couldn't keep her legs together...it's why her mom sent her down here."

Carla has tears running down her face too by this point. Reaching to the middle of the table, she pulls out several napkins from the grubby, chrome napkin dispenser. Handing half of the pile to Amelia, she then blows her nose before letting out a loud, shuttering sigh.

"Janie was a whore," she states categorically. "She charged money...and she always drug Amelia around with her."

Shaking her head disgustedly, "I guess at first she would just let Amelia hang out when she was getting it on...but then she started suggesting that Amelia join in. Said they could make good money doubling up on a guy...she said they eat that shit up."

Carla pulls Amelia closer and strokes her hair with her hand. "Don't get me wrong...my daughter's no saint...but she ain't into _old_ guys. Janie on the other hand was...well...she was into anyone with money, really."

I nod as I make some notes. "How'd it happen then...the shooting?"

Carla looks at Amelia, who breaks down sobbing some more. Turning back to me, Carla wipes her eyes before continuing.

"Janie came to Amelia that night, all excited. Says something to the effect of, 'Let's go...I got a guy that wants a three way that'll pay $200.'"

"Amelia was on her period and said no...she didn't feel good. Janie wasn't one to take no for an answer, so she was giving my girl shit...callin her names and such."

Another sigh.

"Anyways, I guess Amelia stole a gun from her Uncle's house awhile back, so she pulls it out and shoves it against Janie's head."

"Ididn'tknowitwasloaded!" Amelia sobs loudly.

Carla pulls her daughter to her chest. "There, there..."

"I assume that you helped with dumping the body?" I ask Carla, who nods.

I close the notebook and place the pen on top of it, sighing and clasping my hands together on the table.

"I won't lie to you, you're both in a world of trouble...but you've got some mitigating circumstances going in your favor."

Amelia's sobbing quiets a little as Carla raises her eyebrows.

"Before I go any further however, I need to let you know that we are going to arrest both of you. You have a right to an attorney and I would suggest that you find one ASAP. You will then have to talk to me again...and to someone from the prosecutor's office."

"That being said, it wasn't premeditated, Janie was trying to get Amelia to do something illegal, _and_ she's a minor. All of these work in your favor."

I lean forward and spread my hands, knocking my pen to the floor in the process. "If you had just called the police when it happened...you probably wouldn't be facing _any_ charges...or at least not as many serious ones."

I watch them for a few seconds as this sinks in, feeling sorry for the pair...especially the girl.

Turning my head, I spot my pen laying by my feet and reach down to pick it up...just as the paneling behind me explodes...the room now filled with the sound of shattering glass.

Shit!

" _It's never the goal to miss on your first shot," Samson sighed as he sat on the edge of his desk. "It is, however, why they invented magazines on rifles. If you have to, use the shit out of that invention."_

Turner

_Shit!_ Turner exclaimed when she realized that her target had ducked down as she squeezed off the shot.

"What is it with this guy?" she growled as her mind clicked through what would happen next.

What would I do now if someone was gunning for me?

She had been forced to use an infrared scope because the inside of the tavern was so dark. She quickly twisted that off and replaced it with one that had standard optics before bringing it back up to her eye and looking for targets to keep everybody pinned down.

She knew that her target was a decorated cop, so he would probably try and get around her some way...circle around behind her and cut her off.

On most missions, this would be a good time to make her escape, but since it would be _him_ coming after her...it would give her yet another chance to take him down.

Besides...they were so far out in the country that it would take a good while before any backup could show up...at least in force.

She could handle the occasional deputy if they showed up before she was ready to split!

Nick

"Everybody down!" I yell as I throw myself to the sticky floor.

Amelia and Carla have both joined me under the table, but there is no sign of Jubal.

"Jubal!" I yell over the shouts of the other men in the tavern. "Where the hell are you?"

"I's over t'here," he calls back, "By der winder!"

"Sniper's gotta be in that church across the road," Trucker advises, crouched beside me and looking out through the broken front window pane.

I now remember the huge Catholic church across the street, it steeple spiraling into the air at the front of the building.

"Would be a good perch," I reply nodding my head, "We should try and cut off his escape!"

"Who ya talking to?" Carla asks with confusion in her eyes, risking getting her head shot off to find out.

I reach out and shove her head back to the floor as another round shatters a mirror with beer advertising over us. We both cover the backs of our heads as broken glass tinkles to the floor around us.

"Nobody," I shout while crawling around her.

"Jubal!"

"Dat's me," he replies quietly.

"You thinking the shots are coming from the church tower?"

"I tink'so," he replies, "Halv de way oop der be loubers wit der brokin slats."

I nod at his observation...the bell tower is way too high at the top to get a good shot into the bar from there, so the louvers half way up would be the idea spot.

"Can you plink a couple of shots into the louvers on my mark Jubal?"

"Ya," he replies, "Jus say da word!"

I crawl closer to Carla, "You got a back way out of here?"

She turns her head and points to the bar, "Back through the kitchen."

I nod and push myself to my knees, "On three Jubal!"

"One!"

"Two!"

"Three!"

Springing to my feet, I take two running steps and dive over the end of the bar, hearing Jubal's gun as he fires three quick shots at the church. Landing on my hands I collapse into a ball and roll before landing on my ass...once again on a sticky floor. Someone is there with me, but I have to squint to see in the low light.

It's one of the construction workers...holding a glass mug under one of the beer taps and risking getting his hand shot off while he pulls on the handle above his head.

"You want another one, Frank?" he calls out once his mug is full.

"Damn straight," another voice calls back, "Bring some peanuts too if you can find them."

"Nick!" I hear Jubal call out to me.

"Yeah, Jubal?" I call back.

"I tink yu be needin a gun!"

Shit!

"Dumbass," Trucker mumbles.

"Did _you_ think of it?" I hiss self-righteously.

"Think about what?" the construction worker asks with confusion before sipping his beer.

Shit!

"Jubal! Can you toss me yours?"

Without a word of warning, the gun suddenly appears over the bar...landing in a box of peanuts beside the beer tap.

The construction worker reaches in and grabs it, handing it to me like it's something that occurs around here every day. Then he immediately grabs another mug and once again reaches up for the tap...just as it explodes!

"Shit," he grumbles, his hand bleeding from pieces of the tap's handle.

"Hey, Frank?" he calls out.

"Yeah, Larry?"

"I think I got some blood on the peanuts!"

No one answers for a few seconds.

"Bring em along anyway...we can pick through them."

I shake my head as I slide the gun in my waistband and start crawling behind the bar. Reaching the end, I turn and continue to crawl through a set of swinging doors and into the kitchen.

Bullets plunk into the thin aluminum of the doors as soon as I move them. Reaching the kitchen, I stand and move to the side of the doorframe, noticing a heavyset guy sitting on a stool, wearing a dirty apron and reading a newspaper.

"Whatcha need?" he asks when he sees me approach, folding the paper and laying it on a stainless table beside him.

"There's somebody shooting up the bar," I reply as calmly as I can. "Call 911 and tell them there's a sniper in the church across the road."

"Only phone's out in the bar," he replies calmly, "I don't reckon I'll be going out there if there's a sniper."

Shit!

I pull out my cell and slam it onto the table as I pass. "Use that then," I call back over my shoulder.

"I never used a cellular phone before," he calls back.

I hope I get to hit the sniper...cause I really need to hit somebody!

"Punch in 9-1-1, and then hit send!" I shout as I turn around and face him, "The dispatcher will do the rest...just use your words...got it?"

He nods in reply, his big, meaty fingers engulfing the buttons as he pushes each one slowly.

"Who's name should I use?" he questions then.

I shake my head at his question but I am already out the door and running to the left. There are three houses in front of me, and if I can cross their yards without being seen, I should be able to get across the street without the sniper knowing that I'm coming.

"Maybe you'll get lucky and someone will hit you on the road with their car first," Trucker mumbles beside me.

Shit!

Turner

Three shots chew into the louvers beside Turner.

" _Good_ ," she mumbled, having been expecting something to happen to camouflage the policeman's next play. She spreads five more shots across the front of the bar before standing up and pushing herself into the brick wall.

" _Now he's on the move!"_

Knowing there was no good cover to her right for someone to approach, she had reasoned that he would go to her left, where there were a row of houses to hide his movement.

Moving to the left side of the tower, she took the butt of her rifle and broke out the lower two of the louver's slats on that side. She then went to her knee and slowly inched the barrel through the opening, settling the stock on the bottom of the opening and sighting through the scope at the road.

She only had a short clearing to make the shot on the moving target, but she had made harder shots...

Nick

My breathing is ragged as I sprint across the yards, having to climb over two fences in the process. When I reach the far side of the last house, I stop to catch my breath.

"He'll probably be watching the road for you to cross," Trucker advises, staring at the black, tar covered strip thirty feet away from under the brim of his hat.

"He won't," I gasp, still trying to catch my breath, "He won't be expecting an end-around run."

"I would be in his place," Trucker replies seriously, "I have some experience with these things you know."

I'm bent over with hands on knees as I turn my head and stare at him. This isn't the first time the he has mentioned having abilities and experiences that I have never had.

How could that be?

Isn't he, after all, just a part of _my_ mind...sharing in _my_ abilities... _my_ experiences?

"Shit!" I wheeze, "If I _follow_ your advice, I'm crazy!"

I stand up and put my hands on my hips as I continue to stare at him, "And if I don't...?"

"In this case, you'd be crazier!" he replies seriously, "Trust me just this _one_ time Nick. If I'm wrong...you'll never see me again."

"Deal!" I grin. "Only problem is...how do we get across if you're right?"

Trucker stares off in the distance. "We angle back away from the houses, then we move off another hundred feet and cut back toward the road. Crossing that far away the trees will block you from the sniper."

I look off in the direction he has indicated. "Sniper might get away if we do all that," I say halfheartedly.

"Not if we sprint!" Trucker grins before taking off at a fast run.

Shit!

***

We cross the road with no shots fired, and then sneak behind another row of houses on the church's side of the road. Angling through a copse of trees behind one of the houses, we then creep around the parochial school and through the graveyard until we are at a back door of the church.

Thankfully, the church is well maintained and the door doesn't creak as we enter it.

"Here," Trucker says as he suddenly stops in front of a clothes rack, "Put one of these on!"

I roll my eyes when I see what he is suggesting...donning a clerical robe.

"We're after a _sniper!"_ I hiss, glancing around a doorway into the main part of the church, "Not saving souls."

"It's good camouflage," he insists, "If it helps you get closer...what the hell?"

I close my eyes and shake my head, amazed that I'm even _considering_ his proposal.

"Oh, what the hell," I whisper, pulling a robe off of a hanger and sliding it over my head.

"Now you look like a saint."

"Whatever," I reply as I make my way to the doorway again.

"You can even hide your gun in that puffy sleeve," Trucker continues talking.

As I move slowly forward, I notice that my gun _has_ disappeared from view if I hang my arm down...

Ok, this may not be so bad.

I glance around the doorway and into the main part of the church, noticing for the first time that there is a nun on the other side of the church. She has her back to us, and it looks like she is lighting a candle.

Seeing no one else, I quietly pad across the pulpit and tap the nun on the shoulder.

"Sister...I need you to exit the building from the rear...there's a sniper in the bell tow..."

The _sister_ has turned to face me...she is a beautiful woman...with shoulder-length auburn hair...and a Glock protruding from the sleeve of _her_ robe.

"How nice to finally meet you, Nick," she says with a smile, "It seems we have some unfinished business to conclude."

Shit!

" _A good disguise can make you invisible, even in plain sight of your adversary..."_

Turner

Turner waited at the open louver until she knew her target wasn't going to cross the road...at least not where she could get off a shot at him.

"What are you up to now, Nick Behr?" she grinned, enjoying the chase.

Her mind immediately clicked through the available scenarios, stopping like a slowing roulette wheel on the most likely option...the one _she_ would have chosen in his shoes.

He'll come in the back of the church and try and cut off her escape!

She had to admit, she was starting to get to like her target...he seemed to think like she did.

Abandoning her perch, she made her way quickly down the old and narrow wooden steps until she came to the ground floor doorway. Knowing that no one had been around when she had arrived, she didn't want to assume that somebody else hadn't entered since then. Placing her rifle in the corner by the doorway, she pulled out her pistol and pushed the door open an inch to look around.

When she was certain that she was still alone in the building, she moved out of the stairway and into what she _thought_ was called the Sanctuary.

Seeing a closet in the front corner of the church, she made her way there, intending to take out her target from there when he entered the room from the back. When she reached the closet however, she found some dry-cleaning hanging inside that had apparently been recently delivered.

Not knowing why, she smiled as she laid the pistol on a shelf and unwrapped one of the garments. Sliding it over her head, she picked up her gun again and peeked around the closet's door before making her way to the front of the church.

" _This is dumb."_ She thought to herself while moving through the room, " _Suicidal even."_

It seriously exposed her if the plan were to go askew, and went against everything that her training had ever taught her.

And yet...she couldn't help herself...

Nick

"Oh my God!" Alix exclaims, "Will you look at those perky tits?"

My eyes flick momentarily to my perverted hallucination.

Seriously?

I have to admit however, that I've seen worse looking nuns. Her _habit_ or whatever you call it is just a tiny bit tight, revealing details of her body that most of God's chosen have never exposed.

"Let me introduce myself," Alix continues, walking toward the woman. "I'm Alix...with an i...and you are _gorgeous_!"

"Is that a gun up your sleeve," the nun says then, giving me a knowing smile, "Or are you just happy to see me?"

"Would you mind if I just frisked you for a few hours?" Alix continues in a dreamy sigh.

"Slide your weapon over here, Nick," the nun continues, "Nice and easy."

Shit!

Since I can't see any way around it...and since I can't seem to come back with a snappy retort...I squat down and slide the weapon across the floor.

"Good boy," she says, kneeling to pick it up while keeping her Glock trained on me.

The sound of sirens interrupts our reverie...lot and lots of sirens.

The sniper glances toward the front of the church, seeming to calculate something in her mind.

"Let's take this elsewhere, shall we?" she says suddenly, turning back toward me and flicking her gun toward the back door. "Out the door and through the cemetery...keep your head down and your hands folded together in front of you all reverent like...I'll be right behind you."

Nodding, I turn toward the door across the pulpit and move through it to the back hallway. Reaching for the back door, her hand is suddenly clasping my shoulder in a vise-like grip.

"Check it first there, _Padre_ ," she intones quietly. "Don't leave unless the way is clear."

Suddenly I feel the cold steel of her gun barrel on my neck, "And don't be wrong, Nick."

Nodding, I crack the door and take a long peek outside.

"Seems clear," I reply quietly before opening the door and stepping out into the graveyard. Folding my hands in front of me, I bow my head and start walking.

"You can take her," Trucker says excitedly from beside me, "She's about three feet behind you...just turn quick like and bring a roundhouse up right into her jaw!"

My eyes twitch in his direction momentarily.

"Don't get any ideas about trying to take me down, _Father_ ," the nun says in a low voice. "I know more kinds of martial arts than you have fingers on both hands."

Shit!

"What's this all about, anyway?" I say then, my curiosity overpowering my fight or flight reaction.

"You don't know?" she replies, her voice sounding genuinely surprised.

"Not a clue," I respond, shaking my head for emphasis. "It's my first time as a target...with a professional anyway."

"Awww...aren't you sweet!" she whispers, "Calling me a pro and all."

"I'd have phone sex with her," Alix chimes in from somewhere behind me, "Just the _sound_ of her voice would get me off."

I close my eyes at Alix's comment, stumbling over a stone in the process.

The sniper grabs my robe with lightning quick hands, preventing me from falling.

"I _didn't_ say _close_ your eyes, Nick," she hisses, "There's a path through the woods ahead...take that and head down the hill."

I nod as I push through some low brush, finding the path and turning down hill. We move quietly through the woods, soon coming to a dry stream. On the other side of the stream I start walking up the next hill until we come to a small, back road. Tapping me on the shoulder with her gun, she flicks it to the right.

Turning, we walk along the side of the road for thirty feet until she pulls me to a halt.

"In here," she points into the woods. I can just make out an older blue truck hiding in the brush ahead of me.

"You move the brush out of the way while I watch...then you get to drive."

"Where are we going?" I ask while moving toward the truck.

"I've got a cute little pleasure palace in mind for you," she responds with a grin.

"Yesssss!" Alix exclaims!

Shit!

Turner

Turner was confused!

Her target didn't appear to have any idea who might be gunning for him, while the man that had hired her seemed to indicate that this was some long-running feud.

Why hadn't she just taken him out in the church when she had the chance?

The words echoed in her head for the tenth time, and she _still_ didn't have a good answer.

It went against both her common sense _and_ her training, as well as every other gauge she had ever used to quantify her work.

Still...there was something about this guy that had gotten under her skin...even _before_ she had met him.

Did it have something to do with her recent bout of...love?

Was she getting too soft?

"You move the brush out of the way while I watch," she told him when they had reached the truck, "Then you get to drive."

"Where are we going?" he asked while moving toward the tree branches.

"I've got a cute little pleasure palace in mind for you," she responded, a grin suddenly appearing on her face as she spoke.

_Pleasure palace?_ she though after she had said it. _What the hell did_ _that_ _mean?_

The only place that she had nailed down at that moment would be the cheap motel room she had rented, and it would draw too much attention if she tried to use it now. It was still light out...and of course there was the whole priest/nun thing going on.

Rattled, she backed two steps from the truck and glanced up and down the road behind her to make sure it was clear.

" _Think, Turner,"_ she mumbled, looking back up the road again. _Should I find a place to take him or just kill him right here?_

These were the thoughts running through her mind when the tree branch hit her upside the head...

Nick

As I move the brush out of the way, I notice that my nun is starting to seem a little distracted.

"Next time she looks up the road," Trucker whispers, his eyes intent on her from under the brim of his hat, "Pick up one of those tree branches and whack her in the head!"

I have my doubts that would work but am starting to feel a little cowardly at not trying anything else so far.

"There she goes," he whispers again as the sniper turns away from me.

Well shit!

Grabbing a fairly straight two-inch branch, I swing it for all I'm worth, striking her in the side of the head. Not waiting for a score, I take off running around the truck and into the woods beyond.

As I'm running along the side of the truck, I hear a thump come from the front of the vehicle! Taking another step towards the woods, the thump repeats loudly two more times...and then I am being pushed face-first into the dirt and leaves...the muzzle of a gun now being pushed into the base of my skull.

Shit!

_That_ was my first mistake.

Turner

Turner had been caught off guard by the hit but recovered quickly. Moving with the force of the strike, she had rolled forward and was once again instantly on her feet. Seeing her prisoner escaping, she started sprinting directly for the truck.

Leaping as she approached, she used the bumper as a step and hurled herself onto the hood. Pushing off with her left foot, her right landed on the top of the cab with a loud _thump._ Taking one more step into the bed, she hurled herself through the air and hit chest-first into her target's back, plowing his face into the soil.

With one quick motion, she had her gun at the back of his head, panting for a few seconds before she uttered her first word.

"Ouch!"

Nick

"Ouch!" she says after a few seconds, "That hurt."

"Dumbass," Trucker gripes, "Can't you run any faster than that?"

"Just shoot me and get it over with, lady!" I shout into the soil defeatedly, my voice sounding muffled, "What the hell do you want from me?"

There was silence for several seconds before she stood up off of me. Turning onto my back, I look up at this beautiful, crazy lady that fills out a nun's outfit like a teenager's wet dream.

The gun is pointed at me, but her grip is loose. Her face seems to have lost some of its determination.

"I don't know yet," she finally admits, "So get in the driver's seat and let's get the hell out of here...I can't shoot you when you are driving."

Nodding, I wipe some of the dirt off of my face and push myself off of the ground. Carefully working my way around her, I pull open the driver's door and slide into the seat. Moving quickly around the front of the truck, she slides into the passenger seat as I start the engine.

"Which way, boss?" I ask, using my best facetious voice.

"Take a right at the road," she says softly, ignoring my cheekiness while she straps on her safety belt, "Then the first road to the right."

Nodding, I pull down the shifter and give it some gas, easing out of the woods and onto the road.

"You never _did_ tell me what this is all about?" I question as I drive.

"Later," she mumbles while looking out the side window. "We'll have plenty of time for that once we land."

"I think she wants to fuck you to death," Alix purrs beside me. "What a way to _go_!"

"Do I at least get to know your name?" I continue, hoping to garner some familiarity.

She smiles and turns to face me, "You can call me, Turner."

I nod, thinking this is a good start. "I had a dog by that name once."

She laughs at that...a hearty laugh, the first I have seen out of her. She has a pretty smile.

"Are you comparing me to your dog?"

I shrug, "Well, he _did_ have red hair, although I doubt that yours is _really_ that color."

"Now you are insinuating that I did a crappy job coloring my hair?"

She still had a smile, but it wasn't nearly as _happy_.

I come to the first road and make a right as ordered.

"It was just a guess," I continue, shrugging again. "In your line of work I would think you would need to change up your looks quite often."

She nods, turning to glance out the window again.

"An astute observation," she finally replies, turning toward me again and folding her left leg under her comfortably. I'm glad to see her getting comfortable...in my mind that means she's not going to do anything drastic.

"She's probably pretty comfortable about shooting people," Trucker chimes in, "It _is_ what she does for a living after all."

I glance at Trucker, my eyes saying, "Shut it!"

"But your assumption isn't all _that_ impressive," Turner continues. "I thought you were a detective...surely you can do better than that."

My mouth turns dry...was this some sort of test?

"Watch what you say," Trucker advises, "You don't know _what_ might set her off."

I give a quick thought to Trucker's words. Yes, I _could_ piss her off if I said the wrong thing, but she was already pointing a gun at me. If she's going to do it anyway, we might as well get this over with.

"On the surface, I of course can tell that you keep in amazing shape, which also would go hand in hand with your chosen profession."

Turner grins, "You sure know how to turn a girl's head, Nick."

I gulp at her response, knowing that what I am going to say next is probably not as flattering.

"I would also guess that you lead a fairly lonely life, with few if any friends and no love life to speak of. You use sex as a release when you can get it, but usually form no emotional attachment from it. If you've _ever_ actually fallen in love...it probably didn't last."

Turner's smile fades away quickly. Sliding her leg back to the floor, she sits up straighter and turns to look out the side window, her finger tapping insistently on the door handle.

"Oh shit," Trucker mumbles worriedly.

Turner

Turner stared forlornly out the window, Nick's words having pierced her heart.

It was _all_ true of course...old news really. So why had his statement devastated her so badly?

It wasn't that she hadn't known these things...hadn't been thinking about these very things for the last week.

Maybe it was because she thought she had been hiding it better than she actually had.

_Buck up Turner!_ She thought to herself, _Don't be such a pussy!_

She had _asked_ him his thoughts...and he _was_ a trained investigator after all!

Clearing her throat, she turned toward the nice-looking deputy wearing a Priest's robe.

"You're wrong you know," she said before turning back toward the window. "I didn't _choose_ this profession..."

Nick

"I didn't choose this profession..." Turner says quietly before turning back toward me, "But I am _very_ good at it!"

Facing forward again, she points down the road. "Turn left at this next road up here."

I slow the truck, waiting until a speeding deputy flies by us in his cruiser before turning.

"You'd think they'd be checking cars leaving the area of a shooting," Trucker observes.

I have to agree with his assessment, but can't acknowledge it of course. I didn't know how many people had actually called it in, but if the Sheriff's Department was acting only on the one call from the cook...there's no telling what the cops might think they were getting into until they get there.

"I'm sorry," I say after making the turn.

Turner turns to look at me suspiciously. "Are you talking to me?"

I nod, "There's no one else here is there?"

Trucker snickers.

She seems confused as she turns in her seat to face me again. "You're sorry...for what?"

"That you were apparently compelled into this life. Whether that was by force or necessity...it sucks when you don't have a choice."

She raises an eyebrow at me...and then her gun. "I appreciate the sentiment, but don't think it's going to get you out of this."

"Still not even sure what _this_ is," I say with a glance in her direction.

"Don't you get it, Detective Boy? Someone wants your ass on a slab!"

"I get that part," I say in reply, "I just can't imagine who."

She finally sighs, "I guess it can't hurt at this point, except there's one big problem."

"Worse than having a contract put out on me?"

My voice squeaks a little when I say it.

"No...not _worse,"_ she replies, biting her lip before she speaks again.

"Just...different..."

Turner

_Did this asshole just apologize to me?_ Turner thought incredulously.

"Are you talking to me?" she asked then, turning to face her target.

He nodded, "There's no one else here is there?"

Turner was confused, but intrigued enough to turn in her seat to face him before asking, "You're sorry...for what?"

"That you were apparently compelled into this life," Nick Behr continued, a look of compassion on his face. "Whether that was by force or necessity...it sucks when you don't have a choice."

Turner raised her right brow as her eyes held steadily on him.

_Maybe it's the priest robes,_ she pondered, wondering why she was even interested in what the man said.

People will do anything to get out of being killed!

The only problem was...she actually _believed_ this guy! Could he _actually_ be that compassionate...or was this just something to do with her feeling sorry for herself?

She raised her gun at his head, "I appreciate the sentiment, but don't think it's going to get you out of this."

"Still not even sure what _this_ is," he replied without missing a beat. Turning toward her, his blue eyes glowed in the afternoon sun as they rested on her.

Turner shivered a little bit

Dammit!

Why's he have to be so nice?

"Don't you get it, Detective Boy?" Turner challenged him, pushing her errant feelings for her target down into the depths of her being. "Someone wants your ass on a slab!"

"I get that part," he replied thoughtfully, once again turning forward, "I just can't imagine who."

It wasn't Turner's thing to deliver messages to her targets. Saying something like, 'Larry Ballard says hi!' before pulling the trigger just didn't cut it with her. It was a needless distraction at the very least...and the need to get close enough for the target to understand you wasn't always possible.

Not to mention that the whole scenario was just plain juvenile!

Deep down however, she understood the real reason she didn't do it was that doing so would involve having to peal away a layer or two of the emotional barrier that she always erected for her kills.

Unfortunately...she could feel pieces of that barrier flaking away at that very moment.

She finally sighed, "I guess it can't hurt at this point, except there's one big problem."

"Worse than having a contract put out on me?" Nick asked with wide eyes, his voice squeaking as he asked it.

"No...not _worse,"_ she replied, biting her lip before she spoke again.

"Just...different...I don't know his name."

Nick

I'm flabbergasted at her admission.

"How the hell do you bill somebody if you don't know where to send the invoice?" I cry out in frustration.

That makes her snicker...a pressing the lips together snicker that means she is having a hard time holding back the floodgate.

Finally she can't hold it back any longer!

Turner is rolling in the seat, holding her stomach as roaring laughter spills out of her. Her eyes are full of tears, and her mouth...that beautiful mouth...is curled in a smile so genuine that...well it makes _me_ smile!

I let her get it out of her system for several minutes because it looks to me as if it is something that she desperately needs.

And hell...as long as she was laughing uncontrollably...she wasn't shooting anybody!

Finally it starts to slow as she tries to bring herself under control. Sitting up straighter, she smiles at me...a beautifully unabashed smile of true joy.

"I have to admit, I've never really met someone like you, Nick."

She has laid the gun on the seat sometime during her bout with laughter...and it still sits there between us...unattended...

"Reach out there and grab that thing all quick-like," Trucker advises, "This may be your last chance to save yourself!"

"Hell with that," Alix pipes in then, "Get a handful of her breasts while she's in a good mood!"

"Should I say thank you," I start instead, "Or I'm sorry?"

Turner's eyes twinkle, "It was definitely a compliment, Nick."

She looks out the window beside her for a few seconds before continuing.

"I only know the guy by JD...and we've only communicated by email except for one phone call earlier today."

I glance at her, "Was it a local number?"

She shakes her head, "Cincinnati...a _jail_ in Cincinnati to be exact."

I stop the truck, turning to stare at her as my mind buzzes with the information:

A guy wants me dead

Goes by JD

In jail...

Shit!

"Oh my God," I whisper, closing my eyes and wiping my face with my palm.

"I see that you've figured it out," Turner replies, "Who is he?"

I still can't believe it could be _him!_

What the hell!

"If I'm reading it right," I start, turning toward the assassin sitting next to me, "He is an Ex-Senator by the name of Jeffery Daugherty that I put away a year ago for murder...among other things..."

Turner nodded thoughtfully. "He's a creepy motherfucker."

I turn to face her, "You got that out of one phone call?"

"Most people would," she replies, "But I saw him too."

My mouth drops, "They let you into the jail to talk to him...to arrange my assassination?"

She shakes her head, "No, he had me call from a pay phone that was across the street from the Justice Center...he was watching out the window...creep waved at me."

I lean back in my seat to think, going over what I knew and wondering about what I didn't.

"Are you still going to kill me?" I ask suddenly, sitting up and glaring at Turner. "Cause if you are, just get it over with. I've got other things to do now and if you're not going to shoot me I'd just as soon get started."

Turner smiles, "First you tell me about this Ex-Senator...and _then_ I'll let you know."

I sit back in my seat, huffing out a breath as I let the details of the sordid affair flow into my mind.

"A year ago," I start, "We started finding girls murdered...girls that didn't belong here. The first one, Polly Eckstein, left us a clue in her own blood before she died...although it took us awhile to figure out what the clue meant."

I take another moment to organize my thoughts.

"In essence...the esteemed Senator had always wanted to be in the movies. When he realized that wouldn't happen, he started a talent agency of sorts. He would recruit these young girls; break down their initiative through rapes and beatings, and then make them live in squalor while his agency took the majority of their earnings."

Looking up at Turner, "When Polly Eckstein had had enough...she came back here, her home. When they found her again...he had _her_ killed..."

Turner shivers visibly.

"Yeah," she sighs, "I'm not going to kill you Nick."

"Really?" I ask...a little overenthusiastically.

She shakes her head and sighs again. "Not many people know this, Nick...but I'm thinking about getting out of this business anyway..."

Turner

What the hell?

Had she just admitted to a target that she wanted to get out of the business... _after_ she told him she wasn't going to shoot him?

Shit!

She really _was_ finished in this business if she couldn't even complete a simple mission like this one!

She sighed inwardly...conflicted...not knowing whether to be proud of herself or to put a bullet into her own head.

_This Daugherty guy was creepy though,_ she thought to herself, _Kind of like Samson..._

Nick

I'm speechless.

"Well...with it being against the law and all..."

Turner smiles at my remark. "Look, Nick...I can't prove anything about the Senator's involvement...and since I'm not about to turn myself in..."

"Would you help me?" I ask quickly, "Prove that he was behind this assassination attempt? I can't really pay you..."

Turner grins, "We agreed on $20,000 to kill you by the way...just so you know."

My jaw drops... _Shit!_

"Shit!" I say aloud, "That's a lot of money for little old me!"

Turner shakes her head, seeming amused at my shock.

"I _do_ need money for what my sisters and I have to do...but he _did_ pay half up front."

Holding out her hand, "Yes, Nick...I will help you!"

Reaching out my hand, I grasp hers and start to shake...suddenly finding myself in a tight embrace...her lips on mine.

"Yesssss!" Alix cries out as Turner's tongue slips into my mouth.

I nearly run off the road...

Shit!

Cincinnati

The woman walks up to the pay phone and punches in the number. It is an unscheduled call, so she has to wait for the guards to bring 'JD' to the phone.

Pulling the baseball hat lower over her face, she slips on a pair of sunglasses, even though the sun is almost down.

"Well, this is a surprise," the man answers in a creepy voice when he gets to the phone. "Does this mean that our business has been concluded?"

"Oh yes," the woman replies with a grin in her voice, " _Everything_ will be concluded when I hang up the phone..."

Nick

I show my identification to yet another guard before she turns and punches in a number on the phone behind her.

Finally turning toward me, she pushes out a drawer from under the counter in her bulletproof booth.

"I need you to deposit your weapon before you enter, Deputy Behr."

"That's _Detective_ Behr," I huff as I pull my pistol out of my belt holster and deposit it in the drawer.

The guard rolls her eyes. "They are just moving him to the visitor's room to take a phone call," She starts as she tags my weapon, "I've alerted the guard that you will be joining them."

I nod as a loud _Brrrupt_ sounds beside me, releasing the next door.

I walk through and notice the next guard eyeing me from another booth at the end of the aisle.

When I reach the visitor's room, I hear the door unlatch in front of me.

Stepping through it, I nod at the waiting guard as I approach the man on the phone from behind.

"Does this mean that our business has been concluded?" I hear him say when I stop. He is busy looking out the window in front of him...trying to get another look at Turner.

I place my hand on his shoulder, my grip like iron on his wasted shoulder muscles. He stiffens as I put my mouth close to his ear.

"Not _quite_ concluded," I whisper.

Turner

Turner took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she watched it all play out in the window below.

The man was in her sights now. She tightened her grip slightly and squeezed off three quick shots in rapid succession.

Nick

Putd, Putd, Putd.

The three bullets create a spider web in front of the Ex-Senator's face as I push him toward the bulletproof glass.

"You're supposed to be dead!" he screams suddenly, his body visibly shaking.

I glance to my right, seeing that the guard has dropped to the floor below the wide but narrow window.

"I'll see if I can spot who's doing the shooting," I explain to the guard before turning my attention back to the Senator.

"Why, who told you that?" I mention conversationally in a quiet voice, "It's quite apparent I'm alive and well!"

"I-I-I just heard it!" he yells as three more shots land in almost the same spots in front of him.

"You should be _more_ worried about how much longer that glass is going to hold," I whisper again, pushing him harder into the ledge of the window. "I've always heard seven shots would do it...or was that nine?"

"Who's doing this?" he screams loudly, "I can see _her_ right there!"

He points out the window to the phone booth across the street. Waving my hand through the window, the woman hangs up the phone and steps away from the booth, pulling off her hat and letting her long, dark hair cascade around her shoulders.

Amanda waves back, a grin on her face before she turns and walks away.

Daugherty's legs buckle beneath him. Luckily for him I hold him in place so he doesn't fall.

"That woman down there?" I ask innocently. "Why that's just my wife...calling to say hello. She told me awhile back that she used to vote for you."

Realization is a bitch, and I watch happily as it spreads throughout the Ex-Senator.

"Get me out of this fucking window!" he suddenly shouts, his hands on the glass, pushing away frantically.

"Why?" I ask quietly, "It's probably just some kid plinking away with his squirrel rifle."

"It's a sniper, God dammit!" he screams. "If she shoots again she'll kill me!"

"Why Senator," I ask then, suppressing a grin, "What would make you think such a thing?"

I notice the guard is busy on the radio calling in the shooting.

"I hired her!" he screams, "I hired her to kill _you_!"

I glance at the guard, making sure that he has heard the shouted confession.

"I have to warn you, Mr. Daugherty, you should probably have a lawyer present if you are going to admit to a crime. I can have the guard make a call for you and we can wait right here until he arrives."

"I don't want a lawyer, I don't want a lawyer," he shouts loudly, "Just get me the hell away from this window!"

I back away from the window and the old man drops to the ground. I hadn't noticed earlier that he had pissed himself...but it is quite apparent now.

"I think Mr. Daugherty wants to go back to his cell now," I say to the guard as I remove the digital recorder from my pocket and shut it off.

"What about the sniper?" the guard asks from the floor, making no attempt to get up.

I squint out the window, making a show of looking all around. "I don't see anyone...I think they left."

"I think it was on that building over there," I point as the guard gets off the floor and comes over beside me, "That gray building. Better have the cops check it out."

He nods and calls in the information while I wait.

There will be questions to be sure, but I have a witness that was just inattentive enough at the right times to vouch for me.

I stare at the voice recorder in my hand and a grin spreads across my face. Yes, we have a confession, and yes it may not hold up in court in the long run, but for now it is golden.

My friend Stimpy, a wiz with anything to do with computers or the internet, has assured me that if the recording gets thrown out, he will plaster it all over the internet.

What the hell...he would at _least_ be judged by the public at large.

At the very least, maybe we could get him permanently separated from his massive fortune so that something like this could never happen again.

I sit down in one of the chairs along the wall and wait for the inevitable interviews and witness statements. Sighing, I close my eyes and lean back into the wall. A sudden image of Turner suddenly fills my thoughts...her lips consuming mine...

Earlier

Turner has my head tightly clasped in her hands while her lips assail me passionately.

Alix is of course delighted in the show, shouting out perverted suggestions and trying to cop a feel.

Slowly and gently, I start to push Turner away, taking a moment to catch my breath and get the truck back in the road.

"I can't," I finally get out.

Alix looks like she going to feint, moaning at my statement before covering her face with her hands.

"Where did I go wrong?" she implores before disappearing.

Turner doesn't look much better as confusion moves across her face.

"I have a wife...I'm in love with her..."

Turner sits back into her seat and stares off through the windshield.

"She'll probably shoot you now anyway," Trucker mumbles, "Might be you oughta rethink your rejection..."

"I understand," Turner says then, turning toward me and giving me a small smile, "At least...I _think_ I do."

I reach out and gently clasp her hand, unsure if she will then grip mine in return or cut it off.

"You will," I say, hoping my confidence is convincing, "When you finally find the one."

She _does_ grip my hand in hers then, nodding quietly at my words as she stares at the floor.

"I hope so," she replies finally, squeezing my hand again and looking up.

"Too bad though...I'd have had you screaming for mercy."

_Shit!_ I think to myself.

"Yesss!" Alix shouts, pumping her fist into the air.

Later

By the time I get home I am beat...until Amanda mentions the delayed d _essert_ from the night before!

Later, we are snuggling together when Turner pops into my head again.

"Oh yeah!" Alix enthuses.

I glance at her, my eyes saying, _not_ _that_ _way!_

"Well shit!" she grumbles before disappearing again.

I feel lucky to be alive after meeting Turner, and I also feel lucky to now call her friend...even though it is pretty unlikely that I will ever run into her again.

I can't imagine living the life that she has endured so far...and I can only hope that she gets what she wants out of the rest of her life.

Amanda stirs beside me and I turn on my side to get closer to her.

"You were wonderful today," I whisper into her neck.

Her hand comes up and gently slides along my face. "It was fun," she says as she turns toward me. "I _am_ assuming that you mean making the call in the city and not what we just finished of course."

I grin, "You were wonderful then too!"

She purrs while burying her head into my chest. "I thought about you last night...when you were gone...after you got me all horny..."

"Yeah, I heard," I reply before I remember that it was _Alix_ that had told me that.

"Yessss!" Alix shouts.

Shit!

That was my first mistake.

**About The Author**

**JT Lewis** (aka J.T. Lewis)

Mystery abounds in the books of Amazon Best Selling Author J.T. Lewis.

Living with his wife in Southeast Indiana, JT Lewis has always loved a mystery. Striving to bring readers a story packed full of action, adventure, and suspense has led to his current selection of titles:

The Adventures of Gabriel Celtic

Murder! Too Close To Home

Gabriel's Revenge

In Case of Death

The Book of Gabriel

The Perthra Incident

Nick Behr Mysteries

kidNAP Inc.

Falcons Pray

First Mistake

The Artifact Hunter

The Artifact Hunter

The Medlevian Protocol (With Ilex Arbor)

The Medlevian Protocol

Hank Snowden, Wizard

Ever Dead (With Alexia Purdy)

Find and follow JT Lewis @:

Jt.lewis.books@gmail.com

http://jt-lewis.blogspot.com/

https://www.facebook.com/JTLewis.Author

https://twitter.com/JTLewis_Books

http://www.wattpad.com/user/JTLewisAuthor

http://pinterest.com/jtlewisbooks/

<https://www.facebook.com/The.Adventures.Of.Gabriel.Celtic>

