Chapter Sixteen

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Owen refused to give in to the overwhelming sense of dread that was trying to claim his mind. That wouldn't help. The best thing he could do for Brynn right now was find her and learn if she was the killer.

After that, he could deal with the fallout.

And there would be fallout. He just hoped it didn't end up with Brynn in jail for murder.

Or dead.

Because if Brynn wasn't the killer, then she could be a target. First though, the real killer would have to find her, and he hoped Brynn wouldn't make that easy for him or her.

Her, he mentally corrected.

At this point, with Carlton in the hospital, that only left them with three main suspects. All female. Alice, Marlie, and Francine.

"I have the crime scene photos," Ruby said, giving the voice command to put on the monitor.

Good. After he'd ended his call with Marty, Ruby had gotten to work on getting those while he'd been checking the alibis of their three suspects. Bottom line on that—the three women didn't have them, and Ruby's and his team members hadn't been in place at the time of Trent's murder to monitor the women's movements. So, any one of the three could have murdered Trent.

Owen set aside his laptop where he'd just engaged the program to monitor the traffic cameras around Trent's apartment, and he stood to go closer to the monitor. He didn't verbally curse when the first photo loaded, but he had to admit that seeing it was somewhat of a shock.

Marty had warned them that the scene was a bloody mess, and that wasn't an exaggeration. There was spatter and cast off on the walls, on the floor, and on nearly every surface visible in the shot.

And the body was in the center of it.

It was sprawled out on what appeared to have once been a whitewashed wood floor. He was on his stomach, his head slightly turned to the side and his arms stretched out in a near DaVinci pose. Had the killer arranged his body like that, or was it merely the way he'd fallen?

"They're sure it's Trent?" Owen had to ask because there was nothing recognizable about the dead person he was looking at.

"They say they are," Ruby answered. "His prints and DNA were in the system because he'd been arrested for assault on his eighteenth birthday."

Owen knew about that. It'd been a fight at a party, and he'd punched some guy that he thought was flirting with his girlfriend.

He moved even closer, changing the angle of his body so he could try to get a better look at the dead guy's face. Still no signs of recognition, but that was because most of his features were covered with blood.

"The initial ME report is that he died from blunt force trauma," Ruby went on, instructing the AI app to put a second picture.

"Hell," Owen muttered.

It was an up-close shot of the head, and yeah, there was blunt force trauma, all right. It looked as if he'd been hit repeatedly on the head and face with a hammer.

"Marty was correct about the estimated time of death," she explained. "About an hour before he called us."

"An hour," he repeated. "Not much time. Who reported him dead?"

"An anonymous tip made from a burner phone." She paused, a muscle tightening in her jaw. "So, the killer could have been the one to call it in."

"Either that or someone who was checking on Trent like Marlie or Francine. Or, hell, even Alice," Owen amended. "One of them could have walked in on the body, but neither of those three would have wanted to be caught at a crime scene. All those pesky questions they'd have to answer about why they knew where a fugitive was and didn't let the cops in on it."

Ruby made a sound of agreement. A frustrated one. "I was hoping Trent was the killer," she muttered. "That he was murdering to set up Brynn."

Owen had hoped the same thing. That would have tied things up in a neat little package. And it was still possible, he supposed. Trent could have committed the first two murders, attacked his father and then hired someone with Brynn's build to wear the mask near the scenes.

But if that was a solid theory, then who had murdered Trent?

And why?

Owen was pretty sure the why was a biggie here. Find out the reason for the murders, and he could ID the killer.

His laptop dinged, indicating there was a hit on the traffic feed, and he turned the screen so both Ruby and he could see it. And there it was.

Brynn again.

Or rather someone in mask.

It was impossible to tell, but the person was wearing the same dark hoodie, which might or might not have had blood on it. No way to tell from the grainy image.

Owen used his phone to fire off a text to his tech team to have them try to clear up the shot, and he'd just hit send when he heard the noise just outside his house.

A swooshing sound, followed by breaking glass.

Ruby and he hurried to the window, and Owen saw someone in a ski mask hurling Molotov cocktails at Ruby's SUV that was parked on the street in front of his house. The SUV was already on fire, and the flames were spreading to the sidewalk.

"Deckert, call 911 and the fire department," Owen instructed, drawing his gun from his shoulder holster.

Ruby drew hers, too, and they both raced to the front door. He yanked it open, and as they bolted onto the porch, his attention was fixed on the person on the driver's side of a beat-up old truck. The guy was lighting yet another gasoline bottle to toss.

"Sonofabitch," Owen snarled.

But his voice was drowned out by another sound. A bad one. Gunfire. And a lot of it.

A spray of bullets tore into the front door and the house. Ruby and he dropped to the porch floor, both of them scrambling for cover behind the railings. Owen went to the left and Ruby to the right. They instantly had their guns aimed and ready, but he couldn't pinpoint the location of the shooter.

Whoever was firing, it had to be coming from an automatic rifle.

And he was clearly trying to kill Ruby and him.

There was a squeal of tires on the asphalt, and the cocktail thrower sped away in the truck. But the gunfire sure as hell didn't stop. It kept coming, the bullets pinging off the metal railing and going heaven knows where.

Along with hitting Ruby and him, the shots could be ricocheting into his neighbors' houses. Innocent people could be hurt. Hell, there was a school just two blocks away, and that reminder caused Owen to know he had to do something right now.

He scurried toward the porch steps, and he continued to glance around, trying to pinpoint their attacker.

And he finally saw him.

It was a man wearing a ski mask on the roof of his neighbor's house that was directly across the street. The roof had a sharp angle, and the guy and his rifle were peering over the top.

Even though Owen couldn't see the guy's face or his body, he thought this might be Rocco. He got just a glimpse of those wide linebacker shoulders, and Owen figured this was the chickenshit kind of attack the coward would make. Since Rocco hadn't been able to beat them in a fight, he was now resorting to what could turn out to be a deadly ambush.

"You have eyes on him?" Ruby asked.

She was breathing a little fast, but other than that, she looked as steady as a rock. Of course, she did. Ruby had faced crap like this and worse when she'd been in the military and on other assignments. They both had.

"Yeah, I've got eyes on him," Owen verified. "I'll take the shot."

Which meant taking a risk, too, but he didn't have a choice about that. That gunfire had to stop.

"I'll roll out into the opening in front of the steps," he added. "If he hits me, make sure you get him."

"To hell with that," she muttered. "We both roll out," Ruby insisted. "That way at least one of us stops him now."

Owen wanted to argue. He wanted her safe, but that now was flashing like neon in his head. They couldn't wait any longer.

"Let's do this," he agreed.

No hesitation. They both moved. Both reaching the opening at the same time. The shots were still kept coming at them, but Ruby and he fired.

Together.

And they didn't miss.

Owen saw, and heard, the bullets slam into the gunman's head.

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