One Clean Shot Read online

  A ROOKIE CLUB NOVEL

  one clean shot

  DANIELLE GIRARD

  One Clean Shot

  Copyright © 2016 by Danielle Girard. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions

  Second Smashwords Edition: September 2016

  Cover and Formatting: Streetlight Graphics

  ISBN-10: 0996308954

  ISBN-13: 978-0996308953

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  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  The Rookie Club Cast, in order of appearance:

  Hailey Wyatt, Homicide Inspector (also in Dead Center, Dark Passage, Interference, and Everything to Lose)

  Hal Harris, Homicide Inspector, partner to Hailey Wyatt (Also in Everything to Lose)

  Cameron Cruz, Special Ops Team/Sharpshooter (Featured in Dark Passage; also in Interference)

  Linda James, Precinct Captain (also in Dark Passage, Everything to Lose)

  Jamie Vail, Sex Crimes Inspector (Featured in Everything to Lose; also in One Clean Shot, Dark Passage, and Interference)

  Jess Campbell, INS (also in Dead Center, Dark Passage)

  Shelby Tate, Medical Examiner (also in Dead Center)

  Ryaan Berry, Triggerlock Inspector (also in Dark Passage, Interference)

  Roger Sampers, Head Criminalist, Crime Scene Unit (also in Dead Center, Interference, and Everything to Lose)

  Prologue

  Standing in her in-laws’ kitchen, Hailey Wyatt removed the red bell pepper from the steamer with a pair of tongs.

  Her eyes burned with exhaustion. They had no leads in the murders of Abby and Hank Dennig, a wealthy San Francisco couple. The two were found dead in Abby Dennig’s minivan more than two months ago.

  It shouldn’t have been Hailey’s case at all. Homicide cases worked on rotation and another investigator was assigned to the Dennig case.

  Until Hailey’s father-in-law, Jim Wyatt, put in a call to the mayor and requested that the case be reassigned to her.

  The mayor was all too happy to do a favor for Senator Wyatt.

  The investigation led Hailey to believe that Abby and Hank Dennig had killed each other. Until a strange anti-NRA button was found in the minivan and matched to another victim of an apparent suicide up near Sacramento. Another man involved in the gun business—Colby Wesson, heir to the Wesson estate.

  As a result, the case on the Dennig murders was reopened. The lab reexamined the minivan and discovered a narrow void in the blood spatter that indicated the presence of a third person.

  The second level tox screen wouldn’t have been done if the killer hadn’t left the NRA button that tied to the death in Sacramento. The Wesson case didn’t belong to her—it was Sacramento’s jurisdiction but she kept in touch with the investigator up there.

  The killer didn’t only want to get away with murder. The killer also wanted them to know that he—or she—had killed. That realization left Hailey with a load of unanswered questions—and Hal just back from leave after shoulder surgery.

  One night off and she was here at the senator’s house.

  She’d be back at it tomorrow.

  This was her night to relax.

  “A family dinner,” John had pressed when she balked at the idea of going out. She wanted a night at home, with her children. “My parents want to spend time with us and their grandchildren.” She’d never known her grandparents. Of course, she wanted Camilla and Ali to be close with hers. Hell, she never met her father.

  But wasn’t it fair to want time for her family?

  For her and the girls and John?

  The girls weren’t even spending time with their grandparents. Not Ali anyway. And Hailey was alone in her in-laws’ kitchen, making chicken Parmesan.

  Her mother-in-law, Liz, was helping Hailey’s older daughter, Camilla, get dressed for their evening out.

  Liz had bought tickets to take each of the girls to dinner and a show and tonight was Camilla’s turn to see Wicked.

  Ali would get to see the Lion King with her grandmother in a few weeks, but already, she was feeling left out. In the last half hour, she’d moped through the kitchen twice, complaining she was bored.

  Hailey’s husband and her father-in-law had shut themselves in the den. They had done that a lot lately, planning for John’s first political campaign. John had been an attorney in the DA’s office for almost six years. The time was right.

  According to Jim.

  Jim had won his bid for senate and now the focus was to get John on the next ballot for state representative.

  What was supposed to be a family dinner had turned into a campaign meeting.

  They always did these days.

  Lately, Hailey’s priorities and John’s were no longer aligned. He commented more frequently about her retiring from Homicide. Even Jim had started dropping hints.

  California State Legislators did not have Homicide Inspectors as wives.

  Neither man had asked Hailey what she wanted. Quitting her job was not an option. She was proud of what she did.

  Once upon a time, John had been, too.

  Ali stomped back into the kitchen. “It’s not fair that she gets to do everything first.”

  John walked into the kitchen and gave Hailey a smile—like everything was fine. Everything was exactly how it should be. He didn’t see her frustration.

  Or he didn’t care.

  “Once Grammie and Cami are gone, we’ll make popcorn and watch Lady and the Tramp,” Hailey promised Ali.

  John brought down two crystal highballs. They would be pouring scotch now. How could they have a proper campaign meeting without a little scotch? Tink, tink went the glasses on the concrete countertop. Ice cubes pinged against crystal.

  Hailey waited for the sound of the cork coming out of the bottle of Glenlivet John had given his father for Christmas, the splash of liquid pouring.

  Only there was no pop of the cork releasing from the bottle. John wasn’t pouring. “What’s wrong?”

  John held the bottle in one hand, the other on the cork. “My dad just gave me a gun,” he whispered as though in shock.

  “What?” Hailey scanned the room and was grateful that Ali had left the room. The girls knew how she felt about guns. She did not want to try to explain why their grandpa would have one. “A gun—why would he do that?”

  “He’s worried about the threats.”

  Over the past few weeks, John had received a series of death threats at the DA’s office. They came mostly via phone message, but there had been a rather grisly package delivered that was a sheet soaked in pig’s blood
.

  “The DA’s office always gets threats. You know that.” John had recently helped put away a high level drug dealer and it wasn’t uncommon to receive threats after a successful conviction. Some of the more seasoned Assistant DAs took the threats as a badge of honor.

  Of course Jim would worry. Liz, too. John was their whole world. What different experiences the two of them had as only children. While she and her mother took care of each other, John was protected by his parents.

  John uncorked the scotch. “So you don’t think we should keep it?”

  “God, no.” She stared across the room at the man who swore he’d never touch a gun let alone own one. How many times had she come home with a story of how a gun in the home had killed someone it was meant to protect? “I’ve got my service weapon. One gun in our house is more than enough.”

  She scattered slivered peppers over the layer of breaded chicken.

  “I wish I could be as calm as you are,” he said.

  “Look at it rationally,” she said. “Why come after you? If you die, another Assistant DA takes your cases. The guy doesn’t get off because you’re dead.”

  He was silent.

  “If I were a delusional psychotic who thought murder was the answer, I’d take aim at Scott Palin.” She nodded to the oven. “Could you get that?”

  John opened the oven door and she slid the casserole onto the top rack. “Palin?” he asked.

  “Sure. I’d go straight to the top. Why take out an assistant when I could take out the DA?”

  “That’s sort of dismissive of the work the ADAs do. Palin’s not the only one in that office that’s a threat to criminals.” He rubbed his face. He’d shaved for a Saturday night at home with his parents. When had he become so much like Jim?

  “You gonna bring those drinks before I die of old age?” his father called out.

  “I’m coming.”

  Hailey closed the oven. “Dinner will be ready soon,” she said as John lifted the two glasses and started for the den. “I need to make it an early night. Got a huge week ahead of me.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We won’t stay late,” he said, heading for the den. “It’s Saturday night, Hale.”

  He used to say that when he wanted to stay out for an extra round of drinks with their friends.

  Now it was spending time with his father, closed off in that den. Man to man. John and Jim could sit in that room for hours. Not tonight. Not her. She was too tired. Dinner and home.

  “Can we help get dinner on the table?” Liz asked, entering the kitchen in a cloud of Chloe perfume, the musty scent of her fur coat and Hailey’s older daughter, Camilla.

  “It’s almost ready.” Hailey leaned down to kiss Camilla. “You look beautiful.”

  “The show will be over by ten and we’ll come right home,” Liz assured her, grabbing Camilla’s hand. “We’ve got church in the morning.”

  Camilla made a little face but Hailey held hers void of expression. Her in-laws had been talking about the girls attending the confirmation program at their church and Camilla was finally old enough.

  “Camilla, why don’t you finish packing up your clothes and cleaning up so you don’t have to do it tomorrow. I’ll call you down as soon as dinner is ready.” At some point, Hailey would need to talk to Liz about the confirmation. Did she want the girls to be confirmed in the church? They were baptized. Was it any different than that?

  At least they should have a say. Hailey wasn’t sure Liz had considered her feelings on church. Liz had always gone and had always taken the girls when they were with her on Sunday mornings.

  But she was too tired to have that conversation with Liz tonight.

  Camilla frowned and headed for her bedroom.

  Jim’s sister walked into the kitchen. She wore slacks and a light pink sweater. As always, Dee’s makeup was flawless and her hair looked like it had just been styled. Her clothes were pressed. She doesn’t have children, Hailey always told herself. Standing in the kitchen now, Dee fingered the gold locket around her neck. She also had a hard time sitting still. “Would it help if I set the table?”

  “It would,” Hailey told her. “Thanks.”

  Hailey sorted the mail that she’d been carrying around in her purse, separating the bills from the junk mail. There was an invitation to a birthday party for Scott Palin’s wife, Angela. More events she dreaded attending.

  “That’s a load of horse manure and you know it,” Jim barked.

  Hailey dropped the invite on the floor. Jim’s voice grew muffled, the volume dropping.

  Jim and John rarely fought. Had Jim been drinking before they arrived? Would that explain why he wanted John to have a gun.

  She took a couple of steps toward the den and listened but the room had grown quiet again.

  The oven timer buzzed and she stooped to pull the casserole from the stove. “Dinner,” she called. A moment later, “Dinner’s ready.”

  The crack of gunfire. Shattering glass. A window.

  She dropped the casserole dish on the floor. Reached for her holster. Her gun was locked in her case in the car.

  “Help!” Jim shouted. “Someone help me!”

  Hailey sprinted from the kitchen. Almost barreled into Dee coming out of the dining room.

  Liz came running down the stairs. “What was that noise? What happened?”

  Hailey pushed past them, heading for the front of the house.

  The door to the den opened and Jim stepped into the hall. His back was hunched like he was ducking. He held Ali in his arms, her body shielded by his. Protecting her. Her legs hung over his elbow. Her head against his shoulder. Her eyes closed.

  Liz shrieked. “What happened?”

  Jim’s face was ashen, his lips open, exposing small gray teeth. Hailey touched the thin, pale skin of Ali’s neck.

  Pulse was quick but strong. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Jim!” Liz shouted.

  “She’s fine,” Jim said, his mouth making silent gasps as though struggling to draw air. Jim was trembling. His brow and lip were sweaty. Shock.

  Hailey took her daughter from his arms, laid her down on the hallway rug.

  “What happened?”

  Jim glanced toward the den. “Shooter.”

  “John?” she called.

  Jim’s mouth fell open. Fear.

  Something had happened to John.

  Liz shrieked.

  No.

  Jim folded against the wall. His head made a hollow thud against plaster as he began to sob.

  Hailey pushed off the floor. Ran. Her shoulder caught the doorjamb and she fell into the room. A breeze blew in through the broken window. “John!”

  Gasping, he opened his eyes. Blood saturated his white collar. Hailey dropped beside him and pushed his tie out of the way.

  Hailey fumbled to unbutton John’s shirt. The buttons were stubborn. Her hands shook.

  Stop the bleeding. Find the source.

  “Call 9-1-1!” Liz appeared at the door. Camilla behind her. “Take Camilla out of here. Call for an ambulance.”

  “Mommy,” Camilla asked from the doorway.

  Dee took Camilla by the shoulders, turned her away.

  “Get me a towel,” Hailey barked. “Do it now.”

  John’s eyes followed her movements. Skin pale. Sweating. “It’s a Façonnable,” he said, trying to joke. Fassa-snob she always teased him about the shirts.

  She started to cry.

  “Liz! Did you call for an ambulance?”

  No response.

  John’s chest stuttered under the strain of breathing.

  “Liz!”

  Liz ran into the room, clutching a dish towel.

  Hailey grabbed it, pressed it against the wound. “What about the ambulance?”

  “Jim
is on with them. They’re on their way.”

  “How long?”

  “They said eight minutes.”

  A sob escaped her lips. “Eight minutes? We’re less than a mile from the hospital. I could run in eight minutes.”

  “Mommy,” Camilla called.

  “I need to help Daddy, Cami. Stay with Grammie.”

  “Hailey,” John whispered, struggling to speak. His hand flinched as though to reach for hers.

  Slow the bleeding. Keep the blood in his vital organs. Work. Think.

  “The ambulance will be here soon. You’re going to be okay. We need to stop the bleeding.” She pressed his hand to the towel. “Hold this.”

  She lunged for the ottoman and dragged it toward them, lifted his feet up. Took hold of the towel again.

  Already it was wet on her fingers.

  Eight minutes.

  Eight minutes was forever.

  “Where’s Ali?” he whispered.

  “She’s okay. She bumped her head. She must’ve heard the shot. She’s fine.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m positive. She’s going to be fine. You are, too.”

  John’s breath was ragged. “Take care of the girls.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” she said, feeling a rise of anger. “Don’t you dare, John Wyatt.”

  “Make sure they’re okay.” He struggled to breathe. He gasped. He wasn’t getting air.

  She pushed harder on the towel. So much blood.

  “Hailey.” The weak, whispery quality of his voice was terrifying. “Give me your hand.”

  Jim cried out from the doorway. Small and broken.

  She pressed her free hand into John’s.

  John turned toward his father. “You take care of her.”

  “John!” she shouted. She could take care of herself. She didn’t need Jim or Liz. She needed John. “Damn it, John. You stay right here. You fight for us!”

  He drew a trembling breath.

  “Focus on me,” she pleaded. “Fight for me.”

  His nod was barely perceptible in the shift of his chin. An involuntary shiver twitched in his shoulders.