Deadly Little Secrets Page 0,92

voice sounded stronger, felt stronger, despite the bone-deep weariness in her soul. “The security detail was in lead, two up; Dav and Sophia, two middle; me and Gates, two behind.” The formation was good, they’d been watchful, everything was clockwork. She said that, too.

“Everyone was in the vehicle but G…” She couldn’t say his name. Couldn’t. “Bromley.” She used the impersonality of his last name to get her through. “He stopped, issued a last order, or made a comment to his team.” She looked around blindly, searching for the one he’d been talking to, the one who’d spoken, scanning for anyone who might fill in the blank of what Gates had said.

The redhead, Declan, rose, came over. “He rattled off who was in which car, told us that once we’d dropped Miss Sophia off at the hotel, the Sir Francis Drake, we’d regroup, get further direction.”

“We’d mentioned a late supper,” Dav added wearily, not rising from his chair. “Or an early breakfast, I guess you’d say.” Once he’d spoken, he let his head drop into his hands, scrubbing them over his face in a gesture of frustration and sorrow.

When no one else spoke, Pretzky turned back to Ana. “Everyone followed orders,” Ana said. “Gates had one foot in the car, ready to get in,” she said, staring blindly beyond Pretzky’s shoulder, seeing it unfold again in her mind. “I heard that noise.” Ana met Pretzky’s eyes. “You know the one, where the bullet impacts—” She couldn’t continue. Pretzky put a firm hand on her shoulder, squeezed.

“I know. Go on.”

She finished it out. “He just dropped, half in, half out of the limo. We pulled him in,” she waved toward Dav, “and tore out for the hospital. They were waiting for us. We came here. That’s it, I think.”

“Angle of the bullet?” Pretzky demanded, making her focus, making her think. Ana pictured the wound.

“Down, back to front.”

“Sharpshooter then, from a rooftop or maybe even the Opera House itself.”

“No, had to be a rooftop,” Ana corrected, seeing the angles in her mind’s eye. “Gates was at a right angle to the building.” She demonstrated with her hands. “Couldn’t have been the Opera House.”

Baxter was taking notes, but Ana paid him no heed. She continued, using her visual memory to key into the details her shock had masked. “This isn’t about me,” she stated, knowing it flat and sure in her gut. She stared Pretzky down. “And it isn’t about him.” She pointed to Dav. “Gates was the target. That shooter could have taken any of us out—Dav, Sophia or me—during the walk to the car. They didn’t. They waited until everyone else was secure in the car before they took the shot. That shot was meant for Gates Bromley, and him alone—”

“Gates was the target,” she said as she scanned the room, locking eyes with Dav. “That was never a scenario any of us ran.”

Pretzky was about to say something when the squeak of rubber-soled shoes silenced everyone. A doctor, still wiping his hands dry, paced into the waiting area. He looked around the group, noting the blood on Dav and Ana. Responding, perhaps, to whatever pleading look must be haunting her face, the doctor honed in on her, spoke.

“He came through surgery. It isn’t wonderful news. He’s got damage to his lung, of course, but not as bad as we thought. Some bruising to the spleen. The bullet nicked his kidney, and we had to really work to stop that bleeding. There was some intestinal damage, but that was fairly simple.” It was a dry recitation of what must have been hideously difficult surgery. “He’s lucky though. The bullet missed everything major. He’s alive, and he’s hanging in there. We’ll know more in a few hours.”

“Can any of us see him?” Dav asked. He’d moved to her side without her being aware of it, she was so focused on the doctor.

To her distress, the doctor shook his head, a negative. “He’s not stable enough yet. Give it a few hours, and we’ll see.”

He strode off, and Pretzky took charge. “You,” she summoned one of Dav’s men. “Can you get someone to bring them a change of clothes?” She indicated Dav and Sophia. “Unless they’d like to go home?”

Dav was a firm no, but he urged Sophia to go. “There’s nothing you can do here, Sophia-aki. You have an early flight as well.” When she would have protested, he overrode her, speaking in a spate of soft, hurried Greek. Ana caught only