“Last day, though not a full day,” Steeev told her with a hint of the glare Jill had mentioned at the ice cream shop.
She grinned around a mouthful of biscuit and jam. “Wah owah ah mof.”
His glare eased. “Yes, one hour at most,” he said, impressing me with his ability to translate biscuit-speak.
“You got any plans for what to do while you wait to pop out that kid?” Pellini asked. He split a biscuit down the middle and slathered jam on each side.
Jill chewed and swallowed. “Oh, yes,” she said with a smile. “I have plans. I have years of TV to catch up on or rewatch. I’m going to make our Internet connection scream for mercy with all the quality entertainment I intend to stream.”
Pellini let out a low chuckle. “That’s an enviable goal.”
Jill got to her feet and glanced at the clock. “Unless I have to waste time hunting down my captain, I expect to start my movie marathon by ten a.m.” She picked up the file, then she and Steeev headed out the front door.
Bryce turned the laptop so Pellini and I could see the screen. “Check it out.”
A police sketch of Jerry Steiner glowered at me from a local news website. Right next to it was a driver’s license photo of the man himself. I made a face and flipped him off.
“With the Farouche investigation, he’s one face among many,” Bryce said. “But doing that shit to Amaryllis put him in the spotlight for all the good ol’ boys. He’d better keep his head down.”
Pellini peered at the images. “Too bad he’s so common looking. Hardass, but nothing makes him stand out.”
Bryce pulled the computer back to face him. “One of his greatest assets. He could blend in, and his mark wouldn’t notice him until it was too late.”
All three of us jerked our heads up at a sharp crack from the direction of the highway.
“That was a high-powered rifle,” Bryce said, alarm rising in his eyes. “It’s not hunting season, is it?”
“Only for wild hogs,” Pellini said, brows drawing together. “Open season on them because of overpopulation.” But doubt threaded through his voice.
Bryce pushed back from the table and ran for the computer room with me on his heels. We’d only heard one shot. Maybe it hadn’t been a gunshot at all. Sure. Three people in the room with firearms experience, and all of us wrong?
Bryce didn’t bother sitting, simply wiggled the mouse and pulled up the security camera playback for the front of the property. The view of the highway and gate popped up on the screen, and Bryce rewound the image until we saw Jill’s car pass through the gate as it opened then pause at the end of the driveway. A few seconds later a woman breezed by on a motorcycle, and Jill’s car moved forward in a right turn onto the highway.
The instant the front tires touched the asphalt, the car lurched hard to the right then veered off the highway and beyond camera range. Bryce let out a curse and raced from the room. On the edge of the screen a black van came into view, but I only caught a glimpse before I sprinted after Bryce.
He burst out the front door and leaped from porch to ground without a break in stride. I snagged my gun and holster from the table by the door then ran down the steps as Bryce dove behind the wheel of the Malibu. I barely managed to get into the passenger side before he gunned it down the driveway, and I braced myself as he screamed around the curves.
He hit the remote to open the gate when we were fifty yards away then slammed on the brakes. He knew better than to drive right smack into a potentially bad scene. I already had my door open and jumped out before the car stopped moving. Bryce threw it into park and bailed out on his side. Together we approached the end of the driveway in a low run and with guns at the ready.
Jill’s car remained cocked at an angle with its front fender against a tree. No sign of the black van I’d seen on the video or anyone else. My pulse thudded loud in my ears, and I took deep and slow breaths to control my reaction to the gallons of adrenaline in my system.
“See anything?” I asked, staying low. I didn’t bother to keep my voice down. If anyone was out here, they’d see us.
Bryce hadn’t stopped scanning for threats. “Clear so far,” he finally said, expression intense. Together we moved forward until we could see inside the car. Glass fragments glittered on the dash and interior. Jill’s purse and the case file lay on the floor on the passenger side. No sign of Steeev or Jill. An icy fist clutched at my gut.