“So, if he’s around, you’ll find him.”
“That’s what I’m hoping. I just got done having a long, involved talk with his probation officer. Leath isn’t without funds. He has an offshore bank account in the Bahamas. Before this guy murdered Isabella Gallagher, he was a multimillionaire construction corporation owner. The officer said that according to court testimony, as Shiloh told us, Leath threatened her with death after being sentenced. He told her she was going to die like her mother did. And this gets worse, Roan. Leath has been a big-time African game hunter. He has hundreds of trophies over the years. He also owned a weapons arsenal.”
“So, the man knows how to shoot.” A cold chill went through Roan.
“According to the officer, at one time Leath was on the Olympic shooting team, rifle competition. He’s a sniper, Roan. Pure and simple.”
Gut clenching, Roan knew exactly what that meant. “That big black gym bag that the B and B owner saw?”
“Yes.”
“It could have been his weapons bag,” Roan said in a lower tone. He knew Shiloh was listening. He wished mightily she wasn’t within earshot.
“I hadn’t thought of that, but you’re an operator and you’ve carried your weapons around with you on deployment.”
“Right. Could you get someone to ask her roughly the size of it? It would be helpful to me.”
“I can. Also, Leath, because he’s a criminal, he cannot legally buy weapons.”
Snorting, Roan muttered, “And that stops no one who really wants to get them. Leath could have a shill buy whatever he wants. Have you thought of checking the gun stores in Jackson Hole? The one here in Wind River? Faxing all of them Leath’s photo?”
“Already done. We’re also going to get a list of weapons from each store that have been bought in the last three weeks. The officer figures Leath probably headed west about that time. He’s missed three checkin dates.”
Roan nodded, sensing Shiloh’s building anxiety. “Okay, sounds good. Let’s stay in touch.” There was so much more he wanted to discuss with Sarah, but not in front of Shiloh. He knew by now she was a major worrier and for her to hear what he wanted to say to the deputy would probably do nothing but terrorize her further. Leath was a sniper. That’s all Roan needed to know. It put everything into perspective. Leath was truly a stalker; he’d hunted big game in Africa. The man knew how to move quietly, in the shadows, come upon the wild game, fire his big rifle, and take the animal down.
This time, Roan understood the full picture. Leath was out to stalk, wait for the right opportunity, to place unsuspecting Shiloh in his sights and kill her. And he could do it from a long distance. Even as far as a mile away since he was really a sniper-quality shooter. And since Leath had been on the Olympic team, Roan had no question that he could be a mile from his intended quarry and hit his target. Worse, Leath could use armor-piercing rounds. They could go through a window, a door . . . And he shut it all down as he turned and saw the terror in Shiloh’s eyes.
“It’s him, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Let’s go to the couch and sit down. I’ll fill you in.” He pulled her chair back, held out his hand, and Shiloh placed her damp one into his warm, dry palm.
Shiloh tried to hold on to her escaping emotions as she sat down next to Roan on the couch, her knee resting lightly against his thigh as she turned, facing him.
“What did Sarah say?”
Roan told her almost everything. “Were you aware he was an African big game hunter?”
“Yes.” Shiloh shivered. “My mother hated that part about him. When they got married, Anton wanted to hang the heads of the dead animals he’d killed all over her apartment. She wouldn’t let him. It upset her so much. They got into a lot of heated arguments about it. Mom hated guns and violence.” Shiloh shook her head. “And look what happened to her. She died violently.”
Roan reached out, his large hand covering her two hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Did Leath keep weapons at the apartment?”
“Yes, much to my mother’s chagrin. He was always cleaning them on my mom’s beautiful bird’s-eye maple table. It was a hundred-and-fifty-year-old table that had been handed down through our family. Anton laid down a cloth over it when he cleaned his stuff, but she hated even seeing the weapons around. It really upset her. The place would smell like gun oil afterward for days. I hated it too.”
“Did your real father ever have any weapons in the apartment?” Roan wondered.
“No. He was in the military, but when he got out, he left it all behind. There were never any weapons in our house until Mom married that monster.”
“I don’t mean to push you here, Shiloh, but do you remember the types of weapons he had in the apartment?”