Two weeks passed, and I began to think the accident had been nothing more than an accident—a drunk soldier who didn’t want to face the music. They’d discharged Smitty from the hospital after four days.
She’d stayed on bed rest for the first week, but now hobbled around on crutches. The first sergeant and commander found things for her to do around the office, paperwork mostly, and she worked in the arms room at other times. Today, she sat on CQ duty, her foot propped up on a desk, clipboard in hand, signing out weapons for our trip to the range. Her leg seemed to be doing well, and they’d not dropped her from the program yet.
“Have fun,” she said as she checked off next to my name. Everyone had a weapon assigned to them. The process for picking up your weapon was simple. You were assigned a specific serial number. Checked it out before you loaded up and checked the same weapon in when you came back. If anyone lost a weapon in the field, the entire post would shut down until it could be found. No soldier wanted to be the one responsible, so we never let our weapon out of our sight.
“Yeah.” I blew a breath out and eyed the downpour through the door as one of my squad members left. “Fun.” The skies had opened up two days ago, and someone upstairs had forgotten to shut off the faucet. Not my idea of a good time. I eyed Smitty, reclining comfortably at the desk. “You suck. Hell of a way to get out of training today.”
She smiled. “If it’s any consolation, I’ll be with you in spirit.” She hit a remote and turned on a small television in the corner, flicking through the channels until she landed on one of those chick stations, where the mother of a murdered daughter hunted the killer, not knowing her current and fifth husband was actually the one who did it. Smitty reached into the desk and pulled out a chocolate bar.
“Bitch.” I glared at her treat.
“Um, hmm,” she muttered, already engrossed, and waved me off as an actress made her way upstairs while creepy music played.
I turned, slipped my weapon under my poncho, and exited the arms room. My boots and pants were instantly soaked. Rain splattered my face, dripping from my chin and nose, making me wonder if it would ever let up.
“Load up,” the first sergeant barked next to an idling troop transport truck. The doors were pulled open, and soldiers climbed up and took a seat on the benches on either side. As I moved through the back, I noticed a couple of grunts were already asleep. I made my way to an empty spot and plunked my ass down, only to notice I’d sat next to Nolan. He wore a boonie hat, unlike my Kevlar helmet, and had Army-issue camo paint on his face. And damn if he didn’t rock the look, both sexy and dangerous. I caught myself staring and quickly turned away.
“Good morning, Sergeant Davis.”
“Good morning,” I mumbled as the canvas dropped and any illumination from the streetlights outside disappeared. I squirmed in my seat. I didn’t trust him not to take advantage of the dark. If I knew one thing about Stone, he wouldn’t let an opportunity slip by.
Sure enough, a hand crept to my thigh. I sucked in a breath, clamped onto his wrist, and moved it off. With a nervous glance around the back of the truck, I hoped nobody caught his pass. I let out my breath. Barely able to make out one face from another, I knew my secret remained safe.
Most of the soldiers were well on their way to a catnap. I let go of his hand, and it landed back on my leg, higher up this time.
“Not going to nap?” I turned toward him and saw nothing but teeth, his camo paint doing the trick. I rose to my feet, intending to sit in another spot. He pulled me back down as the truck lurched and started on its way. It would take at least twenty minutes from our current locale to reach the range, and I’d managed to pick the one spot next to a human octopus.
He didn’t have a weapon. The instructors were going to be our spotters today. I closed my eyes and prayed I wouldn’t draw Stone as my partner.
As if knowing what I had just crossed my mind, Nolan spoke up. “I’m your spotter for this mission.”
“Fuck.”
“Nice language, Sergeant. You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
“I kiss a lot of things with this mouth. You don’t like it, you don’t have to listen,” I replied softly, to keep it between us. No need in drawing attention where we didn’t need it.
He leaned in and pressed his lips against my ear. “I got something for you to kiss.”
Heat rushed from my center of my pelvis to the tips of my fingers and toes. How would I survive all day alone with him?
He sat back, acting as though nothing had passed between us a moment before. My grip on my weapon tightened, and my heart threatened to break a few ribs. Oh hell.
***
As we pulled up to the range, the rain hadn’t let up. Puddles covered the ground. “Leave your MOLLEs in the back,” the first sergeant barked.
I climbed from the five ton and let my gaze take in the muddy mess.
We’d already zeroed our weapons, but now they wanted to see how well we applied our lessons on Kentucky windage and adjusting the scope to hit a target in adverse conditions. Good chance we’d be in the prone position for most of the morning. I knew war didn’t wait for sunny days, but this seemed a little over the top. We hadn’t had this much rain since we’d arrived. I pulled the hood on my poncho up and over my Kevlar helmet. Nolan came from behind me and tugged it down.
“Not scared of a little water, are you, Sergeant?”
“Won’t melt, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Good, ’cause this is only the first part of the exercise.” He plucked my sleeve. “Come on, we’re over here.” He started down the range, whistling as he went.
I sighed and followed, keeping my weapon pointed downrange, the bolt in my pocket. “Did you just say the first part of the exercise?”
He turned and smiled.
Four hours later, we were back in the five ton, soaking wet and muddy. My fingertips were blue, and I couldn’t stop shivering. Nolan had said we had more training after we qualified on the range. I’d wanted this, so I wouldn’t complain, but in my head, I bitched about it. I wanted to go to my nice warm room, throw on a sweatshirt and pants, soft, fuzzy socks, and nursed a beer, all while listening to music and reading a steamy romance. Comfort stuff.
“Listen up,” one of the instructors spoke. He waited for all heads to turn in his direction before speaking again. “This next exercise is to evaluate how much you think you know about being a sniper. Each team will have the coordinates to a specified target. You will hump five to ten clicks to your target, depending on the assignment you draw, neutralize the target, and return to the LZ for extraction at oh-five-hundred hours.” He paused to make sure everyone heard.
This meant not just a day, but the night, too. So much for cozy comforts and naughty books. I turned toward Nolan and mouthed the words, “All night?” He gave me a slight nod in response, and I sat back, blowing out a breath. Even worse than I’d initially thought.
“Each target is live, ladies and gentlemen. A company of grunts from the 2-26th are out there, dressed as enemy soldiers and on the move. They’re fast. They’re smart, and they’re not going to stand still for you. You will get one chance to take out their squad leader, the designated target. One shot.”
He lifted his sniper rifle. “I’m sure you’re all familiar with this.” He pointed at the Multiple Integrated Laser Engagement System on the weapon. “But I’ll go over it in case you aren’t. Each of your SWS, sniper weapons systems, are fitted with MILES. When you hit your target, a device will sound an alarm on one of the boxes your target is wearing. Data can then be retrieved to determine if you made a kill shot. Your target will only be at the coordinates for a limited time. Get in, identify your target by rank, uniform, and actions, make the hit, and get out.”
He lifted his watch and pressed a button to illuminate the face. “It’s twelve hundred hours now. If you are not at the LZ by oh-five-hundred hours, the bird will leave you, and you’ll have to hump your way out of the field—full MOLLE. That’s twenty clicks, and not the way you want to spend your weekend. Understood?”
“Hu-ah,” the group shouted out in unison.
“Oh, and one other thing. This exercise is about evading. Once you neutralize your target, the rest of the enemy soldiers are under orders to capture you. They have vehicles and night vision goggles. They know this terrain better than you do. Don’t get captured. You’ll wish you were humping the twenty clicks.”
No way in hell did I want to hump twenty clicks to post with a full MOLLE, and I definitely didn’t have any intention of getting captured. Nolan better be all business.
Fifteen minutes later, the brakes squawked as the truck came to a stop. The first sergeant threw the flap open. “Let’s go. Move it. Move it. We don’t have all day.” Everyone scrambled to their feet and jumped from the back. Game time.
***
Spring in New England is about one thing. I discovered what, firsthand, tromping across the soggy soil in late May. Mud had a way of extending the distance when you traveled on foot. For every step I took, I felt like I’d taken three, and, twenty minutes in, I wanted to take a break, except I didn’t have the luxury of time.
I’d tightened the strap to my MOLLE around my waist, so the bulk of the weight rested on my hips instead of my shoulders. Nature had determined long ago women should carry our loads, i.e. babies, on our hips and not our shoulders like the male soldiers. Men had the big shoulders—women the big…. Well nature’s idea—not mine. It was easier to work with my genetics than to try and manhandle the weight. Didn’t make the load any lighter, but without doing it, I’d have dropped two clicks back. My MOLLE weighed a good seventy pounds, full of all kinds of shit I really didn’t need for the mission, but the government had determined I’d take with me.
“We’ll cache our packs here.” Nolan unbuckled and shrugged out of his MOLLE. Once I dropped my pack, he opened it and pulled out my PT sneakers, tossing them to me. Sometime in the last twenty-four hours since I’d worn them, he’d sprayed them with black paint, hiding the reflective logos on the sides.
“Excuse me. Those are my shoes. I shot him a dirty look he completely missed—or ignored. I’d paid good money for the logo he’d blacked out. I didn’t bother to ask how he’d gotten them. I already knew.
He tugged out a pair of his sneakers and took his boots off, stuffing them in a smaller day pack about the size of a child’s backpack, to take with us. “Put them on. They’ll leave less of a trail. The soles round out the prints, treads don’t go as deep, and they’re less distinctive. We’ll still do some backward walking and tricks to throw them off our trail, but this will help, especially with how damp the ground is.”
I nodded and did as he told me, cramming my boots into my daypack when done.
Once we’d changed, he collected several branches and an armful of leaves, covering his gear. I moved my MOLLE next to his and did the same. Once I’d hidden my gear well, I stood up and rolled my shoulders. Nolan came up behind me and rubbed the back of my neck, working the knots free.
“You ready?”
My ghillie suit hung limp around my torso, and a fall I’d taken on a slippery bank a couple of miles back had me resembling a swamp monster more than a soldier. Mud coated every inch of my torso. “If this is what you call ready.”
“We got everything we need.”
I still wore my tactical vest, had two full canteens and my SWS, sniper weapons system, an M24 and scope, specially fitted for the exercise, which wasn’t about accuracy, but locating a target and completing the mission without getting caught. We’d have to get within three hundred meters for the MILES to work effectively. I didn’t feel ready but trusted he knew what he was talking about.
“We need to go over the operation.” He squatted down and picked up a stick. Poking it into one spot, he drew a line down and then another across it, making an X in the mud. “This is the landing zone.” He skimmed to the left and drew another X. “This is the objective.” He moved back to the right and north of the first X and where the bird would be. “This is our secondary point for extraction.”
I screwed up my face. “Secondary?” Nobody had said anything about a secondary.
“Snipers always have a plan B, and if they know what they’re doing, they have a plan C.”
I nodded. Okay, he made sense.
“I’ve stashed my vehicle out here. We’re not going to the bird. It won’t be there. This exercise is about evading, and I’m 99 percent sure they’ll call off the LZ as hot, forcing us to find an alternate means out of the field while we have an entire company of infantry on our heels.”
Now, he didn’t make sense. He didn’t seem to be taking the training exercise seriously. “That’s cheating.” I looked up, not sure I wanted to be a part of his “plan B.”
“No, you have to adapt, improvise, and overcome. How we do it is our business. Enemy soldiers don’t care if you follow the rules, so why do something that could cause you to fail? This is the final test. If you fail, you’re out of the program. Trust me, everyone out there wants you to fail. So, we’re planning a contingency. This is no different than what I’d do if this were a real mission.
“Hell, I’ve taken cabs out of hot zones after I terminated a target. You do what you have to. They ordered us to train you for the real deal, so that’s what I’m doing.” He rose to his feet and faced me. “If you get caught behind enemy lines, you might have to dump your ACUs to blend with the environment and people. We use everything at our disposal. We’re training for when the bullets are flying and you’re surrounded and need a plan B. Repeat after me,” he said. “There is no cheating when your life is on the line.”
“There is no cheating when your life is on the line.” Well, they did say we had to use our heads, and he’d demonstrated clearly he would use everything he had at his disposal to be successful. I couldn’t argue there.
“Good.” He pulled me in and lowered his mouth to mine, curling my toes back in my sneakers. He stepped back and smiled down at me.
“Was that part of your contingency?”
“No. Been wanting to do it all day. You’re so damn cute in that ghillie suit.” He tapped the tip of my nose with his finger, leaving a clump of mud behind.
I reached up and brushed it away. “I’m not supposed to look cute.” I crossed my arms. “I’m supposed to look like a killer.”
“A cute killer.”
Right. The rain had stopped an hour before, and a thick fog clung to the ground, making visibility next to zero. We still had a couple hours before the sun set—time to get there and take out the target before dark, but not enough time to get back to Nolan’s Jeep before we couldn’t see our hands in front of our faces. Fun times.
As he explained the rest of his plan, I listened intently. Success or failure would depend on it. This wasn’t the stuff they taught you in basic, or something you’d learn from working in a Wild West show, or out in the woods, hunting. We’d be the hunted, chased by a predator who knew all the tricks.
Nolan warned me the heavy air and the night carried sound better. He insisted I use hand signals to communicate if necessary.
Every now and then, I’d take out my compass and check my bearings. Of course, Nolan and I had drawn the steepest and the longest course. I knew the first sergeant had something to do with it. The man didn’t like me and had made no secret about it. We’d have to haul ass to get there to intercept our target.
Failure wasn’t an option. For Smitty’s sake, I intended to show them what a female soldier could do.
A sadness settled over me as I thought about Smitty being left behind. I ambled down a ridge toward a dirt road, not really thinking about my mission for the first time in the last hour.
Nolan snagged the back of my MOLLE and threw me to the ground, his hand clamped over my mouth. I stared at him, my heart pounding. He shook his head and pointed at a dirt road fifteen feet below us. He slipped his hand from my mouth. I squinted as several soldiers came into view. They walked single file along the dirt road, oblivious to us. I went to raise my weapon, but he shook his head, grabbing my arm.
Either our target wasn’t there, or we were too close to evade. He pointed up, back the way we came. The ridge would provide a good view of the gully and the road traveling alongside it. I nodded. We’d follow from above, until an opportunity presented itself, or we found a place to set up shop.
As soon as the enemy patrol disappeared behind a bend, Nolan helped me to my feet. We started back up the slope, one step closer to mission accomplished.
***
“One click up,” Nolan whispered from my right shoulder where I rested in the prone position on my belly next to him. I turned the dial on the scope and adjusted for altitude. Nolan had managed to find the highest ground he could, one giving us an advantage when the enemy began their pursuit, and promptly began to demonstrate his knowledge. He’d assessed the wind speed by dropping a leaf and measuring the angle his arm made when pointing at it. Everything from our position to natural conditions had been accounted for in his calculations, and for once, I found myself on the learning side of a weapon.
Outstanding.
Nolan’s choice of firing position appeared to be no accident either. The slope couldn’t be navigated by vehicle, and it would take climbing gear to get to the top, leaving the 2-26th one alternative—to go around. The delay would give us a two click lead, but it also made the shot a little trickier.
I stared through the scope at the camp below. They’d started a game of Spades twenty minutes before, and the squad leader finally held a hell of a hand, after his men had wiped the ground with him for the last few tricks. With his back to me, I couldn’t tag the box, and I waited patiently while he slapped cards down on the ground, playing the round out. After twenty minutes, he finally got up, stretched, and headed for a large tree to take a piss. What I’d been waiting for.
I eased my finger on the trigger and steadied my breath. The area where we lay in the prone had no trees, and a breeze had picked up. Windage and altitude were not our friends, but I’d made tougher shots in the past. The distance to the target sat just inside what we needed, to tag the MILES device attached to the squad leader’s tactical vest.
“Easy.” Nolan shifted and lifted his binoculars again. “Fire when ready. Target’s in the open,” he whispered.
I tagged the box with a laser beam. An alarm jumped to life, flashing and screeching. Nolan gave me a quick fist bump, and we backed out of view before jumping to our feet and running as fast as we could for the back of the ridge.
The hunt was on. I couldn’t be happier a cliff blocked their pursuit. We were close enough to hear the shouts calling out to the others we were up on the ridge, and the bitching that followed when they tried to climb the rock face.
Nolan must have noticed I’d started to relax a bit, and he set me right back on edge. “We’re not clear yet.” He tore branches off our daypacks and tossed my bag to me. I caught it and shrugged into it. He had already started running when I buckled the small pack. “This way.”
For the next two hours, Nolan pulled every trick out of his arsenal. We backtracked, used a stream, found rocky soil, and traversed across ground, avoiding evidence of our passing. When we finally arrived at his Jeep, I was ready to drop from the exhaustion. I tossed my gear in the back and climbed in. He hopped in and turned to me, giving me a huge grin. “Let’s pick up the rest of our gear.”
I nodded and unfastened the chin strap on my Kevlar helmet, leaving it hanging.
“You think you’re John Wayne,” he joked at the hanging strap like he gave a shit.
I smiled and gave him the middle finger. “Where are we headed after we pick up our equipment, pilgrim?”
“We need to kill some time before we go back to our unit. I know this little Italian restaurant in Syracuse.”
“That’s hours away, by interstate.”
He winked, started the Jeep, put it into gear, and pulled out on the road. “You don’t mind a double date, do you?” He stopped three miles down and honked his horn. Two figures ran from cover and opened the back doors before I could say a word. One of the other trainees and an instructor hopped in.”
I turned to Nolan. “You planned this as a joint effort?”
He shrugged and cocked his head to the back. “You know Staff Sergeant Sutton from training, but you can call him Dutch. And his pretty sniper is….”
“Angela Morgan,” she said and reached out, shaking my hand. “Haven’t had a chance to meet you yet.” She had the soft drawl of a woman from the South who’d served lemonade and had tea parties with high-society ladies, not the voice of an Army sniper. She looked and sounded way too delicate to be in the program, but then again, most people didn’t expect I’d make it either.
Dragging me into shit was one thing, but other trainees? “You have any idea how much trouble we’re going to get in if we get caught?” I said and turned around, staring at the dash.
Dutch leaned in. “We never get caught.” He smacked the back of my seat, knocking me forward, and laughed. “Do we, Romeo?”
Smitty had been right. Nolan was nothing but trouble. I could handle my ass getting tossed out of the program, but this could lead to the program being scrapped altogether.
Not only had Nolan dragged me into it, but he’d enlisted the help of another instructor and had gotten Morgan chin deep in crap, too. Obviously, nobody took the female sniper program seriously. Someone had to—starting now.
“We can’t do this. Take us back to the barracks.” I crossed my arms and stared out the window at the trees zipping by.
Nolan chuckled.
“I’m serious. Do you have any idea how long I’ve trained—how hard I’ve worked to get here?”
“Easy, Davis.”
He pulled up to where we’d stashed our packs and hopped out, opening the back and tossing the rest of the gear in. I waited until he climbed into the driver’s seat to give him the holy hell he so richly deserved. “Don’t ‘easy’ me, Stone.” I turned toward him. “Take me to the barracks or pull the fuck over so I can walk back.”
The Jeep glided to a stop, and his eyes took on a hard edge. “What do you think it’s like out there, Davis? You think this is a game?”
“One of us does, and it’s not me.” I reached down to unbuckle my belt, and he caught my wrist.
“You want to play by the rules, we’ll play by the rules, but out there, there aren’t any. The sooner you realize that, the better equipped you’ll be at keeping a round from taking your pretty head off.” He blew out a breath and let go. “Do you think I don’t have a vested interest in this? I know who the hell you are—my whole team does, that’s why we’re here.”
My heart jumped. He couldn’t know, but I couldn’t stop from asking. “Who am I?”
“Senator Davis’s daughter. The daughter of the same man who’s ahead in the polls and more than 99 percent likely to be the next president of the United States if he gets the gun rights legislation through.” He looked ahead, his hands resting on the wheel. “You didn’t think they would let you go off and play Army girl when so much is at stake?”
“Who the hell are you, and what do you mean ‘they’? How many people are involved?”
“Your guardian angel, babe. I have no clue how deep this goes or how many people are involved, but I’m working on it. There’s a mole inside this program who wants you dead—has been threatening to kill you if your father doesn’t drop out of the race. I’m not out here for my good health. You’re being hunted.”
“Four years ago.”
“No, someone has been sending your father photos of you. Not four years ago. Now. From here. The first was a picture of you stepping off the plane.”
“I can’t believe—”
“Flash,” Morgan yelled.
Ptthunk! The glass beside me shattered, and my headrest exploded.
“Down.” Nolan shoved my head in his lap and slammed the Jeep into gear. The tires spun, and the vehicle shot forward. “You believe me, now?”
Pop. Another shot hit the back of the Jeep but didn’t penetrate the interior.
“GPS, cell phones. MILES gear. Dump it out the windows. Now,” Nolan shouted as he shifted into high. “They had to find our location some way.”
Morgan and Sutton stripped off their tactical vests and tossed the MILES gear out the window with them.
Nolan glanced in the rearview mirror and moved his hand so I could sit up. “You, too, cupcake.”
I unbuckled my gear and chucked it onto the road, knowing damn good and well some officer would get his panties in a wad over it. When a toilet seat cost the military thousands of dollars, I could only guess what the fancy technology I’d tossed out the window, cost.
“You got a cell phone?”
I shrugged and pulled it from my pocket. “Just so I can check on Smitty.”
“Lose it.” When I hesitated, he ripped it from my hand and tossed it out. “Anything else?”
I crossed my arms and sat back. “No, but you owe me a new one.”
“I’ll buy you ten when this is over. Until then, you need to do everything I say if you want to stay alive. Clear as mud?”
“Clear. Now, do you want to tell me who the fuck you work for?” I asked.
“No. Better you don’t know.”
I closed my eyes. Everything around me seemed to spin like I sat on a top. I wanted to heave. Sharp pains attacked my guts and heart. Everything I’d thought real had proved to be a lie, and somebody still wanted me dead. Had this, my relationship with Nolan, been about him getting close enough to protect me? Was I nothing more than an assignment some unnamed organization handed down? And the others, Sutton, Morgan, they seemed too comfortable in this situation. Had they been watching my ass, too?
How many fucking babysitters did my father send? “They in on this, too?” I cocked my thumb toward the back seat.
“Yes.”
“Anyone one else—Smitty?”
Nolan frowned.
I furrowed my brow. “What?”
“Maybe—but she isn’t with us.”
“Then, who is she with?”
Nolan took a side road and glanced in my direction. “We suspect she’s working with the Russian Government and were not certain if she’s with whoever just took a shot at you. Her real name is Ivana Dashkov, a Russian agent whose father worked for the KGB. A sniper.”
“Yeah right.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ve known Smitty since my first day of basic training. If she wanted to kill me, she’d have done it by now. And I think I know a Russian when I hear one.”
“She wouldn’t kill you, not until ordered to do it. She’s a spy, so you would never hear an accent. She’s trained in the art of deception. We’ve known about her all along. It’s easier to watch a spy than to kick them out of our country and try to figure out who they’ve sent as replacements. There’s a good chance her mission was to get close to you, find your weaknesses, and collect information Russia could use against your father, should he become the next president. I doubt they sent her to kill you, or like you said, you’d be dead.”
“No, Smitty wouldn’t betray me. I don’t believe you.”
Sutton leaned forward. “You willing to bet your life on it? She’s had access to the weapons and ammunition. She had your phone number and knew exactly where your mission was out here.” He sat back. “Plus, we had her tagged during her annual physical a month ago, right before training started. Thought she got a flu shot, but she didn’t. She’s got a tracker embedded in her arm, and I’ll be the first to tell you she doesn’t stick around the barracks much at night. Tell me, has she asked anything personal about your father? Does she know who he is?”
I swallowed. I’d thought she was the only one who knew—until now. It certainly didn’t cast her in a good light. When I thought back about it, she had asked some rather personal questions about my family, stuff I’d dismissed as girl talk. She told me about her horrid childhood, and I’d told her about living the American dream. “Come, on,” she’d said. “Your father’s a politician. All politicians are hiding something or other. Is he like doing his secretary, aide?”
No, not my father, I’d assured her. He’s the real deal. He truly gives a shit and believes in leading by example. He doesn’t even speed, has never had a ticket—parking or otherwise. He’d always said those who make the laws should be held to a higher accountability, they should live, eat, and breathe them, and if they break them, they have no business being a representative of the people. He did uphold high standards. Every day of his life. And then there was the look in the shower. Chills raced up my spine.
No. I couldn’t believe it. Smitty wasn’t some Russian chick, who wanted to sabotage my father’s campaign. No way. She wouldn’t do anything so traitorous. The injury kept her out of the field and in the commander and first sergeant’s office, pushing paperwork. I’d seen the break in her leg. No one would just let themselves get run over so they could get a shot at someone. Would they?
“You didn’t answer my question.” Sutton interrupted my internal volleys.
“No. I wouldn’t be willing to stake my life on it. But what if she is in danger because she’s my friend? The assassin could go after her to get to me.”
“Then as soon as we get to post, we’ll have her taken into protective custody,” Nolan said.
I sat back and relaxed. Yeah, Smitty would never be involved in what they claimed. If anyone could be the assassin, it would be the first sergeant. The man hated me.