Chapter One

Marlow Davis raised his pistol and took a deep breath. “Let’s see how we’re grouping today.” He lined up his sights, exhaled slowly, and squeezed the trigger.

One by one, fifteen brass casings ricocheted off the walls flanking the shooting lane and clinked against the concrete floor of the Stone Fortress Gun Club. The musty scent of gunpowder filled his nostrils. Once he emptied the magazine, he peered downrange.

Hell, yeah. He’d grouped tight for sure.

Proud of his achievement, he spun the gun on his finger. “Dialed in.” And just because he couldn’t help himself, he blew on the end of the barrel and pretended to holster it, cowboy style.

Too bad no one was there to witness his achievement.

Slipping off his earmuffs, he set the weapon down and grabbed a broom from the corner, pausing to stretch his lower back. Soft plinks kept him company as he swept the casings into the metal dustpan. He was the last man standing tonight. All other lanes were empty.

Alone. Again.

Bending over to pick a casing out of the corner, he groaned. At forty-three, every movement shouldn’t hurt so much, but cleaning up his messes was getting harder to do. Literally and figuratively. One too many brawls had started to catch up with him. The ache in his back spread to his hips by the time he’d gathered all his shells and packed up his pistol.

Catching the ghost of his reflection in a window, he rubbed his coarse beard. Gray and white shot through the hair on his face, and not in the sexy Idris Elba way. More like an old porcupine’s backside.

Three sharp knocks came from the double-paned glass separating the range from the sales floor. Marlow turned, gritting his teeth to suppress his annoyance. Chili Phipps, the grizzled old guy who managed the place, raised his wrist and pointed at the leather band circling it. Hair protruded around his ears like frizzy white fireworks.

“Yeah, yeah.” Marlow waved him off and pointed to his gear. “Just cleaning up.”

Chili’s fluffy eyebrows pinched together. The frown he wore sank deeper into his jowls, further emphasizing his wrinkles. He held up five fingers and stomped down the hall. After a few seconds, several lights on the other side of the room shut off.

Impatient asshole.

Marlow glanced at his knockoff Victorinox watch, a gift from his ex-wife when he still worked on the police force. A rueful smile tugged at his lips. Damn thing’s been with me longer than she was. The slim hands of the decades-old timepiece ticked around the clock face.

Three after eight.

So he’d stayed a little past closing. Big deal. The gun club was his second home.

The amount of time and money he spent there every day keeping his shooting skills sharp, not to mention his part-time position teaching newbies how to use firearms responsibly, earned him some leeway.

His primary job as Senator Landon Steven’s bodyguard paid much better. For an added bonus, he got to work with an elite team again, similar to when he’d been on the force. Back then, he and his fellow officers were thicker than thieves. Any one of them would do whatever it took to cover for a brother in trouble. No matter what that trouble was.

Man, he’d been unstoppable.

At least, until the allegations started up. Sure, his crew skirted a few regulations to take a scumbag off the streets. Pushing the envelope hadn’t bothered him and his partners. They got results and kept the city safe. Resorting to illegal tactics was sometimes necessary to maintain law and order for everyone.

Those criminal dirtbags he and his buddies had taken care of? They deserved to be locked up for every day they were sentenced to, plus a thousand more. The fact that he was punished for profiting off a broken system was pure irony.

Anger burned in his chest at the very thought of it.

Marlow zipped up his gun bag and hoisted it over his shoulder. Getting kicked off the force because of a political witch hunt still boiled his insides with the raging fire of a million suns. One day, he’d get payback.

Another reason to keep his skills sharp.

The door to the shooting lanes opened, and Marlow stepped toward it, opening his mouth to give Chili a warning of his own. But as he peered into the darkness, a figure moved through the shadows, causing the words to catch in his throat.

That’s not Chili.

Marlow released a mirthless chuckle. Same ole dickhead, I see. “Wow. I thought you were the manager coming to hassle me again.” He scratched the back of his neck.

Ole Dick inched closer, hugging the wall with his back. Marlow recognized the maneuver. His visitor was making sure no one could come up behind him. Years of instinct and training surged to the forefront of Marlow’s mind as he assessed the threat.

He was exposed. Vulnerable.

“Never would’ve expected to see you here, man. You come just to catch up with me?”

Silence.

Marlow swallowed, distracted by this sudden appearance in a place he considered his second home. Hairs on the back of his neck bristled. The situation was familiar and wrong all at the same time. He readjusted the bag on his shoulder.

Beads of sweat formed around his temples in the hot, stale air.

He moved to the wall to get on the same level, conversation-wise. Either Marlow had the upper hand, or no one did. “How’re things? You still living at the old place? Jeez, I haven’t shot the shit with you in ages.”

Dick reached into the front pocket of his dark hoodie and withdrew an object. Even in the shadows of the dim light, Marlow recognized it at once.

A Smith & Wesson M&P, topped with a suppressor.

Marlow froze, his mouth drying up like teardrops in a desert. The manic pump of his heart sent his blood pressure soaring. Was this guy serious? His gaze darted to the window on the wall.

Where the hell is Chili? It has to have been more than five minutes by now.

Instinctively, Marlow held his sweaty palms up, trying to defuse the situation. “Hey, man, if you came to shoot some targets, you’re gonna have to come back tomorrow.”

“No need. I’m staring at my target right now.”

The click of the gun cocking sent a bolt of electric fear into Marlow. He knew he couldn’t swipe the gun out of the guy’s hand faster than the bastard could shoot him. From what he could surmise, his best course of action was to keep the man talking. Try to distract him long enough to wrestle the weapon from his grasp and gain the upper hand.

“Not funny. Put that down.” Marlow let the bag on his shoulder drop to his elbow, ready to toss it and charge if needed. “What the hell are you doing?”

Dick smacked his lips, regarding Marlow with a hint of humor in his eyes. “I’m doing what needs to be done.”

Before Marlow could blink, a muffled spift whispered through the air and died as a bullet pierced his forehead.

Chapter Two

Detective Eleanor Kline’s phone buzzed on the dashboard of her SUV. She tore her attention from the people walking and biking and driving down the street, just starting their Monday morning routines, and checked the screen.

Tapping the notification, she opened the text from her boss, Lead Detective Rachel Stoddard. An address for a shooting range near East Bay Street popped up.

A senator’s bodyguard had been found murdered. Ellie read the message that followed.

Call me after you investigate the scene.

Sighing, Ellie twirled a strand of red hair that had slipped free of her ponytail and gazed out the window at the lingering group of kids on the front steps of her foster daughter’s private school.

In a few days, school would be out for summer break, and she still hadn’t determined what to do with Bethany while she was at work. Her parents would be more than happy to keep an eye on the rambunctious eight-year-old, but that was a big ask. With her father’s heart condition and her mother’s fragility after the near murder of Dan, her brother, Ellie refused to plop the heightened ball of energy that was Bethany right into their laps.

They could babysit her for a week or two, but that solution would be akin to covering an open wound with a paper towel. Good for the moment, but not the long term. No, Ellie was responsible for the little girl now, and she couldn’t rely on her parents to fill in the parenting gaps for her.

Not anymore.

Beth had expressed interest in martial arts. Ellie liked the idea of Bethany playing with kids her own age and learning self-defense. The social interaction and novel experience were just what the little girl needed for a variety of reasons. A ton of summer camps ran throughout Charleston in the summer. But work ate up so much of Ellie’s time, she hadn’t gotten a chance to peruse websites and choose a camp yet.

Make time.

A hot flash of guilt rose up her cheeks. The issue should’ve been resolved before now. Other parents had their children’s summers mapped out already, despite working full-time jobs and juggling other responsibilities. There was no excuse for her not having done the same by now.

Tonight, I’m sitting down and getting Beth’s summer straight. No more putting things off.

Being a homicide detective and a good mom were the only things Ellie wanted in the world. Finding a balance between the two was challenging. Establishing her priorities, that was the key. Work during work hours, family the rest of the time.

Stick to the plan, and everything should fall into place. This can’t be that difficult, right? Moms around the world do it every day.

Now that Bethany was safely ensconced in the school building, her priority was the job. Ellie refocused her attention on Stoddard’s text. After another glance at the address, she eased her Ford Explorer out of the parking space and headed for the main road. But when she adjusted the rearview mirror, she hit the brakes.

In the back seat, a bright-blue lunch box glared at her.

A smile crept up her lips as she rolled her eyes and pulled into another parking space. She reached back and grabbed the lunch box before hopping out of the SUV and jogging toward the school.

The final bell hasn’t rung yet. Maybe I can catch Beth.

On the way, she held the lunch box out and admired the splashy images of Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa, and Han Solo. Lately, her daughter was enamored with all things sci-fi and fantasy. Bethany loved anything with fantastical powers or high-tech laser guns.

I wonder if she’s addicted to the escape? Visiting new worlds prevents her from ruminating too much on her own.

Ellie wouldn’t knock any strategy that helped the girl cope with the abandonment and trauma she’d experienced in her young life. Bethany’s vivid imagination helped her process the pain of her past.

Still, asking their therapist about this new obsession at their next session couldn’t hurt.

The front door of the school burst open, yanking Ellie out of her thoughts. A secretary from the main office appeared and waved at her, then motioned at someone inside to come out. Ellie smiled as Bethany bounded toward her in a pleated navy skirt and white polo, her blond ponytail bobbing each time a glittery tennis shoe slammed against the ground.

“Ellie! I thought you’d left already and I’d have to eat cafeteria food.” Bethany bent over with her hands on her knees when she reached Ellie. When she looked up, a huge grin broke across her face. “Thank you for coming back.”

Nearly overwhelmed by a fierce rush of love, Ellie crouched in front of Beth and kissed her flushed cheek. “Of course. Now, get back in there and have a good day.” She held the lunch box out.

“You got it. See you tonight.” Bethany leaned forward and gave Ellie a quick peck on the cheek, then grasped the lunch box to her chest and scurried into the school.

The sun slid from its hiding place behind a fluffy cloud, and a wave of heat washed over the parking lot. The sleeves of Ellie’s chiffon blouse stuck to her sweaty skin when she waved at the secretary. She waited until the front door closed behind them both before returning to her SUV.

Dialing her boss’s number, she eased out of the school parking lot.

When Stoddard picked up, a sigh preceded her response. “There’s no way you’re already done with the scene.”

Only then did Ellie remember her boss had told her to call after she investigated. It’d taken over a month to earn the slap on the back and “you did good, kid” she’d received from Stoddard after she solved the case of a serial killer while on leave. Especially since Stoddard was the one who put her on leave to begin with.

They hadn’t started out on good terms, and their relationship still felt tenuous. Ellie didn’t back down from confrontations, but she had to admit, the job was easier without heat from her boss.

Just one more thing to balance.

“Got the address and on my way. You said earlier the victim is a senator’s bodyguard. Which senator?”

When Stoddard cleared her throat, Ellie narrowed her eyes. Uncomfortable? Unrelated?

“Senator Landon Stevens.”

There it is.

In their previous conversation, before Stoddard texted her the address to the Stone Fortress Gun Club, she’d hinted that Ellie had the pleasure of this new case so close on the heels of the previous one because of her connections in high places. This, apparently, being one of the highest.

Even though she’d joined the police force to help others—all the people, both the poor and the rich, the old and the young, the good and the bad—Ellie’s usefulness always came down to who she knew among the city’s elite. Her hand tightened on the wheel until the ivory skin over her knuckles paled to almost translucence.

“What else?” By a miracle, she managed to keep her tone level.

“The place is near the Central Business District. Guy named Charles Phipps found the body of Marlow Davis early this morning. Black man, ex-cop. Officers on the scene say there’s a note threatening the senator directly. You familiar with the club?”

A light chill passed through Ellie at the mention of Marlow Davis’s name. Had Stoddard looked into his record before assigning the case? She would’ve still been working in Baltimore back then, so maybe she didn’t know.

This just gets better and better.

“I know of it but haven’t ever been there.” Whether Stoddard new more about the victim that she couldn’t disclose or hadn’t heard the rumors, Ellie planned to keep her knowledge to herself for now. All she knew was hearsay anyway. Farther up the road, police vehicles had gathered in a parking lot bordering her destination. “I’m here. I’ll give you a call once I’ve had a chance to view the scene.”

She ended the call and pulled into a space away from the cruisers.

A nondescript, cream-colored building with silver-lined railings and windows housed the Stone Fortress Gun Club. Ellie’s only indication that she was in the right place, apart from the police activity, was a black sign with white lettering and a medieval tower icon.

As she stepped inside, she nodded at an officer managing the double glass doors leading into the building. Along the interior corridor, faded wooden red, white, and blue signs shaped like American flags were scattered across the walls.

Ellie roamed through the sales floor, passing metal racks and shelves packed with bags, shirts, protective gear, and ammo. A large glass display on one side of the room showcased handguns available to purchase and rent. On the other side of the room, a rental counter cornered off another display of assault rifles and submachine guns.

Beyond a small concession area, officers were taping off a square section in front of a door leading to what Ellie guessed were the shooting lanes. She slowed as she approached the scene.

I wonder if any of them are members here.

Law enforcement officers kept their firearm skills sharp for annual certification, and though the Charleston Police Department Weapons Range provided an adequate place to do so, the Stone Fortress Gun Club was a popular gathering place for cops, current and former. Ellie preferred honing hers at a club north of Charleston, located on an immense expanse of private property with outdoor shooting lanes. Trekking beyond the city got her away from prying eyes and loosened her up.

Odds were good Marlow Davis used Stone Fortress when he was on the force, staying on as a member after he retired. Ellie was still in uniform when Davis departed from the Charleston Police Department, but that wasn’t so long ago that she hadn’t caught the rumors about him.

From what she’d picked up, he’d been in the street crimes unit. Rumblings circulated that he’d stolen money from crime scenes. He might’ve had a hand in illicit drug sales around the city. Amid the growing suspicion and corruption allegations, he’d accepted an early retirement offer.

Now he’s dead. Maybe this has nothing to do with the senator. What if those rumors are the reason he was murdered?

Ellie lifted the yellow crime scene tape and ducked underneath. A deputy met her on the other side with a logbook. She glanced at him as she scribbled her information. “You the first one on the scene?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Anyone else been in yet?”

“No. Forensics is on the way.”

She handed the logbook back to him. “Good. Where’s the person who discovered the body?”

He pointed to a man in a navy blue polo with the club logo embroidered over the left breast sitting beyond the tape on a metal bench by the wall.

Ellie scanned his frail body as she approached him. He reminded her of Clint Eastwood in his Gran Torino years. Permanent frown? Check. Steely gaze ready to cut a person like a knife? Double check. She hoped the brusque outer image he exuded masked a warmer personality. “Charles Phipps?”

The old man broke into a husky laugh, not bothering to glance up at her. “Ain’t nobody call me Charles. It’s Chili.”

“Chili?” Ellie took a seat next to him on the bench. “That’s an odd nickname.”

“S’pose so. Had it since I was a baby. Only people who ever called me Charles were teachers and lawyers. And angry ex-wives.”

She grinned, enjoying his casual sense of humor. “Detective Eleanor Kline, Charleston PD. What can you tell me about last night?”

“It was past closing, and Davis was still at the lanes. I’d sent all the sales folks home and wanted to leave myself, but I can’t until the place is empty. I banged on the glass in the booth overlooking his lane and gave him a five-minute warning. He was packing up his gear.”

“And…?”

Chili sighed and shook his head. “Went back to my office to turn off my computer. I was annoyed as hell. Then I heard the back door slam shut, and I peeked through the doorway of a booth at the lanes. Didn’t see Davis standing anywhere, so I assumed he’d left. Didn’t know I needed to check the floor.”

“The door you mentioned.” Ellie retrieved a notebook and pen from her bag. “Anyone can come in and out of it?”

“No, ma’am. There’s a keypad on the outside. Anyone can leave the building, but to get back in, you need a code. Only the owner, full-time employees, and I know the code. Davis was only part-time.”

“Does the code change often?”

“Every month.” Chili rubbed his knees, visibly shaken. “I didn’t even hear the shot. Part of the setup to muffle the sound so customers on the floor don’t get spooked. If I had heard it, maybe…”

I’m losing him.

Ellie cleared her throat. “You said Davis was only part-time. He worked here?”

Chili nodded, meeting her gaze for the first time. “Sure did. Taught a couple classes each week. Firearms instructor.”

Stoddard hadn’t mentioned the victim worked at the club. Ellie jotted the details down in her notebook. “What days did he teach the classes?”

“Tuesday and Saturday nights.”

A thud bounced off the walls. Ellie glanced at the entrance to the shooting lanes, but the officer guarding the door appeared unruffled. Seconds later, the familiar rumble of an air conditioner burst to life. Shaking her head at her skittishness, she returned her attention to the man beside her. “Why was he here on Sunday if he wasn’t teaching a class?”

“He came in all the time. Said he like to keep his skill set up to par.”

Makes sense, if he was both a bodyguard and a firearms instructor.

“What about security cameras? You didn’t see the victim on the ground?”

“The cameras are pointed at the lanes.” Chili nodded to where the officer stood. “There’s a slim blind spot between the wall and the start of the lanes. When I came in this morning, even from the viewing window, I didn’t see Davis until I physically walked my butt into that room to do a spot check on each lane.”

A blind spot? What if someone killed Davis? Could they have used that blind spot to keep their identity hidden? If so, that person would have to be very familiar with the club. Ellie slipped her notebook and pen back into her bag. “We’ll need to examine your security footage.”

“No problem. Whatever you need.” Chili signaled to a man gawking at the police activity from behind the rental counter. The young employee sauntered toward them. “This is Leonetta Barron, my right-hand woman. Leonetta, the detective wants to view what the security cameras caught. Can you help her out with that?”

“Sure.” Leonetta tilted her head to the left. “It’s this way.”

Ellie rose and thanked Chili for his time before turning to Leonetta. “I need a few minutes. Can you wait here for me?”

The young woman nodded.

Deaths at gun ranges always set off a flurry of questions. Was it accidental? Or on purpose?

After Ellie ducked back under the yellow tape across the door, she slipped on a pair of gloves. Inside, Marlow Davis lay on his side, facing the back wall of the shooting lanes. In his case, the answer to those questions appeared to be murder, judging from the bullet wound in his forehead.

A typed note pinned on Davis’s shirt caught her attention.

Just the beginning. Tell Senator Stevens to watch his back.

She crouched over Davis, patting his pockets while disturbing the scene as little as possible before the arrival of forensics. There was no cell phone on his body or in the boxy tactical bag nearby. As a bodyguard, he had to have one. Maybe he left it in his car while he came in for shooting practice? Ellie pursed her lips. She needed to have someone search his vehicle for it.

Ellie stood and snapped her gloves off, anxious to go through the security footage. She cast one final glance at the warning stuck to Davis’s chest before hurrying back to Leonetta.

The threat was clear, and until the forensic team worked their magic, that footage was her only glimmer of a lead.