Page 2 of In Cold Blood (High Peaks Murder, Mystery and Crime Thrillers #1)

Three days later

Florida Keys

A slight position adjustment. He shifted. Stretched and cracked his neck.

This was straightforward, nothing but routine.

He noticed a slight tremble in his hand. Almost unnoticeable. He braced himself then drew with lighting speed — crack, the sound was deafening in the closed room.

A single round.

The first of the day.

A tidy hole appeared.

He pressed the button to the left and watched the target zoom up to meet him. Noah smiled at the headshot. A perfect third eye. He holstered the gun and stepped away, heading to the outside range.

This was where it would all happen. The real deal.

None of this stagnant, slow firing from one spot, shooting down range.

He’d be moving fast, shooting faster.

The USPSA was all about engaging with targets as accurately and as fast as possible.

The practical shooting match had drawn a large crowd of young and old to a firing range in the Florida Keys.

He was five days into a badly overdue three-week vacation.

If he’d had his way, he wouldn’t even be here but his lieutenant in upstate New York had all but kicked him out the door.

Go. Relax. Blow off some steam and come back when you’re in a better frame of mind.

By that he meant, not obsessed with the last case.

A bright sunshine bore down on those competing through an almost perfect blue sky.

Wearing loose, cream-colored khaki bottoms, a black polo shirt, a black ballcap, and safety glasses, Noah felt a surge of excitement.

Twenty-plus years of shooting experience and it was still as fresh as the first day the military put a gun in his hands.

Eight years of the Marines, followed by four with a sheriff’s office and then it was on to take a position with BCI — the State Bureau of Criminal Investigation — who had allowed him to hone his marksmanship.

“This is stage eight; we are going into hyperactive. Are you ready? Stand by!” an instructor bellowed, holding up a shot timer.

A beep resounded and a boom of gunshots erupted.

Noah moved through the course firing off a full magazine, hitting every one of his targets.

He ejected the empty magazine to the ground and quickly palmed in a new one in a fluid motion while continuing to move around barriers.

The cacophony of fire was deafening but he loved it.

Adrenaline rushed through his system.

Excitement spiked. He was in his element. No matter how good he had gotten, there was always room for improvement. Small adjustments in aim, grip, breathing, and follow-through. As he finished and tugged out safety earplugs, Jackson, the local instructor, observed his work.

“Damn, your shooting is precise. What did you say you did for a living?”

Before he could answer, a familiar voice did it for him.

“Oh, he didn’t tell you? So modest, that boy.

” The instructor turned. A black woman dressed in a form-fitting tidy grey suit, with a white blouse and short black heels, stood behind the safety line, a smile dancing.

Her outfit looked hot and out of place. “He’s an American sharpshooter, part of the Wild West Show that travels around the country. Isn’t that right, Pawnee Bill?”

Noah grinned, removed his baseball cap, and ran a hand through a head of black hair. “Excuse me while I speak with my friend.” He patted Jackson on the arm and crossed the range to collect his jacket, eyeing his colleague, Savannah Legacy. “Only you. How did you know I was here?”

“I’m a State investigator. It’s why they pay us the big bucks, right?”

“Remind me to check my paycheck when I get home.”

She chuckled as she fell in step.

The smile faded as quickly as it came. He wasn’t stupid.

Seeing her only meant bad news. Noah worked his way through the enthusiastic crowd.

Several old-timers, wearing bright shorts and brand-name golf shirts, and smoking cigars, patted Noah on the back and congratulated him.

He had no idea why; he hadn’t won anything.

“I thought you were meant to be on vacation,” Savannah said.

“I am. ”

“No, Noah, vacation entails sitting beside a pool, working on your tan, drinking a margarita, and dropping a line into the water.”

“I don’t fish anymore.”

“That’s what disturbs me,” she said with a grin. Noah kicked up white sand as they worked their way past a cluster of lignum vitae trees, each one covered in a gorgeous array of luminescent blue flowers.

“This is about the case, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“Then do you want to get a drink?” he asked. “There’s a great little bar a few minutes from here.”

“Probably best we head back to your place.”

“Ah, a woman who likes to cut to the chase. Always found that refreshing about you, Legacy. I’m glad to see I finally swung you back to the other team.

” Savannah shook her head in amusement as she made her way over to her rental, a modest SUV.

“Follow me. I’m not far from here.” He hopped in his dusty Jeep Wrangler and within minutes they were roaring down a sandy narrow road hedged in by thick green brush and mangroves.

A salty breeze blew his hair around as he donned aviators and glanced at the glistening water in the distance. He could get used to this. It certainly beat the weather of New York State.

Noah had rented a small Airbnb. It was located off Shoreland Drive less than ten minutes from the shooting range. Nearby was a cluttered boatyard full of work sheds and trailered boats and beyond the house, palm trees and turquoise water.

The off-yellow weathered beach house emerged.

He parked beside a neighbor’s 45-foot Catalina propped up on blocks.

Hopping out, Noah removed his sneakers and socks and slipped into a pair of flip-flops while he waited for her.

Her blue Ford Escape rental curved in behind his Jeep, the grit of white sand crunching beneath its tires.

“I thought they put these homes up on stilts?” she asked as she got out.

“Not these.”

The abode was a two-bath, four-bedroom, concrete block split-level structure.

The second floor, which was the main house, had two bedrooms and there were another two on the ground level.

Nearby was a detached garage and storage area full of kayaks and boating equipment.

“Come on in,” he said, leading her up a series of sandy steps to the second level.

He unlocked the door and crossed a modern custom kitchen full of stainless appliances to open the windows.

A refreshing coastal aroma filled the air.

“Very nice,” she said, running her hand across the dark granite countertop and pointing to the appliances. It was all high-end. No expense had been spared. “I figured you would go cheap and get a motel.”

“And miss these views?” he said, opening the French doors that led out to a wraparound balcony.

A gentle breeze blew the white drapes and he felt the tension in his shoulders relax.

“I thought if I was going to be here for a couple of weeks, I might as well be comfortable. Nothing worse than climbing into a hotel bed full of pubes.”

Savannah grimaced as she perused the room, picking up a custom car magazine, and showing him the front. “Midlife crisis?” He chuckled as he opened the fridge and took out two bottles of non-alcoholic IPA and handed her one.

“Still off the booze?” She asked gazing at the label.

“So far.”

“A lot of room for one person. I thought you said you were bringing a date with you,” Savannah said .

“She ghosted me.” There was a pause as his eyebrow shot up. “I mean. He did.”

Savannah nearly spat out her drink.

He clarified. “Yeah, found out it was some fat dude from Idaho.”

She roared with laughter. “Noah Sutherland. You got catfished?”

He nodded, taking a sip and leaning back against the kitchen counter. “But hey, that’s what comes from following your dating advice.”

She tapped the neck of her bottle his way. “Hey, don’t knock it, it worked for me.”

“How is Cora doing?”

She pursed her lips. He was entertaining small talk.

Avoidance really. As curious as he was to find out the reason for her visit, in some ways he didn’t want to know.

He wasn’t anti-vacations but the thought of trying to find a location, then taking time off, just made his blood pressure rise.

But doing the daily grind, well that was just second nature.

Savannah noticed a folder on the table that was open. She thumbed a few sheets and groaned. “Noah.”

“What? It’s just some light reading.”

“The Alman case? It’s over.”

“I enjoy the self-loathing.”

“It’s work. You’re not meant to be doing that. You’ll have enough of that to wade through when you get back.”

“Don’t remind me. I can already see my emails piling up.”

“And phone calls? Have you checked your voicemail?”

“My phone’s been off. It is a vacation after all.”

She rolled her eyes, smiled, and then it faded. She leaned against the counter, gazing out. He could tell she was trying to find the words. “Have you watched the news recently? ”

“You know I don’t bother with that. If it’s real news, I’ll hear about it.”

Savannah set her drink down, nodding slowly. “I don’t know how to tell you this.” She dipped her chin and then met his gaze. “Your brother. Um. We got a call a few days ago, on Saturday, from your sister.” She paused. “Luke’s dead, Noah. I’m sorry.”

He swallowed so hard he almost choked. “What?”

Her chest rose. “Friday night. At the end of his shift. Right now, they’re not saying much. They’re not sure if Luke knew if it was coming or not. He never drew his service weapon. I’m sorry, Noah. That’s why I came here.”

“It’s Monday.”

“Yeah, we thought you had your phone on. When your sister couldn’t get through to you, she phoned the office. I tried phoning but you didn’t pick up and… well… I was worried and I figured it was probably best you heard about it in person.”

Noah nodded slowly. He appreciated that.

A mixture of emotions rose. Luke was his identical twin.

The only one in the family he had a true bond with.

Noah came from a family of four children.

They were all involved in law in one way or another.

Luke had chosen to follow in their father’s footsteps and work for Adirondack County as a deputy sheriff, while their older brother Ray chose the local High Peaks Police Department — Maddie, well, his younger sister was the anomaly.

She’d gone the route of the courtroom as an attorney.

He took a deep breath and let it out.

“They’re not sure what happened, you said?”

“Yeah, with it being an officer shooting, BCI will be working with the Sheriff’s Office.”

He nodded. “Good.”

She frowned. “No. Not good. You can’t be involved, Noah.”

“What? ”

“C’mon, I know you. And you know the protocol. It would be a conflict of interest.”

“My knowledge of the area and the people might be helpful.”

“Well, look, I’m not saying they’re barring you from investigating but you would need to take a back seat, if you take a seat at all. Noah, perhaps you should leave this in someone else’s hands.”

“It’s my brother.”

“Exactly. Investigating might screw up the case. Either way, if they even consider allowing you to help, the State Attorney’s Office would need to be apprised and then you’d have to go with whatever they and the lieutenant decide.”

“So, who’s been assigned?”

She took a swig of her bottle and looked off toward the ocean.

“Who’s handling it, Savannah?”

There was a pause.

She sighed. Her brow furrowed. “Parish.”

“Parish. Owen Parish?”

She nodded.

He let his head rock back and he closed his eyes. “Oh, Parish couldn’t find his ass with both hands.”

“Well, you know how it goes…”

She made her way across the room to put the bottle in the fridge. She had hardly touched it.

Savannah knew it wasn’t just the news of his brother’s demise but the fact that they wouldn’t want him involved, that’s why she was here. She had a way of keeping him level-headed when he would throw caution to the wind.

Parish? That meant State Police Troop B headquarters. It was their jurisdiction.

Noah downed the remainder of his drink and headed into the bedroom. Savannah stood in the doorway, watching him take out his suitcase and begin filling it.

“Noah, tell me you’re not going near this.”

He glanced at her. “I’m going back for the funeral. I still have a few weeks remaining vacation.”

“I know you do but…”

“He’s my brother, Savannah,” he replied with an edge to his voice. “And I sure as hell know that whatever happened up there, I plan to get to the bottom of it.”

“Yeah, that’s what worries me.”