"Not yet. Why don't you take a minute?"
"I don't need a minute, Lucas. I need information." Determination pushed past the fear in her gut. She'd been looking for years for the bomber who had almost taken her life. It was one reason she'd joined the FBI. "Where did the bomb go off?"
"Outside the auditorium. Six injured, no fatalities yet."
She forced herself to breathe through the images flying through her head of what those injured had just gone through.
Beck Maxwell came out of the room to join them. Beck was second-in-command, and his dark eyes were also filled with concern.
"Who's leading the investigation, Beck?" she asked.
"Rob Carpenter. The San Francisco office has the case."
She wasn't thrilled with that piece of information. She'd worked under Rob for a year in Miami right after she'd become an agent, and he was too political for her taste. He was more interested in optics than in the truth. She'd also butted heads with him over her desire to investigate the Bolton blast on her own time. However, that was inconsequential now. "I need to be there. I need to work the investigation."
"Understood," Beck said. "As you know, I'm running the team while Flynn is on vacation, so I'll call Rob and let him know you're headed his way to consult. But he'll be in charge. You're too close to this, Caitlyn. You need to hang back or you'll be sent back."
She didn't want to agree with him, he was right. "I understand. I'll stay in my lane."
"I doubt that," he said dryly. "But if you need us for anything, we're here."
"I appreciate that. Thanks."
As Beck returned to the conference room, Lucas walked her back to the elevator. "If you need anything, Caitlyn, just say the word, and I'll be on a plane to SF," he told her. "I can imagine how difficult this will be for you."
She knew he didn't have to work that hard to imagine it, because she'd told him in great detail about her past experiences. He'd also helped her look into the case file when she'd first become an agent."
"Thanks for the offer, but I'll be fine. I'm going to look at this new case as a way to get information to solve the last one."
"I just hate to see you go down that rabbit hole again."
"I can handle it. Hopefully, this rabbit hole will provide some answers."
"Good luck."
She stepped into the elevator and took it back to the parking garage, not taking a solid breath until she was locked in her car. Despite having told Lucas she could handle the situation, she was freaking out on the inside. The sounds of the blast were rocketing through her ears. She could taste the sulfur and feel the crushing weight of the bookshelves and the ceiling. She was breathing in plaster again, drowning in the thick stench of smoke and terror.
Her hand crept to her stomach and the ache that had never quite left was back, even stronger than before.
Why had the bomber waited ten years to strike again?
Was it the same person?
No one had paid for her tragic loss. Maybe now they would…
Her hand shook as she started the car, her thoughts racing down another dark path, to a man she did not want to remember, a man who had disappeared while she was fighting to recover from her injuries, a man she still didn't want to believe had had anything to do with the bomb blast that had taken the life of their child.
Quinn swam deeper into the undersea world of the Pacific Ocean off Dillon Beach, an hour north of San Francisco. The world always looked better to him underwater. It was why he spent every day as a scientific diver researching the effects of climate change on his beloved sea. And there was plenty to note, unfortunately.
With the water temperature growing warmer, an unrestricted rise in the purple sea urchin population, and harmful algae blooms hitting the California coast, the kelp beds were becoming decimated, which was an enormous problem. Kelp beds were vitally important to mitigating climate change, which was why he and six other divers had spent the last two hours thinning out the urchin population by literally taking them out of the sea.
The other divers had already gone back to their boats and returned to shore, but he was taking a final assessment and a few moments to enjoy having the ocean all to himself.
This time of the year was always the most difficult for him, and the sea had always been his best escape, a place where he could forget about the real world. He'd first discovered diving as an eight-year-old when his father had taken him on his first scuba dive off the coast of Northern Ireland. It had been one of the few things he remembered them doing together before his father had been killed.
He shook those depressing memories out of his head. He didn't want his thoughts to mar the beauty of the ocean. Unfortunately, today's escape from reality was ending. He needed to surface.
The current had picked up with an incoming storm and the choppy waves created visibility issues. He wasn't worried. He'd mapped this trip down to the last detail and had redundant safety systems with him. Sometimes it amazed him how thorough he'd become. There had been a time in his life where he'd thrown caution to the wind and leapt before looking.
He'd paid a price for that recklessness, and he'd gotten much smarter, especially when there were others depending on him. He didn’t worry about his own safety, but his team would blame themselves if anything happened to him, and there was already too much guilt and regret surrounding his life. He couldn't live with any more.
When he reached the surface, he swam quickly back to the boat. Jeremiah Cooper, who had been diving with him, gave him a hand as he climbed on board. Jeremiah was a tall, blond Australian, who he'd met a dozen years ago. It was Jeremiah who'd gotten him a job on the dive team seven years ago, and he was more than grateful for the chance to combine his love of diving with his love of science. Jeremiah was married, with a baby on the way, and had a happy-go-lucky nature that made him an excellent partner. But there wasn't much sign of Jeremiah's cheerful disposition now.
There was also a look of concern in the captain's eyes. Ray Allen was a sixty-two-year-old African American with weathered skin that came from a lifetime of being on the sea.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"You should have come up ten minutes ago," Ray grumbled. "You're always pushing the envelope. There's a storm coming."
"We have plenty of time before it hits."
"I don't like it when you don't stick to the schedule," Ray bit out.
"I don't think you're that pissed at me, so what's going on?"
"I'm worried."
"We're fine." A crack of thunder rattled the air, followed by a flash of lightning off to the east, making a mockery of his words. "Well, maybe I should have come up earlier, but we still have time to get back to shore."
"He's not talking about the storm," Jeremiah interjected.
"You're not? What's going on, Ray?"
"There was an explosion at my granddaughter's school," Ray said. "My daughter texted me a few minutes ago. She's beside herself. She can't get a hold of Brianna, and she's been trying for almost two hours."
His stomach tightened as a horrific feeling of foreboding ran through him. He knew exactly where Ray's granddaughter went to school, because he'd gone there, too. "At Bolton?" he said, barely able to get the words through his tight lips.
"Yes."
"When did it happen?"
"A couple of hours ago. It's too long for Brianna to be out of touch."
Shock and nausea ran through him as the past collided with the present. "What do you know about the explosion?" he bit out.
"Not much. It was by the auditorium. I don't think Brianna would have been over there. But I don't know. My daughter said the news is reporting injuries."
He put a hand on the rail as memories overwhelmed him.
"Brianna has to be okay. She's just eighteen—at the beginning of her life," Ray said.
"She'll be all right." He said what Ray wanted to hear, even if there was no genuine conviction to his words.
"Do you want me to take ov
er, Ray?" Jeremiah asked quietly.
"No, I got this," Ray said, turning his attention back to the wheel.
"All right. I'm going to change," Jeremiah said, as he headed down the stairs.
Quinn moved a few feet away, staring unseeingly at the ocean, his thoughts taking him back ten years…
He stood outside the library with his phone pressed to his ear.
"Answer," he muttered, but his call went to voicemail once more, and a bad feeling ran through him. Something was going on. No one was taking his calls or answering his texts, and he didn't like it. He was out of the loop, and that was his fault. He'd been avoiding the loop, not liking the direction of the conversation, the ambition, the goals of the group that had once been a second family to him.
But they weren't his family—Caitlyn was. He needed to make sure the group knew that his priorities had changed. He was going to be a father and a husband at some point, too.
That was a terrifying thought. It wasn't what they'd planned. He was about to get his masters with thoughts of a PhD in his future. Caitlyn wanted to become a reporter after she graduated in June.
And then there was her family. The Carlsons didn't like him at all, and he had little use for them either. He and Caitlyn had grown up in different worlds, but as she liked to tell him, they had their own world now, and that was all that mattered.
He tried calling Donovan once more. No answer.
"Quinn."
He turned to see Lauren Sullivan approaching. She gave him a relieved smile. "I'm so glad you could meet now."
"It wasn't convenient, but I'm here."
"Is Caitlyn mad you won't be at the ribbon-cutting?"
"She's not thrilled. Is anything going on?" he asked. "With the ceremony?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean. I've been calling Donovan, Hank, and Wyatt. No one is answering their phones. There's no protest scheduled, is there?"
"I don't think so. I haven't heard of one. It's only ten o'clock in the morning. Those guys don't get up early. Why are you so worried?"
"I don't know. I feel like I'm missing something."
"Well, you haven't been around that much, thanks to Caitlyn."
He frowned at her sneering tone. He knew Lauren wasn't a fan, but she barely knew Caitlyn.
"Let's go inside," Lauren said. "Mitch and Tracy grabbed a conference room on the third floor."
"Okay." Before he could move, a horrendously loud bang ripped through the air. The ground shook beneath his feet. As he looked up, a dark cloud of smoke and flames rose above the nearby trees.
He jumped to his feet, running toward that cloud, as kids poured out of buildings, moving in the opposite direction. He was pushed and shoved by the panicked crowd running for their lives, not sure where the danger was coming from. But he knew. He knew it even before he saw it. All his worst fears were coming true. He never should have left her.
When he got to the scene, shock ran through him. The new three-story building had a gaping hole in the front of it. Smoke and flames were pouring out of that hole. A man stumbled from the building covered in ash.
Sirens lit the air. The campus police were descending on the scene. He tried to get closer, but two cops held him back. He scanned the nearby crowd, desperate to see her shiny reddish-brown hair, the gray wool coat she'd been wearing over her jeans, the backpack over her shoulder that was always weighing her down. But there was no sign of her.
She wouldn't have gone inside, would she?
More fear ran through him. The ribbon-cutting wasn't supposed to start for an hour, but she'd wanted to show him the building, particularly the library dedicated to environmental science. She'd wanted him to see that her family was helping his cause. But he had wanted to see none of that.
He ran forward. He had to get into that building. He had to find her—save her.
Another cop grabbed his arm, holding him back. He struggled to get free.
"You can't go in there," the cop told him. "We don't know if there's more to come."
He stared at him in bewilderment. "More to come?"
"Yes," the man said forcefully. "Stay back."
"My girlfriend is inside."
"Then they'll find her."
He stood on the sidelines for several long minutes. As they brought each person out, his heart stopped and then started racing again when he realized it wasn't her.
As time passed, he thought maybe Caitlyn wasn't there. She could have gone back to her apartment, which was only a few blocks away. He pulled out his phone and called. She didn't answer. The truth was looking him in the eye, but he didn't want to see it.
He'd lost his father. He'd lost his mother. He couldn't lose her, too.
He felt helpless, and he hated waiting. No good ever came of waiting. He wished he could say a prayer and believe in it, but his faith had been sorely tested.
He paced around in a circle, and then he saw the firefighters bringing a body out on a stretcher.
He ran forward, ignoring the shouts to stay back.
When he got to her side, his heart stopped. Her eyes were closed, her face and clothes covered in blood and plaster. "Caitlyn!" he shouted.
A paramedic gave him a concerned but determined look. "Stay back. She's alive, but they have to get her to the hospital. You can see her there."
He watched as they put her in the ambulance. She had to be all right. She had to be.
His phone rang, but he couldn't answer it now. He was terribly afraid of what he might hear…
"Why are you standing in the rain?"
Jeremiah's question brought him back to the present. "What?" he asked in confusion, then realized the skies had opened up.
"Are you all right?" Jeremiah asked, giving him a searching look.
"Yeah," he said roughly. "Just thinking."
"About the explosion?"
"Yes."
"Me, too. I wonder who did it."
He wondered, too.
Was this blast related to the last one? If so, what the hell did that mean? And what was coming next?
Chapter Two
Caitlyn flew into San Francisco International Airport, landing just after noon on Thursday. She rented a car, then drove forty-five minutes through the city and over the Golden Gate Bridge, weaving her way through the Marin Headlands to the campus of Bolton College, a private university of about ten thousand students. Her mother had gone to Bolton and her mother before her.
Her two older brothers had followed in the steps of their father, grandfather, and great- grandfather. They'd gone to Stanford. They'd also gone into the family business, a business that she had never wanted to be a part of, even before the explosion. Carlson Industries encompassed a dozen companies, maybe more by now, and some of those companies didn't align with her view of the world. But they were profitable, and profit had driven the Carlson empire for a hundred years. Her great-grandfather had been the first to amass a fortune, and each generation since then had contributed. Now, her brothers were doing the same.
The family, of course, made a point of giving back with the Carlson Foundation that aided thousands of charities each year. But was it enough? She wanted to believe they were balancing the scales, because it made it easier to go to Christmas dinner. But there was a part of her that still thought they could do better. Hopefully her brothers, Baxter and Spencer, would drive the company in the right direction.
As she neared the campus, her thoughts returned to the past, to the terrible March day ten years ago. She'd lost so much: her baby, her boyfriend, and her innocence.
No one had ever paid for her losses.
Now there had been another blast. More victims. More damage. More pain.
Was it a coincidence that it had happened in the same month as the last one? She didn't think so.
This wasn't the first explosion she'd investigated since she'd joined the bureau. She'd been looking for answers to what had happened to her in every bomb that had gone off since then. She'
d driven her fellow agents crazy with her never-ending questions about the case. Pushing that button repeatedly had gotten her into trouble with the brass, including Rob Carpenter, her first boss. He'd been happy to see her move on to New Orleans after a year under his leadership.
Despite the change in location and the fact that she had other cases to work on, she'd still found time to search for answers, but she'd discovered nothing. It still amazed her that the brick wall she'd run into had never crumbled, not even a little.
After a second year of intense obsession, her boss had pulled her aside and told her she had to make a choice. She could either let the obsession consume her and stop her career before it had even started, or she could move on and make her mark on the world in other areas.
Shortly after that, Flynn had offered her a job on his task force, and she'd taken it. For the past two years, she'd deliberately avoided any cases tied to explosives. She had wanted to move on, but today her obsession had come back to find her.
As she turned off the highway and drove down a two-lane road toward the campus, her tension rose until she was gripping the wheel so tightly, there was no blood going into her fingers. She forced herself to breathe through the raw emotions. She could do this. She would do this, because she had to.
Moments later, she drove through the gates leading to the campus, which was set in a picturesque location of rolling hills, thick groves of trees, and ocean views.
When she got to the first parking lot, she saw a heavy presence of law enforcement. Most cars were being waved around and sent back out through the gates, but when she showed her badge, they allowed her into the lot.
After parking, she stepped out of the car and walked toward the auditorium. Everything was so familiar, from the admissions office to the language arts building where she'd worked on the campus newspaper, to the library where she'd spent hours reading and studying. Every step took her further into the past. She almost lost it when she saw the coffee cart where she and Quinn had picked up coffees just minutes before her entire life had been blown to pieces.
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