by Laura Scott
“I know.” Penny’s expression turned grim. “Sarge wants this guy found ASAP.”
So did she. “I’m heading up to review the video. Maybe this time, he’s slipped up enough to give us a glimpse of his face.”
“I hope so.” Penny waved a hand. “Go and be prepared for a visit from Sarge.”
Eden hurried up to her workspace, determined to have something to show Gavin and Max. This guy had to make a mistake sooner or later.
Preferably sooner.
But when she pulled up the video feed, a spear of disappointment stabbed deep. She found the man dressed in black easily enough, even pinpointed the slight tear in the cuff of his jacket. But as before, he seemed to know where the cameras were located, and used pedestrian traffic to his advantage. She could tell he approached the building where the planter was located but couldn’t capture an image of him actually dropping the bomb inside. Instead, within seconds he was walking away.
She continued following his path, jumping from one video camera to the next. He kept his head down the entire time, until he finally ducked into a shop approximately a half mile from where he’d left the bomb. She continued looking to capture him leaving, but never saw him.
Which was very strange. Why hadn’t he come out of the store?
“Eden?”
Gavin’s voice drew her gaze from the screens before her. She nodded in acknowledgment. “Hi, Sarge. I have him on camera dropping the bomb, then going inside a store, but that’s about it. He never came out and there’s no clear image of his face.”
Her boss stood beside her, taking in the images she’d captured on each of the four computer screens. His jaw was granite hard. “Who is this guy?”
She shook her head. “I wish I knew.”
Gavin swung to face her. “You’re absolutely sure you don’t know him?”
“Hard to say without a good view of his face. I mean, look at that.” She waved her hand at the screens. “He’s average height and weight, no distinguishing marks visible. Nothing but this tiny tear in the cuff of his sleeve.”
“Where?”
She used the cursor of the computer mouse to indicate the mark she’d been able to capture. Gavin leaned closer to the computer with a frown. “It’s pretty small.”
“But visible in each of the images.” Using her keyboard, she drew up the previous videos she’d saved.
After viewing them all, Gavin nodded and stepped back. “It’s something, but we could use more.”
“I know. I’m trying.” She didn’t have to point out that she wanted this guy caught and tossed behind bars more than anyone.
Except Max.
Gavin’s tone gentled. “Don’t worry, we’ll find him. Once Max finishes up with the bomb scene, he’ll interview Hank Voight, the guy who we believe put the peanut oil on your salad. Could be he’ll give us something to go on.”
“I hope so. I’m going to review that video, too, see if there’s footage of the handoff between my stalker and Voight in the alley behind the diner.”
“Good.” Gavin gave a curt nod. “Let me know if you catch them in the act.”
“Yessir.” She turned her attention back to her screens with a new sense of urgency. There had to be some way to crack this case open. She found a view of the alley behind the diner and saw that the man in black approached Hank Voight, the cook. It looked as if something exchanged hands, but it happened so fast it was difficult to see. Still, she sent a quick text to Max about what she’d found.
Scanning the video again, she furrowed her brow when she noticed the guy in black lightly pat his thigh with one hand as he walked. Something niggled at the back of her memory. Had she seen that gesture before?
Going through her previous video feeds, she found the guy again, this time as he left to follow Patti Wang. There! He did that same patting gesture again.
Was the gesture significant? A nervous tick? Or patting his pocket to make sure he still had something in there? It wasn’t easy to tell from the grainy photos, but she found he’d done the same patting gesture again after dropping off the package containing the snow-globe bomb outside the precinct.
She sat back in her chair, her gaze moving from one screen to the next, looking at the weird pat-pat-patting again.
There was something odd about the way he did that.
But for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what it meant.
* * *
When the scene was cleared and the bomb secured in a safe hold, Max felt it was well past time to move on to the next step of the investigation.
First and foremost he wanted a vehicle. The precinct where Hank was being detained was on the other side of Brooklyn and the sooner he could question the cook from the 646, the better.
This was the most promising lead they had, and he was banking on the fact that Hank would provide a decent description of the guy. Maybe even work with a sketch artist to get a likeness for them to work from.
They needed a break, soon. Before more innocent lives were put in danger.
Especially Eden. It bothered him just how close they’d come to the bomb site. He reached over to pat Sam on the head. His partner had come through for them.
“Good boy,” he praised, as they headed back to pick up a K-9 vehicle.
It was tempting to take a few minutes to go up and see Eden, but he squelched the urge. He was already running later than planned. And frankly there was no reason to see her.
Other than to reassure himself she was really okay.
He gave himself a mental shake. Before the attempted stabbing, he wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Eden had been a valued member of their team, and nothing more.
But not any longer. She was important to him on a personal level.
He couldn’t allow his preoccupation with her welfare to get in the way of doing his duty.
Twenty minutes later, he parked his SUV, took Sam out of the back, and headed inside the precinct. He offered his badge for inspection and was led into one of their interview rooms.
An officer hovered in the doorway. “Where have you been? I was getting ready to cut him loose.”
“Sorry, but there was an IED situation that held me up. Hopefully this won’t take long.”
The officer shrugged. “Okay, I’ll get Voight.”
The cop returned with Hank a few minutes later. The moment Hank saw Sam, the cook shied away.
“No dogs! Get him out of here! He might attack me.”
“He won’t,” Max said. He gave Sam a hand signal and the Rottweiler dropped to his haunches, although his gaze never left Hank. “See? He’s very well trained.” He pulled out a chair and sat down, pinning Hank with a stern look. After going through the Miranda warning, he asked, “Are you willing to talk to me?”
Hank shrugged. “I guess.”
“Good.” Max leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Why did you do it?”
“Do what?” Hank feigned innocence.
Max leaned forward. “We have video that shows a man dressed in black leaving the back of the diner. We know he gave you the peanut oil with instructions to put it on Eden’s food. I want to understand why you did it.”
Hank seemed to shrink farther into his seat, his gaze darting around the room as if looking for a way to escape. “Are you sure it’s me on that video?”
“Why didn’t you go to work today?”
Hank blinked, then licked his lips. “I’m sick.”
“Did he pay you?”
Hank began to nod, then caught himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Sam growled low in his throat.
“Okay! I put the peanut oil on her salad. I didn’t think she’d stop breathing or anything. The guy said it was a joke! That she didn’t like the taste, nothing more. I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry.” Hi
s wide eyes were full of fear and regret.
Knowing Hank had done the deed wasn’t enough. “How much did he pay you?”
“Five hundred bucks.” Hank morosely stared down at the table. “I knew it was too good to be true.”
“Did you know this guy? Had you seen him before?”
Hank shook his head. “Never. He just flashed the money in my face and told me he needed a favor. I was taking a quick smoke break. Joe doesn’t like it, but it’s stressful back there in the middle of the lunch rush. I had a quick smoke and this guy asked me to use the peanut oil as a practical joke on his friend. I needed the cash, so I took it.”
Friend? “Describe him for me.”
Now Hank looked confused. “Describe him?”
Max tamped down a flash of impatience. “Race, hair color, eye color, age, scars or other identifiable features.”
“Um, white. And, um, average height and weight. Maybe dark hair. I couldn’t see much of his face, because he had a scarf and wore a hat.”
Max couldn’t stand the thought that he’d run into another dead end. “Tell me exactly what he said.”
Hank licked his lips again. “He said, ‘Do you want to make a quick five hundred bucks? I need you to put this peanut oil on my friend’s food—she’s sitting with a cop at the end of the counter. It’s a private joke.’”
Max replayed the statement in his mind. The guy must have seen him and Eden go in and sit down together. “Was the peanut oil in a container of some sort?”
“Yeah.” Hank glanced between them. “I squirted some on and then tossed it in a dumpster in the alley. Look, I’m sorry. The five hundred bucks wasn’t worth all this.”
No, it wasn’t. Max gestured for the officers to go check out the dumpsters behind the restaurant. Finding the bottle would be good, although likely not helpful as the assailant had been wearing gloves.
On his way back to the precinct, his phone rang. “Santelli.”
“Max? It’s Darcy. The bomb squad uncovered the phone number that was programmed in to detonate the snow-globe device.”
“Really? That’s great news. What’s the number? We need to find out who owns the phone associated with it.”
“We already know,” Darcy said. “It’s Eden’s cell number.”
“Eden’s?” He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks.” He disconnected from the call, trying not to imagine Eden using her phone near the snow globe only to have it blow up in her face. She collected snow globes. Chances are that she’d have put it on her desk. How many times did she use her phone during any given day? Probably too many.
This wasn’t your average bomb freak. This level of skill was at a much higher level.
And he had no idea when this guy would try to strike next.
NINE
Eden rubbed her blurry eyes and stepped away from her workstation. Her head ached, and she felt sick to her stomach.
Max wouldn’t be here yet for another hour, even though it was past five o’clock in the evening. They were no closer to finding out who had targeted her and why. Except for the latest news about her cell phone being the trigger of the snow-globe bomb, they had nothing more to go on, even after questioning Hank Voight.
The cell-phone trigger bothered her, making it difficult to concentrate on the video. Deep down, she knew the person responsible could be one of her Geek Quad friends. They were experts at hacking, and the attacks seemed so personal.
But why?
Bryon, Tom and Darnell had been her close friends since high school and through college. They all had high-level government jobs. It made no sense that one of them would have some sort of personal grudge against her.
Just thinking about the possibility that one of her longtime friends had turned on her to the point they wanted to harm her, or worse, kill her, filled her with a horrible sense of dread.
She stared sightlessly out the window, trying to come up with an alternate and less disturbing theory. Lots of people had amazing tech skills. Lots of people could create a bomb. But putting the two together, as far as using technology to detonate a bomb, would require a particular skill set.
Whirling around, she crossed over to her workstation and shut it down. Pulling her prized laptop out of the shoulder bag, she booted it up. When she opened her email, she noticed the government recruiter had sent another message, asking if she’d considered moving forward with an interview.
She couldn’t imagine changing jobs right now. Maybe something to think about after the holiday. Ignoring that message, she scanned the texts in her messaging app. There was a group message from Tom asking if they were still on for Monday. Bryon had replied yes, but there was nothing from Darnell yet.
Feeling determined, she opened the text and replied all to count her in for Monday’s gathering. After hitting Send, she sat back and wondered if the fact that Darnell hadn’t responded was because he was preoccupied with planting bombs.
Or maybe it was Tom who was trying to deflect suspicion by sending the message in the first place, pretending to be all casual about their next get-together.
But why? That was the big stumbling point for her. Not one of the guys had ever looked at her with romantic interest. In fact, the last time they’d gotten together, Tom mentioned meeting a woman he was interested in seeing again. And Bryon had been dating someone for several months. What was her name? Rachel? No, Rochelle. Darnell had chimed in about his preference of playing the field.
None of it made any sense.
As soon as she’d responded, Darnell replied, adding his agreement. Tom ended the conversation saying he’d see them all on Monday.
Today was Friday. Monday was three days away.
When she joined her friends at The Center, would she be looking into the eyes of a killer?
She shivered and turned her attention to the recruiter email. Hitting Reply, she told him to contact her again after Christmas. Part of her felt bad for stringing him along, but she knew the smart thing would be to keep her options open.
“Eden? Are you ready to go?”
Max’s low voice had her glancing up in surprise. His warm and weary smile caused her pulse to kick up. “Hi, Max.”
“Sorry it took longer than I thought to get here.” His gaze darkened with concern. “Thanks for waiting for me.”
“Sarge’s orders, right?” She strove for a casual tone, but Max frowned.
“Eden, I’m here because I want to be.” He stepped closer. Even after a long day, his sandalwood scent had the ability to knock her off balance. “I want you protected.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.” Their gazes clung and held for a long breathless moment. Max bent his head to kiss her, at the same moment Sam nudged her with his nose. Max grimaced and moved back, making her laugh as she reached down to stroke his soft fur. “You’re a good boy, Sam.”
“With rotten timing,” Max muttered.
She smiled again, feeling much better now that Max and Sam were there. It was difficult to remember how she’d always headed home alone without thinking twice about it.
Spending time with Max was nice. She’d miss being close to him once they caught this guy.
After shutting down her computer, she tucked it back into her bag and drew the strap over her head so that the bag was resting crosswise against her. Max held her coat for her, and she gratefully placed her arms in the sleeves and allowed him to pull it up over her shoulders. His broad hands rested there for a minute before releasing her. She sensed him stepping away.
They didn’t say much on the way down to the main level of the precinct. There was a second-shift clerk seated behind the desk, but the other cubicles were empty.
Once again, Max steered her through to the back exit of the building.
“Don’t you think this
guy has figured out we leave this way?” She caught her breath at the blast of cold December air hitting her face.
“Maybe, but there are less places for him to hide.” Max and Sam stayed close to her side.
They headed toward the subway, choosing the same entrance as the day before. She almost asked about taking a rideshare instead but decided against it. It was possible that some rideshare drivers would balk at having Sam in the vehicle. He was a large and intimidating animal. She could see how many might view him as scary.
“Are you interested in stopping for a bite to eat?” Max asked, as they came down the steps toward the turnstile.
She wasn’t at all hungry but nodded. “Whatever you’d like is fine.”
Before he could respond, there was a shout from a woman standing several feet ahead of them. “Help! It’s a bomb! Someone help!”
“What in the world?” Max’s tone was grim as they both noticed the large backpack sitting beneath the bench. “Who told you it’s a bomb?”
The woman waved a handwritten note. “He—he gave me this and left. It says the backpack is a bomb!”
Not again! Please, Lord, not again!
“Everyone stay back,” Max ordered, reaching up for his radio. Masses of people moved away from the backpack, heading toward the stairway they’d just come down, jostling her as they passed.
“I need this train line and station shut down. Send me backup and the bomb squad ASAP.” Max released the leash from Sam’s collar. “Seek, Sam. Seek!”
She was watching Sam alert on the backpack when she felt something sharp poke her in the back. “Stay quiet, or I’ll blow up the dog.”
Every muscle in her body went still. The voice was a low whisper, but she felt certain it was familiar. She held her breath, afraid to do anything that would cause Sam or Max harm.
“Come with me.” The man drew her backward. She stumbled as she attempted to do what he asked, her gaze boring into Max’s back as she willed him to turn around, to notice she was leaving.
But all too soon, they were swallowed into the massive crowd. In addition to the stairs, there was an escalator up, jam-packed with people getting as far away from the backpack and the subway station as possible. He moved her onto the escalator, and as she glanced at the gloved hand holding tightly to her arm, she noticed the slight tear in the cuff.
