“What did Davies find in the background check on this guy?” she asked, working for casual and real. He was right. She didn’t let people see the real her very often. She didn’t want to hide from him anymore. “I’m assuming you already read through that on your phone? I don’t think you’d be heading out here without knowing what you’re walking into.”
He didn’t immediately answer, and she glanced his way, afraid he was still angry. His jaw was definitely still tight, his shoulders tense, but his voice sounded calm, even a little surprised when he said, “CBG Industries is a multitiered conglomerate that runs a number of different businesses. Foster worked for the company in a low-level management position for twenty-two years before retiring here.”
“In what business?”
“Oil and gas. He managed a distribution center that coordinated trucking deliveries to fuel stations.”
He slowed the vehicle and made a right-hand turn onto another gravel road. “Callahan also got back to me. The FBI confirmed the bomb was parked in a truck outside the TV station’s building. It wasn’t big, which is why it didn’t do as much damage as it could have. But it was a smaller version of the kind McVeigh used in Oklahoma City, made up of fertilizer, chemicals and—”
“Diesel fuel,” she finished on a tight breath.
He glanced her way. “You know about bombs?”
“I read the news. I also went to college and remember studying the Oklahoma City bombing. Did you tell Callahan what you learned about Foster?”
“Yeah. I texted him when we landed. Which means the FBI will be here in a matter of minutes if they aren’t already. I want a look at the guy before they get ahold of him.”
She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. This guy could be—probably was—dangerous. Staying back at the hotel might not have been a bad idea.
Hunt slowed the vehicle as they approached a short gravel driveway. The house was set back a good twenty yards from the road, more like a dilapidated old cabin than a home. There were no trees surrounding the aged structure in the middle of the desert, no yard either. Nothing but scrub brush and waist-high, yellow weeds. In the driveway sat a beat-up pickup truck that looked as if it hadn’t run in years.
He parked the car on the side of the road, glancing all around them for signs of life. They were in the middle of nowhere—no other homes within sight, no buildings or trees or even bushes big enough for anyone to hide behind.
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s home,” he muttered.
It didn’t to her either. Maybe Davies had given them the wrong address.
He popped the driver door. “Climb over here. If anyone drives up while I’m gone, or you hear anything strange, get the hell out of here.”
And leave him? He didn’t know her too well if he thought she’d bail like that.
As he climbed out of the vehicle, she slid over the console and dropped into the driver’s seat. He checked the magazine of the 9mm he’d tucked into a holster at his lower back before they’d climbed in the rental car and snapped it closed.
Nerves shot all through her belly as she gripped the steering wheel. “How long will you be gone?”
“Hopefully only a few minutes.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes. He kept checking their surroundings, looking for any kind of threat. “Stay here. Keep the doors locked. I’ll call you on your cell if it’s safe.”
She swallowed hard, not because she was afraid, but because she didn’t like this tension between them. Tension she’d created by jumping to conclusions and being so distrusting.
“Hunt.” She wrapped her fingers around his hand before he could take a full step away, pulling him to a stop.
He glanced down at her through mirrored sunglasses that completely hid his eyes from view, preventing her from knowing what he was thinking, but the flex to his jaw screamed of discomfort. “What?”
Her stomach tightened. She was not good at apologizing. Or leaning on people. Or letting people in. “I’m sorry. For jumping to conclusions. I should have asked instead of assumed. That’s not always easy for me. Very few people surprise me.”
His jaw released, and his fingers curled around hers where she held him, warm and rough and strong. “Maybe that’s because you don’t give people the chance to surprise you. Not everyone’s an asshole like your ex.”
His words stung, but they were spoken softly and without any bite, and she couldn’t deny he was right. “I know that. Believing it, though, is not always easy.”
“You can believe it about me. I would never intentionally hurt you, physically or emotionally.”
Her heart beat hard and fast as she blinked up at him. “I know that too,” she whispered, fighting a wave of emotion that seemed to come out nowhere. “I-I’ll try to be better about showing it.”
“Okay.”
He didn’t pull away. Didn’t release her hand. Didn’t make any other move toward her. And she was thankful for that, because her emotions were all over the map, and she wasn’t sure what she would do if he touched her right now—push him away or hold on tight and never let go.
“Are you going to be okay out here?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” The sun was sinking in the sky behind him, making it hard to see his face. Knowing he was worried and wouldn’t leave until she reassured him she wasn’t about to fall apart, she forced a smile and squinted up at him. “I’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” Gently, he released her. “I’ll be right back.”
“Be careful.”
He flashed a warm smile. “Always.”
He closed her door and walked around the back of the car. Alone, she drew a ragged breath that did little to ease the tightness in her chest and followed him in the rearview mirror until he disappeared behind the car and headed for the house.
She should feel better that she’d set things right with him. She should be relieved that she knew the truth about that woman who’d interrupted them the other night and that he wasn’t upset with her anymore. But she wasn’t. Lifting a hand, she rubbed against the tight spot in her chest, hoping it would help the pressure, but it didn’t. It almost felt like . . .
Her head jerked around as she realized what she was feeling. The same damn thing she’d felt just before that bomb had gone off and again before the rubble had shifted and she’d lost contact with Hunt. A sense that something horrible was about to happen.
Hunt was already at the front of the house, quietly moving up the three rickety porch steps. If she jumped out now and yelled to stop him, she could alert anyone inside that he was there. She watched with bated breath as he peered through the dirty window. His gun was still holstered, his body language didn’t hint at any kind of danger, yet her heart continued to pound fast and erratic, and that pressure inside was only growing stronger.
He knocked on the door. Long minutes stretched with no answer. He knocked again. When still no one answered, he glanced back at her in the car and pointed to the side, telling her he was going around back.
“Shit.” She swallowed hard. Rubbed her damp palms against her slacks. Wanted to scream at him to stay where he was. But he was already on the move. Seconds later she couldn’t see him anymore.
The temperature inside the vehicle rose with every passing second. She wasn’t sure how much time passed, but it felt like hours. Perspiration formed along her forehead and down her spine. Unable to handle the rising heat in the car anymore, she glanced forward and back, and not seeing any other cars anywhere close, she popped the driver door open and pushed to her feet.
A light wind blew her hair back from her face and rustled the scrub brush. Somewhere in the distance, a hawk called, but there was no other sound. Nothing besides an eerie silence that only amped her already sky-high adrenaline.
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” she muttered, looking over the roof of the vehicle toward the quiet house. What was taking so long?
Movement caught her attention through the fr
ont room window of the house.
She sucked in a surprised breath only to let it out again when she realized the movement was Hunt, one hand on his hip, the other on the phone pressed to his ear as he looked down at his feet.
The air whooshed out of her lungs. He was safe. Nothing bad had happened. The fact he didn’t have his gun drawn and was talking on his phone told her there was no threat inside the house. Which meant she was out here stressing for no reason.
Feeling like an idiot, she closed the door and headed toward the house. Since she hadn’t seen him move to the front door, she assumed it was still locked, so she went around back, the way he’d gone.
Chipped cement steps let up to an open kitchen door. Cautiously, she moved inside, and called, “Hunt?”
The smell hit her first. A moldy, stale smell that made her nose wrinkle. One quick glance around the filthy kitchen told her the smell was probably coming from the dirty dishes stacked in the stained sink or the table to her right littered with old pizza boxes and empty milk cartons.
The room was empty. Looking ahead, she spotted a small hall that cut the house in two. She headed that direction. “Hunt?”
A shuffling sound echoed from the front room, and seconds later Hunt stepped into the hall with the phone pressed to his ear. “Shit. Hold on.” He pulled the phone away from his mouth. “Kelsey, stop. Don’t go any farther.”
She made it one more step before his words registered, drawing her to a stop. A fluttering movement to her left caught her attention. Hunt headed like lightning straight toward her, but she turned to get a better look before he could reach her. She was standing in front of an open office door. Dozens of black-and-white newsprint pictures were scattered across the shaggy carpet, rustling in the breeze coming through the open window. And in every one, she saw her face.
“Dammit.” Hunt reached her side and tried to gently tug her away. “You don’t need to see that.”
“No, don’t.” She pushed against his hold, her eyes growing wider as she scanned the photos. They weren’t just pictures of her. They were all pictures taken over the last few weeks. Some at her fashion shows in New York. Others at parties with industry professionals. Still others of her hailing a cab on the street in Times Square.
But those weren’t what made her suck in a sharp breath. The photos of her on the desk with the words BITCH, CUNT, and DEAD, scrawled in red lettering across her face were the ones that chilled her to the bone.
Those and the one in the center of the desk. The one of her smiling as she stood on stage with her models in New York. The one someone had stabbed right through her heart with the blade of a vicious hunting knife.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Kelsey paced in the drive of the rundown house, the fingers of one hand pressed against her lips, the other hand wrapped around her waist as the sun sank low on the horizon and she fought to keep from freaking out.
Hunt had already called the police by the time she’d gone inside looking for him, and a sea of county and FBI vehicles now lined the driveway and narrow road beyond. She hadn’t stayed inside long before exiting to get fresh air, but what she’d seen in that small time frame had been enough.
There was no question those texts were meant for her. Her stomach rolled all over again, and she breathed deep, fighting back the nausea. She just didn’t understand why. Or who, really. She didn’t know anyone here. She didn’t know anyone named Foster.
Gravel crunched somewhere close, and she breathed even deeper, fighting not to lose her lunch in front of some poor, unsuspecting police officer.
“Hey,” Hunt said softly at her back. “You okay?”
The sound of his voice calmed her in a way she didn’t want to overanalyze right now. She was simply thankful he was here.
She turned toward him and brushed the hair back from her face. “Not really.”
“Come here.” He moved into her, and when he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and closed her into the heat of his body, she didn’t stop him because she absolutely needed this right now.
She closed her eyes and slid her arms around his waist, breathing in the familiar scent of him as she pressed her cheek to his chest. God, this felt good. Safe. Right. She didn’t want to question why. She just wanted more.
She tightened her arms around his waist, and he took the cue, holding her closer. Against her ear, he whispered that everything was going to be okay, that she was safe, that no one could get to her, but words of reassurance weren’t what she needed. What she needed was him. A solid, calming presence in her life, just as he’d always been.
Feeling steadier, she finally released him. For a second she didn’t think he was going to let her go, which she absolutely loved, but then he released her. Telling herself to keep it together, to stay tough, she brushed the hair back from her face and looked up at him. But it took every bit of strength she had not to close herself off from him like she normally would.
“What’s happening in there?” she asked, fighting for normal when it was the last thing she felt.
He raked a hand through his hair and glanced back toward the house where a couple of law enforcement personnel stood on the decaying front porch, deep in conversation. “The deed for the property’s in the name of Graham Foster. They’re gathering fingerprints. There’s no sign of the guy. Place looks like it’s been empty for a couple of days.”
She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. A couple of days was plenty of time to get up to Oregon and set that bomb. But the fact Foster wasn’t here and that the texts had come from here unnerved her. “Can they locate him?”
“They will. They put out an APB on him. He’s in his sixties. He shouldn’t be hard to find.”
She chewed on her lip. “Do they think he has any link to Julian?”
“They’ll be looking into that. That’s why I came out here. The Feds want to talk to you again. See if you know something you might not be aware you know.”
That comment hit her as just plain funny, especially considering everything else. “You’re supposed to protect me. Not let the Feds scramble my brain.”
He chuckled, and the sound was so light, especially when he smiled in that way that made him look sexier than any man should, it eased the last of the pressure inside her chest. “I’ll stay with you to make sure there’s no brain scrambling. How’s that?”
Right now, that sounded perfect. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“Do you want to call your folks? Let them know what we found here?”
“Absolutely not.” When one side of his lips tipped up, she realized how that must have sounded. “I don’t want to worry them yet. There’s nothing they can do about it, and if we tell them about this, it’ll just cause unnecessary stress.”
“I get it.”
She eyed him warily. “I’m safe here, right? Foster isn’t here.”
“You’re completely safe. No one’s getting near you but me.”
Her belly warmed. She knew he didn’t mean that the way she wanted, but she liked it just the same.
Sighing, not wanting to think about that too much, she looked toward the house. “I guess I should go get this over with.”
He reached for her hand, stopping her from stepping away. “I told them to come out here.”
She glanced down at his warm fingers wrapped around her cold ones, awed by the way he seemed to know exactly what she needed. Surprised even more by the fact her first reaction wasn’t to pull away. She could lean on him and still hold it together. In fact, holding it together when he was by her side made the whole thing a hell of a lot easier to do.
“When we’re done here, what do you think about checking in to the hotel, getting cleaned up, then finding a place to grab dinner?” he asked. “They probably won’t have any info for us on Foster until at least tomorrow.”
To her, what he was describing sounded heavenly. And a lot like a date, which she knew could be dangerous, especially right now when she didn’t want to let go of his hand. �
�I think that sounds nice. And just what I need.”
His smile widened, and his grip tightened on her hand in a way that didn’t just supercharge her blood, it infused her with even more strength. “Me too. I’ll keep you safe, Kels. I promise.”
She smiled back, knowing he’d do everything he could to keep his word. But knowing and believing were two very different things, and after what she’d seen today, there were no guarantees.
Because she knew now they weren’t just dealing with a jilted ex-husband. The person who’d cut out all those pictures and stabbed that knife through her heart was unhinged in ways that made him completely unpredictable.
Hunt braced his elbows on his knees as he sat on the plush, rolled-back, tufted side chair in the living area of the hotel suite and flipped channels on the TV with the remote.
There was nothing on the local news about Foster or what the cops had found at that property in the desert, and no indication the FBI was doing anything out of the ordinary in the area. Finally settling on a basketball game, he turned the volume to low so it wouldn’t disturb Kelsey in the bedroom, set the remote on the coffee table in front of him, and checked his phone for the umpteenth time.
Still nothing from the cops. And nothing from Callahan in Portland. He’d called Davies earlier and told him to look into Benedict’s and Foster’s backgrounds as well, hoping for some kind of link between the two men, but so far Davies had come up empty on both. Logic said they had to be connected in some way, but that tingle along the back of Hunt’s neck anytime he thought about the two men told him he was reaching.
He swiped a hand across his nape, then grabbed the water bottle he’d opened and left on the coffee table. The suite his office manager, Monica, had booked them into was all modern lines, plush furnishings, and warm desert colors—a mix of creams and browns and oranges that matched the colors outside as the sun set over the jagged mountains. It had two bedrooms—the biggest of which he’d given to Kelsey—and balconies that overlooked the pool area. She was currently in her room, getting ready for dinner. Had been locked in there for the last hour. And even though he knew she was safe and that nothing bad could happen to her here right under his nose, he was itching for that damn door to open so he could see for himself she was all right.
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