by Rachel Lee
But when his tongue found her velvety folds and focused in on the exquisitely sensitive nub there, she felt pleasure and pain in equal measures, causing her to cry out and rise to meet him. Reality vanished to some dark hole as her world exploded in brilliant lights and intense sensations that blocked everything else.
Touch by touch, he teased her, lifting her until she floated somewhere in space, untethered from everything except him, his hands, his mouth, his heat.
This time there was no gentleness to him, just a demand for her response, and she gladly gave it. She felt a prisoner to his touch, allowing herself to be used however he chose and exulting in it.
Then, at last, he slid up over her and claimed her, following her to the dizzying heights he’d shown her before, then carrying her even higher.
Every brush of his body against hers, every thrust of his hips, taught her that ecstasy had many sides and many sources. When at last she could endure no more, she cried out, then heard his groan as he followed her into a new level of joy.
And he was right. Before he even withdrew, she slid into the netherworld of sleep.
* * *
Alex had the worst urge to beat the pillow when his cell phone buzzed on the bedside table. A couple of hours of sleep and now this?
He reached for it, hoping it wouldn’t disturb Darcy. That woman worked way too hard. Not that he hadn’t been guilty of the same thing in his time, but he knew where that kind of obsession led. It wasn’t pretty. A human being had physical needs that couldn’t be ignored for long. A need to take at least a brief time off to rest and recuperate. Failing to do that could lead to the kind of breakdown he’d had, a breakdown that had cost him the things he cared most about in the world: his wife and daughter. Some fences, once broken, could never be mended.
He hoped he’d learned his lesson. He hoped even more that Darcy never needed to.
Holding the phone to his ear, he said quietly, “Yeah.” He recognized the sheriff’s voice instantly.
“Just letting you know,” Gage said. “Jack Castor’s family reported him missing. He said he’d gone to stay with some friends last night and was supposed to be back hours ago. Anyway, no one’s seen him since late yesterday, and he didn’t stay with a friend.”
“You need me?”
“We’ve got everyone we can spare out looking for him. We’re assuming he might have had an auto accident. But if he vanished for some other reason, given his interest in the ATF, we’re thinking he might seek you or Darcy out. I wanted you to know in case he doesn’t call his family. I don’t know what the hell has got into that kid.”
Alex had some idea, and it worried the hell out of him. And, of course, Gage suspected. Tell him to keep his ear to the ground and what had he done? Even Gage hadn’t thought that would be especially dangerous, but now Alex would have bet he’d gone haring off after some clue and got himself into trouble.
He just hoped the young man was still alive.
“Alex?” Darcy’s groggy voice reached him.
He wished he could tell her to roll over and go back to sleep, but he was pretty certain she’d never forgive the lie.
“Jack. He’s missing.”
* * *
Stomachs full of cereal, two thermoses of hot coffee between them, they set out in Darcy’s vehicle. Three o’clock in the morning. The birds weren’t even up yet.
“It’s my fault,” Darcy said. “I should have told him to stay the hell away or I’d have him arrested for interfering with an investigation. But no, what did I do? Asked him to listen. To listen. I should have read him better than that.”
“It’s not your job.”
“You were worried. You even told me I’d made a mistake. Then when he wanted me to clear his name... What if someone went after him because they think he’s the bomber?”
“Look,” Alex argued, “he could have had a car accident. Some of the roads in this county are bad enough that they ought to be marked with a skull and crossbones. Or a sign saying Drive at Your Own Risk.”
She was not amused. Nor did Alex expect it. Although he had the fleeting thought that if he found out that boy was okay and sleeping at some friend’s house where no one even suspected he was, he might give him a good verbal shaking.
His family was probably out of their minds. Local law was at full mobilization. Hell, there was even a helicopter overhead, probably using the new night-vision equipment they’d got a couple of years ago.
But it wouldn’t see a cold dead body.
“Damn.” He slammed his hand on the steering wheel, which wasn’t exactly calculated to make Darcy feel any better. Not that words would do that. Only finding Jack safe and alive was going to help.
“You’ve got a bomb site to investigate today,” he reminded her. “You need to let the rest of us hunt for Jack.”
“To hell with it. The site isn’t going anywhere. We’ve got to find that boy.”
“Two of us looking isn’t going to make a difference. I should have brought my own car so I could leave you and your equipment. Goddamn it, Darcy, we’ve got a bomber. You know that. And you know as well as I do that if we don’t stop him he could kill a lot of people.”
“Opposing priorities,” she answered tautly. “Right now all I know is that it’s my fault there’s a seventeen-year-old boy out there trying to play ATF agent without any training, without any knowledge, without any backup. I can’t blame anyone else for that. I should have realized I needed to stuff him in a cell.”
“On what grounds? The stupidity of youth? Anyway, we don’t know he tangled with the bomber. He probably just went off the road out in the middle of nowhere and it’s a helluva long hike back to town or his ranch.”
“We should be so lucky.”
He agreed, but he wasn’t about to say so. He thought Jack had more brains than to get himself into an untenable situation. But maybe he was wrong, too. Kids his age—their brains weren’t wired to anticipate consequences. He knew that. So if anyone was to blame here, it was him.
And they still didn’t know if there was any blame.
“We’ve got to find him, Alex. I’m going to call for more help from my boss this morning. We need bomb experts, more than me. No one can put this off as an experiment anymore. This bomber has a goal, and I’ve got the sickening feeling it isn’t right around here.”
* * *
Miles away in the middle of almost nowhere, in the rolling hills at the foot of the mountains, Warren Trimble had begun to load his van with what he needed. The kid finding him had unnerved him. He still had some work to do before these bombs were ready, but he was confident enough of his skills now to figure he could find some place isolated enough to finish.
The ANFO was packed into the ammo cans. Det cord hung in a coil from the side of the interior wall. The detonators, simple to the extreme, were almost done. He could finish them now without much trouble. The small holes in the ammo cans had been plugged by caulk, waiting for the det cord.
And if he couldn’t get the detonators wired up properly, then he’d set the cord off by hand.
The nice thing, the only nice thing, about being a dead man walking was that he didn’t care if his own bombs blew him up. It was the message that counted, a message that he was going to upload to the internet as soon as he filmed it. He’d say everything he had to say then.
Imagine that kid not knowing about Agent Orange or the ravages it created. He’d gone back to the Nam twenty years ago with a group of vets, and they’d seen how those people were still suffering from the effects of that defoliant. Little kids, two generations later, being born sick and deformed. The soil and water still poisoned after all this time. Farmers from that era living in small villages created to take care of them. Weren’t many left.
He’d seen. He’d donated to their care.
But nobody took care of his fellows. Nobo
dy wanted to admit the atrocity they’d created. They just wanted it all to die and be forgotten.
Well, he was going to make sure they got a loud reminder before the cancer took him.
So as soon as they were ready, he’d set the bombs at the state and federal veterans affairs offices in Casper. Then, before he blew them up, he’d launch the message to the internet. As for the kid, he was going to give him one more chance to tell him how much the ATF had figured out. One more. The boy could deny he knew anything, but Trimble’s own eyes had seen otherwise.
Probably didn’t matter now, though. He was ready to move. All he had to do was wire the outbuilding in case they found it before he acted. Shut down anything that boy could tell about him, like the reasons for these bombs. He didn’t want anyone putting it together too soon.
These next two bombs were designed to kill, unlike the first two. He wasn’t worried about taking a few bureaucrats along with him. Not at all. They’d been making his life hell for an awfully long time. Sometimes he thought their only instructions were to obstruct.
But they’d turned Warren Trimble into a killer. A boy not much older than that kid he’d caught. They’d made sure he’d be their weapon. But what did you do with a weapon when you didn’t need it any longer? Well, if it was a rifle or a nuclear missile, they’d find a use for it. A man—not so much. Especially if it appeared that you’d injured him in some way and maybe owed him something.
Warren had had a long time to grow bitter. He knew he was bitter and he didn’t give a damn anymore. He’d spent most of his life since that damn war sick with one thing or another, living with a lot of pain, and he’d grown weary of being dismissed when he said it was the chemical exposure. Then, finally they’d started to admit it, and it was still a headache. The company that made the stuff managed to get most of the money awarded by the court and the vets had been pretty much stiffed. He supposed he should be grateful that the volunteers at the VA had worked long and hard to get him on disability or he’d have been starving by the roadside.
Too sick to work the ranch he’d inherited, too sick to get a job, too sick except to feed his anger and plot his revenge. Pain was his constant companion most of the time. Now here he was, close to death with leukemia, and nobody tried to tell him this time it didn’t have anything to do with the defoliants. Too late. Of course, it had been too late since the original exposure.
He thought of that kid sitting in the outbuilding. More hair than brains. Like they’d all been at his age. He didn’t want the boy to come to harm, but he couldn’t risk him getting out and telling everyone that Warren Trimble was the bomber. They’d know that as soon as they found this place. As soon as they triggered the bomb he was leaving behind. The kid wouldn’t be able to talk, which was all that mattered, and right now he didn’t give a damn about anything except finishing his mission.
Of course, Warren knew it wasn’t easy to find a solo man unless he did something stupid. Which is why Warren had spare plates for his truck, so they couldn’t find him that way. As long as he didn’t get stopped on the road, he’d be fine. Anyone looking for him wouldn’t recognize the plates.
Then there were other ways to avoid detection. He had magnetic signs for the sides of his battered van identifying him as a plumber. Treatment for his leukemia had left him bald, so he didn’t resemble any photograph ever taken of him. He had a cell phone in another name that he’d never activated, so they wouldn’t be able to track him that way, either.
He’d be safe from detection until he wanted to be found.
But that kid in the outbuilding.
What conscience hadn’t been burned out of him bothered him. All that boy had done was follow him, probably hoping to find out who he was. A stupid but understandable reaction from a kid that age. Become a hero. Oh, yeah.
Except he hadn’t been smart enough to creep up on an old soldier. For that he was going to have to die.
Warren finished loading the last of his materials into his big van. He’d put the magnetic signs on the side once he was out of here.
But first the kid. He knew perfectly well the kid had been suffering the tortures of the damned being confined like that for so long. Just so long you could sit in one position. Just so long your arms could take being unable to move. By now he must be about as miserable as it was possible to be short of torture. Now maybe he’d be ready to talk.
So he locked up the van and headed back inside his house for a beer. He needed to think of something, then get the hell out before someone found the kid’s car.
Yeah, it was covered in sagebrush. Yeah, this road was in the middle of nowhere. But he’d heard a chopper in the distance, so he figured they were looking, probably with thermal technology.
Time was getting short, thanks to that boy.
Half a beer later, when he was sure no rotors were overhead, he made his way back to the outbuilding.
The kid looked gaunt now, his eyes hollowing out from the pain and discomfort of his position. Maybe even from the humiliation of not being allowed to use the facilities.
Warren didn’t feel terribly proud of himself, but he was past caring.
“Kid, you better start talking or...” He made no secret of the ammo can he carried. He put it on the floor near the youth but out of reach. Then he plugged a length of det cord into it.
“You know what this is? It’s a bomb. Ever seen det cord before?” He held it up. “If I wrapped this around you and set it off, you’d be a crispy critter in no time. But maybe I’ll be kinder. A bomb is faster. And don’t think anyone’s going to rescue you. I’m putting a trip wire on this. Anyone gets close, they’ll die along with you.”
The boy gave him a hollow-eyed look. “What do you think you’re doing? Getting even for what?”
“For all the lies. For them poisoning me and a whole lot of other people. You put on that uniform, son, and you aren’t a human being anymore. Not in the eyes of the bureaucrats. You’re like a pawn on the chessboard, and if you’re lucky enough to get home, they kick you to the curb. They’re still doing it. You reading about our boys coming home now?”
“I’ve heard some stuff.”
“Bet it barely touches on the size of the problem. You see, nobody’s got any use for a soldier when they can’t fight anymore. Or when the war’s over. No use at all. So the soldier pays. He got a family? They pay, too. They wish we’d all just died so we’d stop being a problem.”
“I don’t know anyone who thinks that.”
“You ain’t been around enough. They want us to be invisible. Don’t want to be disturbed by reminders of what they made us do.”
“Not everyone feels that way.”
“Not everyone, maybe. But enough.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Finish my mission. And no, I won’t tell you a damn thing more.”
Jack tried to speak, but the guy silenced him.
“You see, boy, I’m a dead man walking. And I don’t give a damn anymore about anything except being heard one last time. So now you’re going to tell me what your friends at ATF know about what I’m doing, and maybe I won’t wrap this cord around you and light it.”
Jack closed his eyes. His entire body was quivering with terror. His voice cracked as he spoke. “I don’t know anything. I’m not an agent. I’m a high school senior and I barged into the investigation because I want to be ATF someday, and they told me twice to get lost. That’s all I know. So you might as well wrap that cord around me right now.”
Just as dawn was breaking, when he was sure no chopper was flying over, Warren Trimble drove away from his run-down ranch one final time.
Tomorrow, he thought. Or the next day. But no longer. People were going to pay.
Chapter 11
As daylight began to illuminate the scene of the most recent bombing, Darcy spoke.
“Jack.”
“What about him?”
“What if he was here? What if he saw the bomber and chased after him? Let’s go look at those tire tracks again. They might give us a direction to look.”
“They might,” he agreed. “And neither of us might like what we find. You stay here, I’ll go look.”
She faced him squarely. “I feel responsible for him. The fire department is doing a good enough job at the moment. To get much more done, I’m going to need a team, or this is going to drag on forever regardless. This second bombing makes it imperative we move swiftly. And damn whoever was so sure the first one was an accident.”
When they reached the place where muddy tire tracks had alerted them yesterday, they climbed out of Darcy’s truck and began to walk the road.
“Away from town,” Darcy suggested.
“Agreed.”
Unlikely the bomber would have fled back to Conard City, although it was possible. Anyway, they had to find a second set of tracks in the mud in order to follow them.
“No guarantee it was Jack, though,” he remarked.
“No, but Jack’s the only person reported missing. Isn’t your radar pinging?”
He nodded. Indeed it was. One of the deputies had mentioned that Jack had been seen driving around the college campus on the cart path late the night before last. So he was out and doing something, clearly not staying with a friend.
The college wasn’t that far from this building. Jack could have arrived here very quickly, and if the bomber had hung around briefly to watch the results of his work... Well, Jack might have been foolish and brave enough to follow him.
No guarantees, but it was obvious to Alex that Darcy had put Jack ahead of everything else. And while he didn’t disagree with her priorities, he also was worried that they needed something to lead them to the bomber before someone got killed.
As they climbed out to survey the tracks left in the muddy soil during the rain, he reached a decision.
“Finding Jack alive might be our best lead to this bomber.”
