by Rachel Lee
Darcy looked at Alex, felt again that amazing ripple of desire and awareness. Maybe the adrenaline she’d been feeling as she dealt with Jack and the bomb had left her with some other needs. From the beginning, he’d made her aware of her womanhood. That didn’t seem to be about to wear off. She had to drag her thoughts back to business, and she didn’t believe that was a good thing.
“Agent Orange,” she said after a moment of gathering herself. “That might explain a lot.”
Jack spoke. “He said they’d killed his buddies and wouldn’t believe it was the Agent Orange.”
“That’s for sure true,” muttered Alex. “Sadly true.”
“He said that soldiers mattered only as long as they could fight, and then they just got thrown away.”
“Ouch.” Darcy winced. She hadn’t expected to experience any sympathy at all for the bomber, but that reached her. It also gave her an understanding of what might be going on with him. “What a terrible way to feel.”
“And at least partly true,” Alex said. “That Agent Orange thing... Wasn’t there a long fight about it? Didn’t it take decades for the VA to recognize it as a source of a lot of problems?”
“I think so,” Darcy answered. “I’m not sure. My history is weak on some things. It doesn’t matter anyway. What matters is that this man believes it has blighted his life and the lives of people he knew. What more does he need? Graphs and charts and mortality statistics? But who the hell could he go after? It’s been more than four decades since that war ended.”
“But the effects of Agent Orange didn’t stop there. That battle is still being fought, if I remember. Just fewer people to fight it.”
Darcy felt her energy returning as she cooled off. Now she was hungry. Fat chance of eating something just then.
“Bureaucrats,” Jack said. “He was blaming bureaucrats.”
“Did you hear when he left?”
“Before dawn, not long before. And he took a different truck. It didn’t sound like the one over there.”
“Where do you go to find bureaucrats to bomb?” Darcy asked rhetorically. “They’re almost everywhere.”
Alex’s head suddenly snapped up. “But not VA bureaucrats.” He looked around. “Anybody know if this guy had any trouble with the VA offices in this state? Or anywhere else for that matter?”
Josh Hargreaves, who’d been peering at a laptop with the other agents, stepped back and spoke. “He was removed for disturbing the peace and making threatening statements at the VA office in Casper. But that was eight years ago.”
“Long enough to learn how to make an ANFO bomb,” Darcy said.
“I wish we could be sure that’s where he was headed,” the sheriff remarked. “He could have his eye on the state capitol. It’d be a bigger target.”
“We need more information,” someone else said.
Then Hargreaves spoke to Darcy. “Alex will never tell you this, but he’s a legend around the Bureau. Listen to his psychological assessments.”
But Darcy’s gaze was already fixed on the front door of the house. “Alex? I want my gear. And a power bar if anyone has one.” Adrenaline had drained her. She needed her energy once again. An EMT shoved one into her hand and she ripped it open without finesse. “Thanks.”
* * *
Alex shut up. He wanted to protest but no matter how much he might want to suggest someone else, he knew full well she was the only one with the training to deal with a bomb. There might be important information inside that house, information that would indicate where he was heading. Lives were at stake, obviously, and he knew Darcy well enough by now to know that she wasn’t going to stand by and let it all fall out, not when someone might get hurt.
He drove over to get her equipment from the outbuilding while she drank more water and got ready for another tour with another power bar. When he brought the truck back with her bomb suit and case of equipment, she was standing a little to one side by herself, staring at the old house.
He pulled up beside her and climbed out. “You do know if a bomb goes off, nothing in there is likely to be of much use to us anyway.”
“He’s after someone. Probably a number of people. I don’t want them on my conscience.”
He could understand that easily enough. His job had left him with deaths that still haunted him and questions about why he hadn’t been quicker. “You need to separate your actions from his. You’re not responsible for what he does.” He’d tried to learn that with BSU. Evidently he’d failed with the bicycle killer, so he knew what was coming next.
“I’m responsible if there’s some way I could have stopped him and I failed.”
He couldn’t rightly argue with that.
“The thing is,” she said, “I’m wondering if he would have left enough inside there to tell us where he was headed. It doesn’t seem likely unless he has the place ready to blow up...which is a problem we’re going to have to deal with sooner or later. But the other thing...”
She fell silent, and he waited, wishing he could just wrap his arms around her and offer whatever comfort a hug could. Except in this situation, with so many cops milling around, it would have been damn stupid and she’d have every right to be furious with him. He’d gathered that she hadn’t found it easy to be a woman in her job. Why announce they were more than colleagues and start tongues wagging? She’d leave in a few days anyway. Better for her if her reputation was intact.
But he’d have given an awful lot to be able to comfort her.
At least she was beginning to dry off from her time in the bomb suit. He imagined no one could wear one of those for very long without suffering from heat stress.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“That I’d very much like to know who he went after. And something else, Alex. He didn’t mean for Jack to die.”
“But he put a bomb there!” But as soon as the words escaped him, his training and experience kicked in, making room for themselves amid his worry about Darcy. “You’re right.”
She turned her head and looked at him. “Exactly. He had to have known Jack would warn us, assuming we found him before he died of thirst. And he only wired one door, when we could have come from any direction. It was a simple disarm, too.”
He nodded. “I agree, at least as far as his motivation. Can’t comment on the bomb. So what are you thinking about the house?”
“I’m thinking it’s probably not wired. I’m thinking he probably didn’t leave much behind to give himself away. We’re not going to walk in there and find maps with X-marks-the-spot. But from what Jack said, he doesn’t care about being caught because he’s dying anyway. All he cares about is buying the time to complete his mission.”
Alex nodded, in full agreement with her assessment. “I think you’re right. But he’ll guess that we’ll be stymied outside for at least a while because of the potential for bombs in there. So maybe he didn’t clear everything. Regardless, he’s bought time for himself, and I’d judge that at this point he doesn’t want much time. He’s going to act soon.”
“Yeah.” She rubbed her forehead. “I need to go in.”
God, he wanted to stop her. To prevent her from taking the risk. But she was the only experienced bomb tech they had. Did they dare wait until new ATF guys arrived to help her? How many others might die? They had to find out where he was going.
He looked over at the FBI guys. They appeared to be learning everything they could about Warren Trimble. The sheriff’s men looked ready to charge the house, but they also knew better.
Which left Darcy.
Everything inside him squeezed into a tight knot as he gave her permission he knew damn well she didn’t need. She’d do what she judged to be the right thing no matter what he might say about it. “Okay, go for it. But is there anything we can do first to make it less likely you’ll trip a trigger?” He needed and
wanted a sliver of hope.
“He hasn’t used a motion trigger yet.” But she paused. “While I suit up, ask the cops to shoot a few rounds into the building, enough to create a pressure wave. Just in case our Mr. Trimble got fancy.”
“They could use a flash-bang outside.”
“As long as they don’t set the building on fire. That place looks like tinder.”
“I guess,” he said mirthlessly, “that you’ve been too preoccupied to notice the fire truck parked out at the road. Everyone was worrying about you after you went into the outbuilding. Now we can keep this heap of boards from igniting.”
* * *
Darcy waited, every nerve in her body aching with impatience. That bomber was out there pursuing his deadly mission. Who knew how long it would be before he reached his target and killed someone? “Alex? Talk to me. Do you think Jack might have sped this guy up?”
Alex’s gaze grew distant as he flexed mental muscle he hadn’t needed in years. “Yeah. Probably. He thought he was perfectly hidden out here, unknown to most people, just another old man who was dying. Then Jack followed him. He had to have known we’d find the kid’s car eventually. So yes, Jack sped him up. I don’t know much about this guy except he’s short on time, as far as his life goes. Maybe he expects to die at almost any moment. Add that to Jack following him... Yeah, he’s in a race against the clock now.”
The pump truck pulled up close to the house, and doused it with water. When everything was dripping wet, two deputies moved forward, called a warning and threw their flash-bangs.
Darcy had her ears covered and eyes closed, but it was still deafening even in the open space. Nothing ignited, though.
She pulled on her bomb suit as fast as she could and headed for the front of the house. If it was a trip trigger, she could spot it. At this point she’d bet there wasn’t a pressure-sensitive bomb or a motion-sensitive one. That left the same kind he’d placed in the outbuilding with Jack.
She could handle that. No sweat. Well, except for what was inside the suit.
Alex stopped her. “Be careful,” he said, but his eyes offered something much hotter and more concerned.
She managed a nod and plowed forward in the awkward, hot suit. Twice in one day. Some kind of record.
But this time was different. Before she’d been concerned about Jack, worried enough about him that she hadn’t been able to run through any emotions of her own. This time she was scared for herself. This time she was aware that her forearms and hands weren’t protected. This time the adrenaline pumping through her in huge quantities wanted her to run as far and as fast as she could.
No dice. They had to get inside to find out if the bomber had left any clues. She simply wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she walked away and left others to die.
* * *
Alex stood back with Jack and the others, a safe distance between them and the house, vehicles ready to act as shields in an instant if they had to duck.
“Is she crazy?” Jack asked as he watched.
Alex looked at him, at his pale worried face. “No,” he answered. “We need information, if it’s in there, to save other lives. So she’s going in. You still want to be with ATF?”
Jack gnawed his lower lip. “Yeah. I do.”
“Why?”
“Because she saves lives.”
Good a reason as any, Alex thought, returning his attention to Darcy’s approach to the building. Another few steps and she was going to push in that door. Or break a window. He had no idea which way she’d try to enter. Those windows were big enough to step through if she broke out the panes.
His heart had climbed to a place it hadn’t visited in a long time: his throat. His chest had tightened as if steel bands bound it. If anything happened to that woman...
That was when he noticed the hush. Not a person around them was talking. Not one, not even the FBI. Every eye was pinned to her, every tongue silenced with concern for her.
Alongside his building anxiety that something might go wrong, Alex felt a huge admiration for that woman and her determination. He was sure she was afraid. How could she not be? She had to be acutely aware that even if her bomb suit protected her from death, she could lose her arms and be crippled for life.
Yet in she went, because she didn’t want to risk other people, people she didn’t even know. Because inside she might find the key to a madman’s plan. No one would have blamed her for letting it ride, letting others do the detective work, hopeful they’d figure it out in time.
But one scene Trimble had made at the VA office in Casper wasn’t enough to commit their resources there. He might have a wholly different target in mind.
He’d understood fully when she’d walked into the jaws of potential hell to save Jack. The victim was right before her. This time—an empty house.
But he also understood something else from his own experience: the nightmares that would haunt her if she didn’t go in there hunting evidence and people died. She didn’t want to live with that. He wouldn’t either, which was why he’d become so obsessed with the bicycle killer, unable to turn it off, day or night. Unable to sleep unless exhaustion caught him unwillingly. To save another little girl, some faceless child that some parent loved the way he loved his own daughter...
Darcy was feeling the same. But she wasn’t seeing her own daughter as a victim. Not even kids like Jack. No, she was concerned for the nameless, faceless bureaucrats that Warren Trimble evidently loathed.
Alex would have liked to punch the man. He’d known a lot of those so-called bureaucrats in his life. Good people who went to work early, stayed late and were devoted to their jobs. What Trimble didn’t get was that all too often their hands were tied. No authority, no rule, no law to do what they probably wished they could for a sick vet.
That came from higher up. It would have made more sense for Trimble to take his bombs to Washington, to the secretary of defense or to the Congress. Anyone who held the real power. The little guys in their offices could only do so much.
But Trimble was going for the immediate cause, from his perspective. They just needed to know who he was blaming right now.
Evidently there had been a piece of two-by-four on the porch. He hadn’t noticed it earlier, but he watched Darcy struggle in the confines of her suit and lift a four-foot length from the porch floor.
Then he tensed from head to toe and waited as she swung it against the window beside the door. He was braced for an explosion, but none came. Darcy swung again, taking out the rest of the window. Then she leaned inside and looked around.
There was no measure for the relief he felt when she at last pulled her upper body out and turned to face the gathered cops.
“Bring a ram up. I don’t see any trip wires or ammo cans, not in the front room. But we’ve still got to clear the premises.”
The front door caved in quickly before a cop wielding the heavy battering ram. Then Darcy, after a deep drink of water, moved in, scanning carefully, using not only her headlamp but also a flashlight she’d taken from one of the cops.
An eternity passed before she emerged at last and sagged against the porch railing.
“Clear,” she called as she pulled her helmet and face mask off. “Anybody ever heard of Triple T Plumbing?”
* * *
This time the EMTs moved in to look after her. She was determined not to go anywhere, but she sat on the back of the ambulance and let them check her out after she doffed the suit. Water and more water was passed to her while the dry morning air began to suck the sweat from her body.
“God,” she said, “I hope I don’t have to put that suit on again.”
Alex was just relieved that she was okay and for once was willing to let the cops and FBI agents take over checking the house for evidence.
A call had gone out about a vehicle bearing the logo of Trip
le T Plumbing. That had been a find. A template that had been used to spray paint the name in blue. About the size of a magnetic sign you’d want to put on a big truck or van. A vehicle big enough to carry his bombs.
“I must stink,” Darcy remarked, then waved Jack over. When he reached her, his head down, she didn’t say a word. She just threw her arm around his shoulders and held him beside her, reassuring the kid.
“You know,” she said finally, “this is a huge state. Lots of roads. He could be anywhere.”
“Yeah,” Alex agreed.
“I feel like I should be out there.”
“Where exactly?”
He felt so happy when she smiled faintly. “Are you always so logical?”
“Not usually. I’m a psychologist, not a logician.” He also reckoned that she wanted to keep moving, chasing the guy, so she didn’t have time to reflect on the risks she had just taken.
“There might be more in the barn,” she remarked.
“Probably. But unless we need something straightaway, may I suggest you’ve put on that suit enough for one day? Let someone else do the barn.”
“If we can wait.”
He had to be content with that. “You’re amazing,” he said finally.
“Why?” Her green eyes met his, reflecting little except lingering tension and fatigue.
“Not everybody could put on that suit and certainly not twice in one day.”
“Somebody has to. Besides, the meltdown will probably come.” She shrugged one shoulder and drank more water.
Jack spoke. “There’s no way to protect your hands?”
Darcy looked at him. “No. You need the dexterity to work with the bomb. Imagine trying to handle delicate wiring with fingers the size of doughnuts.”
He nodded. “What’s going to happen to the bomb now?”
“Someone is going to have to detonate it safely. I don’t think that will be me.”
“Why not?”
“Some more ATF agents should be arriving today. I’ll let them deal with it.”
