by Paula Graves
“Leesburg on Thursday at noon. We’ll be there.”
There was a brief pause. “Who’s we?”
“I want to bring Lacey Miles with me.”
“She’s a reporter.” Scanlon said the word as if it was a pejorative.
“She’s a woman whose sister was murdered in her place,” Jim said with more heat than he’d intended. “Her life is still in danger, and she wants to know if there’s any way J.T. Swain could be behind it.”
“I can tell you now, I don’t think he is.”
“I think Lacey will want to get all the facts and make that decision for herself.” Jim looked up to find Lacey standing in the doorway to the parlor, her clothes a little rumpled and her hair flying wildly. Katie wasn’t with her, so she must have been successful putting her niece down for a nap.
She gazed back at him, questions flickering in her cool gray eyes.
“Okay. Thursday at noon in Leesburg. I’ll text you the place when we pick it out.” Scanlon’s voice deepened a notch. “I’m not looking to end up on the network news here, Mercer. The Swain family may not be running Halloran County anymore, but there are enough of them left to make life dangerous for us. We’re trying to stay off their radar as much as we can.”
“Understood. This isn’t about a news story.”
“Good. I’ll text you soon.”
Jim hung up and looked at Lacey, who’d moved to the armchair across from where he sat. “Thursday in Leesburg at noon.”
She gave a brief nod. “We’ll have to take Katie along.”
“Of course.”
There was a brief softening of her eyes before her cool reserve returned. He quelled his disappointment. He’d earned her distrust, and if he wanted the tension between them to ease again, he’d have to be patient. He knew with time he could prove to her that he was serious about keeping her and Katie safe.
But there was no chance in hell she’d ever risk letting him get close to her again. And now that the reality of that fact began to sink in, Jim was starting to realize just how much he wanted to find out how far their mutual attraction could take them.
* * *
LEESBURG ANIMAL PARK was a surprising choice of venue for a meeting, but by the time Katie had petted goats and lambs and worn herself out playing with other toddlers in the play area, she fell asleep in Jim’s arms halfway through her picnic lunch, leaving Lacey, Jim and the Scanlons to talk in peace.
“I wish we could’ve brought Delia with us,” Isabel Scanlon commented, her tea-brown eyes softening as she looked at Katie sleeping in Jim’s lap. “She just turned three last fall. But the seminar is all work, and she’ll be a lot happier home with her cousins.”
“I appreciate your agreeing to talk to me.” Lacey pushed aside the half-eaten remains of her lunch and met Ben Scanlon’s gaze. His smoky-blue eyes were sharp but kind, and she felt the last of her tension seeping away. “I’m not going to use anything you tell me in a news report. This is purely for me. I need to know if J.T. Swain could have been involved in the bombing that killed my sister. In revenge for my report that dredged up his story. I know public reaction to my report put Swain back onto the active investigations list for several law-enforcement agencies. Would he want revenge for that? Enough to try to kill me?”
Ben and Isabel Scanlon looked at each other. In that brief meeting of gazes, they seemed to hold an entire conversation before Ben said, “He’s capable of setting a car bomb. But I’ve spent the past few years watching for any sign that he’s back in business, and I’ve come across nothing. I think he’s holed up somewhere in the mountains, living off the land and bothering nobody.”
“You think he’s retired.” Jim sounded skeptical.
“He killed his mother because she turned him into a monster,” Ben said quietly, sadness tinting his voice. “When we were kids, we were best friends. Jamie was a good kid from a bad family. But his mother thought he was growing up soft. She blamed his father, who was an outsider, for turning her son into a normal human being.”
As Ben’s voice faltered, Isabel reached out and covered his hand with hers. He seemed to draw strength from her touch, his shoulders squaring and his chin lifting.
“J.T. Swain’s real name is Jamie Butler. He didn’t take the name Swain until he was older. His mother, Opal, had nothing but contempt for her husband, so she had Jamie’s name legally changed to her own maiden name.”
“She wanted her son to be part of the family business?” Jim guessed.
“So much so that, when Jamie and I were eight years old, Opal took him out in her truck, gave him a loaded gun and goaded him into shooting the sheriff of Halloran County. To prove he was a true Swain.”
Lacey frowned. “You mean Bennett Allen was killed by a child?”
“Yes. I saw it happen.”
“But...” Lacey felt ill as realization dawned. In her research into J.T. Swain and the Swain family, the story of Bennett Allen’s murder had been a showcase of just how depraved the Swain family could be. Allen had been murdered in the driveway of his own home, in front of his young son. “You’re Bennett Allen’s son?”
“Yes. After my father’s death, my mother remarried, and my stepfather adopted me. Changed my last name. There were times over the years when I almost believed my father’s murder had been nothing but a bad dream. That my mother and stepfather had moved us all to Texas for job opportunities, not so that the Swains couldn’t find me and make sure I never remembered what I saw that night.”
“How did you end up undercover among the Swains?” Jim asked. He was lightly stroking Katie’s hair. She looked so right in Jim’s arms, as if being there was the most natural thing on earth for her. Lacey felt a hard ache forming in the center of her chest as she contemplated how difficult it would be to separate her niece from Jim when the time came for him to move on to a different job.
Hadn’t he thought about the consequences of his lies? Hadn’t he realized that Katie might grow so attached to him that he would hurt her by walking away?
Jim’s gaze connected with hers, his eyes darkening as he seemed to read her thoughts. He looked at Katie, his expression pained.
“Several years ago, I was nearly killed in an explosion. In fact, most people believed I did die, from my parents to almost everyone I worked with in the FBI.” Scanlon glanced at his wife. “That includes my FBI partner.”
“That would be me.” Isabel’s voice was a soft rasp.
“Isabel had been working on a serial-bomber investigation, and the explosion that nearly killed me was meant for her.”
Isabel reached across the picnic table and touched Lacey’s arm. “I know what it’s like to see someone else take a hit meant for you.”
Lacey blinked back tears. “I’m glad for you that Ben survived.”
“I didn’t know he had for a long time.” Isabel reached for her husband’s hand, twining her fingers with his. “I felt so guilty and alone.”
“When I survived mostly uninjured, the special agent in charge of our team and I agreed it was a perfect opportunity to go undercover in the Swain enclave. I posed as a disgruntled wounded veteran living on disability and looking for some way to make fast, easy money.” He looked at Isabel. “Not only did I get a chance to do something active to keep Isabel safe, but I was able to finally remember the truth of what happened the night my father died.”
“I don’t know how all of this somehow convinces you that J.T. Swain has retired from bomb making,” Jim said.
“Like I said, I’ve been keeping my ear to the ground. And if he’s been out there building bombs, he’s doing it in the middle of nowhere, with nobody to impress. And that’s just not how the Swains do anything.”
“What kind of bomb killed your sister?” Isabel asked.
“Honestly, I don’t know. The police are keeping s
ome things to themselves on this investigation.”
Isabel nodded impatiently. “Do you at least know what kind of detonator was used?”
“Yes, but they don’t want this getting out.”
“It won’t,” Ben said firmly.
“The bomb was detonated by a tilt fuse combined with a timer. The timer set the tilt fuse, which then detonated the bomb at the depression of the accelerator.”
Ben and Isabel exchanged glances. “Any idea of the explosive material used in the bomb?”
“I’m not sure,” Lacey admitted. “That’s one of the things the police have held back even from me. But, based on the damage to the car, it seemed to be a small charge directed up into the front seat of the car. It was meant to kill anyone in the passenger-carrying part of the car.”
“Any loaded shrapnel?” Isabel asked.
Lacey closed her eyes, wishing she hadn’t eaten lunch. Even though Katie was asleep, she lowered her voice. “Ball bearings and sheet-metal screws.”
“It’s not Swain,” Ben and Isabel said in unison.
“How can you know?” Jim asked.
“Needles and nails,” Isabel answered. “It’s a Swain signature. All their bombs included needles and nails as shrapnel.”
“I can’t see Jamie setting a bomb without them,” Ben agreed.
Lacey leaned closer. “How certain are you about that?”
“Pretty positive. Needles and nails were a matter of pride. It was how the Swains made bombs. To make one without that signature would be like a painter signing someone else’s name to his masterpiece.”
“That happened, sometimes,” Jim murmured.
“Nothing in life is a sure thing,” Isabel answered. “But I think Ben is right. There would be needles and nails in that bomb, mixed in with the screws and ball bearings.”
“So I guess he goes to the bottom of my suspect list.” Lacey tried to quell an overwhelming sense of disappointment. Of the three main suspects she’d settled on, she’d hoped that Swain might be the one who’d killed Marianne and Toby. He was one man, not rich, not particularly powerful, and now that his family members were either in jail or scattered to the winds, he didn’t have many allies. Even if he had never been caught, a threat from J.T. Swain would be easier to anticipate and contain.
She felt Jim’s fingertips brush her arm, the touch light and tentative. She looked up to find him watching her, his expression concerned.
She moved her arm away from his hand and looked at the Scanlons as she rose to her feet. She extended her hand to Ben. “I appreciate your time. It was generous of you to come out of your way to talk to me.”
Ben rose as well and shook her hand. “I wish we could have helped.”
By the time they parted company with the Scanlons in the parking lot, the weather conditions were starting to deteriorate, the threat of snow that had followed them into Leesburg finally becoming a reality. Snow fell lightly at first, then in thickening clumps that deteriorated visibility and forced Lacey to slow the Impala to a near crawl only a few miles west of Leesburg.
“Should we stop for a while to see if it slows down?” Jim peered through the windshield at the wall of white flakes. He didn’t look worried, exactly, only hypervigilant. Thinking like a bodyguard, she realized.
“I’ll feel safer at home than parked out here on the road. It’ll be a lot warmer there, too.”
The farther they got from Leesburg, the lighter the traffic, which should have made Lacey feel safer. But there was something about the blanket of snow fog that made her feel oddly exposed. The hair on the back of her neck rose, her skin prickling.
Beside her, Jim leaned forward, as if it could help him see farther into the white void only a few yards ahead. They were moving as slowly as Lacey dared, though she didn’t want to be going so slowly that a car moving up through the snowfall behind her couldn’t stop in time when the driver spotted her taillights.
“This is creepy, isn’t it?” she asked. “Like we’re all alone in this void.”
“We’re not alone,” Jim growled, turning in his seat to look through the back window.
Lacey checked her rearview mirror. There, emerging through the thick white snow fog behind them, was the now familiar front grille of a blue Toyota Tacoma pickup truck.
Chapter Twelve
“Where the hell did that thing come from?” Lacey’s voice rose as she dragged her gaze from the mirror to watch the road ahead. She’d pressed the accelerator on instinct, Jim realized as the Impala picked up speed.
Trying to get away from their pursuer.
He looked behind them, hoping that the truck had dropped back once it spotted the vehicle ahead of it. But it remained close enough that he could almost see past the misting snow and the rapid swish-swish of the truck’s windshield wipers.
At first, he didn’t quite believe what his eyes were telling him. But after a couple of seconds, the truth sank in. The driver of the blue Tacoma was wearing a ski mask.
Jim slipped his phone from his pocket and dialed Quinn. No point in calling the Virginia State Police. So far, the blue truck’s biggest offense was tailgating in a snowstorm. Even if the state police were to respond, by the time they could arrive, whatever the blue pickup had planned would have happened.
He’d carried his Glock on this trip, holstered it inside his jacket. At the moment, the heft of the weapon pressed cold and hard against his rib cage, reminding him that he had options.
Impatiently, he went through the code-phrase rigmarole, then tersely told Quinn what was happening.
“Are you driving?” Quinn asked.
Jim glanced at Lacey, who gripped the steering wheel in two white hands. “No.”
“Ms. Miles?”
“Yes.”
“Does she have any evasive-driving skills?”
“Do you know anything about evasive driving?” Jim asked Lacey.
“I took a course before I went to Kaziristan a few years ago, but I never had to test what I learned, since I had a driver.” She sent another worried glance toward the rearview mirror. “Is that driver wearing a ski mask?”
“Yes.”
Lacey made a sound of distress low in her throat. “What should I do?”
“Keep driving,” Jim said urgently. “Pick up some speed, but keep your eye on the road ahead.” He spoke into the phone again. “So far the truck driver is just keeping pace. Hasn’t made a move yet.”
“Then just keep moving. Don’t go too fast—speed kills,” Quinn warned. “I’ll see if I can get someone to meet you for an escort.”
Jim didn’t ask how Quinn would accomplish such a thing. He had come to realize there were few things that his boss couldn’t make happen. “I’ll be in touch,” he told Quinn, then hung up and turned around to look through the back window, half hoping the truck had fallen back.
But, if anything, the front grille of the truck was closer than it had been, bearing down on the back of the Impala like a monster seeking to devour the vehicle and its occupants.
He shifted his gaze to the car seat where Katie still slept, oblivious to the danger that had suddenly engulfed her world in the span of a few heartbeats. A rush of protective affection swamped him, making his head spin for a dizzying moment before his vision cleared and determination steeled his spine.
Katie and Lacey were his to protect, no matter what they or anyone else thought about the matter. If he had to die to protect them, so be it.
Movement in the back window drew his gaze away from Katie’s soft face. The truck was pulling up beside the car, its driver’s-side front panel aiming for the Impala’s rear-side panel.
“PIT maneuver!” Jim shouted, turning to brace himself for the collision.
The truck hit the Impala’s right back panel, sending the bulky
sport-utility vehicle into a dizzying spin that sent Jim slamming against the passenger door. He kept his head clear of the window, despite the violent jerk of the Impala’s rotation.
The car hit a snowy patch and slid across the road toward the ditch on the other side. Lacey steered into the skid and the vehicle came to a stop short of the ditch.
The blue truck had driven past them, disappearing into the white void.
For a long moment, there was nothing but the rumble of the Impala’s engine and the hard swish of the windshield wipers. Then a frightened wail rose from the backseat, making Jim’s heart skip a beat.
He twisted in his seat until he could see Katie. She was still strapped in her car seat, her eyes crinkled at the corners as she cried.
“It’s okay, Katiebug.” He searched her visually for any sign of injury. She looked okay, just shaken by the sudden jerks and spins caused by the light impact. “You’re okay.”
“Are you sure she’s okay?” Lacey’s voice was a soft rasp beside him.
He turned to look at her. She looked stunned and scared, but he didn’t see any sign of an injury on her, either. “She’s fine. How about you?”
She lifted her hand to her head. “I hit my head on the window when we took the impact, but it was just a bump. Otherwise, I’m fine. I need to get the car off the road before we get hit.”
Jim peered down the road, wondering if the blue truck was waiting just out of sight ahead of them. “Good idea.”
Lacey put the car in gear, parked it on the shoulder and engaged the hazard lights. Like Jim, she peered through the whiteout ahead of them. “Do you think he’s still up there?”
“Maybe. Now’s the time to call the police.” He dialed 911 and told the dispatcher what had happened. “We’re on VA-9 West. I think we just passed the Loudoun County Animal Shelter a few miles back.”
“Is the vehicle that ran you off the road still visible?” the dispatcher asked.
