He smiled and sat down on the bed. “I’m not.” He kissed her.
“Mmmmm,” she said, then broke the kiss. “But I’m not going to let you make a habit of it. I know how important the job is to you.”
“You are, too.” He leaned over to kiss her again.
She smiled and swatted him away playfully. “You keep talking like that, I’m going to do something to make you even later. So go.”
“Okay.” He stood up. “Want to do lunch? Or do you have to get back?”
“I’ll come by and meet you. How late does Lulu serve those biscuits?”
“No idea. But he makes a mean burger, too.”
She shook her head. “Who knew the little town of Pine Lake was such a culinary oasis?”
“North Carolina’s best kept secret, that’s us.”
She laughed. “Get to work, Sheriff,” she said. “I…” she trailed off.
He stopped in the door. “What?”
Her face had suddenly grown serious. “Nothing,” she said. “Go to work.”
He blinked in confusion. “Okay.” But by the time he got to the door, he was whistling.
__________
Donovan sat in his car, parked a few doors down from Buckthorn’s driveway. He saw the police cruiser come down the driveway and pull away. He started the engine and pulled out, keeping his distance. He frowned as he passed by the small frame house with its tiny front porch. There was another vehicle parked in the driveway, a Toyota Camry. The deputy had company, it seemed. That might complicate things. Then he spotted her, standing half in and half out of the front screen door. She was dressed in a man’s robe, presumably Buckthorn’s, that nearly swallowed her. He stiffened with shock as he recognized her. It was the agent who’d shot at him. She didn’t notice him; her eyes were fixed on Buckthorn’s car as it drove away.
“Ahhh…” he said softly to himself. “You old dog, you.” He considered breaking in, catching the little bitch by surprise, and teaching her a lesson, leaving her broken and dying for Buckthorn to find. Maybe a punishment and lesson from the old days: bullets in both ankles, both knees and both elbows, none fatal, all agonizing, spaced out over time to increase the anticipation and the pain, until the victim begged for the release of death. Then two in the head to finish it. He smiled at the thought, then sighed. That could take hours. Plus, this was a quiet neighborhood, with small houses spaced close together on tiny plots. Even with a gagged victim and a silenced pistol, he might attract attention. Not only that, there were always traces left behind, DNA and hair and skin.
No, best stick with the original plan. The plan, properly carried out, would barely leave enough evidence behind to identify the victims, much less who’d done them in. And with two of the three together, his job would be that much easier.
He was humming as he drove away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“Agent Wolf?”
Wolf looked up from the computer screen he’d been looking at without really seeing. He tried to place the young agent standing in the doorway holding a file folder. The man had sandy blonde hair, cut short, and the kind of earnest, all-American face that should be on a recruiting poster. He was fresh out of the Academy, and to Wolf’s eyes, he looked barely old enough to shave. What the hell was his named. Benson? Branson?
Wolf’s confusion must have registered on his face. “Bailey, sir,” the kid said. “Clark Bailey.”
Wolf nodded, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Yeah. Sure. What can I do for you, Clark?” He motioned to office’s only other chair. “Have a seat.”
Bailey sat down. “I was going through some of the reports from around the state. Routine stuff from other agencies. Ran across something that you might be interested in.” He took a sheet of paper out of the folder and handed it across the desk.
Wolf scanned it. The Cumberland County Sheriff’s Department had discovered the bodies of two men in a machine shop in the countryside near Fayetteville. The victims were an ex-soldier named Russell Pennington and his nephew, Donald Furr.
“ATF took an interest,” Bailey said, handing another sheet of paper. “Pennington’s ex-Special Forces. Demolitions guy. Got blown up in Iraq and sent home on a medical discharge. Since then, the ATF guys have been looking at him in connection with some missing explosives.”
“Missing? From where?”
“Fort Bragg.”
“Military-grade stuff.”
Bailey nodded. “Yeah.”
“So someone offed this guy. And the nephew. Was the nephew supposed to be involved?”
“ATF doesn’t think so. They think he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Bailey leaned forward and pointed at the report in Wolf’s hand. “But check out the list of possible and known associates.”
Wolf looked back down. There were several names in that part of the report, but one jumped out. Sean Donovan.
Wolf looked up, his eyes narrowed. “Donovan?”
Bailey nodded.
“How’d you know I was interested in Donovan?”
It was Bailey’s turn to look embarrassed. “My office is right next door. And these walls are kind of thin.”
Wolf put the paper down. “Was I that loud?”
Bailey nodded. “You were pretty pissed off. Not that I blame you. Someone tried to kill my partner, I’d want their ass, too.”
“Okay,” Wolf said. “Thanks for this, Bailey. Good work.”
“Could be nothing,” Bailey said.
“Maybe. Probably, in fact. 99 percent of stuff like this does turn out not to mean anything. But don’t ever let that stop you from paying attention and sharing it.”
Bailey nodded and got up. “Thanks.”
“I’ll be sure and mention your name when I talk to Deputy Director Steadman,” Wolf said.
Bailey looked worried. “What if it turns out to be a dead end?”
“Don’t worry. Steadman’s the one who taught me what I just told you.”
Bailey smiled. “Okay.” Wolf picked up the phone and dialed as the young agent left. He asked to be connected with Steadman.
“Yeah?” the Deputy Director said when he came on the line.
Buckthorn ignored the tone. “One of the new guys ran across something that might have something to do with Monroe and Donovan.”
Steadman sounded exasperated. “I thought I told you…”
“You didn’t tell me to keep it to myself if something fell into my lap, did you?”
Steadman sighed. “Okay. What is it?”
Wolf told him, making sure to mention that it was Bailey who’d given him the information. He left out how Bailey had known of his interest in Donovan.
There was a brief silence. “This means something, doesn’t it?” Wolf said.
“Maybe,” Steadman said. “There…might be some connections here.”
“Come on, Pat,” Wolf said. “If there’s something we need to know, you need to tell me.”
“Okay,” Steadman said. “The jailer who disappeared after Art Preston committed suicide, a guy named Thurman, turned up dead in South Carolina. He’d apparently been spreading a lot of money around. More than he made in a year on a deputy’s salary.”
“How did he die?”
“Shot in the head at point-blank range. The hooker he’d called found him and called 911. She tried to leave, but the cops caught up with her. She said one of the other girls who’d been there before told her he’d had a suitcase full of cash.”
“Let me guess. The cash was gone.”
“Yeah.”
“And any connection with who paid Thurman off vanished with it.”
“Looks like it.”
“And then a guy with connections to Donovan turns up dead in North Carolina. Why do you think that is, Pat?”
Steadman’s voice was tight. “Could be a lot of things.”
“He’s coming after us.”
“Maybe.”
“Bullshit. You know it and I know it. Donovan’s tying up loose ends. Anyo
ne who’s seen him dies. That includes both me and my partner. And Buckthorn. So we’re back on this.”
“I’ll talk to…”
“You misunderstand,” Wolf said. “I’m not asking.” He hung up the phone. He pulled out his cell and speed-dialed Dushane. Voicemail again. He called Buckthorn.
The deputy picked up on the first ring. “Buckthorn.”
“It’s Wolf. I’ve got some information.” He filled Buckthorn in. “And I can’t reach Dushane,” he finished.
“Um,” Buckthorn said. “She’s…ah…”
“What?”
“She’s at my house.”
Wolf sighed. “Okay, fine. Get her to turn her phone back on.” The phone in Wolf’s hand vibrated. He checked the screen. “Never mind. She’s calling in now.”
“Okay.”
“Tim?”
“Yeah.”
“You be careful. This guy is serious.”
“You do the same.”
“I will.” He connected with Dushane’s incoming call. “Hey.”
“Um…” she sounded hesitant. “You left a message. Sorry. I was, ah…”
“I know where you were. We can talk about it later. We’ve got a problem.” He filled her in.
“Can you think of any other reason Donovan would be in the area?” she said.
“Monroe’s got business interests up and down the I-95 corridor,” Wolf said.
“The truck stop hookers.”
“Yeah. And maybe something going on there needs a hitter like Donovan. But the guy that was killed’s suspected of dealing explosives. And Donovan was a customer.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe. Then there’s the guy connected with Preston’s death…”
“Maybe.”
Wolf was losing patience. “Yeah. Maybe. You think this is coincidence?”
“I think there may be a pattern in this, but right now the evidence is pretty thin. We got ballistics on the weapons in the two killings?”
Wolf didn’t answer. He hadn’t thought to ask Steadman. “I’m just playing devil’s advocate, boss,” she said. “Like you taught me.”
“I know,” he said. “Keep doing it. It’s just…”
“What?”
He couldn’t put it into words, and the frustration on it made him grit his teeth. Finally he blurted out, “It feels wrong.”
“Ahhh,” she said. “Now I am worried.”
He barked out a short, humorless laugh. “About me? You think I’m going nuts?”
“No,” she said. “I’m worried you’re most likely right.”
“What?” he said. “I thought you were the skeptical one here. And you’re right. We don’t really have any hard evidence. Just some stuff that may or may not be connected, and my hunch.”
“I am skeptical,” she said. “But I also know your hunches kept you alive a long time, through some pretty hairy stuff, right?”
“Yeah,” he said. “They did.”
“There you are, then. So let’s assume Donovan’s coming after us. He’s packing some pretty serious heat. And he’s in my neighborhood. What do we do?”
“Get the hell out of there,” Wolf said automatically. “Get back here where we can protect you.”
“Really? Is that what you did the last time someone was hunting you?”
Wolf fell silent again. “No,” she answered for him. “You went hunting for them. You broke cover, but you didn’t run away. You went straight at the bastards’ throats.”
He felt a lump of fear turning to ice in his gut. “That was different.”
“Why?” she demanded.
“Because I didn’t have a partner,” he said.
“Well, now you do,” she said. “So maybe you need to get your butt down here so we can do some hunting. Sir.”
He rubbed his eyes. “L.D…,” he said.
“Think about it, boss. You used to live here. Everyone knows everyone. A stranger stands out like a zit on a prom queen’s nose.”
“Cute.”
“Thanks, I got a million of ‘em. But you know I’m right. If he’s tracking any of us, we stand a better chance of seeing him coming in this burg than we do in the city. And if we see him coming, his ass belongs to us. Am I right or am I wrong?”
“You’re right,” he admitted.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll get down to the Sheriff’s department and help brief Buckthorn’s people. See you soon.” She broke the connection. He took a deep breath. It looked like he was headed back to Pine Lake. He’d often thought about returning, but not like this.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The tiny “motor court” on the edge of town had seen better days, but at least the rooms were clean. It was better than some places Donovan had stayed, especially back in the old days. He took a bite of the biscuit he’d taken off the tray on the front desk. The lady who ran the place made a fresh batch every morning, and since the place was nearly deserted, he hadn’t seen any problem with taking two, since the need to lay low meant he’d be taking as many meals as he could in his room. He knew the ID’s Monroe had procured for him were solid; they were the best, in fact, that money could buy. But he was a stranger here, in a place that didn’t see many strangers.
He took another bite of the biscuit and turned his attention back to the work he was doing on the small table next to the door. Three slabs of plastic explosive rested on the table, small but potent. The explosive was safe to handle; it was the detonators and fuses that lay beside each of them that made the devices lethal. Each of the fuses was an old-style “tilt” fuse: a tube with a glob of mercury in one end and a pair of separated electrical contacts on the other. When the fuses were wired to the detonators and placed in a vehicle, the movement of the vehicle would soon send the liquid metal to the far end of the tube, complete the circuit, and trigger the plastic explosive. For safety’s sake, he’d wired a crude timer so that the electrical contacts wouldn’t go “live’“ until he was well away. It was the type of device he’d learned how to fix up in his early teens, back during the Troubles. He was pleased that he hadn’t lost his touch. Like riding a bike, he thought. He stashed the explosives in a small canvas shoulder bag he’d picked up at an army surplus store, wrapping the detonators separately in cloth to keep them apart from the explosive until the time was right. He thought of leaving the bag in the room while he scouted his targets, but decided he wanted to be prepared if opportunity presented itself. The bag went onto the passenger side floor as he slid into the driver’s seat of the SUV. His pistol went into the center console. He was ready.
__________
“The suspect’s name is Sean Donovan,” Buckthorn told the men crammed into the department briefing room. He was standing behind a small podium set on a work table, sweating lightly in the stuffy room. The group was a mix of uniforms from patrol and plainclothes officers from the detective division. He’d pulled some of them in on their days off, and some of them looked less than pleased about it. They’d brightened up a bit when he’d mentioned overtime. Stark would probably be pissed off, he thought, but he figured he had some goodwill left, and now would seem the time to use it. And if that didn’t work, he didn’t think the Sheriff would publicly undercut his newly appointed heir apparent.
“This man is wanted by the FBI,” he went on, gesturing towards Dushane seated next to him. “He’s a known terrorist, formerly with the Irish Republican Army.” The word terrorist got their attention; several of them sat up straighter and leaned forward. “He’s now working for a multi-state criminal enterprise headed up by a man named Lampton Monroe. We think he may be in our area.”
“What for?” a skinny, beak-nosed deputy spoke up. Duane Willis, leaning against the wall with arms folded, shot him a look that could have flash-frozen a cup of boiling water. The deputy winced as he realized he’d spoken out of turn. His name, Buckthorn recalled, was McCall, and he’d been with the department less than six months. Buckthorn started to answer, but Dushane spoke up first. �
��He may want to kill your boss here.” That provoked a murmur around the table. Now it was Buckthorn’s turn to stare daggers. Dushane looked back at him and whispered “motivation”. Willis raised his hand.
“Yeah, Duane,” Buckthorn said.
“This have anything to do with that business in Tennessee?”
“It might,” Buckthorn said.
Dushane stood. “May I, Captain?” she said politely. Buckthorn nodded. She turned to them.
“Donovan, and through him the Monroe organization, have links to a couple of people who were found shot recently. One in Myrtle Beach, and another just outside of Fayetteville. These areas are outside of his and the organization’s usual stomping grounds. What we’ve got right now is mostly conjecture. We don’t know for sure if he’s coming here. But if he is, he’s got no other reason to be here other than going after Captain Buckthorn, who’s responsible for the death of a member of the organization. Lampton Monroe’s grandson, in fact. His heir apparent.” She looked at Willis, who had his hand raised again. “Yes, Deputy?”
“Didn’t you have a part in that, ma’am?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I did.”
“So he’s probably after you, too.”
“Probably.”
“Well…” he hesitated.
“Speak your mind, Duane,” Buckthorn said.
“Shouldn’t the two of you be in some kind of protective custody? At least Miss Dushane here?”
Buckthorn darted a glance at Dushane, expecting her to react to the implied sexism. But she was smiling at him. “Thank you, Deputy,” she said. “But I’ll be fine.” Her smile broadened. “I’ve got to keep up the reputation of the Bureau, don’t I?”
He dropped his eyes, his face reddening. “Sorry, ma’am,” he mumbled. “No offense intended.”
“And none taken,” she said. “Truly.”
“No one’s going into hiding,” Buckthorn said. “But keep a lookout. Ask around. See if anyone’s seen anything or anyone suspicious.”
Dushane picked up a sheaf of copies from the work table next to the podium. “This isn’t the greatest picture,” she admitted, “but it’s the best one we have of Donovan.” She began passing them out. Several officers looked dismayed. “This could be anyone,” someone muttered.
Tony Wolf/Tim Buckthorn - 02 - Broken Shield Page 19
