Fire Storm (The Gathering Storm Book 2)

by Marlow Kelly

  “It’s all I know. If I’m not a cop, I don’t know who I am.” Her coffee burned like acid in her stomach at the idea of not being a policewoman.

  “What about the gun thing?”

  “What gun thing?” she said, pretending she didn’t have a problem.

  He squinted at her as he slowly shook his head and then turned his gaze back to the road. “Who did you kill?”

  The question should have surprised her, but it didn’t. He knew she was lying, which made sense. He’d seen what a mess she was when she’d pulled her gun on him. And he was way too perceptive not to know what her reaction meant.

  She shut her eyes, remembering every detail from that fateful night. “I was called to a bank robbery. His name was Alex Rowe. He walked into a bank wearing a vest wired with explosives and carrying a handgun. When things went south, he used a teller as a hostage and tried to walk out.” She could picture him, sweating, screaming threats, with his gun pointed at the woman’s head.

  “And you shot him.” He stated a fact, but to her it was so much more.

  She’d trained and practiced at the firing range, making sure she was a good shot. But shooting at targets was very different from shooting at people. She continued, unable to stop. “He tripped. The teller ran. He raised his gun to shoot her.”

  “And you took him out so he couldn’t kill the teller. Sounds justified.”

  “That’s what my bosses said, but it was all fake.” Her throat felt thick, constricted.

  “Fake? What do you mean?”

  “The gun wasn’t loaded, and the explosives weren’t real. He couldn’t have killed anyone. I shot an unarmed man.” She tried to keep the emotion out of her voice, but it still wobbled.

  “Shit.” He steered the truck to the side of the road and pulled her into his arms. He wasn’t making a pass. He simply hugged her, giving her comfort, seeming to understand her torment.

  She held him for a long time, saying nothing. She wanted to cry, but all her tears had been shed months ago. She would never know what motivated the robber to aim at the teller. It was possible he’d meant to kill himself, or perhaps it was a reflex. It was something she had to learn to deal with.

  He rubbed his big warm hand down her back. It was as if he understood, and maybe he did.

  “Did the same thing happen to you?” She turned to stare at the forest, embarrassed about her vulnerability. She forced herself to face him.

  He shook his head, frowning. “No, my problem is worse than that.”

  “Worse?”

  “I can kill without caring.” He sat up in his seat, staring ahead unseeing.

  “It must’ve been kill or be killed in Afghanistan.”

  “Yes, but I changed after Caroline died. I was a machine. It wasn’t pretty. I didn’t realize what I’d become until I was out.” His voice was flat, as if he were reciting a grocery list.

  “That’s why you carry a knife.” It was his way of avoiding confrontation. He was right. People were more scared of knives than guns.

  He nodded. “It makes it harder to kill. With a knife, you’re in close quarters. You can see the guys face and look him in the eye. You have to really mean it.”

  She nodded. After her experience, she understood. Taking a life should be difficult.

  He guided the truck back onto the highway. His admission should’ve made her like him less, but it didn’t. He’d been open and frank about who and what he was. He’d stated the facts, not to brag, but to let her know he understood.

  No wonder she hadn’t slept last night. It wasn’t the town meeting or Booley’s attack afterward. The kiss they’d shared in the diner parking lot had replayed through her mind. That and the fact he hadn’t gotten angry when she’d been pissy with him after the fight. He’d wanted to help. Granted, she didn’t need his help, but his intention had been good, and she’d snapped at him. She’d been upset because he had undermined her authority. Police officers were helped by the public every day, so why did she have such a hard time with it? Because she was a woman and she’d been up against Booley, a misogynist who believed she was incapable of defending herself.

  Tim seemed to take it all in his stride. He’d served in Afghanistan. He had experience subduing and searching insurgents, people suspected of terrorism. The constant threat from the local population and IEDs must’ve been overwhelming. But his service to his country had taken its toll. It had changed him. What kind of man would he be if he’d never joined the army? His experiences in the Rangers had given him a unique understanding of death and danger. On the occasions when Booley had confronted him, he’d shown restraint. But Dana had gotten a glimpse of the hardness, the ability to inflict harm at will. And yet, he dampened his steely core with compassion and charm. He was a man of conflicting traits. She suspected he had a gentle nature but had become deadly through necessity. The contradictions in his character drew her like a lodestone. He was both tough and caring.

  She’d sensed his discipline when he’d walked into the Hopefalls Police Station three days ago and had suppressed her attraction because she’d seen him as her enemy. But she couldn’t think of him in those terms, not anymore. She trusted and respected him. That bit of self-awareness came as a surprise, but it shouldn’t. He’d saved Logan, he’d wanted to protect her from her belligerent boss, and he cared for his father. He was stronger than her, better trained, and had admitted to being able to kill at will, and yet she felt no fear.

  The only thing standing between them was the fact that he was a suspect in a homicide investigation. That had been Booley’s doing, and she wouldn’t let it continue. Tim deserved a life where he didn’t have to live under a cloud of suspicion. For his sake, she would find out who killed Ben North.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Dana signed in at reception and then walked with Tim to Jack’s room.

  Jack Morgan sat in an armchair facing the door, a glass of water on the table next to him. He glanced at Tim, but there was no sign of recognition.

  “Hi, Dad.” Tim kissed his father’s head. “This is my friend, Dana. She’d like to talk to you.”

  Jack’s watery gaze flickered to the photos on the wall by the bed and then back to Tim. “My son’s a good boy.”

  Tim stepped back and sat on the bed, his arms folded across his chest, his posture rigid. To a passerby he might seem relaxed, but she knew he wasn’t.

  Dana pulled a visitor chair over and sat next to Jack. “Yes, he is. He has a good heart.”

  “He does.” Using the back of his hand, Jack wiped the drool that ran down his chin. “Are you the one?”

  “The one what?”

  “The one for him. My wife, Georgina, married me despite the fact I was a rancher. She didn’t like the country. Said it was too far away from everything, but she stayed. Do you know why?”

  “Tell me.” She welcomed the chance to hear about the good times at the Morgan ranch.

  Jack smiled, and for the first time, his eyes sparkled. “Because she loved me, and then when Tim came along, she loved him, too. We wanted more children, but that wasn’t meant to be. Five miscarriages.” He held up his hand, fingers wide. “Five. Each one broke her heart. In the end, I said enough. We had each other, and we had Tim. We should be happy with what God gave us. I wonder now if I did the right thing. It was selfish.” He thumped the table hard. The glass of water toppled and spilt, splashing liquid down the side of his chair and across the carpet.

  Dana righted the glass and looked around the room for something to mop up the mess. She now had an idea of just how strong Jack could be. He was thin, probably a mere shadow of his former self, but he could still do some damage. That was why he needed special care. A home care aid would never be able to control him.

  Tim mopped up the spill with a white towel that looked as if it came from the bathroom.

  “Was Ben your friend?” she asked.

  “For years. He likes to drink. I had to go and take his guns away from him when he was drinking. I
didn’t mind him firing at the trees, but he tried to drive his truck into town. Drove straight into the ditch.”

  He stopped talking and stared into the distance, his mind presumably lost in a moment from the past.

  “What happened then?” Dana urged as she moved the small table out of the way so Tim could soak up the water.

  “I went to pull him out, and what did I find? Guns, that’s what. Not a hunting rifle and a handgun like most people. He had a whole arsenal of weapons.”

  “What was he going to do with them?” And where were all these weapons now that he was dead?

  “Kill Booley. Not that I blame him. Booley was always a lying, cheating son of a bitch.”

  “Did you tell the chief?” Dana straightened in her chair. Mrs. Anderson had talked about Booley’s dislike for Jack, but no one had mentioned Ben’s hatred of Booley. If there was a rivalry between the two men, then that was relevant to the investigation.

  “Of course not. He would’ve arrested Ben and charged him. I couldn’t have that.”

  “Why not?”

  Jack grunted and then said, “Ben was my friend. And the chief, well, he knew Ben’s secret.”

  “What secret?” Dana fought to keep her voice smooth and calm.

  “The name of Ben’s mistress.”

  Dana put a hand to her mouth. So Ben had hated Booley, but how did Booley feel about Ben? She also couldn’t imagine the old, stooped man she’d known having a mistress. “Do you know who she was?”

  Jack shrugged. “No, it wasn’t my business. As long as Booley stayed away from my Georgina, I didn’t care.”

  “So what happened to the gun you and Ben purchased together? The limited-edition Colt six-shooter with the horse on the handle.”

  “I gave it back to him. You look just like your mom.” The change of subject caught her by surprise. She stared at him for a minute. Her mom was a tiny woman with dark hair. They had never looked alike. She took after her father’s family—tall, strong, and blond. “My last name’s Hayden. I look like my grandmother.”

  “My son didn’t have anything to do with it. He didn’t kill Alice.” Jack surged to his feet. “You get out of here. I won’t let you take him away.”

  Dana tipped her chair as she backed away. The conversation had turned so fast. In Jack’s disjointed mind everything made sense, but to her it had come out of the blue.

  Tim stepped between them. He placed his hands on Jack’s upper arms, holding him in place.

  “I won’t let you take him,” Jack roared.

  “Get out of here. I’ll meet you at reception,” Tim said over his shoulder.

  Dana backed out of the room, unable to tear her gaze away from Jack. One minute they were talking, and the next he had changed into an angry, confused man.

  The sound of weeping echoed through the hallway as the old man collapsed into tears.

  She inhaled. The heartbreak in Jack’s sobs was another reminder of how much pain Booley had caused to an innocent man and his family.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Finn eyed Kennedy as they sat in their government-issued Ford SUV outside the office of Caleb Millar, the lawyer who’d been handling Ben North’s case. Millar’s office was only a few blocks from downtown Granite City. This corner of town was run-down. A homeless man slouched in a nearby doorway, presumably asleep, and the stench of rotting garbage filtered into the car.

  “It’s a beautiful morning,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Yep.” She avoided eye contact with him as she opened the door of the SUV. Everything about her, from her posture to her expression, was tense, coiled tight. He didn’t need to be a graduate of the FBI’s course in non-verbal body language to know she was pissed at him.

  Finn stayed in his seat, knowing Kennedy would mirror his action and remain in the vehicle. “You’ve only used one-word answers since we left the office. Say what’s on your mind.”

  She tugged the door closed. “You shouldn’t be involved in this investigation.”

  “Why not?”

  “There’s a possible connection between Ackerman and the Ben North homicide case in which your best friend is a suspect. Your involvement will compromise this whole investigation.”

  “You can wait in the car if you want.”

  She shook her head. “No way. We’re FBI. We always work in pairs.”

  “I was only going to ask Ben’s lawyer to share the details of the Eminent Domain case. It might have a bearing on Ben’s homicide, and it might not. But we have to see if there’s a connection to the Syndicate. We know they have nothing to do with Tim. And for all we know, Ackerman’s interest in mining is just business—”

  “Big Business.”

  “Yes, but there’s nothing wrong with that. We’ll do what we always do—we’ll investigate, follow the evidence, and see where it leads.”

  “Okay, but I want everything done by the book.” She tugged on the door handle, ending their conversation.

  “You should take the lead,” Finn said as he joined her on the sidewalk.

  “Really?” Kennedy narrowed her eyes.

  “Sure. You know what you’re doing. I’ll back you up.”

  “Okay.” She pointed at him. “But no looking over my shoulder.”

  Caleb Millar seemed out of breath when he opened his office door. He looked more like a university student than a lawyer. He wore shorts and a T-shirt with sweat stains under the armpits. “Sorry, I haven’t showered. My first appointment isn’t for another hour. I live upstairs, so I figured I had time to work out. What can I do for the FBI?”

  “We’re looking into a possible connection between Ben North’s case and public corruption,” Kennedy announced.

  “I was sorry to hear about his death. I liked him.” He momentarily spread his hands wide, palms up, a gesture that suggested openness.

  “What can you tell us about him?” Kennedy sat in a chair in front of the desk and nodded for Caleb to take his seat opposite.

  “I can only share what’s already public knowledge. Third Estate Mining, known in legalese as the condemnor, claimed they owned the mineral rights to whatever is under Ben’s land.” Millar’s hands moved as he talked. The more movement, the more likely it was he was being honest.

  Kennedy pulled a note pad and pen from her jacket pocket. “I thought the power of Eminent Domain only applied to the government.”

  “Not in Montana. According to the law, Eminent Domain can be used for commercial enterprise. It clearly says that private entities are explicitly granted the power of Eminent Domain, including mining corporations. Third Estate Mining argued that opening a mine and providing good paying jobs would invigorate the economy in this part of Montana.”

  Kennedy scrawled the information on her pad and then said, “The police talked to the district attorney. He said the process of Eminent Domain has never been stopped, which means Ben was going to lose his land.”

  Millar nodded. “Yes.”

  “Can you explain?” Finn asked. He wanted to make sure he understood who all the players in this case were.

  “It’s the right of the State to claim land to build a road, a school, or even put a power line through someone’s property. It’s part of our constitution and is normally used for the public good.”

  “So the State can just come and take someone’s home?” Finn stood behind Kennedy with one hand resting on her chair.

  “No, there’s a legal process that has to be observed, and just compensation must be made. This is America. You can’t force someone out of their home without paying them.”

  “But Third Estate Mining doesn’t want to build a road or a school. They want to build a mine, which ultimately benefits the mining company. What would they be mining?” Kennedy asked, shifting her chair forward so Finn was forced to let go.

  “Columbite–tantalite, otherwise known as coltan. It’s a mineral electrical conductor that’s used in laptops, smartphones, and other devices. It’s actually very ra
re. There’s only one other coltan mine in North America, and that’s in Canada.”

  Kennedy jotted down the name of the ore. “So there’s a lot of money riding on this?”

  Millar stretched back in his office chair and interlaced his hands behind his head, a sign of confidence. “I would imagine, yes.”

  Kennedy looked up. “How was Ben doing in this legal process?”

  Millar rocked forward and placed his elbows on the desk. “Third Estate Mining offered Ben double what his property was worth, but he refused.”

  “He probably had nowhere else to call home,” Finn said, but why he felt the need to justify the old man’s actions was beyond him.

  Millar nodded. “Third Estate Mining had filed paperwork. We were due to appear in court in three months. It was complicated by the fact that Ben claimed Third Estate was lying about owning the mineral rights.”

  “Explain that,” Kennedy demanded.

  Millar shrugged. “It’s not unusual for the surface rights and the mineral rights to be separated. When the state of Montana settled the land a hundred years ago, they could have separated the rights. Most people aren’t aware that they don’t own what’s beneath their property.”

  “What about Ben?”

  “He had a deed that proved he owned both the mineral and surface rights.”

  Kennedy fidgeted in her seat, making herself comfortable. “But I thought you said Third Estate Mining had documentation proving their case.”

  “The problem with cases like these is tracking the paperwork.”

  Finn propped himself against a large filing cabinet, feeling more at ease. Ben North had been a good judge of character. Everything about Caleb Millar seemed open, honest, and straightforward, which was unusual for a lawyer.

  “Do you think someone forged their documents?” Kennedy asked as she scribbled in her pad.

  “Not necessarily. Ben’s deed was from 1885, when his great-grandfather migrated to Montana. The mineral rights could’ve been sold off after that. There have been instances where a landowner splits the estate in their will or sells off the mineral rights without their descendants knowing.”