After turning off the television, he closed up the apartment and went to bed. But apparently, sleep wasn’t in the forecast. Every time he shut his eyes, images of Kat tormented him. Writhing naked beneath him. Riding on top of him with her head thrown back and mouth open in sheer pleasure. Skinny-dipping in the lake. Stripping to music just for him.
He growled when he realized the common denominator among the images: Kat naked. He sighed. The woman had one hell of a body—tall, slender, curves in all the right places—and she damn well knew how to use it.
He swore under his breath. He shouldn’t be thinking about her in that way. As awesome as it’d been, their sex life was ancient history. Remembering it would only result in more frustration—of multiple kinds. He needed to focus on how he could investigate her concerns about the Diablo Beach power plant without her knowing. If what she suspected was anywhere near the truth, the problem was much bigger than their personal issues, past or present.
Interstate 5, which went right past the plant, was a congested north–south route. Other than the undeveloped Camp Pendleton property surrounding the site, the civilian portion of the I-5 corridor was heavily populated. A meltdown or even a release of radiation into the air could affect hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of people. The mere possibility made his chest burn again.
If someone was doing this through computer hacking, they could be plotting the disaster from any place in the world without ever stepping foot on the property itself. Unlike the recent dirty bomb threat, this plot wouldn’t require minions on the ground, carrying out the orders of their terrorist leaders in the Middle East.
Terrorists. Computer hacking. This was exactly the kind of counterterrorism operation he felt ultimately qualified to tackle.
However, there was one huge problem. He needed to figure out how he could handle it without Kat getting involved.
* * *
Kat darted out the door and found herself enveloped by pea-soup fog. Pulling up short, she muttered some Scottish cusswords. One of the few benefits of working nights was the absence of rush-hour traffic. The flip side, unfortunately, was the frequency of fog, which could slow traffic just as much, but with the additional element of danger. She was already running late, and now this assured she’d never make it to the plant on time.
As she sat at the driveway exit, watching closely for any cross traffic, headlights flashed on from a vehicle parked a short distance away but shrouded in fog. The beams sliced through the whiteness as it did a U-turn and drove away.
Kat pulled out onto the street, heading in the same direction and using the large, dark sedan like an icebreaker through the mist. Five minutes later, both cars took the I-5 north on-ramp. When the other vehicle didn’t speed up, Kat checked carefully in her mirrors and over her shoulder before angling across to the fast lane. With only a handful of cars on the road, she accelerated to a safe cruising speed for the adverse conditions.
Her mind kept drifting back to the conversation with Dillon, but she forced herself to stay focused on the road. The fog itself didn’t worry her as much as the drivers who didn’t adjust to the reduced visibility. Defensive driving was the rule, not the exception in SoCal, and driving inside a cloud made caution even more critical.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted the exit sign for Basilone Road. After confirming she had a clear path, she merged over to the far right lane. When the off-ramp appeared through the fog a short time later, she flipped on her right blinker again.
Just as she veered onto the exit, two sharp, firecracker-like blasts made her jump. Her car lurched and swerved. At the same time, a black vehicle raced by on the left like a panther streaking after its prey, the larger car passing within mere inches of the Civic.
Shocked, Kat jerked the steering wheel to the right, but the rear end of her vehicle had a mind of its own, wobbling back and forth. Out of control, the car careened toward the shoulder. She stomped on the brake and screamed when the tires left the smooth surface, fishtailing through the gravel. The small car tipped up, higher and higher, to the right. She leaned left, fought for control and miraculously managed to regain balance. When the two driver-side tires slammed back to the ground with a bone-jarring thud, her head smashed into the side window.
Skye’s face was the last thing she saw before darkness engulfed her.
* * *
“Fuck!” he yelled into the fog as the Civic landed back on all four tires after the Mercedes sped off.
He’d watched the entire “accident” from the Basilone Road overpass. Everything had gone according to plan except the goddamn car hadn’t rolled over. Unfortunately, the darkness and fog prevented him from actually seeing into the car so he couldn’t determine Kat’s condition. What were the chances she was dead? Not likely.
There was so little traffic this time of night, especially since the shift at the plant had already started. She’s late as usual. A potential topic for another reprimand, but it hadn’t been tonight’s goal. Maybe they’d get lucky, and she’d bleed to death from internal injuries before anyone discovered her inside the car. After all, the Civic would look like it simply had two flat tires to the rare vehicle speeding by on the freeway this foggy night. And people were hesitant to stop to help strangers, especially in the middle of the night.
He groaned when his phone rang. Damn, he wished he could rail at the bastards. But he strongly believed in the saying: Discretion is the better part of valor. So he pushed aside his frustration. “You failed. It didn’t roll over,” was all he allowed himself to say when he answered.
“Damn! Such a cheap car should have tipped easily.”
“Why didn’t you ram it?”
“That would’ve left evidence of another vehicle’s involvement. Too risky.”
“And letting her live isn’t?”
The silence that followed reminded him of the tightrope he walked. He swallowed his anger. “I’m sure she’s injured. She’ll probably be out for at least a week. You’ll have time to plan another accident.”
“We can’t wait a week. Perhaps a more direct approach is required.” The caller disconnected.
He folded his arms across his chest against the damp chill as he strolled to his vehicle parked on the opposite side of the overpass. What did “a more direct approach” mean? He didn’t much care as long as it got her off the scent as soon as possible.
And before she ruined his whole plan.
Chapter 6
As he waited for his boss to arrive on Tuesday morning, Dillon paced beside his desk. He’d hardly slept last night after talking to Kat. Despite the lack of his usual enthusiasm, he had run the Carlsbad beach route again, but this time his legs had felt leaden. Not because he was tired, but because his mind kept wandering to thoughts of Kat instead of maintaining its intense focus on the workout.
Finally, Rex stepped off the elevator. Dillon approached him before he could even get to his office. “Boss, can we talk?”
“Made a decision already?” Rex asked.
“No. It…It’s about a…tip I got.”
Rex frowned and jerked his head toward his office. Dillon followed him inside and shut the door. They sat down at the little table by the windows.
“Tell me about this tip,” Rex said, stroking his chin.
“‘Tip’ may be the wrong word.”
His boss raised his eyebrows. “Then just talk to me.”
Dillon gulped. “Last night, I talked to…uh…a…friend of mine who works at the Diablo Beach Nuclear Power Plant.”
“The place up the coast that’s shut down?”
“Yeah. My…um…friend thinks there’s something odd going on.”
Rex rolled his eyes. “What is it with you guys?”
“Huh?”
He exhaled. “Every time you bring up something about a girlfriend, you can’t say her name.”
Dillon stiffened. “Why do you think—”
“It’s a ‘tell.’ Ben does it. You just did it. All yo
u guys do it.”
“She’s not my girlfriend. She’s a…an ex,” he said defensively.
“So?” Rex chuckled. “Ex-girlfriends also qualify for NAS, Name Avoidance Syndrome. Continue, with a name, please.”
“Katriona MacKenzie,” he emphasized, “works as a night operator at the plant. She’s been noticing temperature fluctuations in the spent fuel pools. Her boss isn’t taking her concerns seriously.”
Rex straightened in his chair, and his expression turned serious. “Why not?”
“He claims she’s just inexperienced.”
“Is she?”
“No. She used to work at Avila Canyon, which is a fully operating nuclear power plant.”
Rex stroked his chin. “Did she show you evidence of the problem?”
“She doesn’t have any.”
“Has she documented it in any way?”
“I don’t believe so.”
Rex glared at him. “You don’t have shit?”
“No, sir. But Kat wouldn’t have called me if she wasn’t seriously worried.”
The older man studied him. “How ‘ex’?”
“Excuse me?”
“How long ago did you break up and how bad was it?”
Dillon bristled. “I don’t see the relevance—”
“You damn well should. In fact, it should’ve been your first analytical thought. Could this ‘sky is falling’ scenario be payback? It’s a bitch, you know.”
His jaw clenched. “Kat would never do something like that.”
“Humor me.”
He narrowed his eyes. His personal life was none of Rex’s goddamn business. But if he wanted to officially pursue Kat’s concerns, he’d have to play along. “She broke up with me two years ago. This is the first time we’ve spoken since.” He drew a deep breath. “That’s why I know this is legit, and she’s really scared. Or she would never have called me.”
Rex’s laser-like gaze scrutinized him until Dillon wondered if his boss could read his mind. He struggled to maintain a calm, professional demeanor because he didn’t appreciate the scrutiny.
“For now, we’ll consider these temperature fluctuations to be real, but your first task is to document them.” Rex rubbed the back of his neck. “What’s the worst-case scenario?”
Dillon had an instant answer because the idea had been part of what kept him awake all night. “A catastrophic meltdown.”
“Holy shit. If it’s true, her boss should be screaming for the cavalry.”
“Agreed. That’s part of the problem. Kat doesn’t understand why he isn’t, and that makes her unsure whom she can trust with her information.”
“Does she know how this is happening? Could it be just an equipment malfunction?”
“It could be, but if it were, the fluctuations would show up in the reports. And they don’t. Unfortunately, the best theory points to intentional manipulation.”
Rex’s eyes widened. “Sabotage?”
“Possibly.”
“How?”
“Someone hacking into the computer system.”
“Inside or outside job?”
He shrugged. “No clue.”
“Jesus. We need more intel, some concrete evidence. While you meet with Ms. MacKenzie, I’ll confer with Alan Carter to see if he thinks this scenario sounds like terrorism. He may want to involve the San Diego Joint Terrorism Task Force or the Nuclear Regulatory Commission.” He shook his head. “I have no idea if the NRC deals with this kind of shit or not.”
Dillon squirmed in the chair. Damn. Maybe Rex was right about his personal connection to Kat being relevant. “It might be better if I work behind the scenes and let someone else take point on future contacts with Ms. MacKenzie.”
Rex gave him a wise, knowing look, but at least he didn’t say I told you so. “Understood. Conrad Regis told me yesterday afternoon that he wants to accept the transfer to Counterterrorism so team up with him.”
“Right.”
“Both of you let me know what cases you need me to reassign so you can give this your highest priority. Now get busy.”
Fifteen minutes later, Dillon and Conrad huddled in a small conference room with their coffee and discussed the Diablo Beach investigation. Bringing his friend and fellow agent up to speed didn’t take long since there was so little to tell.
“While Rex covers the high ground, we’ll get down and dirty in the trenches,” Conrad said when Dillon finished. “Let’s set up a meet with your contact.”
He looked away. “About that. Rex and I decided it’d be best for me to stay in the background.”
Conrad leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. His unblinking blue eyes scrutinized him for a full minute.
“What?” Dillon blurted out in exasperation.
“This ‘friend’ wouldn’t happen to be your ex-fiancée from up north?”
“Shit. Does it matter?”
“Staying in the background isn’t your style, O’Malley, but now I understand.”
“Look, it’s no big deal. Things will just go easier if she doesn’t have to deal with me.”
“Or you with her.” Conrad cocked his head. “She called your cell. She doesn’t know you’ve left the San Francisco office.”
He huffed. “Yes, she is Katriona MacKenzie, but you’re wrong. She does know.”
Conrad’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, but she doesn’t know you transferred to San Diego. You’re practically neighbors, and she has no clue.”
Dillon gave him one of his infamous don’t-fuck-with-me glares. “Butt out of my personal life, Regis.”
The other man chuckled. “Lighten up, dude. I’m just messin’ with ya.”
There’s that damn phrase again. “You lighten up, and get the fuck off my back. Let’s get to work.”
Conrad snickered. “Agreed. Do you want to listen in on the call?”
“Yeah. Put it on speaker.” After drawing a long breath to tamp down his anger, he gave Conrad his ex-fiancée’s number from his iPhone. Kat’s phone rang and went to voicemail. Was she still at work or possibly sleeping? Regardless, they needed to talk to her ASAP. “Try again.”
This time, a woman answered, but she wasn’t Kat. He immediately recognized her mother’s heavy Scottish accent.
“Katriona MacKenzie?” Conrad asked before Dillon could signal it wasn’t her.
“Who’s callin’?” Aileen MacKenzie said brusquely.
Conrad angled a questioning glance at him. Dillon nodded.
“This is FBI Special Agent Conrad Regis.”
A long pause followed.
“What do you want with Katie? Did that bastard Dillon O’Malley put you up to this?”
“No, ma’am. I wouldn’t do anything for that bastard.” Conrad grinned at his buddy. “Ms. MacKenzie has asked…for our help.”
“I seriously doubt that,” Aileen said.
Conrad cleared his throat. “I need to speak to Ms. MacKenzie, please.”
“Well, you can’t. The doctor gave her a sedative, and she’s sleepin’.”
Dillon shot out of his chair and gestured with his hand to keep the woman talking. He leaned over the table, closer to the phone.
“Is Ms. MacKenzie all right?” Conrad asked.
Aileen sighed. “Yes, if you ignore the mild concussion and nasty gash from her head hittin’ the car window. They kept her overnight for observation, just to be sure. We’re hopin’ that when the doctor stops by durin’ rounds this morning, he’ll discharge her.”
What the hell happened? Dillon’s chest tightened, and his heart pounded. He mouthed the word hospital.
“She’s at what hospital?” Conrad asked.
Aileen hesitated. “It’s in San Clemente, but I don’t remember the name. You see, I was terribly upset when I got here. It’s been a really long night.” She sighed as if she hadn’t slept while keeping vigil over her daughter.
“What happened?”
She hesitated again. “Why did you say you’re c
allin’ her?”
“Problem at work,” Dillon whispered.
“Ms. MacKenzie contacted us about a possible problem at the Diablo Beach Nuclear Power Plant.”
“What problem? She hasn’t said anything to Craig and me.”
“She hasn’t told us much either. That’s why we urgently need to talk to her. How did she get injured?”
His explanation seemed to assuage Aileen’s suspicions and concerns because her tone changed. “Would you believe both of her rear tires blew out just as she was getting off the freeway last night? She thinks she must’ve hit something because she heard two loud noises right before the car went out of control. She’s really lucky the Civic didn’t roll over.”
Dillon’s gut roiled with realization. Conrad’s expression told him they were thinking the same thing.
“Both tires? That’s pretty unusual,” Conrad said.
“Yes. The highway patrol officer told us they searched the area but didn’t find anything suspicious on the roadway so they impounded her car for closer examination. I sure hope Katie’s insurance pays for the damage. She can’t afford an unexpected expense right now.”
“Will she be going home after she’s discharged?”
“I’d rather she come stay with us for a few days, but she already said she’ll sleep better in her own bed. Of course, until she gets back on her feet, Craig and I will take care of…Oh, here’s the doctor now. I’ll tell Katie you called, Agent…uh…”
“Regis. Conrad Regis. Tell Ms. MacKenzie we hope she feels better, and we’ll be in touch soon. Real soon.”
Chapter 7
“I really wish you’d stay with us,” Kat’s mother said as she pulled to the curb in front of the Oceanside bungalow late Tuesday morning.
“Mom, I appreciate the offer, but we both know I’ll recuperate faster in the peace and quiet here,” Kat said, opening her eyes. She couldn’t admit it or her mother would make a fuss, but riding in the car had made her nauseous.
She gazed out the windshield at the beautiful day to get her mind off how lousy she felt. Last night’s fog had long ago burned off. Cottony clouds and squawking seagulls decorated the clear sky instead.
Wanted (FBI Heat Book 3) Page 4
