by Debra Webb
She parked the car and prepared herself for the worst. If Mrs. Wilks had been found, they would’ve radioed that information to her en route.
“Chief Jensen.”
“Yes?” She faced Riley, startled by the intensity in his golden brown eyes.
“I didn’t do this.”
“I know.” Her instincts wouldn’t be that skewed by a few hot kisses and helpful deeds. Looking away from him, she let her gaze wander across the docks. A time-worn industrial scene on the best of days, the mismatched collection of warehouses, cranes and container yard weren’t any more inviting with the dusting of snow.
“We have to find her,” she said to herself. “I won’t let some faceless terrorists win.” She exited the car, grateful she’d opted for sturdy denim trousers and a thick sweater for working at home today.
The grim expressions on the responding officers’ faces told her they hadn’t come up with anything positive, but she asked for the status anyway.
“Nothing new.” Detective Calloway slid a dark look toward Riley. “What’s he doing here?”
She found it interesting that Gadsden hadn’t called ahead with a warning that Riley was with her. “He’s not responsible for this,” she said in an unyielding tone. “He can also verify if the item that implicates him is in fact his.”
Calloway scowled at Riley. “Come on then. It’s over here.”
She watched every nuance of Riley’s body language for stress and found none. He was either very good at hiding his reactions, or absolutely oblivious to the risks. Despite her belief in his innocence, they had to follow the evidence.
The detective held the hammer, enveloped in an evidence bag, in front of Riley’s face. “It has your name on it, O’Brien.”
Abby continued to watch for an indicator that Riley was lying about any of this. He didn’t even flinch as he manipulated the hammer inside the bag until his name showed. “Every temp worker in town has used one like this at some point this week. It’s company issue.” He handed it back. “Name or not, that isn’t mine.”
He didn’t need to start lying now. “Your name is right there on the handle,” she argued.
“Sure is,” he agreed. “But that isn’t how I write my name.”
“What?” She and the detective took a closer look at the same time.
“Compare it to the tools in my truck and you’ll see. Someone else wrote my name there.”
She nodded at Calloway. He called over to Gadsden for a quick picture and count of the hammers in Riley’s truck. When the picture proved Riley was correct, she sighed, relieved and frustrated. She appreciated the confirmation of his innocence, but they weren’t any closer to finding Mrs. Wilks.
“What now?” Calloway wanted to know.
“We talk to the folks who reported the abandoned vehicle.”
With a nod to Riley, she invited him to tag along as she posed her questions to the workers on-site. No one had been spotted coming or going from the vehicle. There were a few cameras on the docks, which had helped her bust the drug runners, but Mrs. Wilks’s car had been placed in a blind spot.
“On purpose,” Riley observed as they walked around the area. “They did a sloppy job trying to frame me,” he added.
She looked down the docks. The company he worked for was renting space in the warehouse farthest from the water. It was the largest but also offered better security and more parking. “What are the cameras like at your warehouse?”
“Are you kidding?” Riley pushed his hands into his pockets. “With all the negative attention, the boss added his own closed-circuit system. Says it’s the first time he felt like he had to.”
“Does everyone on the team know that?”
Riley shrugged. “I think so, but can’t say for sure.”
She walked back to where Calloway was overseeing the arrival of the tow truck for Mrs. Wilks’s car. “Let’s get the video from the warehouse where Riley works. Maybe we’ll identify who tossed the wallet at the Dumpster.”
Calloway hustled off to do as she requested. The only thing left to do was examine the car and she wanted to get that done before it was towed to the impound lot. Abby’s gut twisted, but she couldn’t avoid the inevitable. She told herself the odds of finding anything her officers had overlooked were slim to none, but she had to try. She owed it to her neighbor.
“Come on,” she said to Riley, handing him latex gloves. She had no desire to do this alone. Let the department—hell, the entire town—speculate, but she needed his support right now on a very personal level.
Mrs. Wilks was more than a neighbor, she’d become a dear friend. Based on the latest trash in Abby’s in-box, the man tormenting her had targeted and kidnapped Mrs. Wilks solely because she and Abby were friends. With every step, the burdens got heavier. The symbolic vandalism. Calder. Her shovel used against one of the vandals. Filmore and the fire.
She paused at the driver’s side, gazing across the top of the car at Riley. “I’m done playing catch-up here. We find Mrs. Wilks and then I’m doing whatever it takes to put this to rest.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Abby didn’t quite know how she’d do it, but she knew it was past time. There had to be some way to connect the dots and put a stop to this. Belclare was her town and she wouldn’t cower in a corner while terrorists dealt out fear. She put on the gloves to preserve any evidence and opened the driver’s door.
The driver’s seat was pushed back much too far for Mrs. Wilks’s smaller frame. “She didn’t drive herself,” she noted.
“Which might mean two perps. One to drive, one to control the hostage.”
Abby nodded, bending down for a closer look at the floor mats. “She’s feisty. It might have required two perps just to subdue her.”
“When does she prepare her coffeemaker?”
“Huh?”
“She has a programmable pot. It was full and turned off when we were in the house. She had to have set it at some point.”
“Typically, she does that during the commercial break before the news. At least, that’s what I’ve seen her do on the rare occasions I was there at that time of night.”
“All right. Neither of us saw any strange cars on the street when we got home from the fire.”
Abby’s face heated as she recalled those steamy kisses. “We weren’t exactly looking for anything out of place.”
He shot her a wicked grin, the one full of sexy promises that made her pulse kick in hopeful anticipation. She ruthlessly reminded herself they were at a crime scene.
“Look at that.” He pointed to the floor cushion in the backseat closest to her side.
She opened the back door and shifted, letting the bright sunlight fall on a pink smudge on the upholstery. She sniffed at it, recognizing the cosmetic fragrance. “Lipstick. Damn it.”
Abby stood up, pulling the crisp air deep into her lungs, willing her stomach to settle down.
“Well, it’s confirmation she or someone wearing lipstick was in the car,” Riley said, coming over to her side so they could speak without being overheard. “Unless she typically kissed her backseat.”
She opened her mouth to say they’d known that already, but he was right—without an eyewitness, they’d been assuming Mrs. Wilks had been a passenger in the car.
“Okay.” Abby took another deep breath. “You and I arrived in the neighborhood just after eleven. Mrs. Wilks would have made her coffee before that. Assuming the altercation was limited to the hallway, one or two men grabbed her from her house before the evening news wrapped up.
Abby might have heard something if she hadn’t been in the shower wishing she had the guts to invite Riley over to wash her back. A weak laugh slipped out at the thought. If she’d done that, bringing him out of his house, he might actually have seen or heard something.
“This isn’t your fault, Chief Jensen,” he said.
She cursed herself for allowing him to see the uncertainties nagging at her. “Not quite what I was thin
king, but close enough.” She pointed to the tires. “I’m not seeing anything on the tread or wheel wells that I wouldn’t expect to find in Belclare.”
“So what did they do in between grabbing her and dumping the car?”
Refusing to let her emotions run amok down that path, Abby regained a small measure of control. Planting her hands on her hips, she said, “Let’s check the trunk.”
“No one’s done that?”
“They said it was empty, but I want to look anyway.”
“Fresh eyes?”
“Exactly.” She went around to the passenger side and popped open the glove box to hit the trunk release. The car shifted when the trunk lid opened. “There has to be some clue about what they’ve done with her.”
“Stop.” Riley held up a hand, his gaze locked on the interior of the trunk.
“What?”
“Back away and pull back the others, too.”
“Tell me why,” she insisted.
“Bomb.”
The single word, delivered so calmly, jolted her system. “The trunk was empty when they found the car. No one could have planted a bomb since my guys got here.”
“Abby,” he warned. “Listen to me. Please.”
What could he possibly know about bombs? But his face was pale and now his body was rigid with tension. “I’m not leaving without taking a look.”
He shook his head, sending her a ferocious scowl, but she didn’t care. He had to be wrong. Her people had already popped the trunk and declared it empty and void of evidence.
“Fine. But call in a bomb squad while you look.”
Belclare didn’t have a bomb squad. She couldn’t recall for sure, but one of the firefighters might have had military experience with disarming explosives. The closest fully trained team was in Baltimore. “Is there a timer?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She stepped up next to him, but all she saw was the coarse fabric lining the trunk. “Riley, what am I missing here?”
“Too many wires into the brake lights.” He pointed out the difference between the right and left sides. “Call someone, now.”
“There’s no one local,” she whispered, even as she entered the number for the state police. “If we’re lucky they can have someone here in half an hour.” Lucky being the operative word.
No sooner had she’d ended the call than the sound of heavy engines jerked her attention to the parking lot behind them. She swore when two media vans stopped at the perimeter, as she’d requested. “Great. Now we’ll have an audience.”
“Someone tipped them off.”
“Possibly, but anyone can listen to the police radio,” she replied, equally irritated. “Tell me what to do.”
“Any chance you’ll back off while I take a closer look?”
“No.”
She watched as he looked around the docks.
“You felt the car shift when you hit the button, right?”
“Yes.” She’d definitely felt it.
“I’m going to look for some kind of timer.”
She held her breath when he leaned into the trunk, pulling a knife from his pocket. She appreciated his concern, but if the terrorists wanted her dead, they could detonate the bomb at any time—an assessment that assumed they were watching this play out.
Riley’s back blocked her view, so she used her cell to update the officers behind them. There was no way to be subtle about clearing the area, especially when she didn’t know how big a threat they were dealing with.
Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. “Riley?”
“It’s counting down, Abby. Please get to safety.”
Fear trickled into her veins. “Only if you’re coming with me.”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
“I don’t believe you.” She actually laughed a little when he swore. “Can you disarm it?”
“Not sure,” he said.
Every second seemed to tick by with individual clarity. “How much time?”
“Enough.”
“Good.”
“No. Weird. Ask yourself who benefits from blowing this up while you stand by helplessly?”
She cast a glance over her shoulder at the media. “I know who it hurts. All of Belclare. Is there anything resembling evidence?”
“Probably, but the explosion will destroy it,” he countered. “Get me the keys.”
“Why?”
“Do it, Chief Jensen. The sooner this is resolved, the sooner we can find Mrs. Wilks.”
She darted back to Calloway. He found the right evidence bag and tossed it to her. But when she turned back, she realized Riley had tricked her into leaving him.
Somehow he’d started the car without the key and was steering Mrs. Wilks sedan toward the water.
Understanding dawned slowly. He intended to put the car in the water to save the surrounding area from the explosion. What had he seen on that bomb and why hadn’t he been honest about it? For that matter, why didn’t the terrorists behind this throw the switch? She didn’t want Riley in any more danger, but the tactics didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.
His words echoed in her mind and she prayed they weren’t the last ones she’d hear him speak. Who gains? The phrase consumed her as she alternately watched the sedan’s progress and the people gathered around watching with her. Any one of them could have a thumb on a detonator ready to make this a spectacular tragedy.
Who gains? She couldn’t come up with an answer, not while she watched a civilian, a stranger who’d so quickly slipped through her defenses, sacrifice himself. If he lived, she might have to beat him senseless for putting her through this.
The sedan’s engine revved suddenly and she waited for the explosion, but Riley jumped out of the driver’s seat and the car rolled off the dock and into the water.
Riley hadn’t even gained his feet when the explosion sent water spouting into the air like a fountain.
Heedless of the media and public opinion, she raced down the dock to check on him. “What the hell were you thinking?” she shouted in his face even as she looked him up and down.
“I’m fine, thanks for asking.”
“That was stupid.”
“Would you rather the thing blew up the dock? Imagine the fallout. The lost revenue. The cleanup.”
“Stop using logic. You could’ve been killed.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What does that mean?” She wanted to hug him and punch him at the same time. “I should have you arrested.”
“On what grounds?”
“You’re a danger to yourself.”
“But not to others?”
She didn’t have time to dignify that. They’d reached the area where the police had been holding people back and everyone burst into applause and cheers.
“Smile,” she instructed, although she knew he was already doing so. “You’re a hero.”
“An hour ago I was a suspect.”
“Not in my book,” she said.
She answered a few questions posed by the reporters of the local station and let Mayor Scott, who’d caught the scent of a good public relations opportunity, handle the rest. Once she’d given instructions to the officers on the scene, she pulled Riley away from the noise and chaos.
“Even with the bomb neutralized, it will be a wonder if anyone comes out tomorrow,” she grumbled.
“It will probably be the biggest opening day ever.”
“That’s not funny,” she said. “We still have to find Mrs. Wilks.”
“I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it.”
“Try me. She’s my number-one priority.” Once she found her neighbor, then Abby would take the time to ask how Riley had developed such a thorough recognition of bombs. She was sure there was a reasonable explanation, but she wanted to hear it from him.
The Belclare police force wasn’t comprised of idiots, but they hadn’t noticed the threat when they’d searched the trunk. Unless one of t
hem was in on it.
She jerked herself back from that slippery slope. Paranoia would not resolve this any sooner for her lost neighbor.
“Here.” Riley handed her a rolled-up piece of paper.
“What’s this?” She opened it, startled to see a line sketch of the Belclare shore. Three different points were marked with different numbers.
“It was wrapped around the primary wire.”
“Dear Lord,” she whispered. “That’s why they left her car out here. It’s a countdown game.”
He nodded. “One sick scavenger hunt. If it’s counting from the explosion in the car, that only gives us ten more minutes to reach the first point.”
“She won’t be at that one.”
“You can’t be sure,” he said gently. “And someone else might be.”
He was right. Her stomach pitched and rolled. Anger and fear fought for dominance, but neither would help save Mrs. Wilks or anyone else.
“She’s an innocent old lady,” Abby said through clenched teeth. It infuriated her that people she cared about were suffering because she knew how to do her job. Because she’d vowed to keep Belclare crime-free. “She might already be dead of exposure.”
Riley rubbed her arms, chasing away the chill that threatened to drag her under. “You have to stay positive.”
Positive was becoming exhausting. “But be prepared for the worst.”
He acknowledged her comment with a bob of his head. “I can get started while you organize a search party.”
“No. This is personal and I’m done taking risks with the lives of those who trust me.”
“Abby, if you ditch protocol and rules now, every effort you’ve made is for nothing. Stick with your system. It works.”
He was right and Mrs. Wilks needed Abby at the top of her game.
“I’m heading to the first point. Get a team together and do this the right way.”
“Fine. I’ll be right behind you,” she said, echoing his words from earlier.
“I believe you,” he said, smiling.
She longed to give him a kiss, but that would make him more of a target than he already was.
