The Hunk Next Door

by Debra Webb

  As she shared the map with Calloway and issued orders, pairing off available troops in different directions, her mind mulled over the question of who gains.

  Today’s events only confirmed her worst suspicions. This wasn’t simply a matter of random thugs descending on her town to prove a point. No, the problems were being meticulously planned and carried out from right inside Belclare.

  The feds had warned her that the drugs might be funding a sleeper cell. But she hadn’t wanted to believe anyone in her town was capable of fooling the entire community that way. She hadn’t wanted to admit she’d been fooled.

  By their nature sleeper cells blended in, participated and carried on as valuable members of a community. Until called to action.

  The drug bust had not been a random event. The vandals, Calder’s attacker, Filmore. Mrs. Wilks’s kidnapper. The evidence planted to implicate both her and Riley in different crimes. None of it had been random.

  As the search teams set off, Abby jogged along in Riley’s wake. She wasn’t about to let her newest ally face her enemies alone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Riley didn’t hold out much hope that Mrs. Wilks would be at the first marker as he rushed down to the rocky shoreline. That would be too easy. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, checked the reception and entered Director Casey’s personal number.

  “This is unexpected,” Casey answered.

  “Yes, sir. Things are escalating rapidly. Do you have anything connecting the names I sent?”

  “Not yet.”

  Riley paused, picking his way around an outcropping of sharp slate-colored stones. “Calder is clean.” He’d thought Calder’s accident might have been staged to disguise his link to the terrorist cell, but not anymore. The man had no ties to the drug runners and while Calder knew Filmore, their association had been strictly professional. “It’s like ghosts taking potshots around here.”

  “Stay on it,” Casey said. “Belclare needs you. We picked up the call to the state police for backup. FYI, they have a bomb squad but it likely won’t arrive in time.”

  On that sour news the call ended. Riley put his phone away and checked his watch. He had to be getting close to the first marker.

  He looked over his shoulder at the docks. The search teams Abby had put into play were combing other parts of the shoreline. Riley gazed out across the water. One of the tugboats was motoring out into the bay. Hopefully the team on board was working for their side and not the terrorists. Checking his watch, he had less than three minutes to find the marker or, if the map and timing were accurate, there would be another explosion.

  “Mrs. Wilks!” he called out, praying there wasn’t another victim to rescue...or recover.

  He chose his steps with more care, alert for a glimpse of a trip wire or any sign someone had been here. He saw it then, a rounded cache of stones that wasn’t quite as natural as the rest of the area. He approached with extreme caution despite the dwindling time, unwilling to rush and set something off prematurely.

  A bullet whistled past his head, knocking the top stone from the cache. Riley had jerked back, seeking cover, when he heard the soft whimper.

  “Mrs. Wilks?”

  Another muffled response came from closer to the scruffy, wind-sculpted trees to his left. Rocks and twigs skittered down the slope toward him.

  He took that as an affirmative.

  The small cascade revealed red and green wires running from the cache of rocks up into the trees. Definitely a bomb, he thought grimly. “Hold still,” he called out to the woman. God help them both if she did something to set it off.

  He peered up but couldn’t pick out the armed guard. The shooter could be anywhere, in a tree or undercover on the ground.

  In the back of his mind, a clock seemed to tick off the seconds. He wondered about the twisted strategist who’d gone to such lengths just to get even with Abby. Whatever the goal, he had to deal with this first.

  Stretched out on his belly, he inched closer to the wiring. Another bullet bit into the rock-strewn ground millimeters from his fingertips. Splintered rocks bit at his face. Even if he’d had a weapon it wouldn’t have done him much good at the moment. There was no time for him to stop and return fire.

  Both he and the guard were equally determined to succeed, with Mrs. Wilks’s life in the balance. Riley shifted as fast as he dared up the slope and the radio at his belt crackled.

  “At your back,” Abby’s voice came through the device.

  Despite his precarious position, Riley smiled. Of course she had his back. Thinking about how the bomb in the car had been wired, he went for the cache of explosives closer to the water. He couldn’t afford to waste precious seconds with a panicked hostage.

  This time when the sniper fired, another weapon returned fire. Out of habit, Riley kept track of the bullets from Abby. The Belclare P.D. used 9mm handguns with a fifteen-round clip. Whatever Abby was firing was beefier than that, the sound too deep for a standard 9mm.

  His attention on the bomb, he ignored the shouting, knowing Abby would follow protocol and ask for a surrender. The timer was inside twenty seconds when Riley disconnected the detonator. He followed the wires up the bank, another volley of gunfire flying over his head.

  “Mrs. Wilks!” Relief at finding her alive washed over him and he wanted to shout in victory when he saw the timer on the device strapped to her waist frozen at twelve seconds. “You’re fine. It’s over,” he said, cutting through the tape and sliding the explosives away from her.

  Her round face was pale under the dirt and her eyes were shining with tears. “This might hurt,” he warned, gently peeling away the duct tape covering her mouth. He looked at the adhesive side, noting the smudge of pink lipstick.

  “Thank you!” She threw herself into him and he caught her, letting her cling.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “My pride,” she said, tears flowing freely now. “The bruises will heal faster, I’m sure, but I’m so cold.”

  “Nothing broken?” He pulled the radio from his belt and called for paramedics. “Nothing bleeding?”

  “I’m fine,” she insisted. “My word. They were shooting at you.”

  He decided the woman had an ironclad fortitude to be more worried about him than herself. “It wasn’t as close as it looked. Did you see who did this to you? Can you give us a description?” Then he noticed something missing. “You aren’t wearing your glasses.”

  “Young man, my distance vision is still perfect.”

  Which meant she might or might not be able to describe the person or persons who had done this to her.

  Tree limbs popped and snapped as something crashed down nearly on top of them.

  “Get down!” He didn’t hesitate at Abby’s command, pushing Mrs. Wilks back into the shallow hollow that might well have been her grave.

  He heard one more deep shot from Abby’s gun, followed by a terrible sound that split the air in two. The concussion wave from the explosion threw him down and a blast of heat kept him there while pieces of trees and rock and ash fell all around them like dirty rain.

  Two more loud explosions sounded too close for comfort, shaking the earth and rocks under them. It reminded him of the day he’d watched a crew take down an old building two blocks from the orphanage. He hoped that meant the other caches were blown and this trial was over.

  The eerie silence that followed swallowed him up, surrounding him and Mrs. Wilks. He peered out at the shore and spotted the grisly debris of what had surely been the sniper.

  “Where is Abby?” Mrs. Wilks cried. “Is she all right?”

  Riley twisted around to check the place he’d last heard her, smiling when she stood tall, leaning into the slope, her gun down and just behind her leg. “I’m right here, Mrs. Wilks,” she called out. Her chest heaved as she gulped in air. “Don’t worry about me.”

  Riley moved a bit so the older woman could see her friend and neighbor.

  “Oh, thank heaven. Thank
heaven for both of you.” She clasped her hands over her heart, then let Riley help her to her feet. He kept her turned from the mess closer to the shore as Abby stepped forward to wrap her in a warm hug. “Help will be here shortly. You don’t have to walk.”

  “I will walk out of here. Lord only knows how they got me into this predicament to start.”

  Abby shot a look at Riley. “They?”

  “Yes. I made the coffee and started up to bed and there they were, right in my living room.”

  “You saw their faces?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. The gesture threw her off balance, but Riley steadied her. “They had black ski masks on.”

  “We saw the mess in your house,” Abby said. “You put up quite a fight.”

  “I clocked one of them in the knee with that hickory stick I keep in the umbrella stand.”

  Riley made a mental note to watch for someone with a fresh limp. He could tell by the way Abby’s eyebrows arched that she was thinking the same thing and would pass that detail on to every shift and the extra patrols.

  The radios he and Abby were wearing crackled as verification came from other teams that the other bombs were neutralized without any casualties. No sign of additional hostages. That was something anyway. Even without a bomb squad on-site they’d managed to clear the area and ensure that the explosions intended to kill and maim had harmed no one.

  As the paramedics met them, Riley caught Abby’s hand. “Thanks for the cover fire.”

  “Least I could do,” she said.

  “What do you carry?” She showed him the .40 caliber gun. “Nice,” he said with a smile.

  Abby shrugged, her attention darting all around.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “He blew himself up, I think,” she said quietly. She clamped her lips together, breathing deep through her nose. “I fired at his feet. A warning shot. But he...”

  Riley didn’t want her thinking about that gruesome blood smear on the rocks. “Did you recognize him? Was he limping?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “His face was painted with camouflage and he wore green patterned gear. I didn’t recognize anything about him. As for the limp, who could tell on this terrain?”

  True. “The feds will be all over this.”

  “I know.” Her shoulders hitched and she rubbed at her arms. “I never thought I’d be grateful for their help. This is one crime scene I’m happy to turn over.”

  “It’s over.” Hopefully for good, but at least for the moment.

  She nodded. “We’ll have to give statements. I have all kinds of paperwork.” She swore. “And a press conference.”

  “Then we’d best get at it.” He gestured for her to lead the way to the docks.

  “I’m a mess,” she complained, picking a twig from her sleeve. “This sweater isn’t worth giving away.”

  He reached out and pulled a leaf from her hair. “You’re beautiful.” He wanted to kiss her, to reassure himself she was safe and in one piece.

  “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

  “I’m saying it because it’s the truth.” He waited, cradling her hands in his until she finally looked at him. Her eyes went wide, then she smiled and looked away. “Your department, hell, the whole town, should throw you a parade. You’re a hero, Abby.”

  “You did the hard part,” she argued.

  “Don’t dodge the compliment.”

  “Fine.” She took a big breath and looked out over the water one last time. “But I’m a hero with a ton of paperwork to do.”

  He was damn happy that they were all alive to do that paperwork. Today had been too close.

  * * *

  ABBY TURNED FROM the podium and the crush of questions, letting Mayor Scott finish things up. During this press conference, she’d been more careful with her words without compromising her determination. She would not allow this nonsense to continue in her town. Having Mrs. Wilks home safe had done just the opposite of what her enemies wanted. The rescue boosted her popularity. Even if he’d wanted to, the mayor wouldn’t be able to oust her now.

  It should give her comfort, but instead she worried over how things could get worse. Who might end up a victim next? She couldn’t afford to think about that here, where the cameras might capture the worry on her face. Most of the reporters were still asking questions about the man who’d driven Mrs. Wilks’s car into the bay.

  They weren’t alone. She had more than a few questions for Riley O’Brien, too. Though she would be forever grateful for what he’d done, how had a construction worker turned Christmas-decorating guru known how to disarm a bomb?

  The mayor deflected the hard questions and tailored his answers to suit his purposes. He’d dubbed Riley the hero of Belclare, telling everyone Riley had gone to the hospital simply as a precaution, and the mayor would be stopping there next. Yes, of course the mayor and town council would be looking into honoring Belclare’s newest hero in the coming days.

  It went on and on. Abby listened enough to applaud or nod stoically in the right places. The most she would get out of this was a lesson in managing the press. At last they were done and she retreated into the station while the mayor’s team cleaned up the podium.

  “Nicely done, Jensen.” Mayor Scott shook her hand, adding a pat on her shoulder.

  Despite having taken a shower and changed into a clean suit, she felt weary and frustrated. The last thing she needed was a political shadow. “It was a group effort,” she replied. Right now, she wanted that group scouring security footage. Two men had attacked Mrs. Wilks, but only one was dead. She needed to find the other man to help her break up what she now felt confident was a local terrorist cell.

  When the mayor was done shaking hands, she and her officers were able to get busy. Abby settled behind a spare desk, her gaze drifting over the plastic sheeting that blocked off the burned side of the building. The cleaning crew claimed they would finish today, but fresh paint and new equipment was only the first part. The emotional impact would stay with her and the department for weeks, if not longer. In her gut, she knew that was the real motivation behind the fire.

  She slipped the flash drive into her computer and started another search through Filmore’s life. Who—local or otherwise—could have compelled him to set that fire?

  Her gaze skimmed from her laptop screen and out across the bullpen. It took a concerted effort to resist the tug of paranoia and go back to the facts in front of her.

  “Chief!” She looked up again as Gadsden waved her over. “I’ve got the wallet getting tossed at the warehouse Dumpster.”

  With a fresh surge of energy, she hurried over to Gadsden. “Praise God for detail-oriented people.”

  Gadsden pointed out the wallet sailing through the air.

  “Great. Now we back it up. There has to be something that shows us a bit more,” she said, praying it was true.

  “This gives us a timeline,” he replied, pointing at the date and time in the corner of the video. “The car and Mrs. Wilks had to have been staged before this point.”

  Abby nodded. As leads went, she’d seen stronger, but it was a starting point. “And that looks like a blatant attempt to implicate Ri—Mr. O’Brien or one of his coworkers.”

  “Yeah,” Gadsden agreed. “Good bet the scarf was planted rather than an accident. Who would’ve guessed you’d be his alibi.”

  She pointedly ignored that comment. “See if there are other views or angles around the docks in this time frame.” She wanted the second assailant. Her hands fisted at her sides. “I want faces. No one should feel that comfortable causing havoc in this town.”

  “You know, it’s possible Mr. O’Brien knew what to do with those bombs because he is involved.”

  “Show me more evidence and we’ll follow it,” she said. Just because Gadsden was right didn’t mean she had to like it. During the crisis, she’d led by example as they’d followed and eliminated the evidence already planted against Riley. She would
continue to do her job, no matter how sticky or uncomfortable things got.

  Gadsden was right, however. Riley had shown awareness and expertise that only came from training and experience. He owed her answers. Now she just had to smother her feelings and find the objectivity and courage to ask the right questions.

  The calm professionalism that had earned her this post was crumbling to pieces inside her, though she refused to let it show. She wanted to slam doors. Throw things. Shoot something. Declare a police emergency and conduct a door-to-door search. She nearly laughed, thinking about how the mayor would spin that.

  Their best lead had blown himself up, a fanatic so dedicated he preferred suicide over capture. It wasn’t a good sign of things to come. And yet, to the best of her knowledge no one in Belclare was missing.

  The other caches of explosives along the shoreline had blown within a minute of the sniper. That detail alone strongly indicated a supervisor with an impatient trigger finger. Her instincts wouldn’t let her chalk it up to blind luck. It was a miracle no one on the search teams had been seriously injured. Only Riley’s quick work and the note he’d salvaged had saved no telling how many lives.

  Was his finding that note part of the plan, too?

  She shook off the thought and looked around the station. The men and women who served the Belclare police department were top-notch, but there simply weren’t enough of them to patrol every high-risk area every hour of the day. The docks were a valuable target. Main Street, packed with tourists, would certainly make the news if something bad happened. She forced herself to imagine the worst-case scenario if this cell launched an attack when the park was full of families.

  She’d appealed to the community to keep watch and report anything suspicious, praising the dock workers and giving them much of the credit for today’s rescue operation. Without that kind of vigilance and action, she’d said, Mrs. Wilks might have died.

  “We’ll track ’em down, Chief.”

  Gadsden’s assurance snapped her from her thoughts, but it would be a long time before she relaxed. “Yes,” she agreed. “We will track down every last one of them.”