He hadn’t read it, but he knew the author claimed to be an informer who’d infiltrated the IRA. “Did your parents know ‘Seán Martin’ too?”
Molly glanced up at him. “I’m wonderin’ if he isn’t my da.”
Her dad . . . was an informer?
She flipped open to a bookmark. Both pages were bracketed with yellow highlighter. Zach leaned over her, resting one hand on her desk to skim the passage. “Edna and Gene O’Callahan” proposed a car bomb, set in city center, with bomb threats phoned in to strategically herd civilians closer. When other IRA soldiers objected at the target, the O’Callahans replied, “The only way to win this war is to take it home to every Irishman, to make the complacent stand up and act. Ireland will never be free until every person in Ireland — Britain — the world will stand up against their oppression.”
“‘The world,’” Zach echoed. He raised an eyebrow and turned to Molly — really, really close to Molly. She didn’t pull back.
“They carried out that plan eighteen years ago.” Molly opened a website filled with pictures of a city street that looked like a battleground. “Thirty-one killed, two hundred-some injured.”
His heart constricted for a beat. He knew this story. “Omagh.” He’d lived in the city for three months as a missionary. “I knew these two guys there, brothers. One lost a leg and the other lost a hand that day. I was there for the tenth anniversary, when they put up a monument. Even for the people moving on with life, there’s a hole, still. Not in the street.” He tapped his chest, trying to express something words couldn’t. Life had continued for the survivors, and the city had recovered, but Omagh carried an ache that would never go away.
That ache could strike their country next.
“We need to talk to CPD about bomb threats,” Molly said. “Still hopin’ Mum’s commissioner knows somethin’ that might help. Somethin’ more recent.”
He maintained eye contact and stayed close to Molly, though they were done with the computer. “Hope so.”
They started to slide into silence. Zach gestured toward the empty desk across from her. “How’d your fan club take the man-up talk?”
She wasn’t pulling away either. “Em, there might’ve been tears. But now he’s off takin’ his car into the shop.” She tipped her chin up with an air of meditation. “You never did tell me what happened to your car.”
For a good reason. “When did I tell you about that?” he didn’t quite answer.
“Thursday, before we left for surveillance.”
Zach pulled back a few inches, dancing around the truth. “Hit a telephone pole.”
She winced. “What were you tryin’ to do, kill yourself?”
“Fell asleep at the wheel.” He didn’t have to admit he’d lost sleep over dumping her for weeks before it came to that. He tried to play it off. “Got a new car out of it.”
“Hardly seems worth the trouble.”
“Oh, but I loved taking the sobriety tests — and when I told the officer how inaccurate the walk-the-line test was, they made me do the breathalyzer.”
Molly pursed her lips. “Must you go antagonizin’ the police again?”
She remembered that? “Not like last time. That was the highlight of my life. How often do you get out of a ticket because the SAC is behind you?”
“You’re forgettin’ the ticket in DC.”
Did she have to remember that, too? He laughed and she joined in, leaning closer.
But their laughter quickly subsided, and Molly’s gaze shifted past him — and past the distraction of that memory. “Were you hurt?”
“Compound leg fracture, and they still made me walk in a straight line.”
Molly didn’t laugh at that joke.
The truth, then. “Only my ego. And my insurance premiums.”
As if on cue, her computer chimed. They turned to her computer monitor to see a popup notification for a new email. “Here’s your man the commissioner.” She double clicked the notification, opening the email, and Zach shamelessly read over her shoulder. He didn’t catch much before she closed it, but he definitely saw Nate’s picture and his final question: How about the Oakland temple?
Pain seared the words into his brain. Zach jerked back as if he’d been suckerpunched.
Molly quickly clicked away from the window. Hopefully she hadn’t seen him peering at the screen.
“Not him. Anythin’ you wanted to ask the commissioner when I do hear from him?” She stared past Zach again, with the same distant look as a minute before. Did she think he pulled away before or after he’d read it?
“Uh.” Zach blinked, trying to focus on the assignment. “I guess ask if there’s anything the FBI might want to be informed of, and if they know of any potential actions set stateside. And the Canavans, obviously. But don’t let on about how much — or how little — we know.” He hoped his disjointed answer made some sense.
Molly didn’t make eye contact. “I’ll BCC you.”
“Great.” He pushed off her desk and staggered back, still reeling from the blow. His entire chest felt sore and bruised. He steadied himself and headed for his floor.
Could she be that serious with Nate after the way she’d laughed with him today, and the way she’d looked at him Friday?
On the other hand, he couldn’t imagine Nate randomly emailing her about visiting a temple in California, or jumping to that level without Molly onboard. They were deciding where to get married. Not if, not when. Where. Those other details must be in place.
The elevator arrived, and he stepped into the meager shelter, finally out of Molly’s line of sight. The doors slid closed. He was alone.
Totally alone.
For half a second — okay, maybe a little longer — part of him wanted to curl up in the elevator corner and die.
No, he couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. His phone vibrated, and he pulled it out, grateful for something to anchor him in the present, distract him from . . . reality.
Molly had too much to do to marry him.
No, it was worse. She wanted to marry Nate. Not him. She wanted boundaries with him.
He shook off the thoughts and checked the notification on his phone. A voicemail. He hit the play icon. “Mr. Saint? This is Duncan Jewelers, about the piece you had on consignment. Please give us a call as soon as you can.” The guy left the number, and the message ended.
Zach stood in stunned silence until the elevator opened. He thought he’d never forget that — and yet he had, for weeks. He started toward his desk and tapped the icon to redial the number. Once the clerk answered, Zach explained who he was.
“Oh, yes. We had someone in who was interested in your piece, but their offer was below your threshold. It’s our policy that we talk to you before accepting.”
Yeah. Sure. Now he’d get the first offer on Molly’s ring.
Not Molly’s. A ring he still owned. She’d never seen it. Didn’t even know it existed.
And she didn’t care. She was dating Nate, no matter what he thought he saw Friday — Molly’s eyes from that night flashed through his mind. Feeding her the cake, leaning down to kiss her. Living the memory again was more than déjà vu — it was just like the first time they’d nearly kissed. Both times, she wanted him to kiss her. Even if she’d stopped him. This time because of Nate.
Nate? He liked the guy, but could he seriously let Nate stand in his way? Maybe Nate had gotten her used to the idea of marriage. But if Molly looked at Zach that way, she had no business marrying someone else. No way would Zach roll over and let Nate take that from them both.
“Mr. Saint?” the man on the phone ventured. “Do you know what you want to do?”
“Yep,” he said, a smile rising to his lips. “I do.”
Time to fight.
Zach was looking forward to blowing something up by the time he rolled up to his meeting with Paddy that night. Zach had picked the spot, a warehouse they’d seized from Doyle Murphy after they cracked his latest round of creative accoun
ting. If Paddy knew how to look it up, he’d never trace the property back to the FBI.
Paddy was there waiting in the drizzle, apparently alone. No bomb in sight. No good tactical positions in the open lot if that became necessary. Zach rolled to a stop thirty feet from Paddy, parking between him and the exit.
Zach climbed from the Bureau sedan and took two steps toward Paddy, but stopped there. “Let’s do this!” he shouted across the lot.
“Don’t you want to see it?”
“All right.” Zach followed Paddy to a cardboard banker’s box near the half-demolished warehouse next door. “A little obvious, don’t you think?”
“This is only proof of concept.” He lifted off the lid of the box, angling it to keep the rain off the bomb. “Here’s your explosive, mostly Semtex. We could bump it up if you’re hopin’ to make more of a statement.”
Zach pretended to ponder. “Not in the market for collateral damage.”
“All right, so. We’d want to cover this up with papers.” He pointed to the flip phone wired to the end cap of the pipe. “There’s your receiver. We’ve the option for a contact plate — but that’s probably not ideal for you.”
Zach raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Imagine if the secretary picked up the box before your man got to it. Plus with the mobile, you can be far enough away to be safe, but still get a front-row seat to the destruction. That’s where I’d be, myself.”
“Looks good, I guess. But does it work?”
Paddy scoffed. “Does it work? What, did you think I’d drag you here for nothin’? I promised you a demonstration, and a demonstration you’ll be gettin’.” He replaced the lid and started away from the bomb. Zach was careful to follow close behind him.
Once they were out of the blast zone, Paddy turned back and took another phone from his pocket again. “Then you give your mate a ring.” He tapped a button on his phone.
Instantly, the bomb detonated. Zach jerked back before the smoke ball dissipated. Paddy squinted at the blast zone. “Anythin’ look like it’s damaged?”
Didn’t look like anything was left. “Not that I see.”
A slow grimace-smile spread across Paddy’s face. “Well?”
Zach mirrored the smile. “Oh yeah.”
“When I put yours together, I can adjust the size of the blast.”
Zach glanced back at the smoking remnants of the bomb. “Okay, when can I get it?”
“Ah, but first we have to talk specifics. Have you the stuff?”
“Wasn’t easy.” Zach pulled the brick of fake C-4 from his jacket pocket. The Bureau had long ago come up with a clay-like substitute made with something inert instead of the explosive RDX — plus a chemical additive for tracing. The consistency and smell seemed perfect. But Zach didn’t work with the stuff every day, and Paddy did. He mentally crossed his fingers as he handed over the plastic-wrapped block.
Paddy scanned it and his gaze flicked back to Zach. “And the money?”
“Money?”
Paddy’s eyes grew wide. “We agreed on a price — Semtex and cash.”
“Are you kidding? I just got laid off. How much more cash do you think I have after getting that?” Zach nodded at the C-4.
“I need the money. Blastin’ caps and mobiles aren’t free!” Paddy advanced on him, and Zach tensed but didn’t reach for his gun. Yet. Paddy gritted his teeth. “You think you’re the big show here?”
His hackles jumped to full alert. Zach Saint needed to know what the big show was — but Allen O’Kelly didn’t. Did he? He took a breath and a chance. “What do you mean, the big show?”
“Mind your own house,” Paddy said, carefully enunciating each word. “And you get me the money.” He named his price.
“I’ll need time.”
Paddy crossed his arms. “You won’t be gettin’ your squib until we get our money.”
Zach Saint’s priorities won out. “We? Who am I dealing with here?”
That caught him off guard. Paddy backed up. Even in the shadows, Zach could see the color draining from his face. Zach advanced, trying to spin this into something Allen might feel.
“You aren’t using me for something, are you?” Zach ground out his next words with all of Allen’s pent-up rage. “I’m not gonna be somebody else’s pawn.” He reached for the block of C-4 in Paddy’s hand.
Paddy snatched the plastic explosives away. “Nothin’ to do with you.”
“Prove it.”
“I — I’ve another client. A big order.”
“For what?” Zach lowered his voice and put an edge on it, leaning in to tower over Paddy.
Paddy cringed, but then straightened. “I don’t see where it concerns you.”
“If you get in trouble, I need to know you won’t turn on me.”
Paddy straightened his jacket. “I won’t be gettin’ in trouble, but if ever I did, the best way to keep me from turnin’ tout on you is to make sure we both end this happy.”
Sensing the upper hand slipping away, Zach stared at Paddy’s squinty eyes. “Tell me what you’ve got planned,” Zach demanded.
“You’re not buyin’ details.” Paddy lifted his chin and his price. “Next Sunday. The fourteenth. I’ll have it for you then.”
“Seriously? That’s like two weeks!”
“I’m up to ninety until then. That’s the soonest you’ll get it.”
Zach thought it over, a hand on his hip. “Fine. Cash. Here. Nine o’clock.”
Paddy gave a short nod. And then stood there.
Zach would have to leave first. He didn’t even know where Paddy had parked. Zach braced himself, turned his back and walked to his car. Whatever else Paddy was up to, it wasn’t good.
What were the odds the Canavans knew Paddy?
Nah, that was confirmation bias talking, plain and simple. Just because he had one set of Irish terrorists didn’t mean his other cases were related, even if there was an Irish guy involved. And why would the Canavans need another bomb builder?
Still, Zach made a mental note in his file. Keep an extra eye on Paddy.
Grace shot from their tacky orange sofa to her feet. “What do you mean, he didn’t have the money?”
“He thought I said Semtex for payment — I swear I didn’t, Mam.”
She glowered at him. “You better not have, ya cute hoor.”
Ed stormed in from the kitchen. “Did you not get the Semtex?”
“No, I got the Semtex, just not the money.”
“We needed them both!” Grace rounded the coffee table, clasping her hands in a pleading gesture. “This is what I get, dependin’ on the likes of you two for somethin’ this important —”
“Hold your whisht, woman,” Ed barked. “It was your own idea to be sellin’ off the bits and bobs, and now how much have we got?”
Pearse pulled a brick of Semtex from his worn coat and plopped it on the dining table.
Ed turned on Grace again. “That’s only enough to get us started.”
“Then I’ll get more,” Pearse said.
“You’ve used up all the Semtex we had on this — this — lark! How much more can you take before they notice?”
Pearse took his father’s challenge. “I’ve got it down to a system. You sign out ten pounds of explosive and place eight or nine. A few centimeters of det. cord here, a blastin’ cap there. They haven’t caught on yet.”
Grace cut off the argument. “Focus. When will he be gettin’ you the money?”
“When he takes delivery.”
“When’s that?”
“I said not before next Sunday.”
Ed marched up to their son. “Don’t go mentionin’ timelines.”
“Da, Allen isn’t —”
Grace cut him off again by holding up a hand. “We’re not gettin’ into this. Pearse may not have two wits to rub together, but I’m sure he didn’t tell him why he couldn’t do it before then. We’ll wait until then to decide whether we’ll be upset.”
“Mam,
once we set this, we’ll get the money, with or without Allen.”
Grace arched an eyebrow. Pearse was gettin’ ahead of himself; she certainly wouldn’t make the same mistake.
“‘Be secret and take defeat from any brazen throat.’” Ed strode from the room.
“What’s that mean?” Pearse demanded of his father’s shadow.
How was she supposed to know? Grace shot him a sharp glare. “You see about gettin’ the rest of the Semtex.”
This was what she got for relying on the likes of Ed and Pearse.
Zach hadn’t been the one to call Lucy Wednesday night, but for the first ten minutes, he was the one doing all the talking. He kicked his feet up on his brown couch, settling into the perfect spot, the plate with the last of his dinner balanced on chest. “Anything interesting going on at Saint Adelaide?”
“Not as interesting as when you were there.” Her murmur was vague, distracted. “Did I loan you The Courage to Teach?”
“I gave it to you, remember?”
She hemmed. “Sorry. I was hoping you had it, but I think I gave it to Paul.”
There was the real reason she must’ve called. She was probably moping around her place, half-heartedly trying to distract herself with work or a book until her mind wandered off to Paul.
Yeah, he’d been there.
“You have to get out of your apartment.” Zach shook his head, though his sister couldn’t see the gesture. “You’ll go crazy cooped up in there.”
“I’ll go out this weekend.”
Zach polished off his smoked gouda panini. “Sure you will.”
“I will — I even have a date.”
“You do?” He made room on his cluttered coffee table for his plate. Time to do dishes or buy more plates.
Lucy groaned. “Apparently word’s out I’m single now — thanks —”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Right. Anyway, DeShondra’s setting me up with her brother Friday.”
DeShondra from church? “Her brother’s seventeen.”
“The other one, just back from his mission. He’s taking me to Holy Karaoke. The Northwest Side.”
“He must like you already if he’s willing to drive you that far.” Although she probably deserved some terrible blind dates after the last one she’d sent him on, Zach wasn’t about to repay the favor. Yet. Before he could say that, his phone beeped. He glanced at the screen. Molly had texted.
Saints & Suspects Page 19
