by Dee Davis
But apparently the fat man wasn’t buying. “Do you have any idea who I am?” The man was trying to wave his arm again, despite the two men holding him, his eyes disappearing into his face as he squinted up at the officer holding him. “I own most of this fucking city.” The man’s words were slurred, but Sam got the gist of it, her heart rate immediately slowing.
They were dealing with a drunk.
“I wanna talk to the semator, righ’ now.” The man nodded toward the dais, his voice loud enough that people at the back tables were beginning to turn and look.
The security guy motioned to the policeman with a tilt of his head, and the two of them physically dragged the man out into the hallway. Sam followed, checking the perimeter again as she walked toward the door. Payton’s gaze met hers across the room, and he nodded once. He’d obviously seen what was going on, and would take over coordination between teams until she came back into the room.
In the hallway, two uniformed policemen were in the process of cuffing the man. Still agitated, he weaved back and forth, yelling that heads were going to roll.
“You guys recognize him?” Sam asked the tuxedoed police officer, as he walked over to her.
“Winston Belker.” The man grimaced. “Permanent pain in the ass. He’s a local nut job. Shows up at political functions. Usually drunk and always pissed off about something. Most times he doesn’t do more than mouth off a little too loudly. A night in the tank will cool him off.”
“Most times?” Sam queried, not willing to take even the slightest chance that Belker could be involved.
The officer shrugged. “Sometimes he hits someone. More often than not some poor schmuck on the job. Fortunately, he never manages to get off more than a punch or so.”
“So in your opinion, besides the pain-in-the-ass factor, this guy is harmless.”
“Yup. Just a big mouth with a drinking problem, and enough money to cause problems.”
“Fine,” Sam said torn between relief and restlessness. She’d wanted things to come to a head, and part of her had hoped Belker would provide the key. “See that someone escorts him all the way to the station.”
“No problem there.” The policeman smiled. “I’ve had about enough of this bullshit anyway.” He tipped his head toward the speaker in the hallway broadcasting Walker’s speech. The man was still at it. “Seems like this has just been a huge waste of time.”
Her sentiments exactly, but she wasn’t about to admit it to a stranger, no matter whose side he was on. “Thanks for your help.” She nodded to the two officers still holding the now-cowed Belker, and turned to head back into the ballroom. Maybe this would be the sum total of the excitement for the night.
Inside, the senator was saying something funny. Or at least the audience was laughing.
“Everything okay?” Payton’s voice slid down her spine like warm butter. Even as tense as she was, she reacted to his nearness. Or maybe the tension was part and parcel of the attraction. No time to analyze it now.
“Yeah. Just a drunk. Locals were familiar with him. Nothing to do with our business.”
Payton nodded. “Everyone’s checked in and nothing’s out of place.”
“Maybe nothing’s going to happen. Or maybe this is some kind of a ruse. Something to keep our attention diverted from the real target.” The idea had been growing for about the last hour, but putting it into words made Sam feel sick. She hated having her chain jerked, and this guy was turning out to be really good at it.
“I don’t know why he’d need a diversion,” Payton said, his eyes narrowing as he considered the idea. “I mean, hell, we wouldn’t have known where else to go anyway.”
“Not a very flattering portrayal of our abilities.”
Payton shrugged. “Unfortunately it’s the truth. The only logic we’ve been able to find in all of this is the senators and their scheming. That makes Walker either a part of the solution or the problem and either way, our best lead.”
“And since it doesn’t seem to be panning out?”
“We say thanks that the man is still in one piece, and head back to the drawing board. Certainly it’d be worth a little more investigation into Senator Walker to make certain he’s telling us the truth about being on board with Ruckland. But as I said before, my gut is telling me he’s on the level.”
“So we’re back to square one.”
Payton smiled down at her, his gaze rueful. “I’m not sure we were ever at square one.”
“Great.” Sam laughed, surprised at how much her tension eased with the action. “So now we’re working from negative numbers.”
“I guess we have to start somewhere.”
Sam’s radio crackled to life, and she turned her attention to the teams reporting in, watching as Senator Walker waved his hands at the two monitors over his head. She half listened to him talking about his new campaign commercials, and half listened as everyone systematically called in the all-clear.
The monitors flickered to life, and Sam frowned as the somewhat fuzzy picture of a suburban home filled the screens. The picture wavered for a moment, disappeared in static, and then reappeared, much clearer.
There was no soundtrack other than street noise around the house, some of it muffled by microphone feedback. Walker fumbled with the mike, and an aide hopped up to turn it off, the high-pitched humming stopping immediately. They turned to look at the screen, Walker angry, the aide clearly puzzled, and the audience began to whisper restlessly, all eyes still glued to the monitors.
It took a minute for Sam to realize what it was she was seeing, and her heart hit her stomach with a sickening thud, her knees buckling, even as her fingers tried desperately to remember how to make the buttons on her headset work.
“Sam?” Payton was beside her, his strong arm giving her renewed support.
She tried to wrench her eyes away from the screen, to tell him what was happening, but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t.
“Talk to me.” It was his tone, more than his words, that finally reached her. She fought against the fear-induced paralysis holding her hostage.
“It’s my mother, Payton.” Sam said, pointing numbly at the screen. “That’s her house.”
As if waiting for her cue, smoke and flame filled the screens, the sound of the blast following a nanosecond later, the audience’s screams ringing in her ears.
The other shoe had fallen.
CHAPTER TWENTY
IT LOOKED LIKE a war zone or the aftermath of a terror attack. Instead it was suburban Albuquerque, the Sandia mountains rising black against the night sky, an odd backdrop to the remaining smoke and fire.
The house had been destroyed. Unlike the bomb in Virginia, this one had been meant to annihilate, the visual as much a part of the package as the destruction. Payton stood next to Sam, who was issuing orders in an automated voice that said a hell of a lot about her state of mind. In truth, he was amazed that she was still functioning.
After the spectacle at the fund-raiser, the scene had been pandemonium. The social elite, running for the exits, security and police scrambling to try and find out where the feed had come from. It turned out to be simple. The small matter of some switched wires and a cable feed. Nothing that would have been noticed in a bomb search.
The camera on site had of course been sent to trace in the hopes that there would be a fingerprint or DNA evidence, but Payton wasn’t holding his breath. This guy hadn’t come so far by making elementary mistakes.
Hell, he’d been leading them around by the nose. Playing with the facts, setting the team up as easily as if they’d been cattle on the way to slaughter. And now he’d destroyed Sam. Taken her expertise and played it back against her. Killing her mother in a blatant attempt to show his superiority.
So far there had been no way to ascertain if there were bodies inside. But the two smoldering cars in what was left of the garage left little doubt. A partial plate identified one as Ruth Cramer’s and Sam had ID’d the Saab as her mother’s.
Despite the show of bravado, it was clear that she was hanging on by a thread. He could see it in the lines on her face, the creases around her eyes and the way her shoulders sagged when she thought no one was looking. It took everything he had not to pull her into his arms.
But he knew from experience that if he touched her, she could shatter. And he didn’t want to do anything that would threaten her control. At least not here—not now. He clenched a fist, his anger needing physical release.
If he ever found the bastard, he was going to take great pleasure in making him pay for what he’d done. Not that it would undo the damage. Payton had played the revenge game before and knew that it didn’t bring anyone back. But at least for a moment or two it provided release—and reset the balance.
Justice might be blind, but Payton’s vision was just fine.
He’d called the team in San Antonio, and Gabe was on the way, Cullen figuring rightly that someone less involved would bring a clearer head. Harrison and Madison had wanted to come, too, but he’d convinced them that it was more important to have someone managing the operations there.
As soon as things cleared here, Sam would want the fragments sent to Austin. He knew her well enough to know that no amount of grief was going to stop her from finding the man behind this. She’d work night and day if she had to. All of which meant that their time in Albuquerque was limited. And frankly, the sooner he got her away from here, the better.
Standing there watching her mother’s house burn to ashes wasn’t something that she needed to see. Despite her professional involvement, it was too damn personal. Payton knew. He’d been there before, and he’d have given his life to somehow prevent the hell she was going through.
One of the bomb techs was walking toward her now, looking otherworldly in his Hazmat suit. He pushed back the visor, his face absurdly young. Payton read the expression in his eyes and hurried across to intercept him before he could reach Sam, but she’d seen him, too, and was making a beeline. They arrived at the same time.
She’d changed into a blue jumpsuit with the bomb squad’s name stenciled on the back. The thing was about two sizes too big, and even with the sleeves and pant legs rolled up, it dwarfed her, making her seem fragile.
“What did you find?” There was an undercurrent of steel in her voice that dispelled any notion of weakness. She was one hell of a woman.
The tech shot a questioning look at Payton, who nodded slightly. Sam caught the interchange, anger flashing in her eyes. “I don’t need mollycoddling. And I’ll thank you both to remember that.”
Payton shrugged, unapologetic. He’d be damned if he was just going to go about business as usual. He’d just have to get better at running interference.
Sam turned to the tech again, repeating her question, this time as an order. “Tell me what you found.”
The kid stared down at his feet, then lifted his gaze to meet hers. “We found evidence of two bodies. Some tissue and bones. From the placement I’d say they’d been watching television.”
Sam swallowed, the muscles in her throat convulsing, but except for the telltale motion, her face remained tightly shuttered. “Did you identify a seat?”
“Yeah.” The tech motioned toward what had been the living room. “Looks like the blast emanated from the area around the television. We’ve got definite blast pattern, but we won’t be able to establish the cause until we get the fragments back to the lab.”
“My lab,” Sam said, her eyes narrowed as she assessed the scene. “Is the M.E. on his way?”
“Her way,” the tech corrected. “She gave an ETA of about fifteen minutes.”
Sam nodded. “I want to know cause of death as soon as possible. And I need ID on the…bodies.”
She stumbled over the last word, and Payton gave the kid a curt nod, motioning him to move on. He reached out to grab Sam’s elbow, steadying her for a moment before releasing her. “You don’t have to do this. There are other people here who can handle it.”
“Not as well as I can,” she snapped, stepping away from him. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get in there for a firsthand look.”
“I don’t think—” He reached out to stop her, but she batted his arm away, marching off in the direction the tech had gone. A part of his heart shuddered at the thought of what she was about to witness. No child should have to see a parent die. And thanks to some madman out there, that’s exactly what Sam had had to endure, and now to add salt to the wound, she had to view the remains.
The world was sometimes too fucking cruel to believe.
He started to follow her, but stopped when he saw an altercation breaking out at the police barrier holding gawkers and the press at bay. Although he could only see the back of the policeman on guard, it was apparent that someone was trying to get past him. The officer held his ground, but from the sounds of the crowd, it was also evident that whoever was trying to get in wasn’t about to give up.
He moved closer, partly from curiosity, partly to lend a hand should it be necessary. It wasn’t unheard of for a bomber to turn up at the site of his handiwork. That kind of behavior was more likely from an arsonist, but there were certain personality similarities here.
Payton moved around a bomb squad tech who was busy photographing the scene, and headed for the barrier. It wasn’t easy going, as the street in front of the house was littered with debris, some of it quite large. He stepped over a beam from the roof, shingles still attached, and headed for the altercation, still in progress.
The officer was getting agitated now, waving his hands, his tone threatening. Payton still couldn’t see the person on the other side of the tape. But he could hear the voice.
Female.
Some premonition set his brain in gear, and he traveled the rest of the distance in seconds, coming to a stop beside the officer, his gaze locked on the woman standing on the other side of the tape. “What’s going on here?”
“This lady refuses to stay behind the line. I’ve told her repeatedly that only authorized personnel can come past this point, but she keeps insisting.”
Payton searched her face for some sign that he was right, a twist of the head, the color of her hair—something. She fit the age requirement. “Who are you?” he asked, ignoring the policeman and cutting to the chase.
“My name is Elizabeth Waters. And this is my house.” Her eyes flashed in anger, the faded blue the exact color of her daughter’s.
“Let her through,” Payton ordered, his gaze still locked on Sam’s mother.
The officer shot Payton an argumentative look, then evidently changed his mind, opening the barrier. The woman breathed the word thank you and was by him, running toward the house calling her daughter’s name.
Payton sprinted after her, his heart stopping at the sight of Sam turning toward her mother, her expression first one of disbelief, and then, slowly, incredulity turning to joy. She ran to close the distance between herself and her mother, throwing herself into her arms with the abandon of a child. The two women embraced, mother and daughter locked together in reunion.
The killer was still out there. Two more notches on his belt. But Elizabeth Waters wasn’t one of them. Whether it was an oversight, a twist of fate, or intentional, Payton had no way of knowing. And for the moment he didn’t care. All that mattered was that the haunted look was gone from Sam’s face.
At least, for now, things were right again in her world. Later she’d want retribution. For what had almost happened. For the two people who lay dead in the hollow shell of what had once been her mother’s house.
But for right now, she simply wanted to feel her mother breathing. To know that the horror of the pas
t few hours had been an awful mistake. That a miracle had occurred and her mother was alive.
Payton knew exactly what she was feeling. Or at least how he’d imagined it a million times. Nights when he’d wake suddenly from his nightmares, hoping against hope that it had all been nothing more than a bad dream. That Kevin was only a phone call away, and that Mariam would be sleeping next to him.
But for Payton there’d been no miracle.
Which, in some perverse way made Sam’s that much sweeter.
“I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE IT.” Sam was sitting across from her mother in a corporate suite Cullen had arranged. Typical of his usual attention to detail, the place was a palace, obviously the best Albuquerque had to offer. In addition to other amenities, it was situated on the top floor of a megasecurity high-rise.
With the added protection of the two guards outside, Sam felt certain that her mother was safe. Gabe and Payton hadn’t been as positive, hounding them like shadows for the first hour or so since they’d arrived. But Sam had finally convinced them both that she and her mother needed a little privacy, and that had done the trick.
Although she’d heard Payton threatening the poor guy at the door with his life if he so much as let a fly past the door. Sam contained a smile. Despite the seriousness of the situation facing them, she couldn’t seem to stop smiling.
When she’d seen the explosion on the monitor a part of her had died, her only thought all the things she wished she’d said to her mother. And now here they were sitting together and all Sam could do was babble about how happy she was.
“I’m not so sure I’m taking it all in either,” her mother said, reaching for Sam’s hand. “But I’m guessing the shock I had was nothing compared to yours.”
Sam shook her head. “You lost everything.”
“It’s not the same as if I’d thought I’d lost you.” Their gazes met and held, and Sam smiled through her tears.
“But I’m here and you’re here, and…” Sam sobered, thinking of the two people who had lost their lives.
