by Dee Davis
His mind played and replayed the image of Payton Reynolds with his hands and mouth all over her. He’d only seen a glimpse, but his mind supplied the rest, and the images gagged him, the idea of their coupling so base that it was almost beyond comprehension.
He wasn’t certain who it was he wanted to hurt the most. Samantha for her betrayal, or Reynolds for daring to touch what belonged to him. Not that it mattered, because they’d both have to pay.
A frond of cedar slapped him in the face, but J.T. pushed onward, telling himself it was the branch that had caused his tears, that no one, not even Samantha, had the power to make him cry.
He pulled in a breath, arriving at the bottom of the hill and his well-hidden car, his mind already working out a solution to his problem, a way to find retribution and still keep to his plan. It wasn’t that he wanted Samantha. Not in that way. But she was his soul mate, and J.T. couldn’t stand the thought of Reynolds rutting on top of her like a bull in heat. He shuddered at the memory, his heart skipping a beat.
He fumbled with his keys, almost dropping them, the lights of an oncoming car sweeping across the road. There was no way anyone could see him, but J.T. stepped back anyway, the action helping to center him.
He never should have come. He’d known better than to give in to his need. It was a hungry thing, never satisfied, and if he allowed it to gain control he had no doubt that he’d be destroyed.
As soon as the headlights faded away, J.T. slid into his car and started the ignition, repeating his mantra over and over, the refrain working to still the demons within him, to soothe the sleeping dragon.
He had been tested, certainly. Samantha, too.
But where she had failed, he had triumphed.
Every action had consequences. It was part of life’s circle. And unfortunately for Samantha, sometimes the consequences were lethal.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
SAM SCANNED THE PHOTOS the Abilene PD had sent, finally finding the one she wanted. An old pal had already called to say that they’d found the Tai, but she needed to see it with her own eyes.
The mark was similar to the one at the Prager, the fine edges much more refined than those on the Bryan bomb. She’d been reading about yin and yang, trying to find some way to fit the idea into the scheme of things. Originally she’d been thinking about the senators, but now she was working to put the information she’d gleaned into the context of her own life.
The obvious answer was something to do with good and evil, the two opposites as part of a continuum. Elliot had hit on the idea, and she hadn’t ever really let it go. Refining the thought a bit, it was possible to see the link between someone who made bombs and someone who defused them.
There was certainly a circle of sorts there. But it didn’t feel right. There had to be something more, something that specifically tied her to the killer. But despite the fact that she’d been working on the problem all morning, she hadn’t come up with a damn thing.
Cullen had asked Payton and Gabe to accompany him to a briefing for key government officials, obviously feeling the need for reinforcements. Nigel had gone along for the ride. The plan was to keep things focused on the senators and their pork-barreling scheme. Walter’s death could be explained by his involvement in the investigation, along with Elliot’s. Her mother’s supposed death was attributed to an attempt to warn Sam to stay away from the investigation.
There were holes in the theory, certainly, but with the added information about Senator Walker’s involvement, attention would hopefully turn to Washington. At least for the moment. Anyway, she was delighted she hadn’t been drafted to attend.
Payton’s stoicism would no doubt be quite useful in that kind of situation. She smiled at the thought, the memory of his far-from-stoic performance last night still resonating inside her. There was undeniably a physical connection between them. But there was more than just that, and last night Payton had proved it with his actions, if not his words. It might not have been an out-and-out declaration of love, but there’d been a breakthrough. Enough to give her hope.
And hope was a powerful thing.
“You verify the Tai Chi?” Harrison asked, slipping up behind her, his gaze curious.
“Yeah.” She held out the photograph for him to see.
Madison looked up from the printout she was studying. “So it’s definite?”
“Looks like it.” Harrison stared down at the photo in his hand and then looked up at Sam. “Makes all the hypothesizing yesterday seem pretty damn accurate.”
“I don’t know if I’m relieved that we found it or disappointed,” Sam admitted with a sigh, rubbing the small of her back.
“Probably both,” Madison said. “You’d be some sort of automaton if you weren’t just a little bit worried about this guy.”
“More than a little actually.” Sam took the photos from Harrison, and laid them on the lab table. “I mean he’s got all the advantages. He knows the rules and I don’t. It’s not exactly a fair competition.”
“You’ll rise to the occasion,” Harrison said. “I’ve seen you in action.”
“I wish it were that easy.” Sam shook her head. “But without knowing who this guy is, or understanding what the hell is driving him, there’s no way on earth to predict his next move.”
“We’re closer than we were a couple of days ago,” Madison said, waving the printout. “With this we’ve at least got a chance of finding him.”
“Any luck?” Sam asked, her skepticism evident in the tone of her voice. Madison and Harrison had been running names, trying to find someone who’d been present in Bryan, Abilene and San Antonio when she’d been there.
“Not as much as I’d like.” Madison shrugged. “But I have managed to rule out Henry Norton. According to the folks in Abilene, he died two years ago of a heart attack.”
“Was he still in Eula?”
“Yeah. Same house, even. Anyway, we can cross him off the list. Unfortunately that’s all I’ve got so far. I had two matches between Abilene and the FBI seminar, but no tie-in to the university.” She pushed a notepad in Sam’s direction. “I wrote them down anyway. Harrison’s checking details just in case. Either of the names jump out at you?”
Sam glanced at the sheet of paper, recognizing both names. “I just got off the phone with Joe Franklin. He’s senior officer on Abilene’s bomb squad. I’ve worked with him off and on over the years. No way it’s him.”
“We can’t discount anyone, Sam.” Madison’s expression turned serious.
“I know. But it isn’t Joe. I’ve seen him work. The guy is all about taking bombs apart, not constructing them. Besides, he’s happily married. Three kids last I heard. It just doesn’t fit your profile.”
“What about the other one? Randy Howson?”
Sam frowned down at the name. “He worked arson for the fire department. I didn’t really know him all that well. We served on a task force together once. The arson angle would explain why he was at the seminar in San Antonio, though. There’s a lot of crossover between fires and explosions.”
“You’ve got a good memory,” Madison nodded.
“And we’ve got nothing,” Harrison said, pulling a fax off the computer. “I checked on both of them. And you’re right about Joe Franklin, he seems to be held in high respect, especially by his family. Howson is more of a loner, but he left Abilene about three years ago to take a job in Fargo, North Dakota.”
“Kind of a long way to come for a vendetta.”
“Yeah. According to his boss, he hasn’t had time off in a couple of months.”
“So that’s it then.” Sam ran a frustrated hand through her hair.
“Maybe not. I’ve been thinking about what Madison said about the bomber wanting to hang around engineering students,” Harrison said, his brow furrowed in thought. “And it occurred to me that maybe we were being too narrow in our search.”
“There’s certainly truth in that,” Sam said, anger mixing with frustration. “When you get ri
ght down to it, it could be almost anyone. Someone I worked with, someone I put away, hell, the guy who bags my groceries.”
“It’s not quite that broad,” Harrison said with a smile, and Sam was immediately embarrassed by her outburst.
“Sorry. Guess I’m a little more tightly strung than I’d like to admit.” She shot Harrison and Madison a crooked smile.
“No problem. Comes with the territory.” Harrison as usual took everything in stride, and Sam found herself wondering if he ever got ruffled. “Anyway, I was thinking that it might help if we got a list of the employees at the Blue Goose around the time that Sam was there. Maybe one of them had a particular interest in engineering. Specifically, wiring things to go boom,” Harrison said, his eyebrows rising to emphasize the last word.
“So let me see the list.” Madison reached out to take the sheet from Harrison, scanning it almost before she had possession. “Hang on.” She picked up the printout, flipping a couple pages in. “There’s a match here. At least to Abilene.” She scrunched her nose, as she flipped to the end of the report, her mouth screwing up with disappointment as she kept reading. “The name doesn’t match with anyone at the seminar.”
“So maybe we’re being too narrow there, too?” Sam asked, her gaze meeting Harrison’s.
“Maybe,” he said. “What’s the name?”
Madison consulted the list. “James Riker.”
Harrison walked over to the phone, and dialed, turning his back on them when someone answered, one hand over his ear.
“The name ring any bells, Sam?” Madison asked. “According to this, he was a bartender at the Blue Goose for about six months during what would have been your senior year.”
Sam shook her head. “Never heard of him. But then I wasn’t exactly making time with the staff at the bar. What did he do in Abilene?”
“He’s just listed as part of the department.” She thumbed through the printout. “No wait a minute, he’s listed as working in the evidence room.”
“No memory of him. Sorry.” She chewed the side of her lip, running the name through her brain to no avail.
“Well, it’s still something we should pursue,” Harrison said, hanging up the phone with a smile.
“So what’d you find?” Sam asked with a smile. Harrison was like a dog with a bone when it came to ferreting out information.
“Well, I figured not registering for the seminar didn’t rule out his being at the Prager at the same time.”
“So you called for the records.”
“Yup, and considering their recent loss of property, they were only too willing to help.” He reached over to the fax machine and took a sheet before it could drop into the tray. “I give you one James Riker.” He held the piece of paper out to Sam, bending at the waist with the aplomb of an overexuberant butler.
She took the sheet, scanning the registry card. “This lists an address in Houston.” She looked up, her troubled gaze meeting Madison’s.
“Surprise surprise. The same town you were living in. I’d say we’ve moved a ways away from simple coincidence.”
“Except that I’ve got absolutely no memory of this guy. None at all. Is there a picture?”
“No,” Harrison and Madison answered together.
“But I’ll get to work on it.” Harrison was already heading toward the operations room and his computer. “Along with a current address.”
“Whose address are we looking for?” Payton dodged Harrison as he passed, his dark brows raised in question, Gabe following right behind him.
“We think we’ve found someone who fits the profile. At least with regard to location.” Madison stood up to give Gabe a hug, and Sam felt a wash of envy at the ease with which the two of them expressed their feelings.
“Someone you know?” Payton had moved to stand beside her, his eyes, if not his actions, reflecting the fact that he cared.
“No.” She shook her head. “At least not by name. He evidently was a bartender at the Blue Goose.”
“And an evidence clerk in Abilene,” Madison added. “We’ve also got him staying at the Prager at the same time that Sam was there.” She handed the faxed copy of the registration to Gabe. “What we don’t know is why he was there, or how any of this connects to Sam.”
“That’s where Harrison was going in such a hurry,” Gabe said with a smile.
“Got it in one.” Sam nodded. “How was the press conference?”
“Cullen was magnificent, as usual. And totally full of shit,” Payton said, but instead of his usual cynicism toward the man, there was actually a note of genuine amusement. “And more importantly, I think the media bought it.”
“For now,” Gabe said.
“Where’s Nigel?” Madison asked, her hand linked with her husband’s. “He didn’t leave without saying goodbye?”
“Actually he’s staying.” Payton sounded pleased with the fact, which meant that at least some of the problems between them were on the mend. “He seems to think he can help us.”
“I say the more the merrier.” Gabe, too, seemed pleased that Nigel wasn’t heading back to London. “Anyway, he’s still with Cullen. The two of them have a meeting with a bunch of politicos. I think Cullen thought Nigel’s international connections would impress them.” His wry expression saying exactly what he thought of the notion.
“How you doing?” Payton’s words were for her ears only, the question about more than just the case.
“Except for the fact that some lunatic is tormenting me, I’m doing pretty good.” She smiled up at him. Whatever happened, she wasn’t going to regret spending time with Payton. Life was about taking chances, and while she did it every day in her professional life, she’d opted for the safe route in her personal life, but Payton had made her realize she wanted something more, and the intimacy of his gaze made her believe that it might just be possible.
But first she needed to find this James Riker and put an end to his games once and for all.
“Did you find a picture?” Madison’s voice pulled Sam out of her daydreams and she turned around to find that Harrison was back.
“Nope. No dirt either. Although I’ll keep digging. But I’ve got something that just might be a way to skip that whole process and get our information straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. I traced our Mr. Riker through a series of forwarding addresses, some concealed better than others. A couple in Houston, three in Virginia, and this latest one—just outside Austin. Place called Liberty Hill.” He held a slip of paper out to Sam.
“Seems like maybe it’s time to pay Mr. Riker a visit.” Payton said, his muscles tensing in anticipation, the hunter readying himself for the hunt.
THE HOUSE WASN’T actually in Liberty Hill. It was off a county highway, at the end of an unpaved, rutted road that wound its way through the cedar and scrub of the Texas hill country. In springtime, the countryside would be covered with bluebonnets and Indian paintbrushes, but the rains were gone now, and the land was dusty and dry, the heat rising in waves off the hard-packed clay road.
They’d left their cars a half mile back or so, not wanting to spook Riker—if he was there. Personally, Payton had his doubts. This was going down entirely too easy. Madison’s take was that the man wanted Sam to find him, that that had been the plan from the beginning.
In some sick way, Payton supposed, it made sense, but he still didn’t like the feel of it. The guy had been toying with them from the beginning. First by leading them all over the country to clean up his handiwork, and then leaving puzzle pieces for them to try and put together.
If this was a game, then Payton didn’t believe for an instant it was going to end with an arrest at some farmhouse in the middle of fucking nowhere. But that didn’t mean they weren’t treating the possibility seriously. He tightened his grip on his assault rifle, signaling Gabe and Nigel to advance.
They’d split up to cover the house more effectively, Sam backing him up as they edged forward. It was odd working with her this way,
part of him wanting her to stay at the operation room with Madison and Harrison, and the other part delighting in the fact that she was as competent out here as she was at a bomb site. They worked together as if they’d been doing it for years rather than days. He motioned toward a stand of brush up ahead, and she nodded in acknowledgement.
The house was a low-slung affair, probably built in the twenties or thirties. It had definitely seen better days, needing a new roof and a coat of paint. But for all that, it was clean, the yard cleared of brush and graveled in, partially surrounded by an adobe wall. Despite the obvious Mexican influence, the place had a Zen feel about it, the gravel garden in particular. There were fresh rake marks, and everything was arranged strategically around a central statue.
From here Payton couldn’t determine for certain but he thought it might be a Buddha, which supported the fact that they’d come to the right place. The Tai Chi was only part of a greater philosophy and Riker at least from first glance seemed to have more than a passing acquaintance with the I Ching.
Gabe indicated that he and Nigel were heading around the back. Payton nodded, following Sam to the right side of the adobe wall. There was an arched gate, and a pathway leading to the front door. With a tilt of the head, Payton signaled that they should move.
Leading the way, his rifle held ready, Payton stepped up onto the front porch with Sam right behind him. They flanked the door, backs to the wall, and Payton reached over to knock, the sound hollow as it echoed through the house.
Nothing moved, even the air was still, the only sound the mockingbirds in the juniper. Payton reached for the door handle and turned it, then used his foot to push the door wide, swinging into the opening, ready for attack.
“Clear.” He spoke both to Sam and the microphone that connected him to Gabe and Nigel. He stepped into the room, rifle still at the ready, Sam following him, pivoting to check the corners, her gun hand steady.
