by Diane Capri
“Sorry. I’m dead on my feet.” She plopped onto the bed and fell back against the pillows.
He lowered his voice. “You do realize I’m just teasing?”
“I know. But it’s been a long, tough day. I got blown up.”
“What?” His tone was laced with more alarm than she’d meant to cause. “How? Are you okay?”
“The house we were searching exploded. I’m fine. Exhausted. A little worse for wear, but still in one piece.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Two others weren’t so lucky.”
“What do you mean?” She heard him clicking computer keys, probably looking for details on the explosion.
“Two people died in the blast. And a police captain was in a bad way at the scene. I’m not sure what happened with him.” She made a mental note to call the hospital in the morning.
Morris whistled. “You really do have a knack for landing yourself in trouble.”
“Says the man who nearly drowned when he spent two months undercover trying to close down a human trafficking operation.”
“I’m an FBI agent. Risky work comes with the job. Reporters, not so much.”
“Well, you’d better get used to it. Risky work seems to be the norm for me, too.”
He grunted. “You said you had an address for your weapon?”
She read out the gun shop’s details. Morris read them back for verification.
“Whose house were you searching?” The clicking keys had stopped, so he’d probably found the reports in a law enforcement database somewhere.
“Melissa Green. She’s the twin sister of the doctor’s wife that was kidnapped and presumed dead. It was all over the news a while back. We covered it at Taboo when it happened, but it wasn’t my story.”
“Dr. Donald Warner. I remember. They never found the wife’s body. You think her sister was involved in the kidnapping?”
“Don’t know.” Jess closed her eyes, still scratchy and irritated by the smoke from the fire. “But now the sister has disappeared, and today her house blew up.”
“So, maybe she’s suffered the same fate as her sister.” He paused. She heard him sipping something. Coffee, probably. He practically mainlined the stuff.
“Except Dr. Warner is confined in a very secure prison. He can’t even see outside, let alone organize something like an explosion at his sister-in-law’s house.” Her throat was parched. She found a bottle of water and took a long swig.
“How long has Dr. Warner been inside?”
“He was sentenced last year, so he’s been there a while.”
Morris paused to think. “Then he could have set something up from prison, but it’s not as easy to do.”
“But why? And why destroy the sister’s place today?” She sipped the water again. “I mean, if he was going to kill her, why didn’t he do it before he was convicted? Makes no sense to blow up her house today, does it?”
“We have a field office out there. I could ask around.”
She exhaled. His offer was tempting. “Thanks. But not yet.”
“An explosion that leaves people dead probably involves the FBI Explosives Unit, anyway. And I don’t want you to get hurt because we knew something you didn’t.”
“I’m not going to get hurt.” Her words carried very little conviction, though. Today’s near miss was still too close to ignore. If she hadn’t been standing near that refrigerator. She shuddered to think about it.
“I’m not trying to nanny you, Jess.”
She couldn’t get a reply past the lump in her throat. It had been such a long time since a man, any man, worried about her safety. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about his protectiveness, though, so she said nothing.
“Did you get a sample?” he said.
“Of what?”
“Something near the source of the explosion. A good GC could tell you the explosive.”
“GC?”
“Gas Chromatography.”
“Crime scene techs were all over the place when I left.” Jess raked fingers through her short wet curls. “If I have a chance, I’ll try. Meanwhile, you could ask whether your guys are already looking into that issue.”
Her phone buzzed. A local number. “I have another call.”
“No problem. I’ll get your weapon out to you for delivery tomorrow. It sounds like you may need it. Take care, and…keep in touch,” Morris said.
Her hotel room suddenly felt a bit warmer, and she was almost sorry he wasn’t here. “You, too.” She clicked over to the other call. “Jessica Kimball.”
“This is Captain Mercer. Santa Irene Police. I need to ask you a few questions. Is now a good time? I’m downstairs.”
“Let me throw some clothes on. Meet you in the bar in ten minutes.” She slipped off her bathrobe and rummaged through her suitcase.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Monday, May 22
Santa Irene, Arizona
Jess ran the blow-dryer for five minutes and slapped a bit of makeup on before she jumped into her jeans and a sweater and made her way downstairs. The lounge was off the lobby and doubled as a breakfast room in the mornings. Mercer was easy to spot. He was the only customer in the place.
She stopped at the bar for a beer and ordered a hamburger before she approached his table. “How’s Captain Jackson?” She slid into the chair.
“Holding on. Not good, but stable.” Mercer eyed her beer as he raised his coffee mug.
“Buy you one?” She raised the bottle toward him.
He shook his head. “Can’t while I’m on duty.”
She nodded and took a swig. Her throat felt parched as if she’d breathed in flames instead of the smoke this afternoon. “I’m glad to hear about Jackson. I guess that’s as good as we can hope for at the moment.”
“Under the circumstances, it probably is.” He took a deep breath. “At the scene, I didn’t know you were the one who got him out of the fire.”
“I wish I could have done more.” She looked down at the table.
“I’m sure he’ll want to thank you.”
“That’s not necessary. Not at all. Especially with the other families…”
“Right.” He looked away uncomfortably and poured more coffee into his mug from the plastic pot on the table. “It’s going to take some time for them to come to terms with what’s happened.”
“It’s never easy to lose a loved one, no matter how it happens.” Tears sprang to her eyes, and she blinked them back.
Mercer watched her effort to control herself. “I’m sorry. I must have hit a nerve. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s okay. My story’s no secret.” She cleared her throat. “My son, Peter, was taken years ago from my apartment in Denver, when he was an infant. I’ve been looking for him a long time.”
She’d never spent an entire day without missing her little boy, but she didn’t say that to people.
“Is that why you work for Taboo Magazine? Keeping yourself accessible?” Mercer asked.
“Peter might see me. Or a witness might come forward. You never know.” Jess nodded. “I’ve also got a team of investigators on the payroll and a lot of law enforcement friends to help me.”
Mercer cocked his head and studied her a bit before he replied. “I guess you’ve checked with the boy’s father. It’s usually the non-custodial parent in those situations.”
“His father’s deceased.” Jess looked away to gather her composure. Peter’s father had never cared enough about her or his son to bother stealing Peter. But she didn’t say that to people, either.
The silence lasted a while this time while Mercer wrestled with a situation that he couldn’t possibly have words of comfort to resolve. She understood that, too. She’d done her best to comfort others in similar situations, but whatever she had to offer, it was never enough. Nothing but Peter’s return would ever comfort her, either.
Mercer was silent for a few moments, and then he cleared his throat. “One thing that will help my daughter is to f
ind out how that explosion happened. I need answers as fast as I can get them.”
“Of course.” Jess focused on his pudgy face. “How can I help?”
“The other reporters were taking pictures.” He leaned toward her. “How about you?”
“Uh-huh. Outside and in.”
“I need those pictures.”
“No problem.” She nodded. “I can email them to you.”
“Good. Sooner the better. We’re going to be working all night.”
He spelled out his police department email address. Jess copied it down on a tiny pad she’d grabbed off the table by her bedside. “I’ll send them as soon as I go upstairs.”
“Thank you.” Mercer was silent for a moment. “You arrived at Melissa Green’s house before Jackson went inside, correct?”
“A couple of minutes before, yes.”
“And why were you there?”
“She was reported missing. My boss sent me to cover the story.”
“A national magazine comes running for a missing person? Forgive me, but that doesn’t sound very plausible.”
“She is Karen Warner’s sister. The woman who was kidnapped over in Santa Irene two years ago and never found.” She watched as understanding glimmered in his eyes. “Karen Warner’s husband was recently convicted of her murder and the murder of their driver during the kidnapping.”
“Two missing sisters. Unusual, but hardly a story big enough for your magazine, surely?”
Jess smiled. “My editor has a sixth sense about these things.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning he suspected there was more to it than coincidence.” She sipped the beer and considered how much she should tell him. He had access to law enforcement databases, and she didn’t. But was he friend or foe? “He sent me here to find out.”
Mercer grunted, and let the connection between Melissa and her sister pass. “And you were inside the house, at the time of the explosion.”
“Downstairs. In the kitchen.”
“You told one of my officers you were shielded by the refrigerator?”
“That’s the only thing I can figure.”
“Remarkable.”
“Pure luck.”
“Maybe.”
Jess leaned both forearms on the table and held the beer bottle between both palms. “Have you determined what caused the explosion?”
“Not yet. Your pictures might help with that. After we make some headway, we’ll want to talk to you again tomorrow.”
Jess straightened her back. “Are you trying to imply something?”
“Only that I intend to get to the bottom of what happened as quickly as possible.” He pushed away from the table and stood. “I need those pictures. Come to the station tomorrow morning. We’ll see where we are by then.”
She nodded. “I can do that.”
Mercer turned to leave. “Seven o’clock, Miss Kimball. Don’t be late.”
Jess exhaled. Her stomach growled. She’d eat her burger and finish her beer before she went upstairs. She walked to the bar and climbed onto one of the stools to wait for her order.
Mercer was probably under a lot of stress. But did he really consider her actions suspect? If he did, she couldn’t trust him. She was glad she hadn’t told him about the stolen van and the DNA they’d found inside. He’d find out if he bothered to look. But so far, he didn’t seem like the sharpest knife in the drawer.
She looked out the window. The moon was a thin waning crescent, barely visible as it disappeared below the horizon, only a day or two from an invisible new moon. Cars were driving with headlights. Street lights had come on more than an hour ago.
The bartender delivered her burger and a second beer. Both were fantastic. Or maybe she was famished. Either way, she gobbled the food and paid the bill and carried her second beer up to her room.
After she’d located and sent Mercer the photos, she leaned back against the pillows and finished her beer. She was more exhausted than she realized. But Morris was right. Good evidence would go bad quickly. She couldn’t rely on Mercer to share what he learned. Maybe he would. Maybe he wouldn’t. She’d sleep a few hours and then make a plan.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Tuesday, May 23, 12:05 a.m.
Bear Hill, Arizona
Jess woke up just after midnight. She brushed her teeth and slipped into her jeans. In less than twenty minutes, she was behind the wheel of her rental, driving the surface streets out of Bear Hill. She stopped at an all-night gas station and bought a flashlight that advertised itself as “used by the US Secret Army,” although she was sure no such outfit existed.
When she reached the canyon that led to Melissa Green’s house, the street lights abruptly disappeared. She ran the Mustang’s headlights on high beam and slowed as she approached the driveway. The swing gate was closed. Yellow and black police tape wound around the rails. If she removed the tape, Mercer would know.
Jess drove twenty yards past the entrance and parked in a gap in the weeds on the right-hand side of the road.
In the darkness, the road was barely visible. She flipped on her flashlight and immediately shut it off again. It was bright enough to attract attention. Not that there was anyone else around. At least, not anyone she could see. She used the weaker light from her phone to find the easiest way to scale the gate without damaging the police tape.
The driveway slope seemed steeper than she remembered as she moved cautiously forward on foot. When she reached the canopy of trees, the darkness was complete. She heard rustling leaves but saw no movement.
Don’t be so jumpy. Just the wind. Or a raccoon. Or something.
She kept the illumination from her phone directed straight down to work her way around the larger potholes. Animals scurried into the undergrowth as she approached.
Halfway up the drive, she judged herself to be far enough from the road and switched to the flashlight. The stronger beam highlighted thin tree trunks and sparse undergrowth, probably the result of low rainfall.
She picked up her pace, and by the time she reached the area where the driveway leveled out into the space where the house had been, she’d worked up a sweat.
She looked at the rubble in the near darkness. “What the hell?” she whispered.
A yellow light flickered toward the rear of the open area. Flames? Her skin tingled. She punched her flashlight off.
Had the fire reignited? Something in the rubble might have remained hot enough to eat through to find something else faster burning.
She jogged along the edges of the rubble toward the flicker. When she was close enough, she saw flames illuminating the pile of stuff that had once been Melissa Green’s kitchen. The kitchen might have been the only place where combustibles remained.
She fished her phone out of her pocket and dialed 9-1-1.
As she watched, the flames grew. She imagined she could feel the heat all the way across the open space.
Her phone bleeped. Call failed appeared in the display. She punched 9-1-1 again. Again, the call failed to connect, and she gave up when she saw something move behind the flames.
She crept closer, wishing she had her gun. The only weapon in her hand was the flashlight. Beyond the flickering flames she saw a figure. It looked like a man wearing a dark jacket. He was crouched, turning his head back and forth, scanning the ground in Jess’s direction.
Did you hear me?
Jess knelt in the shadows. He was closer to the fire. The light from the flames would most likely diminish his night vision.
He stood up. Definitely a man. He was at least six feet tall and muscular. He whipped his head around as if he’d heard an unexpected noise and Jess glimpsed the flick of a ponytail.
She eased backward into the darkness. He had been watching the fire, right up close. Too close. She felt the gooseflesh pop up on her arms. This fire was no secondary ignition from the earlier embers. He had purposely re-ignited what little was left of Melisa Green’s house. He’d done it at night
when he thought no one would see him.
But why? The place had been reduced to a pile of junk already. She angled for the edge of the clearing.
Her phone buzzed in her hand. An incoming call. She fumbled for the mute switch. The ringer sounded, shrill and loud in the still night air. The display lit up.
The man must have heard. He spun in her direction and half a moment later, a gunshot shattered the silence.
Jess dove for the trees. She ran headlong into the undergrowth and put a broad tree trunk between her and the man.
A distant voice came from her phone. An emergency operator returning her failed call. Jess whipped the phone to her ear and rattled off a plea for help. The operator urged her to remain still, and stay on the line.
Jess agreed. She left the line open and placed the phone on the ground. She’d locked the display to be sure it continued to glow brightly.
She could hear the rustle of long grass as he came closer.
She moved deeper into the trees, traveling as quietly as possible. She headed up the hill. He was heading downward, toward the visible glow from her phone.
She looked back toward the house. The fire he’d started had found enough fuel to feed itself from a campfire to a raging bonfire. The entire flat space where the home had been was surrounded by a sickly glow. But the flames mesmerized with a vivid blue corona surrounded by the bright yellow heat.
She heard a noise. She dragged her gaze from the flames and saw the man only thirty feet away now. She held her breath and waited behind a tree.
The man’s silhouette cast a flickering shadow into the woods. He moved closer with his attention focused on the phone.
A siren sounded in the distance, and its wail echoed down the canyon.
He must have heard the siren at the same time Jess did. He abandoned his careful progress and ran full out for the phone. He held his gun in front and rounded the nearest tree, firing as he ran.
The shots shook the trees. Wildlife took flight. Jess held her arms in front of her face and bounded up the hill in the opposite direction.
She looked over her shoulder as she ran. He was searching the area around her phone with a flashlight.
