by Mary Alford
“I take it you expect me to just hang around while you do as you please.”
“Why not? I’m no criminal.”
The unwavering look she was giving him as she spoke demonstrated determination. And she was right. Law enforcement had nothing on her, personally. He’d merely hoped that some small fact she didn’t even think was important would point the way to more of the Dupree associates, perhaps even to herself, although at this juncture he viewed the young woman as more of a pawn in a crooked chess game than a true player.
Blowing out a breath, he conceded. “Okay. Do you want any help?”
“No. The less noise I make, the less likely I’ll be noticed. It’s a big house and when my father works on his accounts he always shuts the den door.”
“All right. I’ll wait in the car.”
As soon as she started toward the garden leading to the nearest door of the ranch-style home, Max turned back to his SUV. There was something appealing about Katerina Garwood; something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. She was far too young for him, of course. It was too bad she hadn’t been born ten years earlier.
Max’s thirty-three wasn’t exactly ancient but there were times when he felt like Methuselah, particularly when he and his team failed to prevent mayhem.
Movement at the edge of his peripheral vision snapped him around. Now what was she up to?
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” he called.
Turning to walk backward, Katerina waved. “I left some empty boxes in my truck. I’ll be right back.”
“Sure, you will,” Max muttered. He wasn’t taking any chances that she’d try to flee so he fired up his SUV, made a U-turn and headed for the main gate to block it. If worse came to worst and she got away from him he could always call for backup, but it would sure be embarrassing.
* * *
Katerina paused to watch his maneuvers. The man was paranoid. What did he think she was going to do, try to outrun his powerful vehicle in her little ol’ pickup truck? Talk about David and Goliath.
“Yes, but David won,” she mused, happy to have been reminded of a Bible story where the seemingly weaker combatant triumphed in spite of everything.
Before she had time to pivot and continue on her previous path toward the stable, an intense light flashed.
She instinctively ducked and covered her head with her arms.
Her eardrums felt as if she had plunged to the depths of the sea. Debris hit her as the blast concussion sent her—and pieces of one of the barns—flying.
Landing on the hard-packed dirt with the realization that a building had exploded, her last conscious thought was for the well-being of her favorite mare, and others. “Thank You, God. Moonlight is safe with Heath.”
* * *
Max’s heart was in his throat. Nothing in the files had suggested that Katerina was involved in the recent rash of bombings, nor had there been any threats against the ranch. Not that he knew of, anyway.
He was running toward her as he called 9-1-1, identified himself and reported the explosion. “At the Garwood Ranch. That’s right. Between South Fork and Groveland. Send an ambulance and the fire department. I see a lot of smoke.”
Dropping the phone on the littered ground beside Katerina he fell to his knees and began to check her over. “Lie still. Don’t move. An ambulance is on the way.”
She moaned and shifted position.
Max held her shoulders gently but firmly. “I said don’t move. You could have broken bones or spinal damage.” He could tell by the way her eyelids fluttered that she was only half-conscious. That was the worst time for exacerbating injuries. Out cold she wouldn’t move. Conscious, she’d probably try to do as she was told.
People were running to evacuate frantic horses from the remaining, undamaged barns. Dogs circled and barked, adding to the mayhem. A heavyset man stomped across the dirt drive. He was wearing boots, a Western shirt and hat, and jeans belted with the biggest gold buckle Max had ever seen.
“Who are you?” the man bellowed.
“Max West, FBI. You must be Bertrand Garwood.”
“Smart man. What’re you doing on my ranch?” He pointed at the prone figure of his daughter. “And what is she doing here?”
The coldness of the older man almost gave Max the shivers. No wonder Katerina didn’t want to face him. Well, he wasn’t backing down. Although he couldn’t safely release her until paramedics arrived he looked up and glared. “Your daughter is unconscious, Mr. Garwood. I’m not certain how bad her injuries may be. I don’t see any bleeding other than a split lip so she may have escaped the worst of the blast. It’s too soon to tell for sure.”
“Just get that trash out of here as soon as you can.” He started to turn away. “I’ve got valuable livestock to see to.”
If Max had not been busy tending to Katerina he might have resorted to language he hadn’t been tempted to use in ages. What a pompous excuse for a parent Garwood was.
Max gazed down at the injured young woman and gently stroked strands of honey-blond hair off her forehead. There was a first aid kit in his car but he didn’t dare leave her unattended to fetch it. Close by in the SUV, his trained K-9, Opal, was using her deep boxer bark to alert the world to danger, even though the worst of it was probably over.
As soon as the ambulance and fire department arrived, Max planned to assert authority and insist that he and his K-9 partner perform a bomb sweep for additional devices. It was his job—and Opal’s—to ensure no one else got hurt without actually revealing the overarching mission. It was going to be tricky to investigate Kowalski’s crimes without exhibiting too much interest in the man’s former connection to the Duprees.
He looked at Katerina again and realized he didn’t want to turn her over to the care of the EMTs. He would, of course, because it was the right thing to do, but he wasn’t going to like relinquishing control before he was certain she was okay.
Copyright © 2017 by Harlequin Books S.A.
ISBN-13: 9781488019265
Deadly Memories
Copyright © 2017 by Mary Eason
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