Tara saw Cal looking her way, and she backed up to avoid his questioning gaze. She didn’t need him coming to check on her and adding the stress of fighting her attraction for him while still in a vulnerable state. She resumed pacing down the narrow aisle she’d prowled for an hour now. Back and forth, she walked, thankful Brynn had stepped out, leaving her alone. The air was steamy and thick and the walls closed in on her. She wanted to head outside for fresh air, but Cal had commanded her to remain in the truck for her own safety.
Her safety. Ha! What safety? She’d almost been shot, blown to bits in a bomb, and her heart couldn’t seem to gain a normal rhythm again. And even if she could get it under control, Cal storming into the truck earlier to bark orders at her added to her unease.
She paused near the driver’s seat, grabbed the rubber band on her wrist, and snapped. Once. Twice. Three, four times. The sting radiated up her arm. It didn’t help. She tried it again and again. Nothing. Maybe she’d moved beyond using the bands to contain her stress. Maybe she needed something different. Like more pacing.
She spun to resume her steps only to find Cal standing in the rear of the truck, his shoulder resting on a cabinet, his body cutting off the hint of sunlight that had been filtering through the opening.
His warm gaze settled on her face. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m doing okay.” She looked away before she let his concern warm her heart but not fast enough to miss seeing that the large gash on his forehead remained untreated. She was trained in first aid and could do something about his injury instead of standing idly by and giving her time to wonder about how he could affect her so much with one little look. To wonder anything about him.
“Your forehead.” She pushed past him. “I’ll grab the first aid kit and clean it up.”
“It’s nothing.”
She ignored him and reached for the kit she’d spotted by the back door.
“Sit, Cal.” She gestured at a bench and eyed him until he complied.
“You decided to call me Cal.” His expression remained neutral, his voice flat as he moved to the bench seat.
Of course, he didn’t give her even a hint of what he thought about it, so she didn’t bother to explain her reasoning.
He stretched out his long legs that didn’t fit under the tabletop. His thigh muscles strained the fabric of his khakis, and he’d opened a few shirt buttons, revealing a thickly muscled neck. Not that she was noticing. Okay, fine, she was, and her response to him unsettled her more.
He peered up at her, a glint of humor in his eyes. “Are you always this bossy?”
Thankfully, he hadn’t noticed her study. “Talk about taking one to know one.”
“So you think I’m bossy.”
She snorted, earning a chuckle from him, proving he had a sense of humor when she’d thought he was all business.
A flutter of nerves sent her senses reeling, so she ignored the resulting grin and turned her attention to the first aid kit. She dug out an antiseptic wipe and leaned over him. “This will probably sting.”
His response was more of a grunt than anything.
She carefully dabbed at the gaping wound, expecting him to flinch, but he didn’t move or even change his breathing. With an even in and out, his powerful chest rose and fell beneath her.
“I’m not a doctor,” she said, ignoring the fact that she’d underestimated his effect on her or she wouldn’t have chosen to get this close to him. “But this looks like it could use some stitches.”
He grabbed a butterfly bandage from the kit. “Put one of these on, and I’ll take care of stitching it up later.”
Shocked at his response, she met his gaze. “You’re telling me you plan to sew this up yourself?”
“Sure. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
She stood back and stared down at him. “Who are you anyway?”
He chuckled again, and his eyes lit with humor.
“What’s so funny?”
“That look of horror on your face. I’m just a regular guy who learned how to close wounds downrange.”
“Right, regular guy.” She shook her head. “Like regular guys use the word ‘downrange.’ What does that even mean?”
“In the military it often refers to an overseas deployment in a war zone.”
She could see him in a war, taking care of himself and others around him as he snapped out directions. She dabbed the wound a few more times to clean up the last of the blood, then blew on it to dry the skin so the bandage would stick.
He suddenly jolted back and pushed her away with firm hands planted on her shoulders. “Let’s get this done so we can move on.”
Surprised at his terse tone, she stared at him for a moment before she took the bandage from his hand.
He let out a long breath. “Sorry. I’m kind of jumpy. Adrenaline, you know? I’m sure you’re still feeling the residual effects. Which, by the way, will soon make you feel very tired if it hasn’t already.”
She pressed the first bandage at the top of his cut. “I can take a nap on the plane.”
He looked into her eyes. “Does this mean you’ve decided to come back with me?”
“I saw you guys handcuff Hickson and thought it’d be a good idea to avoid my own cuffs,” she joked to play down her decision, maybe lighten up her mood. “So yeah, I’m all yours.”
She expected a nod of acknowledgment if not an outright smile, and she received a frown instead. “About our trip. Our departure is delayed indefinitely. The team needs to remain on site to work the scene.”
Processing the news, she ripped open a second bandage. Not more than a few hours ago, she hadn’t wanted to go to D.C. Now, with Oren or people working with him nearby, she wished she could leave the area as soon as possible. “Delayed how long?”
“Hard to tell. We think there were at least two shooters. Hickson, of course, and if what he said is true, another shooter to detonate the bomb. There could also be a third shooter at the gate or the guy who detonated the bomb had moved over here. Either way, we’ll search for another weapon.”
“Then you think the shooter ditched the rifle.”
“If Keeler was the second shooter, it’s very possible. He didn’t fly cross-country with a rifle, so I’m guessing he stole the weapon he used or it was provided by his ISIS contacts. In either case, if he was in a hurry to escape unseen, he could ditch it to move more freely through the scrub. And if that’s not reason enough, if he was driving home and was stopped by a law enforcement officer for any number of reasons—speeding, taillight out, et cetera—Keeler wouldn’t want the gun in his car.”
“Makes sense, I guess.”
“We’ll get a search started, but we have a large, heavily wooded area to cover. Depending on the resources available to us, that could take days, and we won’t get home for some time.”
“Home? So you’re based in D.C., then?” she asked, despite knowing that posing a question about his private life wasn’t a good idea.
He nodded. “Our team is part of the FBI’s Critical Incident Response Group out of FBI national headquarters.”
She applied the second butterfly strip at the bottom of the gash. “I didn’t realize I was considered a critical incident.”
He scowled but said nothing for a moment, and the air between them sizzled with tension.
“Someone will go for food at some point,” he said, ignoring her comment. “And I’ll arrange a safe house for tonight.” He met her gaze for a long stressful moment, then escaped from his seat and eased past her without touching her. “I hate that you have to sit in here all day, and I’ll do my best to get you out of here as soon as possible.”
“It’s okay,” she replied, though she couldn’t imagine what she might do for the rest of the day in this tin can of a vehicle, but maybe she could concentrate on the pump house and try to remember additional details. “When we do get back to D.C., will it be possible for me to call June and my friend Penny? I’m sure they’re both worried about me.”
“I can arrange for you to see June when we take you to the pump house, but I’m afraid contacting Penny is too dangerous right now for you and her.”
Tara wouldn’t put anyone else in danger, so she nodded her understanding and settled for the fact that she would soon see June.
Instead of leaving as she’d expected him to do, he leaned against the wall and crossed his ankles. “Tell me more about Keeler before your friendship ended.”
“You’ve asked me about him so many times, I’m sure I shared everything that’s pertinent.”
“The tiniest detail that you left out could have meaning to the investigation.”
“What do you want to know?”
“When you hung out, were you involved with video games, computers, music, that sort of thing?”
She closed the first aid kit and thought back to her childhood with Oren. “Computers weren’t big in those days. Neither of our families had one. Oren did get a PlayStation in junior high, and we played that together. We both listened to music, but we didn’t share it.”
“Why not?”
“Oren was into heavy metal bands like Fear Factory and Marilyn Manson. I liked alternative rock. We didn’t agree on tastes, so we both listened to our own stuff. But I don’t see how any of that could be important.”
“Love of heavy metal music is a way to express dissatisfaction in life and can be one of many predictors for radicalization.” He held up a hand. “Now before you think everyone who listens to heavy metal is a bomber, that’s not true and the music doesn’t turn them into terrorists. It’s only one predictive trait in a slew of marks that helps behavioral analysts create a profile.”
“But it sounds like you think Oren’s love of this music might have been a sign.”
“Perhaps. More important is finding out what happened in his life to kick off his bombing spree.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Our research shows that he’s been involved with ISIS for quite a few years without taking any action. He didn’t just wake up one morning and decide to begin targeting and killing women. We’ve tried to find a connection between them to make sense of his bombs. But despite running down thousands of leads in the past six months, the only thing the women in the first bombings have in common is their Muslim faith. So we continue to look for a catalyst of some sort that set off his spree.”
She thought back to everything she’d learned about the current-day Oren and came up empty. “I don’t know what it could be. Like I said, I haven’t really known much about how he thinks or feels since he started acting really weird in high school.”
“You’ve mentioned weird before.” Cal arched a brow. “What exactly do you mean by ‘weird’?”
“We went to the same church growing up and were active in our youth group in junior high. When we started high school, he suddenly stopped attending. He kept passing it off like he was too cool for church, but one day I heard June and his mom talking. She said he’d converted to the Islamic faith. At first, I didn’t believe her, so I asked him about it. He confirmed it and even tried to get me to convert.”
“Did you ever consider it?”
She fixed her gaze on his. “Do you think I’d do that?”
“No, not after everything I’ve learned about you in my research, but I have to ask to cover all bases.”
“I was raised in a traditional home with Christian values, and I’d never turn my back on my faith. It’s too important to me,” she said, but the moment the words came out she knew she’d overstated her current trust in God to protect her from Oren.
Cal frowned. “You might think that now. I once did, anyway. But trust me when I say I’ve been in situations where it doesn’t seem so far-fetched to turn your back on your faith. I’m not saying converting to another religion, just letting go of innocent childhood beliefs.”
So he was a man of faith. Or maybe not anymore. His comments were too cryptic to tell, but she hoped he had faith to sustain him during all of the difficult trials he must face on the job.
Of course, she’d experienced horrific events lately, too, and what had she done? Trusted in God? No, when He let Oren get to her at the hospital, she’d taken things into her own hands and fled from D.C., and as Cal had suggested, that wasn’t working out so well for her.
Maybe Cal would explain turning his back on his faith, and that could help her, too. She opened her mouth to ask for an explanation, but as usual when they got sidetracked in an area where he might need to share something of himself, he rushed on. “So after this conversion, what happened to your friendship?”
“By the end of that year, he’d gotten into the whole underground Goth thing, and we had nothing in common. He became a real loner. Sure, we said hi when we passed in the halls at school, but that was it.” She shook her head. “Maybe I had a part in his weird changes when I turned him down.”
“Turned him down as in dating? You didn’t mention that before.”
“It was no biggie. He asked me on one date. I said no. Turns out he had a thing for me for years, but I didn’t know it until after we both left for college.”
Cal pushed off the wall, his attention rapt and unyielding. “Did he ever ask you out again or make his feelings for you known?”
Uncomfortable rehashing such private information, she didn’t want to answer. She looked down at her wrist and twisted the band around her finger until it cut off the blood flow, and then she released it in a big snap.
“Tara?” he prodded.
“Like I told you at the hospital, I ran into him at my aunt’s place in January. He wasn’t as harsh and withdrawn, and I was more comfortable around him. We started talking…catching up, you know? And when my aunt left the room, he asked me out again.”
“He asked you out, as on a date?”
She sighed at the memory. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer, pushing and pushing, relentless like Nolan.”
“Your former fiancé, right?’”
She nodded, hating that Cal had dug into her life and knew all about her when she hadn’t a clue about his life beyond his job.
“So what happened with Keeler?” he asked.
“I’d just managed to get my life back from my disastrous engagement to Nolan, and Oren’s attitude rubbed me wrong. So I snapped, and I didn’t let him down very gently.”
Cal stepped closer, intensity burning bright in his eyes. “He was upset? Maybe mad?”
At Cal’s over-the-top reaction, alarms began going off in her head. “Both, actually. He stormed out and slammed the door. I watched him march down the driveway to the hired hand’s house. He kicked stones on the way. Got in his car and raced off, sending gravel flying.”
“Why didn’t you mention this before?”
“I didn’t think it was relevant, but clearly you do.”
“Maybe,” he replied.
His vague answers whenever she asked him a question grated on her last nerve. She pushed to her feet and looked him in the eye. “You’ve been grilling me like a well-done steak since you found me, and it would be nice if you answered at least one of my questions.”
She crossed her arms and waited for him to argue, but he gave a quick nod. “Our profiler believes with Keeler targeting women, a woman hurt him in the past, and he’s using the bombs as a means to vent his frustration.” Cal met her gaze and held it. “We thought the loss of his mother was the catalyst for the bombings, but he started killing women on the first of February, mere days after what you’re describing, so…”
“You’re not saying that…” A fist squeezed her heart, and she couldn’t drag in any air. “It’s me, right? You think I’m the reason Oren’s killing women. But I have no connection to the Muslim community.”
“True, but you rejected him, and for some reason he’s taking out that rejection on these women. We may not figure out why he chose Muslim women until we catch him. And even then, he may not tell us. And, of course, this is a working theory, so we could be wrong about the catalyst, or there’s an added component in his desire to target Muslim women, but—”
“But you think he started killing because I turned him down.” She clamped a hand over her mouth, then as the shock settled in, let it fall to her lap. “If it wasn’t for me, these women would be alive.”
* * *
Five hours later, Cal wrapped up his reports and headed toward the command truck to escort Tara to the SUV for their trip to the safe house. Temperatures had mounted, hitting the midnineties, and he couldn’t wait to get out of the heat and humidity that had the entire team wilting. And he couldn’t wait to move Tara into a more secure location. He wasn’t about to let Keeler get to her again.
Brynn waylaid him and held out a clear plastic evidence bag with a severely deformed slug. “Found this near the truck bed. It’s looking like Rick is right about the Tannerite.”
Cal took the bag and didn’t have to look too closely to identify the bullet. “A .30-06. Hickson’s Browning uses that caliber. Maybe he lied to me.”
“Wouldn’t be surprising,” she said.
Cal studied the slug. He found very few land and groove impressions from the rifle barrel, but only firearms specialists with proper equipment could determine if a sound comparison could be made under a microscope. He’d get the slug to the Firearms and Toolmarks Unit at the FBI lab.
Cal looked at Brynn. “If Hickson’s telling the truth, and there is a second shooter, we can compare the slugs from the tower with this one and hopefully prove the same weapon was used for both.”
“I’ll get a tech over to the tower right away to process the area,” Brynn said.
“And how about Tannerite? Any idea on when we’ll know about that?”
“I’ll run the tests the minute I get back to the lab. With the way things are going, that won’t be until tomorrow night at the soonest.”
“We can’t land at our airstrip in D.C. or Tara will learn the location,” Cal said. “Might as well put down at Turner Field, where we can pop over to the lab and drop off the slug, rifle, and sample to check for Tannerite at the same time.”
“Perfect. I’ll make sure everything’s packaged for transport.”
“Let’s go ahead and assume you’re going to find Tannerite. I’ll get analysts on the task force to start tracking down large purchases in the area.” The potential lead should have cheered Cal up, but even that hadn’t helped alleviate the tightness in his chest. “Is there anything you need from me before I take off?”
“No.” She sounded offended. “I come prepared.”
“I didn’t mean that, I…” He shoved a hand into his hair to stem off his ongoing frustration. “With this change in Keeler’s methods, he’s become unpredictable, and it’s throwing me off my game.”
“It definitely provides more of a challenge in finding him.”
“Exactly. And it could mean he’s escalating in his need to inflict harm. We could be dealing with another necklace bomb sooner than the first of next month. Means this scene is more important than ever, and we have to find something here to stop him.”
“I hate to interrupt, Agent Riggins,” Deputy Andrews called out from the truck as he jumped down and hurried over to them. “My sergeant just contacted me. Keeler’s been spotted, and we have a lead on his current whereabouts.”
“Credible lead?” Cal asked, adrenaline already racing through his body.
Andrews bobbed his head. “We have an eyewitness who can take us right to the cabin where the jerk’s been hiding out.”