Morning came too soon for Tara, a thought that hadn’t entered her mind in months, what with the nightmares keeping her up at night. Last night hadn’t been any different. Oren had continued to plague her sleep, and she’d walked the floor most of the night, but she preferred that to stepping up to the barn she’d played in with Oren.
Everything looked the same, but it felt wrong. Very wrong. Ominous.
You’re imagining things. Looking for problems where they don’t exist.
Cal slid open the door, and Tara chalked up her unsettled feeling to the change in the exterior paint—formerly red, now a crisp white with black trim.
She peered into the haymow that was level with the ground, and the milking parlor sat below grade in a hill, like the barn at June’s farm. Sunlight flooded into the large space and dust particles danced in the rays. Three-by-five bales of hay were stacked to the ceiling against the back wall, but the rest of the space held only a thin layer of hay littered across the rough-hewn wood.
Tara stepped into the space, and the familiar odor of manure filtered up through the floor. Tara took the caustic scent in stride, but Cal grimaced and covered his nose.
“Does it always smell like this?” he asked.
“Actually, this isn’t so bad. It’s far worse in the winter months when the cows are inside.” She went to the back wall and inhaled the familiar scent of hay from her childhood. “The best time to visit is spring and fall right after the hay has been cut and baled. There’s this wonderful sweet smell that fills the haymow and the cows are only in the barn twice a day for milking, so it airs out.”
Cal’s forehead furrowed. “I’ve been in some foul-smelling places, but honestly, this is one of the most irritating smells I’ve encountered.”
“You get used to it.” She remembered growing up, how even though they’d removed their outerwear in the mudroom before entering the house, the odor had clung to them.
Cal turned in a circle, his gaze focused as usual. “Not many bales in here.”
“It’s the end of the season. I took a good look at the alfalfa fields on our way in. Looks like they’re right on schedule for making hay at the end of this month.”
“Making hay?” He tilted his head. “People really talk that way. It’s not just part of the old saying ‘make hay while the sun shines.’”
She chuckled. “Farmers actually still use the term. And FYI, the reason for the saying is that after hay is cut, it has to lay in the field to dry in the sun, preventing the bales from molding inside.” Memories of riding on the trailer behind the baler and stacking bales came to mind and she smiled. “Back in the day I could toss these forty-pound bales around like crazy.”
He shook his head. “I believe you, but I can’t see you as a farm girl.”
“I’ve really taken a long step away from my roots. From Oren,” she added, since he was the purpose for their visit. “Now I need to go back to my childhood again.”
Stepping deeper into the space, memories assaulted her, and she stopped moving. The sunshine warmed her back, and she took in a deep breath of country air. Fun times raced through her mind like a slide show. Oren as a child. Chasing her through the yard and racing into the haymow. Climbing the bales to the top, dragging them into a fort, and defending it from Tara’s cousins.
“What are you thinking about?” Cal asked from right behind her.
She jumped, her eyes flashing open and her heart kicking into high gear.
“Sorry if I startled you,” he said.
“The smell brings back so many memories, it feels like I’m literally walking through them.”
“And did you see anything just now that you think might be helpful?”
She shook her head. “I was thinking about my cousins and the forts we built in the hay. Oren and me on one side of the haymow, my cousins the other. We’d defend our forts from the invading enemy.”
“Sounds fun,” he said.
She nodded, and another memory flashed in her mind. “Until someone got hurt. One time Oren climbed as high up on the bales as he could with his pretend sword in hand. He jabbed the air and lost his balance. He hit the floor hard and broke his arm in two places that day.” She shook her head. “He was on restricted activity, strictly enforced by his mother. She checked on him every few minutes, so most of the time we colored and drew pictures of what we would do once she let him play hard again.”
She could easily remember Oren with paper and crayons in his hand, sitting at their oak dining room table. “He was so mad at his mom that he drew some pretty unflattering pictures of her and hid them in his stash.”
“Where exactly is this secret spot?” Cal asked.
“Over in the corner.” She stepped in that direction, wishing she’d come back for a fun visit for old times’ sake. To visit an old friend. A boy she’d once cared about. Who she’d never, ever, believe capable of extreme violence against women.
Instead, they’d come here today to prove Oren had defiled yet one more of her childhood memories, and hopefully he’d left a clue that would lead them to arrest him and lock him up for life.
* * *
Cal had to admit he believed they might actually find something Keeler had stuffed into the wall as Tara led him to the far corner of the haymow. Maybe wishful thinking, but his SEAL sense said they were right on track.
“We’ll have to move this stack of hay.” Tara slipped her hands under the tight twine on the top bale.
“I can do that for you,” he offered.
“Sure you can, but can you do it this efficiently?” She hefted the bale, her biceps tightening, her body twisting as she set the bale behind her, then reversed and grabbed another one.
Cal was uncomfortable not helping her, but he loved watching her fluid motions. She was a study in contrasts. Two separate people, graceful yet powerful, but one when it concerned his emotions.
When she moved on to the taller stack where she had to strain to grab the top bales, he stepped in and reached over her to lift the bale. His body pressed against hers, the fresher scent of the hay and her shampoo replaced the hideous barn odor. He was so aware of her as a woman that it took every effort to grab the bale and not turn her into his arms and kiss her.
He lifted the hay, even more surprised at how unwieldy it felt and how easily she had swung them out of the way. He had no idea tossing a hay bale required skill, but he was learning so much in his time with her. Most notably, that he liked being with her, no matter what they were doing. Even if they were tossing bale after bale aside to clear the corner in short order.
Tara planted her hands on her hips, her breathing labored. “I can’t believe I used to do this all day long. I sure slept good, though.”
“Sounds like my days at BUD/S.”
“BUD/S?”
“Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL. Six months of pure craziness. It was filled with physical and mental challenges meant to push prospective SEALs to the end of their limit and beyond. Things like bursts of three thousand sit-ups and a twenty-station obstacle course that I’m sure the very devil designed himself.”
She stared at him like he’d grown two heads. “Three thousand sit-ups? You’re kidding, right?”
He would never forget the days of physical torture. “Trust me, it’s real.”
“And now?” Her focus shifted to his abs. “Can you do that many sit-ups?”
He shook his head. “I try to work out every day, but I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I won’t ever be in such good shape again.”
“Nothing wrong with your shape right now.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
He couldn’t resist smiling over her error, and his whole body relaxed. They were in the haymow to track down a serial killer and they were flirting. He had to admit he liked it, and at the moment, he would rather keep up the conversation than look for Keeler’s secret stash.
She suddenly sobered and tipped her head at the wall. “The hiding place. We should check it out.”
He nodded, and she climbed over a single row of bales to the corner where she lifted out the last bale and set it on wide floor planks behind her.
He scrambled after her and dropped onto a bale to wait while she pressed her hands against a section of the slatted wood wall that let loose in her hands.
“Oh my gosh.” She handed the piece to him. “There’s something in here.”
“Did you leave anything here when you were kids?”
She looked up for a moment. “No. I remember emptying it out. We fought about who got to keep the candle we used for secret meetings.”
“Who won?” Cal asked, surprising himself that he wanted to know more about her childhood than what the hiding spot contained.
An impish grin lit her face. “We arm wrestled for it, and I won.”
“Remind me never to wrestle against you.”
She rolled her eyes and turned back to the wall.
“Hold on,” he said as he dug latex gloves from his pocket and snapped them on. “This item could be evidence. I can’t have you touching it.”
“Right.” She shifted around until she sat next to him with her leg pressed up against his. She didn’t seem to notice, but he was painfully aware of her touch and inched away to lift out an oversized padded envelope from the wall.
He opened the clasp and pulled out a stack of pictures.
The top photo was of Dafiyah Jabbar.
“Oren’s first victim.”
“She was pretty.” Tara’s voice was barely more than a whisper.
Cal wished they could go back to a moment ago when they were flirting. When she still possessed one more piece of her innocence before Keeler stole it from her.
He flipped to the next picture and the next. All were photos of Dafiyah going about her everyday life, and they proved that Keeler had stalked her before he killed her. Cal turned them upside down on the bale, then removed a sheaf of papers with e-mail headers printed on the top of the pages. Cal scanned the first one, and the word ISIS in bold, capital letters immediately caught his attention.
He read the entire e-mail, then sat back, his mind racing to process the information. He didn’t recognize the name or e-mail address of the sender or the address Keeler used, but that wasn’t surprising, as the Knights had found no direct communication linking him to ISIS prior to locating this message.
“The killing. It isn’t about me.” Tara looked up at him, her expression flooded with relief. “He says he’s targeting Muslim women who turned their back on their faith. That’s his reason. It has to be.”
“He would definitely see someone who rejected his faith as an infidel who needed to be punished,” Cal mused aloud. “FBI profilers once suggested Keeler’s use of the necklace bomb was his way of beheading infidels—an action ISIS took from passages in the Quran. We rejected it when we didn’t find any evidence to support that theory.”
“But it makes sense now.”
“Yes and no. If that was his only motive in these bombs, he wouldn’t have begun targeting you, too.”
“I know, but I…”
“But you want this to be true so you don’t feel guilty.”
“Yes.”
“You have nothing to feel guilty for.”
“But I do…you see. When I took off from the hospital, I didn’t ask for God’s guidance. I decided that I could only count on myself to stay alive, so I bolted.” She shook her head. “But lately I’ve been thinking I was wrong. If I’d listened to God maybe I would have stayed, and He could have resolved the issue before more women died.”
“You’re playing ‘what if’ again. That’s no different than feeling guilty over not letting Keeler down gently. There’s no way to know what would have happened in either case.”
“But it doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t trust God and ran.”
“So what? That only proves you made a mistake. The God I remember wouldn’t hold that against you if you asked for forgiveness.”
“You’re right, I suppose, but it’s a whole lot easier to say I’m forgiven than to actually accept it.”
Cal felt like someone hit him upside the head with one of the large fence posts he’d seen on the drive over. The same thing was true of his guilt. He was choosing to hang on to it when he no more deserved the blame than she did. He’d done his job. Followed proper protocol. Worked until he dropped. Done everything within his power to succeed.
Everything? Really?
Surely, he could do more to save lives if only he could focus. Maybe forget about his feelings for Tara and figure out how to render Keeler’s bombs safe. Because until he did, women were at risk. Big risk. If Keeler set another bomb, and Cal was lucky enough to get to the woman before it exploded, Cal couldn’t stop the explosion. Just as he hadn’t been able to save Willy even when he had him in his arms and was running from the kidnappers’ compound.
Cal had no time to lose. No time to think about anything but the job.
He turned his attention to the pages in front of him, racing through them to look for key points. “These messages show Keeler growing more and more agitated.” Cal tapped the last page. “He’s positively spiteful in this last e-mail in January when you two bumped into each other again.”
Cal took out his phone and snapped photos of the pages. “I don’t want to wait until we get back to the office to begin working on this lead. I’ll e-mail these pictures to Kaci so she can get her analysts tracking down the e-mail address right away.”
Cal typed a message to Kaci. He attached the photos and set the pages on top of the pictures. When he finished, he looked at Tara, who stared at the envelope.
“Let me check the hole for anything we might have missed.” With the light from his phone, he peered into the dark space. He spotted several leather-bound books set deep in the cavity. He drew them out one at a time, counting five books in all.
Cal ran his fingers over the first book’s aged binding before flipping it open to reveal journal pages filled with tiny scribbles that he recognized as Keeler’s handwriting. Cal used the dates listed in the front of the other books to stack them in order.
He opened the first one and read, “‘Ode to Tara.’”
“What does that mean?” Tara asked.
“These are Keeler’s journals,” Cal replied.
Tara frowned, her response mimicking Cal’s thoughts. These journals were sure to hold secrets and horrors and neither of them would want to read the thoughts of a psychopath.