Washington, D.C.
3:30 p.m.
Wheels up in three.” The pilot’s voice came over the jet’s intercom as the plane sat on the runway awaiting takeoff.
Cal heard his teammates clicking on their seat belts behind him. He’d chosen to sit alone in the front of the plane, a photocopy of Keeler’s most recent journal on his lap. Cal would use the flying time to read Keeler’s tirades. Tara had suggested she keep the journals to read, but even if they weren’t evidence and had to remain in the FBI’s custody, there was no way he’d let her read even a photocopy before he’d prescreened them. Not only because he wanted to predict how she would react to the information, but also his gut said the journal contained items that the team would need to remain confidential.
The plane lurched forward and taxied, gaining speed. As the wheels rolled over the runway, he rested his head back on the seat. He told himself it was because vibrations would make it hard to read, but in reality, he wasn’t up to getting into the head of a crazy man, the killer who was targeting the amazing woman who’d somehow made her way into Cal’s heart. If her response to the almost-kiss in the car was any indication, she’d opened her heart to him, too.
How had he let that happen?
She’d been hurt enough lately, and when this was all over, he would hurt her again, because he still had to come to grips with the senseless loss of lives, and it was unfair to ask her to wait around while he did.
Unease weighed down on him, and he concentrated on relaxing the tension in his muscles. He’d used the same procedure hundreds of times before SEAL missions, and he always followed it with a quick catnap. Fifteen minutes and he was good to go for hours.
Breathe in and out. In and out.
He suddenly felt someone standing over him. His hand automatically went to his weapon before he opened his eyes and remembered he was safely ensconced in their jet.
“Whoa there.” Brynn’s hands went up to warn him off.
He lowered his gun. “Sorry.”
“Bad dreams.”
He shrugged, but she had to know he hadn’t reacted like a normal person might respond. Normal, right. Who was normal these days? He’d responded like most people in the military and law enforcement. And for the Knights who’d all seen combat and had their own demons to contend with? His behavior was the norm for the team.
“Mind if I sit?” she asked.
If she planned to try to get him to open up, he’d send her packing, but for now, he gestured at the seat across the aisle and shoved the pile of journal pages between his leg and the cushion. “What’s up?”
“I thought you’d like to know that DNA came back on the Remington.”
“By your less-than-enthusiastic expression, I’d say we didn’t get Keeler’s DNA.”
“Sorry, no. But we’re still in preliminary evidence evaluation, and we could link him to the gun in other ways.” She smiled. “At least we have the journals from today. Those should contain touch DNA.”
Right. The journals that likely held horrible thoughts about Tara.
“You look a million miles away,” Brynn said.
He lifted the stack of papers. “I need to get started reading the journal entries.”
“But you don’t want to.”
“Does anyone ever want to get inside the head of a psychopath?”
“I suppose not.” She got up. “The reading might be horrible, but it could give us the lead we desperately need.”
He nodded, and she stepped away. He turned to the first page, dated six months before the first bombing. As predicted, the pages were filled with Keeler’s perceived mistreatment by society. By the bank who repossessed his family’s farm. His employer and Tara, neither of them appreciating his amazing skills and brilliance. He followed each tirade with ways that his affiliation with ISIS would let him seek revenge. The pages contained pretty much everything Cal had expected, but he hadn’t expected Keeler to be so cruel when it came to Tara.
Cal dreaded asking her to read the pages of filth uttered about her, but he would have to ask. Sure, Cal could ask her questions about things he’d read in the journal, and he would do that, but just as she’d known things about the items they’d taken into evidence that Cal would never have come up with on his own, she could see notes in the journal that meant something only to her.
He swallowed hard, his hand curled and ready to strike, but he continued on instead, highlighting passages that needed follow-up. On page twenty, Keeler raved about a woman he’d met at temple, a Nabijah Meer.
Temple? Cal sat up. They’d been unable to locate a temple associated with Keeler. Cal read faster. He hit page thirty-seven, and his mouth dropped open.
He grabbed his phone and dialed Kaci.
“You can hardly be in the air yet, so this must be important,” she said when she answered.
“It is,” he said. “I’ve been reading Keeler’s journal, and you’ll never guess what I found.”
* * *
Mount Hood National Forest, Oregon
5:15 p.m.
Cal stood at the base of the destroyed fire tower and stared at the gruesome scene. The sun hung high in the sky, the temps were in the midseventies with a cool breeze playing over the area, and the birds chirped in the distance, all in direct contrast to the sight before him.
The tower’s front supports had been severed, leaving the platform dangling from the back with all the windows and one wall blown completely out. The balcony where he’d watched Tara, the room he’d locked her in, all destroyed. A woman dead. For what? Because Keeler was obsessed with Tara and couldn’t have her?
Cal shook his head and stepped closer. The ME had already removed the remains and though Cal hadn’t wanted to see the woman, it could have helped in his evaluation of the bomb.
How long had this woman sat with a bomb around her neck, paralyzed with fear while waiting for it to explode? Had Keeler needed it to occur at a certain time, or was the time of the explosion random? Did Keeler even place the bomb, or was he still in D.C. and one of his accomplices did his dirty work for him?
All Cal knew at this point was the area was so far removed from civilization that no one had heard the explosion. When the fire lookout failed to call in, her supervisor sent someone to check on her and found the tower in ruins.
Cal continued to stare, and for some reason, the team’s mission statement ran through his head.
Readiness. Response. Resolution.
Yeah, right.
Sure, they’d responded and would hopefully resolve the situation in due time, but ready? Nah, they hadn’t been ready. Tara had no affiliation with this woman, so none of them had seen this coming.
Nor had the poor woman. When Cal had made that phone call for a replacement, he’d effectively sent her to her death. So what if he understood that he wasn’t responsible for the other women who died? This death was his fault. All his fault. He should have predicted Keeler’s actions and requested a man to take Tara’s spot. And worse yet, even as he looked at the scene of another woman’s death, Cal felt relief that he’d gotten here in time to prevent Tara from being Keeler’s next victim.
He tightened his fist. There was nothing within reach to punch, and his anger climbed to a frenzy. If he spotted Keeler right now, Cal would take the man apart with his bare hands.
His phone rang, and he snapped it from his belt in frustration. He spotted Kaci’s name and hoped she was calling about Nabijah Meer, the woman he’d discovered in Keeler’s journal.
“Tell me you have something for me.”
“I haven’t actually located Meer, but I did determine the name Nabijah comes from the Indian and Muslim world and means ambitious, leader, and brave. Meer’s a common Indian surname that means prince or ruler.”
“So you’re thinking she belongs to an aristocratic family?”
“Maybe. I’m going to follow that direction to see where it leads.”
“None of the victims were Indian.”
“No, they weren’t, and neither is Sarra Yasin.”
“So it might not mean anything.” Cal took a breath and let it out. “Get back to me the minute you have more on Meer, okay?”
“You got it.”
They disconnected, and he looked at the tower with Kaci’s thoughts fresh in his mind.
Had Meer helped Keeler with the other bombs and taken out this tower while Keeler headed back to D.C. to kill yet another woman? Or had Sarra Yasin or both women been assisting him all along in planting the bombs?
Cal needed answers. Needed them now. He spun to retrieve his equipment and spotted Max and Brynn in a deep discussion. He started for them, but Max broke away and met Cal in the middle.
“What’s up?” Cal asked, though he suspected Max planned to lecture him on how to let go of his guilt and do his job.
“You’re blaming yourself for this woman’s death,” Max said, as if Cal had written his script for him.
“Maybe.”
Max opened his mouth, but Cal held up a hand, stopping him. “Before you go spouting some mumbo jumbo about this being Keeler’s fault and only his fault, there’s no need to say it. I get it in theory.”
“Actually,” Max said. “I was going to say that Brynn and I understand what you’re going through. We should have thought this might happen, too, and we want this killer found as badly as you do. So let’s stop staring at the ruins and get moving.”
Cal had to admit Max’s comment took him by surprise, as did the ease in which he seemed to let it go. “And just like that, you move on?”
“Sure, why wouldn’t I? I hate that a woman lost her life. That all these women have died because we underestimated Keeler, but we’re human. We only have the abilities God gave us, and we make mistakes. Granted, our mistakes can be more costly than most, but come on, man. In this kind of job where people often burn out. If we didn’t move on, we’d soon be paralyzed. Then how many people might die?”
“Interesting way to look at it.”
“I suggest you give it some thought. Might help you deal with that anger I keep cautioning you on.”
Good advice and something Cal needed to consider, but most important now was finding a strong lead. He nodded at Brynn. “Brynn looks like she’s getting antsy.”
“Then let’s get going so she has something to do.”
They marched across the field to join her.
“Despite our warning to the contrary, odds are good that the locals have trampled the evidence,” Cal said. “But let’s forget that for now and run this like any other investigation. I’ll start by evaluating and setting the appropriate perimeter.”
Brynn nodded. “Since Kaci’s not here, I’ll handle the photography in addition to my usual forensic duties.”
“And I’ll log evidence and anything else either one of you need me to do,” Max said.
Cal never thought he’d see the day when Max did grunt work. “As much as I hate being here, having you as my gopher might make it palatable.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Max replied good-naturedly.
Cal’s mood lifted a notch, and he went to the rental car to grab his gear, then marched up to the officer in charge, who happened to be Deputy Andrews. A good thing in Cal’s eyes, as it gave him hope that the personnel access log that Cal had explained the importance of at the last bombing would be complete.
“Log, please.” Cal held out his hand.
Andrews handed it over, and Cal ran a finger down the list. The sheriff had logged in. Not surprising. The only other people listed were the ME and two additional deputies who first responded to the scene.
Cal looked up. “I don’t see any bomb disposal personnel listed here.”
“There hasn’t been any called to the scene.”
Cal gaped at him. “So no one has walked the area to look for secondary devices?”
Andrews narrowed his eyes. “Well, yeah, the first guys to arrive checked things out.”
“But they’re not trained.”
“Before you tell us how we’re a bunch of locals and we don’t know what we’re doing, you didn’t call them out for the other bomb either.”
“That’s because I have EOD credentials, and I checked the scene myself.”
“Right.” A sheepish look slid over the deputy’s face.
“I need you to move back a minimum of a hundred feet and make sure no one approaches until after I finish my inspection.”
Andrews didn’t waste any time but took off at a quick march. Cal moved in the opposite direction and took his time checking the ground before placing his foot down. As he approached the tower, a caustic smell filtered into the air, but at least the building hadn’t burned, and he wasn’t smelling torched wood.
He made a wide circle and, each time around, he moved closer to the tower until he was standing near the back wall where the two supports remained intact. Something suspicious sat near the ground at the far post. He slowly closed in on it until he made out a rudimentary bomb similar to the one in the cabin crawl space, but this one didn’t have a timer. Which meant it would be remotely detonated.
It could have been set in case the necklace bomb failed. Or was it? Maybe it was intended to take out first responders or the Knights. If so, the person with the trigger had to be close by watching for the opportune time to detonate. Like now. When he stood less than a foot away from the device.
He spun and ran full-out toward Deputy Andrews. Before he traveled more than fifty feet, the device exploded, sending concussive waves through the ground and catapulting Cal through the air.
He landed on his belly, and his hands automatically went up over his head. He lay stunned for a moment, his ears ringing as debris rained down over him. This wasn’t the first explosion he’d survived, and it wasn’t even the closest call, but he couldn’t help but think how horrible it would have been if the device had been detonated with an unsuspecting person close by.
He lifted his head and saw Max racing in his direction.
Cal swayed to his feet. “Can’t hear you, Max. Just listen. The bomb was remotely detonated and the person who set it off has to be close by. Watching.”
Max spun and said something, but Cal couldn’t make it out. All he knew was they were all sitting ducks, and they needed to take cover.
* * *
Washington, D.C.
Tara pushed back from the dining room table and dropped her pencil. She wasn’t a good artist, and the sketches she’d created were rudimentary at best, but she hoped they would help. Planning to show them to Shane, who was working at a desk in the den, she got up and grabbed the pad. She found him hanging up his phone, his usual easygoing expression dark and concerned.
Cal. Had something happened to Cal?
She forced a calm she didn’t feel into her voice. “Is there a problem?”
“We have a few new developments.”
She’d seen nothing but straightforward answers from him, and his Cal-like evasive response raised her concern higher. “Can you share them with me?”
He gestured at a club chair by the desk. “Why don’t you take a seat?”
“That bad, huh?” she joked, but when the easygoing guy didn’t even crack a smile, she braced herself to hear very bad news.
She dropped into the chair. “Did Oren hurt someone else?”
“We’re uncertain who placed the device, but a secondary bomb was left at the fire tower in Oregon and was just detonated.”
Cal. He’s hurt. Her heart refused to beat. “Cal…the team…are they…?”
“They’re fine. Mostly anyway. Cal’s a bit banged up. He was checking the area under the tower for secondary devices when he spotted the bomb and took off running. He was hit with falling debris, and his ears are ringing, but otherwise he’s okay.”
She noticed she had a death grip on the chair. She released it and twisted her hands together in her lap, and her heart seemed to restart. Memories of the truck exploding took over her mind. The ground rumbling under her body. The fireball. Metal and wood shooting into the air. The ditch had protected her, but there wasn’t a ditch near the fire tower. A vision of Cal, lying on the ground and debris raining down on him, left her unable to speak.
“If Oren is here in D.C.,” she managed to get out past the dryness in her throat.
“He could have placed the device before he left and someone else set it off,” Shane said.
“Not a timer?”
“No. It was remotely detonated.”
“Then that person was watching. Waiting.”
He nodded solemnly.
“For Cal? Do you think they were waiting for Cal?” Her fingers automatically went for the rubber bands.
Shane eyed her fingers and shrugged. “I only have the barest of details at this point. Max said they were in pursuit of a suspect, but he wanted to give us a heads-up in case the news reported the bombing.”
She nodded, but the shock of nearly losing Cal before she really got to know him didn’t seem to abate. An ache as real as the bullet that had pierced her stomach took her breath. If this was the first bit of news…“Wait, you said there were two developments.”
Shane held up his hands. “Relax. This has nothing to do with anyone getting hurt.”
She nodded but couldn’t seem to shake the thought of Cal incapacitated. He’d been so strong, her rock, and if he could get hurt, what might happen to her, to others?
“You care about him, don’t you?” Shane asked. “Cal, that is.”
She didn’t know if she should admit it to anyone on the team, but Shane was such an easy person to talk to. She nodded, and it felt good to finally declare her feelings, even if it was by way of a nod of her head.
“He’s a great guy,” Shane said. “But you should know, he’s troubled about something and maybe—”
“It’s not a good time to try to start something with him? Yeah, I know.”
“So he confided in you?”
Had he? Was his often-pensive look caused by his guilt over not catching Oren or did it go deeper? “I’m not sure, as he doesn’t willingly share what’s bugging him—anything personal, really—but I can see it.”
“I’m afraid it’s more than bugging him.”
“Yeah, I got that, too.” She suddenly felt uncomfortable talking about her feelings with a virtual stranger. “The other thing you mentioned?”
“Right.” A knowing look crossed his face.
So what if she was clamming up like Cal? Her talk with Shane in no way resembled Cal’s behavior with her. She and Cal had something. She knew it, he knew it, and they both also knew his unwillingness to open up would prevent them from moving forward. Maybe that was his plan.
“So there’s this program call ShotSpotter,” Shane continued, and Tara turned her focus to listening to him. “Basically it’s a network of microphones installed in high crime areas so when guns are fired, the microphones record the audio. That in turn details the number of weapons and shots fired and provides real-time maps of the shooting location to first responders so when they arrive at the scene they’re prepared. Not only does it keep them safer, but it helps in aiding victims, searching for evidence, and even interviewing witnesses.”
“Interesting,” she said. “But how is this related to our investigation?”
“Earlier this evening ShotSpotter in a D.C. location picked up gunfire at a construction site. After the police investigated, they determined explosives had been stolen.”
“Explosives like the ones Oren uses.”
He nodded. “Max is contacting the local authorities to see if we can process the scene. If we’re lucky, we might find Keeler’s prints or DNA.”
Tara’s stomach cramped down hard. “But it doesn’t really matter if you get his prints, right? I mean, sure, you can prove he committed the burglary, but the real problem is that he’s in possession of more explosives. He’ll use them to build a bomb and another woman is going to die.”
* * *
Mount Hood National Forest, Oregon
The world continued to spin, sidelining Cal while the rest of the team and Deputy Andrews combed the woods for the person who detonated the bomb. With subpar hearing, Cal hadn’t even been able to discuss things with Max before he called the sheriff to request backup, and he and Brynn donned vests and took off together. If it were any situation other than one involving a bomber, Cal would enjoy seeing Max in action, as he rarely came out in the field and even more rarely participated in a physical pursuit.
Cal pushed off the bumper of the SUV and tested his balance. The area spun less than it had a few moments ago, but his head continued to ring with a high-pitched, piercing sound. He put a hand on the vehicle to end the residual spinning when he spotted movement in the bushes.
It could be a deer or elk, but he’d take no chances. He backed behind the SUV and hunkered down in a position where he could still keep his eye on the area. Leaves rustled and soon bushes parted a fraction. He couldn’t make out what or who was peering out at him, but he thought it was a deer assessing the risk of coming into the clearing.
The opening widened, and a pair of eyes, not animal but human, appeared in the space. He shifted to grab his sidearm but knew he couldn’t make a shot at this distance if needed, so he crept around the side of the vehicle and to the back door left open by Max. Cal quietly lifted the lid on a weapon case and found an assault rifle. He inserted an ammo magazine and moved back to the bumper.
A hand came out of the bushes, then another, this one holding a handgun. Not a man’s large hands, but a woman’s smaller, slender pair. He didn’t let the surprise hinder his focus, but lifted his weapon and sighted in the area where the woman would emerge.
She didn’t disappoint, but soon slipped out low to the ground. Of Middle Eastern descent, she wore American clothing and hadn’t covered her face. He focused the scope, taking in her appearance. Could she be Meer or Yasin? Even though she wasn’t dressed in traditional garb as Yasin had worn when she’d accompanied Keeler to Dallas, Cal would go with Yasin as the most likely candidate. She’d likely dressed this way as she was hidden from view and needed to move quickly through heavily wooded areas. Or maybe she didn’t expect anyone to survive the bomb.
A sense of urgency almost had him moving, but he held his position and watched her scurry across the road, heading toward the front end of his vehicle.
Could she be planning to hop in and take off?
Assuming so, he scooted to the other side of the car and waited. She soon moved around the front, and he eased toward the bumper. A door latch clicked, and he figured she’d closed the back door. He heard the front door opening.
His team wouldn’t ever leave a car vulnerable, so the ignition didn’t hold keys. Which meant she would have to hot-wire the SUV. A skill she’d most likely learned from ISIS.
Cal gave her a few moments and then peeked into the rear window. She was bent over the wheel and wouldn’t notice his approach. He crept along the side of the vehicle and swung his rifle into the driver’s space, planting the barrel against her head.
“Hello, Sarra Yasin,” he said, and hoped he was right. “So nice of you to drop in.”