Tara tuned out Agent Riggins’s continued attempts to convince her to accompany him back to D.C. She avoided looking at his ruggedly handsome face and peered at his suit that fit the wide planes of his chest and shoulders like a glove. Pricey, she thought, as were the loafers polished to military precision.
Odd that he’d chosen to wear a suit in the woods, but maybe he thought it would make him seem more intimidating. Or not, as he’d once asked her to call him Cal and that wasn’t intimidating. More likely his way of manipulating her into thinking he was a friend. Well, he wasn’t a friend. They had a professional relationship, nothing more, and she’d stick with the formality of calling him Agent Riggins like she’d decided to do at the hospital.
Keeping things strictly business was even more necessary now that he’d proved his agenda was in direct opposition to hers. She wanted to stay alive. He wanted to find Oren, no matter what, even if she got hurt in the process.
Oh, for a moment she’d thought he’d been trying to help her come to grips with her guilt—a brief little inkling in time filled with hope—but then, when he’d brought it all back to finding Oren, poof, her good feelings evaporated.
“You’re not listening,” he said.
His accusatory tone set her teeth on edge. “The five minutes you requested was up long ago.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Then I need your answer.”
She didn’t have one, and until she did, she’d use the opportunity to gain information that she’d craved for the last few months. “Suppose you answer a question for me first.”
He continued to watch her, his eyes guarded. “Go ahead.”
“I’m worried about my aunt June. Oren cares about her, so I don’t think he’ll hurt her, but I need to know if she’s in danger, too.”
“She’s fine. I’ve had a team with her round the clock since you took off.”
Surprise. “I didn’t think the FBI had money for full-time protection like that.”
He averted his gaze and became unnaturally still. A behavior she recognized courtesy of her former fiancé, Nolan, who’d acted the same way when he’d tried to hide things from her.
Exactly what was Agent Riggins hiding? Did it have to do with June?
“Wait,” she said as thoughts popped into her head. “You didn’t put the agents there to watch over June. You did it because you hoped Oren would show up and you could capture him.”
Agent Riggins didn’t answer, and time ticked by, but she held her tongue and waited him out.
“My motives were mixed,” he finally said, but didn’t elaborate. “As they are with you. I need your help, but I don’t want to inflict additional pain on you. I hope you’ll voluntarily accompany me back to Washington.”
After his high-handed behavior, she hadn’t expected his kindness, and it brought to mind his care and compassion as he’d rescued her and held her hand on the chopper ride to the hospital. Since he’d arrived tonight, she’d focused on his negatives. No one was one-sided—well, maybe Nolan had been after his true colors had come out—but she doubted the compassionate agent she’d seen at her rescue was the monster she was making him out to be.
That didn’t mean she was eager to go back to D.C. “What happens if I choose not to go with you?”
He remained motionless for a long moment, then pulled a piece of paper from his interior jacket pocket and handed it to her. She felt his eyes on her as she unfolded the page, but he didn’t have to watch for long. The title of the document showed his intent. She slowly refolded the paper and looked up to find hesitation in his gaze, but she didn’t care what he was thinking. She cared only about the message he’d just sent.
“You have a warrant for my arrest?”
“You gave me no choice.”
She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but he’d gone too far. Pushing, prodding, now threatening her. After she’d broken off her engagement to Nolan, a real control freak, she swore she’d never let anyone push her around like Agent Riggins was trying to do, but this was a legal document, and short of becoming a fugitive, she could do nothing about it.
That didn’t mean she’d roll over and let him get away with this strong-arm tactic. “I didn’t do anything wrong, and you can’t prove I did.”
“By taking off as you did, you gave us probable cause to name you as a suspect and allowed us to obtain a warrant to question you.”
“That’s ridiculous.” She stood and shoved the paper back into his hands. “You talked to me that night. You heard my voice and how terrified I was. Then you grilled me at the hospital and must have seen the same thing.”
“Okay, fine. We know you’re not working with Keeler, but I do know that you can help us. And you should know…” His gaze darkened with an intensity that reminded her of her last conversation with Nolan when she’d handed back his ring and walked out the door. “I’ll do anything it takes to bring in the Lone Wolf. If that means I have to arrest you to get you back to D.C., I will.”
At the thought of returning to the bombed-out shell of the pump house, anxiety rose up and tried to smother her. She snapped the bands as a palpable pull seemed to draw her toward the door, but she couldn’t go running off into the night. Oren might be right behind Agent Riggins.
“So will you come with me?” he asked.
“I need more time to think about it,” she replied, in hopes of coming up with an effective argument to his warrant.
“Sorry, no can do. Keeler could be closing in on us, and we should get going now.”
She widened her stance and drew her shoulders back, though at her height of five seven to his over six feet, she knew he didn’t see her as a serious physical threat. At least such a stance hadn’t affected Nolan in any way.
Nevertheless, she remained locked in position. “I’m not leaving here until a replacement lookout is in place.”
“That could take time.”
“Then it’ll take time. I ran when Oren got close before, and he killed a friend because of me. I won’t run now and risk a forest fire killing more people.”
“Fine.” The agent who had so quickly become a pain in her side worked the muscles in his jaw. “We’ll spend the night here. You think about whether you’ll come willingly or not, and I’ll pull some strings to get another lookout here ASAP. Does that work with you?”
“I’d rather have the time alone to think.”
“Not an option. Not with the chance that Keeler knows about this location.” He took his own wide stance, and the powerful planting of his feet was far more effective than hers had been. “You go ahead and get some rest. I’ll take watch while I make a few calls.”
“Are you kidding me?” Her voice shot up before she controlled it to keep from showing him how much he riled her. “First, I haven’t agreed to you calling in a replacement. Second, I didn’t say you could stay here. And third, if I do agree, there’s no way I’m going to sleep and leave you in charge.”
“Oh, I’m staying, all right. With or without your permission.” His tone put up a solid brick wall that would be tough to break through. “I’m trained to spot threats—you’re not—making me the best one to take watch.”
“I may not have your fancy FBI training, but I’ve lived the school of hard knocks the last few months, and I’ve done fine on my own.”
He arched a brow. “Have you?”
“I’m alive, and Oren hasn’t found me.”
“Yet.” One word, but the deadly implication lingered in the air.
“All the more reason for me to stay awake and remain vigilant.”
“We’ll compromise and take turns standing watch.” He paused and locked eyes with her. “Because when people get tired, they make mistakes. And in your case, Tara, any mistake you make could be fatal.”
* * *
10:05 p.m.
Cal disconnected his call with Sheriff Gorton to reaffirm his deputies continued to stand watch. After Cal had confirmed Tara’s identity, he’d arranged with the sheriff to set up a perimeter in the area until the Knights could arrive and assist Cal in escorting her back to Washington. Unfortunately, that only prevented Keeler from driving up to the property. It wouldn’t stop him from hiking through acres of surrounding forest. Cal needed to remain alert, and despite saying he planned to take turns standing watch, he’d be on guard every minute of the night.
He stepped onto the balcony. A soft breeze whispered through the trees and carried cooler air, relieving the heat from inside. Tara had dragged out the sling-back chair and announced she would sit in it for the rest of the night.
He didn’t like her being outside and exposed, but he’d pushed her far enough for one night, and if he ordered her to come inside, she’d probably try to fling him off the edge.
Despite the potential danger surrounding them, thoughts of her trying to pick him up and heave him over the rail made him smile. She’d become one tough little cookie. Not that even with her new strength she could accomplish such a feat, but he could see her trying.
He let his gaze settle on her face bathed in the moon’s golden glow. He studied her big, bright eyes ringed with long lashes, her high cheekbones, and her makeup-free, flawless complexion, and his heart took a tumble.
She was beautiful, no doubt, but it was more than that. As she’d asked about his reasons for putting a detail on her aunt, he couldn’t answer right away because he actually cared about what she thought about him. That was a new one for him. He hadn’t cared about other people’s opinions for eons, and the thought had kept his mouth closed.
She caught him staring at her and frowned. “I’ve got the first watch if you want to take a beauty nap.”
“I’m pretty enough, thank you very much,” he joked, hoping to lighten the mood. It only gained him a roll of her eyes. “Since we’re both awake, what say I run a few things past you for your opinion?”
“What kind of things?” Suspicion lingered in her eyes.
He liked the strength she’d acquired, but not this guarded attitude that said she’d lost her innocence. He couldn’t even remember a time when he thought people were basically good. Certainly not since he landed on foreign soil and took part in Operation Iraqi Freedom followed by years of deployment in Afghanistan. He’d experienced terrorism firsthand, learning lessons that she was coming to understand in a very graphic way. He’d been a big part of painting that picture for her. Now, he would play an even bigger role, and he didn’t like being the one to chase out her faith in her fellow man. But his opinion didn’t matter. Not with a killer to apprehend.
He firmed his resolve to do his job. “I’ve lived in Keeler’s head for the last six months. I’ve walked in his shoes and talked to everyone who’s had anything to do with him since he was born.” He crossed over to her and rested against the railing. “We’re hunting him based on my conclusions, and it would help if you shot holes in it if I’m incorrect.”
“Go on,” she said, not really admitting she’d help him.
“First, you should know, with the number of lives Keeler has taken, he fits the definition of a serial killer.” He glanced at Tara to see her reaction, but her expression remained blank.
“These killers,” Cal continued, “are driven by motives and reasons that are uniquely theirs. But there are certain interpersonal traits common to serial murderers. They include superficial charm, a grandiose sense of self-worth, pathological lying, and the manipulation of others. Does any of this sound like Keeler?”
“Maybe,” she said, sounding unaffected by his question, but the snap of a rubber band on her wrist told him otherwise.
He didn’t know what was up with the bands, but logic said she used them as a coping mechanism. He chose not to make her uncomfortable by questioning her about them and waited for her to continue.
“Oren was far from charming in high school. He embraced the Goth look and gave everyone an attitude, including me. Oddly enough, even when he showed such a hard exterior, I always thought he had a naïve outlook. I know it’s been months, but I can still hardly believe he’s the bomber.”
Cal knew Keeler was as far from naïve as they come. “What I don’t understand is why someone so into Goth would enlist in the army.”
“I never got that either. I know his dad forced that issue. His mom didn’t want to talk about it. Our friendship had ended, so I don’t know the details except that he stayed in for four years and then went to college on Uncle Sam’s money to get a degree in electrical engineering.”
“But his father’s death ended that, right?”
She nodded. “His dad had a heart attack in Oren’s third year. He had to go home to run the farm. As it turns out, he ran it into the ground. Maybe if he’d finished college he’d have gotten a good job instead of assembling security systems and things would be different.”
“Degree or not, those three years in college gave him the skills to create very complicated bombs.”
She frowned but didn’t comment.
“Tell me about after high school,” Cal said. “How often did you see him then?”
“I was in college when his dad died, but when I came home to see June, I’d occasionally run into him. By then, he’d let go of the clean-cut military look and was back to the Goth style. And as I told you before, the last time I saw him was at June’s house in January. He’d cleaned up his act and was quite charming.”
“Charm and manipulation,” Cal muttered. “True hallmarks of a serial killer.”
She met his gaze. “That charm and manipulation is true of you, too, but you’re not a serial killer.”
He deserved her comment but that didn’t stop him from cringing and looking back at the night scenery. “Serial killers fail to accept responsibility for their actions. They’re irresponsible and impulsive and lack empathy, guilt, or remorse. They also don’t have realistic life goals and exhibit poor behavioral controls.” He met her gaze again and made sure to keep his tone light. “None of this can be said for me.”
“Touché. Your need to find Oren at any cost is very clear, telling me how goal oriented you are.”
Cal still needed her to answer his questions, so he let her comment slide, which in itself confirmed her claim. “Keeler has the added distinction of having been radicalized.”
“Which means what exactly?”
“Our research says he turned his back on his country, accepted ISIS’s views, and aligned himself with them. We don’t believe he’s acting as an official part of the group. More like a loner with loose ties to the organization, hence the Lone Wolf name assigned to him.”
She shifted to face him, and he could tell he’d gained her interest. “Isn’t that odd? Going off on his own like that?”
“In today’s world, no. He’s one of thousands across the country committed to Islamic groups but only possessing a shallow understanding of Islam.”
“Then why join them?”
“People like Keeler are restless and feel trapped in an uneventful life. They’re disenfranchised or alienated. They long to belong to something where they’re welcomed and their grievances are validated. At the same time, they become obsessed with deadly terrorist acts carried out in the name of faith. They think committing these acts will relieve their emotional distress. No cause. Just self-serving violence.”
She sighed and twisted her hands together. At least she wasn’t snapping the rubber bands and making her wrist even redder.
“I don’t know about the acts in the name of faith,” she finally said. “But the rest of what you described sounds very much like the Oren I knew in high school.”
“So my thoughts are on target?”
She nodded and got up to stare over the balcony. “You’ve never told me how Oren killed them. I mean, I know he used bombs, but you didn’t share any details. Or did you on the phone that night? I can’t remember.”
“No,” he replied, and wished she hadn’t chosen this topic for tonight.
She’d said she’d only heard about one woman killed by Keeler since she’d left D.C., meaning she didn’t know about today’s bombing. He would have to tell her about that and share the details of other bombs at some point, but he didn’t want to mention it tonight and spook her into taking off again.
“Maybe that should wait,” he suggested. “Until later.”
She spun so quickly, if she’d been an attacker, he couldn’t have reacted fast enough, and as a former SEAL, he moved lightning fast.
“Please stop trying to control every little thing. My ex was a master at pushing me around, and I won’t stand for it.” Barely contained anger vibrated in her voice.
Cal was hot and tired, and if she continued to argue with him he might snap, but June had told him about the jerk Tara had split with, and Cal didn’t want to add to her distress, so he held his frustration in check for now.
“We’ll talk about it another day.” He forced out a smile to make peace with her. “I promise.”
“I need the information tonight to make my decision,” she insisted, sending him over the edge.
“Okay, fine. You know best. You want to know about the bombs? You got it.” He snapped his phone from his belt clip with more force than necessary and navigated to his photos.
Despite his irritation, he kept the device at an angle to prevent her from seeing horrific pictures from bomb scenes and photos of the actual device Keeler had reconstructed.
He paused at a sketch he’d drawn of the bomb minus Keeler’s skull and crossbones and held out his phone. “His devices are made of white PVC. Do you remember seeing something like this at the pump house?”
She shook her head. “I wish I could remember, but nothing comes to mind. What is it?”
“It’s called a necklace bomb because it’s placed around the victim’s neck.”
Her eyes flashed wide exactly like he expected would happen when she learned of the horror behind Keeler’s bomb choice.
“The explosives are in the pipe?”
He nodded. “He fastens it around their neck and the device has a motion switch inside so the woman can’t move without setting off the bomb. He then leaves and detonates it from a remote location so he doesn’t get hurt.”
“It…oh my…oh…the bomb must blow—”
“It does,” he interrupted before she spoke aloud words that would make the situation even more unpalatable for her.
She blinked hard. “And that’s what Oren is doing?”
Cal nodded and waited for her reaction. She didn’t lash out, cry, or make any noise, for that matter. She nodded and went pale.
“It’s worse than I thought,” she whispered, her fingers going for a rubber band and pulling hard. “I can’t believe someone I know is capable of doing something so terrible.”
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, her finger snapping the band over and over. He reached out and held her hand so she couldn’t release the rubber band.
Her eyes flashed open, and she jerked her hand free. “Don’t. Don’t do that. I need something to help me handle my stress. But then you probably think I’m foolish and the rubber bands are a big waste of time.”
“Hardly,” he replied, and tucked his hand back into his pocket. “I know what you’re feeling, Tara. Believe me, I know. If there was any way I could take the pain and distress from you, I would.”