No Control

Oran gave him a furious grunt.



“Bet you’d like that tape off your mouth,” guessed Caleb. “I’l get to it in a minute. Just want to make sure you’re not wired to set that thing off if you move too much.”



Oran went completely stil.



Caleb saw nothing that led him to think Oran could trigger the explosion with a shift of his body weight, so he eased a corner of the tape up and ripped it off the man’s face.



Caleb wasn’t a petty man, but the gasp of pain Oran gave him made him smile al the same.



“What’s going on? How did I get here?” Oran asked.



He cut the tape around Oran’s arms and legs. “You don’t know?”



“The last thing I remember was coming here this morning to talk to Lana. My head’s kiling me. Someone must have knocked me out.”



Caleb did not ask him what he was going to talk to Lana about. He was pretty sure that whatever it was would only piss him off, and he didn’t need the distraction right now.



“Can you walk?” asked Caleb.



Oran nodded. “I think so.”



“Good. Get the hel out so I can disarm this bomb.”



“By yourself?” asked Oran, horrified.



“You see anyone else standing around?”



“You should wait for the bomb squad.”



“And risk it going off in the meantime? I don’t think so. When they get here, I’m happy to share the fun. Now, unless you want to help, get out. I don’t have time to carry you out.”



Oran was gone before the echo of Caleb’s voice in the empty storage room settled.



Caleb puled in a deep breath and went to work.



CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE



The press arrived at the youth center within minutes of the evacuation, their cameras trained on the building. Lana was inundated with questions, and microphones were thrust into her face.



“Is it true there’s a bomb inside?” asked one reporter.



“We have reports of a release of nerve toxin. Can you confirm that?” asked another.



“Have you received any threats before today?”



“Can you think of any reason why your foundation would be targeted?”



They kept coming at her with questions, some of the same ones over and over. Lana spent what seemed like forever answering questions when al she wanted to do was find Caleb and make sure he was safe.



The only break she got from the reporters was when Oran stumbled out of the building, looking like he’d wet his pants. Reporters swarmed him. Cameras flashed, capturing Oran’s appearance in embarrassing detail. Those pictures were going to be popping up for the rest of Oran’s career, she was sure of it.



The bomb squad arrived in a blast of sirens. A team had gone into the building, but minutes crawled by, and no one had come out yet.



Some of the reporters left Oran to come back and attack Lana with more repetitive questions. Lana finaly had to resort to “No comment.”



Detective Hart came to her rescue, fending off the reporters. He puled her beyond a line of police tape where the reporters couldn’t get to her. “I got word from a man inside that Caleb disarmed the bomb. They’re checking the place for more, but with any luck the threat is over.”



Lana kept her knees locked to prevent herself from crumpling to the ground.



The detective’s hand gripped her arm and steadied her. “You okay?”



“I wil be if everyone gets out of this alive.” Worry crushed her, making it hard to breathe. She’d brought this danger here. She’d put the lives of so many people at risk.



Whatever it took, she could never let this happen again. If she had to go into protective custody, that’s what she’d do. Her freedom was nothing compared to the lives of the kids at the youth center and their families.



It was nothing compared to Caleb’s safety.



He had put himself in so much danger by going in there alone. She knew his job was dangerous, but knowing and witnessing it were two different things. And this danger she’d brought down upon him herself. If only she’d told him about Kara earlier, maybe they could have avoided this. Maybe he would have been able to stop Kara, take her into custody before she could have planted the bomb.



It was too late for that. The mistakes she’d made were set in stone, but that didn’t mean she had to make more. She was going to take responsibility for her role in this disaster. Publicly. She didn’t know how she would find the strength to do it, but she would. Somehow.



“We’re clear,” said Grant.



“Tel them to do another sweep with the dogs, just to be sure,” ordered Caleb.



“They’ve done two. They’re sure. Bomb squad’s moved outside to start checking cars. No one’s going home until they’re sure the exterior is clear, too.”



“Good. You and I can folow a lead, then.”



“What lead?” asked Grant.



There were stil way too many ears around for Caleb’s peace of mind. “Not here. Outside.”



Caleb and Grant slipped out through the crowd without tipping off the press.



When they were out of earshot, Caleb said, “Monroe traced the cel phone used to trigger the bomb to a man named Dennis Nelson.”



“Not Kara?”



“No. I’ve got his address.”



“This is Kara’s boyfriend, or so we thought. I’m coming with you.”



Caleb didn’t argue. He was too glad Grant was here to lend a hand and make the job safer so he could get back to Lana in one piece.



They geared up on the drive over, donning vests and headsets to keep them in constant communication. They were both revved up, tense, and on edge as they neared the Nelson residence.



The man’s house was a run-down little place that matched al the others on the block. The cracker box had been built right after World War II and looked like it hadn’t been painted since. A flower box ful of weeds graced the single front window.



Grant circled around back while Caleb let himself in through the front door. The place was a wreck, with newspapers and beer bottles and pizza boxes thrown everywhere. The smel of stale sweat and old beer filed the air, forcing Caleb to breathe through his mouth.



“The back is clear—I’m coming in,” said Grant over the headset Caleb wore.



Grant was at his side an instant later.



There wasn’t much to the house, just a smal kitchen, a living room, and two bedrooms with a bathroom between. Caleb motioned for Grant to take the bedroom on the right.



Weapon in hand, Caleb went to the bedroom on the left. He nudged the door open and saw a man lying facedown on the bed. A soft snore gave away that the man was alive, and Caleb felt his mouth pul back in a fierce smile.



“Clear,” whispered Grant over the headset.



Caleb felt Grant’s shadow beside him, covering him while he entered the room. Caleb woke the sleeping man up by pressing a knee against his back to hold his body immobile against the mattress.



The man came awake with a frightened shriek and thrashed under Caleb’s knee. Caleb pressed more of his weight into the man’s spine until he stopped fighting. “How do you know Kara McIntire?” he asked.



“What the hel? I don’t know any fucking Kara. If your old lady is sleeping around on you, that’s not my problem.”



“Wrong answer. Try again. We found your cel phone on the bomb.”



The man tensed beneath Caleb’s knee. “It couldn’t have been mine. Mine is on the dresser.”



Caleb heard Grant take a step toward the dresser, but he kept his eyes on Dennis.



“No phone here,” said Grant.



“I’m only going to ask you one more time, Mr. Nelson. How did your phone end up on the bomb at the youth center?”



“I don’t know. I swear it. My boss must have come in and taken it last night.”



“Your boss?” asked Caleb.



“I don’t know his name. I swear to God. He contacted me by phone, using this freaky thing that fucked up his voice so I couldn’t recognize it.”



“Are you sure it was a man?”



Dennis hesitated for a moment, then said, “Sounded like a man, but like I said, it was al fucked up, like a robot or something.”



It could have been Kara using a voice-modulation device. He’d have Monroe add that to the list of questions to ask her. “What did you do for your boss?” demanded Caleb.



“I didn’t plant the bomb. I swear.”



“Your fingerprints were at the youth center,” lied Caleb. It would take a while for the results of the fingerprints they’d lifted to come back, but it was a good guess—one designed to get Dennis to talk.



“I picked up some stuff for my boss. He wanted me to bring back a bunch of photographs of the kids.”



“What photos?” asked Caleb.



“They were on a buletin board in the break room. It was just a bunch of kids at some swim party or something. He came here and got them when I was sleeping. My boss is the pervert, not me. I don’t go for kids.”



“What do you know about the bomb?”



Dennis swalowed hard. “I saw the parts. My boss had me take everything out and lay it on the kitchen table. I have no fucking idea why. The guy’s a psycho. You should be looking for him.”



Caleb knew exactly why Dennis had been ordered to do that. Whoever had realy made the bomb—probably Kara—wanted to make sure that there were nice, clear fingerprints on al the components. No doubt Dennis Nelson had a police record and his prints were on file. The police would track him right back here and find trace evidence that there had been explosives in his kitchen. They’d probably also find photographs from the youth center hidden around his house, with his prints al over them. Dennis would be blamed for the bomb, and the real culprit would walk away.



It was a good plan. Too bad for Kara they already had her in custody.



“Did you ever meet your boss in person?” asked Caleb.



“No.”



“What about a woman named Kara? Know her?” asked Grant.



“No.”



“She came here several times. Let herself in with a key.”



Dennis went pale. “My boss was a woman? That’s fucked up.”



“Is there anything else you were told to do? Anything at al?” Caleb let al his anger come though in his voice. He used it as a weapon to scare Dennis, to make the bastard talk.



“I broke into a couple places. He, or she, I guess, wanted me to find some drawings or something.”



“Drawings?” A chil flooded Caleb’s stomach.



“Yeah, like sketches. She wanted to see every new drawing this one chick did, but I never found any.”



Lana’s sketchbooks.



“What was the woman’s name?” asked Caleb in a lethaly quiet voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Grant move closer to the bed, as if preparing to pul Caleb off if he did something stupid, like beat Dennis to a pulp.



The thought had crossed Caleb’s mind.



“I don’t know,” said Dennis.



“Tel me.” Caleb grabbed a fistful of hair and puled the man’s head back at an awkward angle.



“Laura something. That’s al I know.” Dennis’s voice gurgled from the extreme angle.