Читать книгу A Secret In Conard County - Rachel Lee - Страница 10

Chapter 3

“You can’t stay at the motel,” he told her as they walked back to his car.

She had to agree with that. If she was at risk, then a lot of other people would be at risk. “Where, then?”

“I was going to suggest you stay with my aunt Maria, but much as she’d love the company, no way am I exposing her to you.”

She liked his honesty and answered with her own. “I seem to be deadly.”

“Exactly. So... My place.”

“Your place?”

“I’ve got plenty of room, and it’s away from other houses, so if this guy gets a wild hair to bomb it, nobody else will get hurt. It’ll also give us some nice clear sight lines.”

She could appreciate the sight lines but had other concerns. She kept them to herself until she had climbed slowly back into his vehicle.

“Well?” he asked as he turned over the ignition.

“Your house would be at risk.”

“I know. It’s insured.”

“Not against criminal acts, I bet. Most policies have an exception for that.”

“Not mine. I’m a cop and I can read. Look, Erin, you can’t hit the road. Frankly, you’re in poor condition to protect yourself, and like the sheriff pointed out earlier, whichever way you go, it’d be easy to follow you. Not a whole lot else between here and there, is all. You don’t want to be crossing the mountains by yourself in your condition. Do I need to keep on?”

She knew she was tired of running. She’d as much as said so in the sheriff’s office. Besides, she was beginning to wonder why she should have to be the one hiding or running. It made her blood boil just thinking about it. Trying to keep one step ahead of a criminal hardly suited her nature.

But she didn’t want to cost Lance Conroe a whole lot. Like his house. Like his life. It seemed so wrong.

“Can I get a flight out of here?”

“Only two commercial flights a week—a puddle jumper in and out of Denver on Friday and Sunday night,” he answered. “There used to be a daily flight while they were building the resort, but that’s all on hold. We have some folks who own small light planes, and one guy runs an executive jet service out of here, which is usually more out of here than here, if you get me. I think he’s in Mexico right now. Anyway, none of those little twin-engine jobs could get you safely across the mountains and I’m not sure their owners would even want to try. They’re ranchers, Erin, not pilots, if you get my drift.”

She got it. Definitely this was a kill box. She might persuade the Bureau to send a flight for her, if she begged hard enough, but she might as well put another neon sign on her back.

“I’ve been stupid,” she said finally.

“Why?”

“I should have just elected the safe house or caught a plane to the coast, rather than thinking I could drive myself there. And I surely shouldn’t have told Fran exactly where I was. Of course she’d tell my boss.”

“I kinda think that’s my fault. I must have lit up the boards when I checked your ID.”

It was true. Apparently her field office knew her whereabouts and was concerned about how many might know. Maybe Fran hadn’t passed it along. If anyone understood Erin’s position it was Fran.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly.

“I do. If you’re not afraid of me, I’ve got enough room to tuck you into. Let’s go back to the motel and get your car and other things. If you decide you want to take off, I won’t stop you.”

She gave in. What else could she do? Reviewing the decisions that had led her to this small town, she had an uneasy feeling that she wasn’t thinking with as clear a head as she might imagine, even without taking the pain meds. She was better than this.

With that gloomy thought, she let Lance take over.

* * *

Lance made it easy for her, and she was past arguing. She put the remaining few items in her cases and didn’t object when he took them out to her vehicle. She walked slowly to the motel office, and paid the bill in cash, but by the time she was hobbling back to her car, she was limping noticeably.

A burst of frustration and rage socked her. She was used to being able to do a lot more than walk, and now even walking could defeat her.

But, she reminded herself, she was walking. She might be limping but she’d walked a goodly distance this morning, to and from the diner, and now the length of the motel and back. She was getting her strength back. A week ago she’d have been ready to collapse.

Lifting her chin, she limped the rest of the way to her car. Lance was sitting in his vehicle nearby, engine thrumming, waiting patiently. She was so glad he hadn’t attempted to go pay the bill himself. Carrying her cases was one thing; pampering her to the extreme would be another.

He smiled and touched a finger to the brim of his hat as she reached the vehicles. She hated to think what she must have looked like, attempting to bend herself into her vehicle so cautiously. But she did it, and felt pretty good when she leaned forward, stuck the key in the ignition and started it up. The tow truck had left her nose-out, which meant she didn’t have to twist a whole lot to back out.

She pulled up beside Lance’s car. “Which way?”

“Toward the mountains,” he said, pointing. “I got me a little piece of heaven just a few miles down the road.”

A piece of heaven, and she might draw a bomber his way. Oh, great. For an instant she felt a wild urge to just leave town, but then reality slammed her hard. Her decision-making hadn’t been the best, obviously, nowhere near the top of her form. And the sheriff had been blunt about traveling through the mountains and about being followed. How could she trust her own thinking right now?

They traveled west on the state highway for a little over a mile, then turned onto a county road that needed some fresh paving. It was crumbling around the edges, but at least dozens of potholes had been filled in. And the mountains seemed to loom larger in her windshield.

She wished she had a map. It seemed this county was tucked into a wide mountain valley. Well, more than a valley. The eastern mountains were far enough away to make this feel like a plain. But the western ones loomed close, purple dashed with green in the midday light. Probably farther away than they looked, she decided. She had no perspective for judging that, but when she considered how long she’d driven while watching them slowly grow bigger in front of her, she imagined she was still far from reaching them.

But she was in the foothills for sure. The land here rolled, the road snaked around some curves, an occasional narrow bridge crossed a tumbling stream.

Another turn took them onto gravel and a small house appeared as if it had been dropped in the middle of nowhere. Some trees dotted the brushy, grassy landscape, and little else until woods appeared like a distant ring of tall sentinels.

Lance pulled a wide circle in front of the house and she followed suit, stopping behind him. When he climbed out, she turned off her ignition and sat waiting as he approached, moving only to roll her power window down.

He squatted by the car. “Home sweet home. Future plans not yet accomplished, but right now it’s just what we need. We’re not as far from town as it may seem but you don’t have to worry about anyone getting caught in any cross fire.”

“Thank you,” she said, really meaning it. “I’ll certainly be harder to find out here.”

“Counting on it. But not entirely. The other guys should stop by this evening so you can meet them and know who they are. Then the waiting game begins.”

He opened her door, and she twisted gingerly on the seat, finally putting her feet on the ground and pausing a minute. “You won’t count too much on not being found?”

“Of course not. Everyone can be found if they have an address. What we’re hoping is that this might stall him a while if he shows up. Nobody knows you’re staying with me except the sheriff and the other guys who’ll be watching over you, okay? Your ASAC was clear about not revealing your whereabouts.”

As the inevitable pain eased, she pushed out and stood. “So I’m in a safe house anyway.”

“Kinda,” he admitted. “But not exactly. I called in your ID, you told your friend about me. If this guy is halfway smart and actually comes here, sooner or later it’s going to occur to him where you might be.”

She couldn’t deny that. “We have to be ready.” Always plan for any eventuality. That had been drilled into her. The most remote possibility sometimes happened.

“We’ll be as ready as we can.”

She turned a little, looking from the snug little house to him. “Lance? Are you sure you want to take this risk?”

His blue-green eyes met hers steadily. “Isn’t this what we do, Agent?”

Hesitantly she nodded, acknowledging the truth of it.

“One cop to another, I’d do this. But oddly...” He rubbed his chin, staring past her over the prairie to the mountains. “Oddly enough, I’m developing a real need to catch this SOB. So buckle your seat belt, Erin. You’re not alone in this.”

“I never was,” she argued.

“Until you left home. But now you’re with people who have just one ax to grind. Catching this guy.”

What an odd way to phrase it, she thought. Ax to grind? Did he think someone at her field office had it in for her? That revealing her identity hadn’t just been a slipup?

But as he carried her bags inside, leaving it to her to decide when she’d follow, she ran through everyone she knew back home, and couldn’t think of a single one who might want to put her in harm’s way.

That didn’t mean there wasn’t anyone, just that she couldn’t imagine who.

Sighing, gathering herself, she headed for the porch. Two steps. She laid her hand on the rail and was relieved that she could climb without clinging to it. Getting better indeed.

* * *

Lance watched her ease into the house after he put her bags atop the dresser in his spare room. He felt an urge to wince for her, her caution and slowness giving away her discomfort even if she managed to avoid letting a grimace reach her face. He knew what a bullet could do, but clearly she had been injured by the bomb that destroyed her house, tree or no tree. Falling debris, maybe? The blast wave? He had no idea what kind of injuries she had survived and didn’t know how to ask. Seeing her move was a painful experience unto itself.

He watched her step through the door straight into his small living room, and glance around. Hardly something out of an interior design magazine, but comfortable and marked by long years. A battered chintz-covered couch, a wooden rocker with pillows, a braided rug.

“Have a seat if you want,” he suggested, “or explore. Single story, so your bedroom is in the back on the left. Kitchen is through there,” he said, pointing. “And you get your own bathroom.”

She glanced at him. “In a house this size?”

He flashed a smile. “I shared this house with my mother until she died. Two bathrooms were essential. Coffee? I can’t make you a latte, I’m afraid.”

“Coffee would be great. I need to stay awake.”

She needed more than that, he thought, and was relieved to see her at last settle into a padded rocker. It was almost like watching someone who was just learning how to use a body. “How about a pain pill to go with it?”

“You a pusher?” she asked, and he was relieved to hear the teasing note in her voice.

“Hey, if there’s any time it would be safe to stuff your brain with cotton, the next few hours are probably it.”

She just shook her head. “I’ll get some ibuprofen in a minute.”

Well, he could provide that as well as the coffee. In his kitchen—a comfortable room because his mother had made it so over the years—he started the drip coffeemaker and got a glass of water and the bottle of ibuprofen. He carried both back to her immediately, and she accepted them with thanks.

“I’m gonna step outside for a few minutes. Give me your keys and I’ll put your car in the garage. I’ll be back by the time the coffee’s ready.”

She simply nodded as she tipped two pills into her hand.

He walked out the front door and stood without moving for a while, feeling a bit like an old goat. Not that he was all that old, but that woman was raising his flagpole, as it were. He felt guilty as sin for even having such feelings when she was so clearly in recovery, but she appealed to him on the most basic level. He’d have bet the homestead that she wouldn’t like that either.

Regardless, he needed a few minutes to clear his head and get back on the real purpose of her being here. They had work to do, and no time for dalliances, even presuming she’d tolerate it.

The air held the musty, dusty, not-quite-green scent of midsummer. The world still hadn’t completely dried out from winter and spring, but it was on the way. They badly needed some rain, but he knew better than to wish for it. At this time of year, ponds were starting to dry up and only the toughest, hardiest of plants could make it. In a few weeks, dang near everything would be brown. That the mountains were still somehow managing to dump water into the creeks was amazing, but most of them wouldn’t be running for long.

But thinking about rain wasn’t helping him either. He stepped off the porch, sank into her small car and put it in his aging detached garage. Then he walked around the outside of his house, trying to make a professional judgment about what needed doing to keep Erin as safe as possible. The guys coming tonight would probably have more ideas than he, because they had more experience at this kind of thing.

But for now he looked at the windows, which no longer seemed like such a good thing to have, and the three doors, which was two doors too many right now.

He needed more information about the kind of man who was coming after her, more than that he liked to blow up women. They must have been piecing together some kind of profile, and Lance needed to know what was in it. Impossible to guard against the complete unknown.

And he was just wasting time and he knew it. Whatever demons this woman unleashed in him, he needed to bury them.

Finally giving up his search for a way to ignore his response to her, he went back inside. She was still awake, sitting in the rocker, and from the way she jerked when he came in she hadn’t quite left fear behind her. She covered quickly, however. He had to give her that.

But what kind of person wouldn’t be afraid after what she’d been through?

“I’ll get the coffee,” he said. “You want anything in it?”

“Just enough milk to lighten it a bit, if that’s okay.”

“Not a problem.” He hung his hat on the coat tree by the door, then hesitated only a moment before removing his gun belt. He doubted the guy could find the place this quickly unless he was a psychic, and Erin was armed anyway. She could probably draw fast enough if necessary, despite her wounds. He did lock the door, though, something he rarely did out here.

He filled two large mugs with coffee and carried them back to the living room. He found her sitting bolt upright in the rocker.

“Erin? What’s wrong?”

She drew a shaky breath. “Just some twinges.”

More than twinges, he suspected. Frustration nearly goaded him into going through her suitcases to find some of those pain meds. Instead he set the coffee on the side table, then took up position on the couch facing her. He thought he’d settled down until the words escaped him.

“What are you punishing yourself for?”

She drew a sharp breath and her gaze landed on him with almost physical force. The woman she had been before all this. Powerful. In control. And right now angry with him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Staying alert is just an excuse right now. You know why they give you pain meds? Not just to make you more comfortable. No, they give them to you because pain is exhausting and can delay your recovery. Plus if you can’t move around easily enough you won’t limber up. So take a dang pill, give yourself some rest and start using some of those parts that hurt too much to want to move.”

Those sherry-brown eyes glared at him, but he kept his mouth shut and waited it out. Finally her expression relaxed.

“I shouldn’t be doing this to you,” she said.

“Doing what?”

“Moving in on you, taking over your life. And now there seems to be no way out.”

“I know I’m irritating, but that bad?”

Her face relaxed the rest of the way. “You’re not irritating. What’s irritating is how long it’s taking me to get back to normal. What’s irritating is how poorly thought-out this whole trip of mine was. I figured that if I just got in a car and roamed aimlessly, I’d be as safe as any safe house. Maybe safer. But now I’m pinned down.”

“In a kill box,” he said, using her earlier description.

“Yeah, and I should have thought that through, shouldn’t I? But I didn’t. I’m angry with myself.”

He reckoned he could understand that, but didn’t see how it would help anything. “What’s done is done, Erin. You’ve been through a lot. Some poor decision-making is to be expected and if that’s the worst of it, you’re doing good. None of us thinks well when we’ve been through a trauma. Besides, I don’t think your decisions were all that bad. How were you to know you wouldn’t just sail to wherever without being discovered?”

Her jaw tightened. “I should have thought. After all, somehow this guy found out about me to begin with. Somehow that didn’t seem to enter my calculations.”

Why would it? he wondered. Not very many serial bombers chased a target across country. The Unabomber had, but he’d done it by mail. “It could have been a slipup. Yes, your bosses are concerned there might be another one, but truth is, they don’t know that. Nobody knows that yet. So they’re being hypercautious. So are we. Just in case.”

At last she leaned back in the chair, wincing a bit. “Just in case,” she repeated. “Yeah. And it’s causing a whole bunch of trouble.”

“Not really. Hey, you’re giving me a break from prowling the roads, writing tickets and trying to convince couples I know that they really don’t want to kill each other.”

At last he drew a small laugh from her. Relief filled him. “It’s still not fair to you,” she said. “Me invading your house, possibly with a whole lot of trouble coming.”

“I volunteered,” he said quietly. “Nobody made me.”

She let go of it at last, and edged herself forward in the chair. “Half a pain pill,” she said.

He bit back an offer to get it for her. “Your bags are in your room.”

“Thanks.”

She grimaced a bit as she rose, then stood still as if mentally testing herself. He had some idea how maddening this had to be for her. He’d felt that way after his own wounding.

He had left the door to her bedroom wide open and figured she could find it without him hovering. She didn’t want to be hovered over, he could tell. Events had taken her independence from her, and she was struggling to take back every bit she could. He listened to her slowly walk down the hall, and when she didn’t call out, he guessed she’d found her room.

He picked up his coffee, found it had gone cold and headed out with both their mugs to get fresh. Along the way he opened a couple of windows to let the breeze in. He returned just in time to see her settling into the rocker again. She’d dispensed with her jacket, revealing a sleeveless top that bared her arms...and some scars. A few small burns, a few cuts that had been stitched. Still angry looking.

But she hadn’t ditched her shoulder holster. Interesting. He set the fresh coffee beside her and saw her take the pill with the glass of water he’d brought her earlier.

“Okay, rainbows and unicorns,” she said.

He laughed. “Maybe you should ditch the gun, then.”

She shook her head slightly. “Half a pill doesn’t make me woozy.”

But it was what she didn’t say that hit him. She didn’t feel safe anymore without her weapon. Not even here. Not even now. And maybe she was right that half a pill wouldn’t affect her too much. In which case it wouldn’t do too much for her pain.

“God, you’re a pain,” he said finally, keeping his tone mild.

“Really?” she asked acidly. “Okay, I’ll leave.”

He stood. “Just looking for an excuse, aren’t you? But where will you go? You really want to be out there alone with this guy?”

“He probably isn’t anywhere near here yet. I don’t have to go over the mountains. I can head north...”

“More mountains.”

“Back to Denver, then.”

“Some mountains.” He felt a smile trying to be born, but stomped down on it. “Look, Erin, if you take so little pain medication that it doesn’t help, why bother? If you have so little trust in my department...well, I guess we can’t just make that happen, can we? So do you trust anyone?”

“Not really,” she said baldly. “Not right now.”

“Fair enough.” And it was fair. She didn’t know him from Adam. They’d met less than twenty-four hours ago. What else did she have to judge them by?

“Oh, to heck with it,” she said abruptly and reached for the pill bottle she’d brought out from her bedroom. It was surprisingly large for pain meds. “One more won’t kill me. Is that trust enough for you?”

Shocked, he fell silent. What was she trying to prove? That she trusted a man she hardly knew? Why? “I can’t figure you out,” he said finally.

She smiled sourly. “Few can.” After popping another pill—a half? He didn’t know—she reached for her pistol and removed it from the holster, placing it on the table. “All better now?”

“Not if you don’t feel safe,” he admitted frankly.

“I haven’t felt safe since the incident. Nothing new in that. Might as well get used to it. You’re in charge now, Deputy.”

That, he thought, might be the crux of all of this. A sense of control was important to cops. All cops. He’d just badgered her into giving it up. Smart move, he thought irritably. What now?

Fifteen minutes later the pills started hitting. He could see it in her softening posture, in the way her breathing grew more relaxed. That much was good.

“So you lived here with your mother?” she asked.

“Yeah. When I quit the force in Denver and came up here, she was living all alone. It made sense to move in with her. She needed some looking after since my dad died. Things were pretty generally going to hell, and she wasn’t all that well. Diabetes was catching up with her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. It was impossible to convince her that insulin shots and oral meds didn’t make it possible to continue eating down-home cooking. Stubborn woman.”

“Seems to run in the family.”

At that he smiled. “Good experience for dealing with you.”

She smiled, really smiled. Oh, yeah, those pills were kicking in. “I’m a handful, or so I’ve been reliably informed. My bosses keep telling me to color inside the lines.”

“A bit of a rogue?”

“Not exactly. I don’t do anything illegal. I just don’t fit too well in the box.”

A short sound of amusement escaped him. “The FBI seems like a strange place for someone who doesn’t fit in the box.”

And at last a laugh from her. “It’s interesting, all right. They give me my head sometimes, because I’m good. Was good?” The verb seemed to perplex her for a moment. “Oh, man, the fog and unicorns are here.”

“Try to rustle up a rainbow.”

Giving another laugh, she settled into the chair as if it felt more comfortable now. The sight relieved him. She picked up her coffee and drained half of it, probably trying to keep her head clear. “The pain seems a long way away right now.”

“Good.”

She dragged her gaze back to him. “So no wife?”

“An ex. Years ago.”

“Same here,” she admitted.

“But you said something about him stalking you.”

She lifted both eyebrows. “I did? When?”

“Your call from Fran,” he reminded her.

“Ah. Well, he calls from time to time. Wants to put it back together. But he’s not the kind of stalker I’d be worried about. Just a minor nuisance.”

“And this Tom guy?”

“My ASAC. Trying to mix business with pleasure. Never a good thing.”

“I suppose not.”

“Definitely not. One bad marriage was enough. Mixing it up with a career would be stupid. I’m not always stupid.”

He hid a smile. “Rarely, I would imagine. Maybe just since you were wounded.”

“Oh, I’ve been stupid before, like when I got married the first time. I still can’t remember why I thought that would ever work.”

“Love overrode reason?” he suggested. He was beginning to enjoy this softer side of Erin.

“I can’t even remember that. I just know I don’t punch a time clock—I’m a bit obsessive when I get on a case and he couldn’t handle the hours. So the complaining started, and the more he tried to squeeze me into his box of expectations, the more I rebelled.”

“A lot of boxes out there,” he remarked.

“Do you fit in any?”

He thought about it, deciding she deserved an honest answer. “I was happy with my marriage. She wasn’t. So whether that box fit, I can’t tell you. But I enjoy my work a whole lot, and piddling around this place taking care of things. So yeah, I guess I found a happy box.”

“Good for you.” Her eyelids had just started to look heavy when she snapped them open again. “Can I get some more coffee?”

“Sure. Want me to show you where?”

She got out of the rocker more easily, and walked with a more comfortable pace into the kitchen.

“Okay,” she said, “you were right about the pills. But I can’t keep taking them.”

“Got it. Just remember, you’re not alone. You’ve got a team again.”

“When are those guys coming by?”

“Tonight. You’ll like them. They have a very individual box of their own.”

Back to the living room with the coffee, but this time she didn’t settle. Now that she could move, she wanted to. He just hoped she didn’t overdo it. He watched her pace the small room and figured she’d probably love to get out for a walk. He wouldn’t trust her on the uneven ground out there, however. Not on those meds.

“I had a little house,” she remarked. “About the size of this. I planted all kinds of flowers around it. All gone now.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shook her head a little. “That’s the least of it.” All of a sudden she faced him, feet planted firmly. “Do you know what it does to you when a guy in a police uniform shoots you?”

He nodded slowly, waiting for her to continue.

“He isn’t really a cop, of course, but the fact that he could get a uniform and fool me for as long as it took? That’s probably how he was getting these other women. Officer Friendly.”

“Ugly,” he answered.

“I’ve worked on cases where cops used excessive force. I’ve seen the attempts to cover it up, and seen the results when we get called in. So you’ll excuse me if I don’t trust the uniform easily. But I wasn’t prepared for that, distrustful or not.”

Those pills were sure making her chatty, not that he minded. He was actually enjoying it. “I’ve known some dirty cops. Cops who push the line. I don’t like it.”

She nodded. “I hate it. Just a few bad apples make it harder for everyone. When you can’t trust the uniform...” She gave a little shrug. “How did I get off on this?”

“The guy who shot you.”

“Oh. Yeah. So we’ve got a really minimal profile. Useless profile, actually. How much of a profile is it that the guy likes to blow up women? But now we know he probably poses as a cop, which gets him places he couldn’t go otherwise, makes him fairly invisible and makes it easy for him to get women to cooperate.”

This was creating wrinkles. Already he could see the potential for disaster here. “I’m going to introduce you to four guys tonight. Those four will be utterly trustworthy. Don’t trust anyone else. Fair enough?”

“I didn’t really trust you at first when you pulled me over.”

His answer was dry. “I gathered.”

“Now you know why. Anybody could get a deputy’s uniform, and I don’t know your department.”

“But my whole department knows everyone. That’s important, Erin. I’m going to call Gage.” In fact, it was the first real useful information they’d got.

* * *

Erin settled back on the rocker and enjoyed the relative freedom from agony. The pills didn’t kill it all, but they made it duller, less inhibiting, further away. Which meant her mind wasn’t working at top speed, but evidently she’d just offered some useful information. Good. Leaning her head back, she let her eyes close. Lance was making the call from his kitchen, but she heard bits and pieces of it. Apparently he was telling the sheriff about the uniform thing, and she gathered all the deputies would now be on the lookout for a guy in uniform that they didn’t recognize.

That might be helpful, or it might not. Would the UNSUB even try that out here? Who knew. This wasn’t the kind of place where a uniform would provide sufficient protective coloration. But it was still good to know the deputies would be alert for someone trying to pass as one of them.

The pill not only softened the pain, it made her drowsy. Right now she feared drowsiness. It felt odd to her to be placing so much trust in a man she’d just met, and she wasn’t yet prepared to trust him by sleeping. Not that she had any reason to be suspicious of him at this point.

In fact, maybe she was being unreasonably suspicious. Maybe there was no reason to be fearful at all. If the bomber wanted her out of the picture, he’d already succeeded. She might still be breathing, but she was no longer involved with the task force.

When Lance returned to the room carrying the coffeepot to freshen her mug, she floated the idea by him.

He stopped, tilting his head, looking at her from slightly narrowed eyes. “They were worried enough they wanted to put you in a safe house. Instead you left town. Where did this idea come from?”

“I’m no longer part of the task force. No threat to him. People like him tend to want to work in familiar geographical areas anyway.”

He nodded slowly and poured more coffee into her cup. “I’ll get the milk. And I want you to think that through again. Carefully.”

She guessed she wasn’t making sense—hardly surprising—but he wanted her to think about it again. Her thoughts had turned into wisps that floated away before she could grab them. She was no longer a threat to this guy. His type preferred to work in familiar geographical areas. So...

All of a sudden she sat bolt upright, then wished she hadn’t as the pain broke through the fuzz and drew an unusual groan from her.

“What?” Lance asked as he returned with the milk jug.

“I had a thought...” She leaned back and closed her eyes.

“What did you think?”

“That there’s something I don’t know. Something my field office evidently does know, because now that I’m out of the area, I’d be taking this perp out of his comfort zone, and profiling says he wouldn’t do that. So what do they know? What did I miss? Why are they worried at all about me?”

As the pain began to ease, she opened her eyes and saw that her coffee was again milky. Lance stood there screwing the top back on the gallon container.

“Let me think about that,” he said. “Be right back.”

She watched him return to the kitchen and felt her hand itch to pull out the phone and call Fran. Fran would know everything about the case, about whether there was new information. But something stayed her. God, she was getting paranoid. Now she didn’t even want to call her best friend?

When Lance returned, he sat on the couch across from her. “Seems to me,” he said, “that this guy stopped fitting a profile when he came after you. First, you weren’t his victim type. Second, he shot you, so he’s not afraid to kill that way. Most bombers are cowards, aren’t they?”

She nodded. “Well away from the death and destruction they cause. Murder at long distance.”

“This guy tried one up close and personal. So maybe they’re thinking he’s a wild card and don’t want to inadvertently leave you hanging in the breeze.”

“Maybe.”

“And shooting a Fed? That’s far from risk-averse. Much as you all wanted this guy before, I bet your colleagues want him even more now.”

She had no doubt of that. She’d lost count of the times her fellow agents had visited her in the hospital and made solemn promises to bring this guy down for her. Oh, they’d always wanted him, but now it was personal in a new way.

“So okay,” Lance said. “Maybe this guy won’t come this far for you. Like you said, out of his comfort zone. But nobody wants to bet your life on it now.”

It made sense, as much sense as anything could when her brain seemed foggy. She was nowhere near 100 percent, mentally or physically, and that irritated her beyond words. She should never have taken the pain medicine. But even as she scolded herself for it, she was glad of this respite. For a little while, pain was far away, at the distant edges of her awareness.

“Lance?”

“Yeah?”

“Who are these guys who are coming by tonight?”

“I can’t say exactly.”

The fog instantly receded. “How can you not know? You’re going to let strangers in?”

“Not strangers. I know all the guys Gage will contact. They’ve been around awhile.”

“Men who’ve been sent on classified missions to undisclosed locations.”

“Exactly.”

“And you have more than four of them in this county?” The thought boggled her mind. Men like that didn’t exactly grow on trees, and this county was far from overpopulated. Coming up with four shouldn’t be a lottery.

Lance smiled. “It started decades ago with our former sheriff. He was a Green Beret in Vietnam. He brought a friend a few years later, and for some reason more followed over the years. One of them is his son, a retired navy SEAL. Somehow we’ve gathered them.”

“I guess so. Aren’t they rusty?”

“They don’t let themselves get rusty.”

That was a comment she would have liked to pursue, but it seemed like too much trouble at that moment. Instead she put her mind to finishing her coffee in the hopes it would help keep her brain in gear.

“Let me go make another pot,” Lance said as he watched her drain her cup. “I hope you don’t mind roast chicken for dinner.”

“Sounds good. Thanks.”

Watching Lance walk away, her unguarded thoughts insisted on reminding her that he was one attractive man. Too bad she hurt so much. Too bad she would be returning to the road as soon as she could.

Because she sure would have liked to get him in the sack for just one night.

* * *

The bomber answered the phone, hearing the long anticipated mechanical voice.

“I know where she might be,” the voice said.

The bomber had been growing antsy. Two weeks of sitting on his hands until the agent got out of the hospital, followed by two weeks when the voice didn’t know where she’d gone. He had two bombs waiting to be used, and he was itching to get out and look for another woman who needed a lesson.

“You stay where you are,” the voice said. “Don’t go after another woman. Not yet. It’s still too dangerous.”

That caused him to settle, like it or not. He’d been so close to going out hunting tonight.

“I have to verify the information,” the voice said. “And you need to get ready to travel.”

“Travel?” The bomber didn’t like the idea. Leave the only safety he had?

“You heard me. She saw you. She’s out of the area right now. When the time comes, you either go after her, or you’re going to be sitting in court with her pointing a finger at you. Understand?”

He understood. “When?”

“I don’t know yet. You’re not the only one who needs to be careful.”

So the voice had some worries, too? He liked that. He eyed the bombs, and figured he could build another while he waited. After he took out the agent, maybe he could use them on his way back from wherever he had to go. Yeah, he liked that idea.

“Wait for my call.” The voice disconnected.

Anger began to sizzle in him. How the voice had found him, he didn’t know. But he didn’t like having his strings pulled like this. Didn’t like the idea of traveling. Didn’t like that he couldn’t set another bomb.

He hated the voice. But he feared its threats even more.