a Touch of TNT (An Everly Gray Adventure) (7 page)

It was past time to deal with my touch malfunction, and what better place than the construction site that had become my nemesis. I dressed for the occasion in loose black pants and a long-sleeved, lightweight, black shirt, and then tucked my hair under a black ball cap.

Ready, set, detonate.

FIVE

A little TNT went a long way.
Dark had settled snugly around what was left of the deserted wreckage, the vacant parking lot…and me. I pushed the seat back in my Bug, pulled my feet up under me, and opened the window. The air was heavy with the promise of rain and the stinging scent of ozone. The quiet pressed against my ears, and free-floating panic skittered along my nerves. Not that there was anything to be afraid of. The demolished site sat at the edge of a ritzy residential area—a very low crime neighborhood.

Okay. So it was a big deal to have my sense of touch out of whack and I probably shouldn’t have avoided dealing with the problem for this long, but finding Jacobson’s body had put everything on hold.

I got out of the car and picked my way toward the surreal skyline of the wreckage, started to circle the perimeter. With each step the panic shifted—sometimes barely tickling the edge of my consciousness, sometimes suffocating me like wet wool.

The strongest smothering sensation was coming from a spot near the parking lot. There was a titch of grass there, big enough for me to sit on comfortably. The moon was full, playing hide and seek with the cloud cover. A single, bright beam of moonlight touched the ground right where I wanted to sit. Thank you, God, because no way would I plant my backside without knowing that nothing smelly and unattractive littered the ground. Still, I got a blanket out of the car to sit on. Creepy crawlies came out in the dark. Enough said.

I kept my hands on my lap, fingers lightly curled. My brain ached with the sensation of panic that had settled in to keep me company. I closed my eyes to block out the wreckage of the construction site and let my mind wander. Images of Jacobson, Mitch, and Katelan played on my internal movie screen.

As my mind relaxed, I opened my eyes and scanned the moonlit reality of the landscape. The grey edges began to clear from my vision, and I allowed my fingertips to brush the ground. The hum of mother earth tingled along my nerves, warm and comforting. Yes, this was the right thing for me to do. I alternately fisted and flexed my hands a few times, and then rested my fingertips on the ground.

There was a rush of new images, and with them a sigh of relief moved through my body. Now I had some viable information to share with Adam—a description of two guys. And I was beginning to understand what had gone wrong with my sense of touch.

In order for my intuition to purr along in good working order, I couldn’t pre-load it with expectations and preconceived ideas about what I was going to see. I had to let go of the structure my mind created, as well as any of those annoying emotions that colored everything, in this case, with grey edges.

Mission accomplished, I made it home in record time and snuggled into the corner of my sofa with a glass of my favorite cabernet. It was cozy and safe, and should have been the perfect setting for me to record the impressions I’d gotten at the construction site. But, no.

Several sips of wine later, I still hadn’t written anything in my notebook. Nada. This wasn’t working. A glance at the clock told me it was ten. Probably not the best time to phone Adam, but I could text him, or better, send an email. Two minutes after I hit Send my cell rang.

Had to be Adam. Damn. He was awake and on the computer. Not good. I didn’t get as much as a “hello” out before he laid into me.

“You went off by yourself? Again? And you inform me in a
text
?” His words were coming at me, battering. “Bet you didn’t tell anyone where you were going.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“You didn’t. Damn your curiosity. It’s going to have me pulling your body out of a dumpster someday. I thought you’d be busy tonight. Where the hell is Mitch, anyway?”

Another silence. No way was I reporting back on my love life.

He inhaled a deep breath. “Okay. I’m over it. What’d you find?”

“Didn’t you read the email?”

“Skimmed it. I want to hear it. Makes a difference as to how I process the information.”

No way could I argue with Adam’s hinky traits, not when I had to live with the magic finger syndrome. “Well, the first thing was overwhelming panic. It took a while to get through that—”

Adam chuckled. “Probably you panicked because you knew I’d be pissed.”

“I thought you were over it.”

He huffed, sharply. Must be something big brothers learn at an early age, and apparently Annie had taught him well.

“So,” I continued, “I sat down on that patch of grass next to the parking lot and picked up two images. The first was of a man, about five-ten with dark brown hair, chunky, felt like he was in his late forties or early fifties. He was well dressed in a suit and tie, looked like the business type. The image of his face wasn’t clear so I didn’t get any distinguishing features, but the sensation of panic—his, not mine—was overwhelming.”

“Doesn’t tell me a lot,” Adam broke in. “There could be any number of suits that stood there checking things out. And how do you
know
it wasn’t your panic, you know, generating a fake image or something?”

Irritation whipped along my nerves.
Not the time, El. It’s really bad timing for a fight with Adam.

“I just do.” My words crackled with impatience. “The important thing here is that the shopping center was still standing, still under construction. This dude was looking at the site, full of panic because the work was moving along nicely. That was part of the impression—the work was moving along as projected. I would have thought if he had a financial interest in the project, and the image
felt
like he did, he’d panic at the sight of the demolition not the construction.”

“I can’t arrest anyone because you have a feeling.”

“I know.” My impatience quickly hiked to barely controlled anger. “But you gotta admit it’s weird.”

No comment.

“Do you want to hear about the second image?”

“Yeah, that’d be good. I’m not trying to be critical here, but no way can I put feeling shit in a police report.”

“I know that, Adam, and I’m doing my best to give you something useful.” Deep breath. “The second image was of the person setting the explosives.”

“All riiiight. I like it better already. What’d he look like?”

“Sorry. No image of his face. I can tell you that he likes his work. Really enjoys seeing things blow up. His head was covered with a watch cap, so I didn’t pick up on hair color. He was bent over a device, I’m guessing whatever triggered the blast. I couldn’t discern body shape or height, other than he wasn’t obese. He was wearing a t-shirt, dark, grungy green, and beat up blue jeans. I know it isn’t much for you to work with, but it’s a lot more than I was able to get yesterday.”

“Okay. I know you’re doing your best, but this is a cluster and I need something concrete to give the chief. How about we meet at seven?”

“Sounds good. I’ll make coffee.”

I turned off the lights and went to bed, my mind busy trying to bridge the chasm between how I see the world and how the police need to label the world. Only conclusion I came to—it was a deep chasm.

I woke up to light rain
and temperatures cool enough to wear my usual jeans, t-shirt, and boots. Adam knocked on my kitchen door at exactly seven, dressed like my twin except he’d added a windbreaker.

“Morning, Adam. There’s cinnamon coffee. Thought we’d need the extra spice.”

“Morning, and you added cinnamon because you love it,” he said with a grin.

I gulped down some coffee, scalding my tongue.

He watched me flapping my hand in front of my mouth for a minute, then continued.

“There’s a change of plan for today. Bomb threat was phoned in a few hours ago on one of the North Construction projects. Crime scene techs just finished with it, so we’re good to go.”

“A bomb threat? Has that happened before? With the other incidents, I mean?”

“Nope. This is a first.”

I set our mugs in the sink, flicked off the Mr. Coffee, and locked the kitchen door behind us. I skipped down the back stairs, still thrilled with their newness. Annie and I had our new connecting deck built after a Molotov cocktail took out my old deck and part of the kitchen. It was much easier for us to navigate between our townhouses now.

Adam opened the car door for me and a grin softened his face. “Guess you’re happy with the new deck?”

“It’s great. Beautiful. Useful. And no more sticky energy hanging around from the fire.”

He closed the door on me and circled to the driver side of the dark blue Crown Vic. “I’m not liking this new twist. Bomb scare doesn’t fit the MO of the case, and these guys aren’t given to warnings, just go for the bang. “

“Anything else different about this site? Bombs and explosions seem pretty similar to me.”

He shrugged as he merged into the morning traffic on Route 64. “Engineering isn’t my forte, but the result has been reconstruction of some walls, stuff being off skew, floors not aligning properly…” his voice trailed off.

“Okay. I’m getting the idea. What did North say? You talked to him about this, right?”

“Justin North denies knowing anything about shoddy construction. Their plans, the blueprints, the permits and zoning papers, whatever, are all in order.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in an annoying rhythm.

I reached over and patted his hand, gave him my best raised eyebrow stare. “Know anything about this North guy’s reputation?”

“He’s been in business about three years. I’m guessing he jumped into the housing boom with the intention of making a killing. His dad was in construction, ran a solid company in the Charlotte area. Word is Justin is different. More about the money, less about quality.”

“Will he be on site?”

Adam shook his head. “Not likely. Mr. North tends to enjoy his corner office and prefers to focus on his young, sexy secretary than on lumber, nails, and cement.”

We pulled into a parking slot in front of the building, made a run for the front door, and ducked under an overhang while Adam fiddled with the lock. A gust of wet wind chased us into the shelter of the unfinished building and eerie silence closed in around us. The tip of my finger searched for the diamond nestled under the fabric of my t-shirt, and then I bent to shake the water out of my hair.

“Hey.” Adam jumped back. “I’m wet enough, thanks.”

Guess I must have been a bit too vigorous. “Sorry. Just trying to shake off the eerie feeling in this place.” I gathered up my damp mass of hair and secured it as best I could with an elastic band.

The building was empty and the bare beams and wiring looked otherworldly in the shadowy light. It smelled musty, the dampness cloying. My clothes would reek of mildew if we stayed in here very long. Not a happy thought.

“Let’s make this quick, huh, Adam. I’m positive mold spores are setting up housekeeping in my wrinkles… there’s something off about this place.”

“Uh-huh. That’s why we’re here.”

I shivered and curled my fingers around Adam’s arm. A rush of images spilled into my mind, but I pushed them behind my thoughts so they’d be nothing but white noise. Still, I couldn’t ignore the haze surrounding them. Damn, but my fingers still weren’t working right.

Adam glanced at my hand, then shied away from me. “A little privacy here, please. Unless—”

“No. I’m okay and don’t really need to hang on to you. Just needed a dose of reality and God knows you have that one down.”

“Yeah. Cops are like that. You didn’t—”

“Trespass into your private life. No, you know I wouldn’t do that. Not without permission. I’ve learned to ignore stuff, push the images away and let them go.”

“Um-hmm. Let’s get this done.”

“How long since anyone has worked here?”

Adam flipped open his notebook. “About a month, give or take.”

“Okay. I’m going to wander around, see if I pick up anything about the bomb.”

“Dogs didn’t find anything.”

I crossed my arms, cocked my head at him. “Are you comparing my fingers with a dog’s nose?”

He clamped his lips together but couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Nope. Totally different senses, smell and touch.”

“Right, then. I’m just going to see what I can sniff out.”

I shoved my hands into my back pockets, put some purpose in my step, and shrugged off the growing panic about hazy images. “Today, I want to be scientific about this.”

“Scientific?” He followed me to the back of the building.

“Well, at least organized. Let’s start in the back and work our way to the front.”

Sawdust, nails and a bunch of unidentifiable things littered the floor so I kept my eyes down. A nail through the foot? Not appealing. We wove our way in and out of partly finished walls until we reached the rear of the building. I held my hand about an inch away from the silver insulating material that would one day be covered with dry wall.