Shockwave (Calendar Men: Mr. May) (8 page)

“Since you’re not....” He flipped her to her back and covered her, slipping his knee between her thighs to push them apart. “Why don’t we have another go?”

Boom!
  The building shook and sounds of glass shattering filled the otherwise quiet morning. “Or not.” A picture on the wall crashed to the floor. Tanner jumped out of bed, grabbed his wet jeans, and tugged them up, running to the window as he zipped and buttoned. Outside, everything looked normal, meaning the explosion had come from the other side of the building, or from somewhere inside, but with the force he’d felt, he knew for certain the building wouldn’t be standing if that were the case.

“What’s going on?” Lannie threw her legs over the side of the bed and began to dress.

Tanner shook his head and grabbed her cell phone off the side table, dialing 911. “This is Sergeant Tanner North with the NYPD Bomb squad. I’m on vacation, staying at the
Day’s Inn
outside of Watertown. We had a large explosion somewhere nearby. Activate emergency protocol for Watertown, Ft. Drum and the outlying areas. Level one. Not sure if we’re dealing with a bomb, propane tank, or vehicle accident, whatever made that boom was something big, and I don’t know if there will be more. Going out to look now. Send emergency crews and alert the NY State bomb squad. I’ll fill them in on what I know when they get here. I’m handing you off to my girlfriend.”

He pressed the phone into Lannie’s hand. “Make sure they don’t need further information.” He grabbed his jacket, slipped it over his bare chest, and crammed his feet into his boots without bothering with socks. He yanked on the speed-lacing and tied them. “Start going door to door to make sure everyone is all right. Make sure to tell them to stay put until we know where the explosion came from. We might need to evacuate the building, but I don’t want to put anyone in further danger if the explosion came from a bomb outside.” Tanner jogged to the door, threw it open. “You stay inside, too. I don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

She nodded and he ran into the hall.

A couple of guests poked their heads out as he sprinted to the stairwell and a shattered window facing the north side of the building.

Tanner approached the destroyed window and looked out. A huge crater, several feet deep, sat at the back of the parking lot, off the edge of a large empty field. Vehicles near where the bomb detonated were in pieces, lying on their roofs and sides. Everywhere shrapnel had sprayed, he could see damage. In the distance, car alarms sounded and a child screamed. Approaching sirens wailed. People began to gather around ground zero, which would contaminate the crime scene, and put them at potential risk if there were any other explosions. He shoved his hands into his hair and stared.

Fuck!
  He’d hoped what he’d heard hadn’t been a bomb. Evidence said otherwise.

The parking lot looked like a war zone.

His girlfriend?
  Her focus vanished after he said it. He couldn’t have meant the relationship—dating—kind of friend. How could he? Lannie disconnected after the operator gathered all her information and as much as she could provide on Tanner. She sucked in a deep breath.
Could he?

She tucked the phone in her cleavage, something sure to earn a lecture from Noni if she’d seen where she’d stuck the cell. It buzzed. Without looking, she answered, thinking the 911 operator had forgotten something.

“Slut. Consider that a warning. Stay away from Tanner North. The next time I’ll....” The phone went dead and the lights in the room popped off. Lannie glanced at the screen.
No service
. Her heart thumped against her ribs.

Emergency protocol? Or something the bomber did? She had to warn him the blast had been an attack, not an accident, and the bomber had targeted her. The nut-job might still be out there. Watching. The woman had her number, knew she’d spent the night with him. She didn’t have to hear the rest to know what the she would’ve said.
Next time I’ll kill you
.

The hair on her neck stood on end. She crammed her feet into her boots as fast as she could and then bolted out of the room. Lannie grabbed a pajama-clad man standing in the hall. “Go door-to-door and make sure everyone is okay. Keep them inside.” She didn’t give him a chance to ask questions. She had to find Tanner and warn him. The bomber might be after him, too.

She caught him outside, several feet from where her vehicle had been parked. When she looked down, she gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth. Her baby. Gone. She’d made the last payment three weeks before. The hole left behind looked at least three feet deep.

Emergency crews had arrived and, everywhere, people scrambled to tape off the area and keep bystanders back.

“It was your car, wasn’t it?” Tanner turned around.

She nodded. “Anybody hurt?”

“Don’t know. Several of the windows on the first floor blew in.” He walked around to the side and squatted, studying some debris. Lannie started toward him and he raised his hand, signaling her to stop. “Crime scene.”

“Right.” She swallowed and closed her eyes. “I hope everyone’s okay.”

“It happened pretty early in the morning. Empty parking lot.” He stood and turned to eye the windows. “Police and EMTs are going through the rooms now, but the hotel clerk said most were unoccupied, with today being Monday morning.” Tanner started back toward her. “Do you have any idea who might have had an issue with you?”

“No, but the person who blew up my car is a woman.”

Tanner’s brows drew together. “And you know this how?”

“She called after I hung up with 911.” Lannie drew the phone out of her bra, handing the Android to him. “I lost service before she finished. She doesn’t want me around you. I don’t know how she got my number or knew I’d gotten a room here.”

“I’ve got a few stalkers, and they’re pretty good at getting their hands on information they shouldn’t be able to. But the bigger question is how they got your number—knew I was with you. I’ll see if they can track the call back to a name, but I doubt well find anything. The bomber seems too smart to hand information to us.” He glanced at the hole again. “State police shut off cell service and the power as a precaution—in case there are any other bombs.”

“I don’t think there are. She called the blast a warning.”

“A warning—hunh. It’s a hell of a way to make your point.”

“Sergeant North,” the fire chief called out, motioning for Tanner to come over to a nearby truck. “Building’s clear. We have some minor injuries, nothing major.”

“Go inside and hang out in the office. Until we know who the bomber is, you’ll be placed in protective custody. She’s around here somewhere, I’m certain. And if she could blow up your car in a public place, she’s crazy enough to do anything to get rid of you, including killing innocents who get in the way. We’re going to need to go down to the station and give them a statement later. Could be a while before I’m done here.” He squeezed her hand. “It’s not my jurisdiction, but I am ordnance and my expertise can help until the state bomb squad arrives.

“While I’m out here, I want you to make a list of any women who might have your phone number—friends, family. Anyone. We’ll start there. Been my experience we won’t find anything, but on the off chance, I want to rule out the obvious first.” He nodded toward the entrance. “Go.”

Five hours later, Lannie sat at a desk in the hotel office and listed her grandmother, Peggy, friends from the past whom she didn’t see anymore since she didn’t hang out in war zones, and anyone who might have her number. She wracked her brain, feeling as though she’d missed something. She lifted her chin and watched Tanner talking to several State Police officers who wore ballistics gear. Among them, a familiar face, Catherine Dawson, Tanner’s ex.

Her scalp tingled and her reporter’s sixth sense went on alert. She looked down at her list.
No way
. The woman was an FBI agent, and it wouldn’t be a coincidence to see her at a bombing anywhere in New York State, especially Upstate, since she worked out of a field office nearby.

Still, the voice on the phone had seemed familiar. She bit her lip, pressed the pen to the page, and stopped. The woman investigated bombings. Stupid to include her, but she did have the knowledge—the connection to Tanner—her number from when she’d interviewed her for the article. And she might have a motive. While interviewing her, Lannie sensed deep-rooted anger over the breakup, and maybe a touch of sadness. Catherine hadn’t quite accepted they were over.

Lannie scrawled her name down on the pad and returned her attention to the window. They’d taped off the area, and CSI combed the scene with the help of ordnance experts. EOD didn’t just defuse bombs, they investigated threats and explosions, even those not intentional, like propane tanks and gas leaks. No doubt this one had been intentional, and the smallest fragment could break the case wide open—or sink it like the Titanic if mishandled. The investigation would take a bit longer, so she had a few more hours before Tanner came for her.

She watched Catherine cross the parking lot to a black sedan. She opened the door, grabbed something, and then returned to where a group of officers huddled together. The agent touched Tanner’s back, leaning in to say something in his ear. Lannie’s stomach twisted into knots.

He nodded and Catherine turned to look at the office. She stared for several seconds before Tanner said something, catching her attention. He pointed to where her Camero had blown, and together they crossed the blacktop to ground zero.

She needed to get into Agent Dawson’s car to see if anything inside could link her to the bombing. Since she was a reporter and not law enforcement, she didn’t need a warrant. Granted, the act would be breaking in, and she’d get arrested if caught, but if Catherine were in fact the bomber, then they might let her off with a slap on the wrist. She sure as heck hadn’t gotten a Pulitzer for being cautious.

Reporters had been known to go where they shouldn’t. Nobody would question her snooping if Catherine turned out to be innocent.

If.

Something told her that wouldn’t be the case and had her leaving the office seconds later, slinking out the side, toward the agent’s car. It took her at least five minutes to work her way to the black BMW.

She squatted down by the rear passenger side, hidden from all the activity and, from Agent Dawson’s view. She lifted up enough to peek through the windows to where Tanner and Catherine talked. She eyed the back seat. A black trash bag, much like the one she’d tossed in the closet in her room, sat in the rear passenger side floor of an otherwise spotless interior.

Components of the bomb?

She tried the passenger handle. Locked. She eyed the driver’s side to see if Catherine secured her car. To her surprise, she hadn’t. The only way inside the car, to see what she’d hidden in the mysterious bag, was to go through the driver’s side door and take a chance she’d be spotted.

She chewed on her thumbnail, debating the intelligence of her actions. Not her most brilliant move—but not her stupidest either. No other person in would be in danger here, and the authorities could write her bad judgment off to her being a nosey reporter. She crawled toward the hood and peered around the bumper. Agent Dawson and Tanner were examining something near the site of the explosion. Their backs were to her. Even better, everyone seemed engrossed in their investigation and no one looked in her direction.

No time like the present.

She made her way around the front of the sedan and opened the door.
Ding, ding, ding
. The door pinged. Lannie glanced back to make sure no one watched and scrambled into the seat and shut the vehicle. She hit a button and unlocked all the doors, in case she needed to make a speedy exit. She checked again, ensuring Catherine remained engaged, and noticed they were now walking toward the building, and away from the parked car.

Lannie popped open the glove box first and began to dig through, searching for who knew what? Would Catherine be stupid enough to put evidence of her crime in her car?
Nothing
. She slammed the compartment shut and went for the center console. A few papers, nothing screaming killer. She bit her lip and scanned the front. A business card stuck up from where it had wedged in the passenger side seat. She plucked it out. Her heart thumped in her chest and her mouth went dry. She’d given Catherine the card during her interview last week. Not any kind of evidence. Except....

She scalp tingled again. On the back—someone had written her room number at the Day’s Inn.

And license plate number, make, and model of her car. She slapped her hand over her mouth.
Shit. Shit. Shit
. Catherine was the bomber. There could be no other explanation. She looked over the seat at the bag.
Explosives? Remote devices?
  She reached for it, and the driver’s side opened, and a gun cocked.

“Find what you were looking for?”

Oh, hell—and more
.

***

Tanner knocked on the office. Nobody answered. He tried a second time and turned the knob. “Lannie?” He pushed the door open and stuck his head in. The lights were off and a pad with names sat on the desk, but the room sat empty.

Damn. He’d told her to stay in here. Where the hell had she gotten off to? He shut the door and headed to her room. She wouldn’t go far without a vehicle. Lannie had to be around somewhere, and everything pointed toward the obvious. Probable she’d gone upstairs to change.

But if the bomber knew where she’d stayed, she could be in danger. A small component of the detonator they’d recovered showed the sophisticated thinking of the bomber. They weren’t dealing with an idiot, rather a smart, methodical predator. After looking at her handiwork, he knew two things. One, the bomber was getting warmed up. And two, she wouldn’t stop with a warning. She wanted the competition dead. Catherine had suggested he look closer at Ms. Sawyer, who, though he didn’t want to believe she could do such a thing, had a lot of motive.