Targeted (Hostage Rescue Team Series Book 2) (11 page)

“You’re lying to me. I bet the dreams have been consistent right since the day of the attack.”

A few days later, actually, but she wasn’t going to admit that to her. “It’s just stress,” she insisted, her insides quivering at the thought of Tuck and the others finding out. They’d see her as weak, unable to cut it in their world. She’d rather die than prove them right. “Sorry again that I woke you. Go back to bed, I’m fine now.”

Without waiting for a response she turned on her heel and marched back into the bathroom to dress. There was no way she would sleep now. She was too wired from the dream and the fight with Zoe. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, she came back into the bedroom to find Zoe in the doorway.

“Your phone rang,” her friend said in a cool tone, letting her know the fight wasn’t forgotten, let alone forgiven as she held out her cell. “Someone left a text asking you to call them ASAP.”

Celida walked over and took it from her, her stomach grabbing when she saw Travers’s number. It was nearly one in the morning, so it had to be bad. “Hey, it’s me. What’s up?”

“Need you to meet me in D.C. as soon as you can get there. Another bomb just went off at a government building. All signs point to it being the same guy as yesterday.”

The two bombs had done a hell of a lot of damage to the second floor, but not enough to take out the support structures and risk a collapse. From the setup and the expertise it would take to do this, let alone without being caught, Celida was ninety-nine percent sure the bomber had meant this as another warning.

Which could mean something even bigger was in the works.

“How many casualties?” Celida asked Travers as they surveyed the damage from inside the building.

“Just four, all passersby on the street when the bombs went off. None of them critical. We’re interviewing a janitor who was on shift just prior to the explosions. He says a cop came in and told him to leave minutes before the bombing, but the cops say none of their members were here at that time. Janitor’s working with a sketch artist now to see if we can get a decent composite of the guy.”

A bomber that had no qualms with planting explosives or impersonating a cop, yet still had enough of a conscience to clear the building before he blew it up. Interesting. “What about CCTV and security footage?” They might be able to get a good enough view of the uniform to give them clues as to where he’d got it from. Could be a useful lead.

“Guy was careful to keep his head down. Can’t get a good enough shot of him to be of any help yet.”

“Any other attacks that match his M.O. besides this and Quantico?”

“Not that we know of.”

This was the second in two days. Chances were good he’d try to strike again in the next day or two. The EOD guys had told them the bomber had used the same kind of device and setup as he had yesterday, but this time he’d set up two bombs. So next time there’d be three? They couldn’t rule out the possibility that this guy was using the attacks as a kind of countdown clock.

“We’ve been lucky so far that he hasn’t seemed to be targeting people,” she said. “Yesterday and today the wounded were people in the wrong place at the wrong time. If the bomber had wanted to inflict significant collateral damage and casualties, he wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of waiting until the parking lot was largely empty of pedestrians, and he wouldn’t have made the janitor leave this morning.”

“At least this new target makes things look a whole lot clearer,” she added when Travers grunted in reply. The offices he’d destroyed were in a federal building, and these offices in particular were where certain reports from FBI investigations were processed. Hitting this one day after the attack at Quantico looked like enough of a pattern to start drawing conclusions from.

Travers’s eyes turned glacial, his whole face stiffening. “He’s targeting us.”

She’d already guessed that, but hearing it confirmed by Travers still sent a chill up her spine. “You got any theories as to why?”

“Not yet, but all the evidence suggests he’s a demolitions expert and I’d bet my retirement fund it’s not because of stuff he learned on the internet. I want you to start gathering intel from our database. Call anyone you need and get them working on this. We’re looking for a white male in his late twenties to early thirties, light brown hair, military or law enforcement background, maybe EOD. The janitor said the suspect left on foot, heading north.”

“I’m on it.” She turned away, threaded her way through the mass of agents, forensics and EOD teams inside the perimeter the cops had set up. Out in the hallway where it was quieter she went through her contacts list and started calling people she needed to begin working on the case: some to search, some to cross-reference and others to check CCTV footage in the area.

After that she drove to the D.C. office, helped herself to a giant mug of hot coffee, and delegated responsibilities to the agents trickling in. It was nearly three in the morning and within the hour all the domestic terrorism experts they needed would be working on this.

Celida sipped the hot coffee as she strode down a carpeted hallway to where she’d assembled a group of agents to gather intel, grateful for the jolt of caffeine to her tired system. This was gonna be a long few days, hopefully no more, until this asshole was caught, and the succession of sleepless nights was already catching up with her.

In the conference room she briefed everyone on what was happening, then divided the agents into groups to begin the search. She texted Travers to update him and told him she’d alert him once they found anything pertinent.

Though it was early all the news agencies and radio stations had already begun broadcasting about the bombing and a vague description of the suspect, urging everyone to consider him armed and dangerous and not to approach him. No other details of the case were given—yet—though she was sure some “expert” would be on TV before noon, talking about what the link between the targets meant.

Celida seated herself at the head of the table and opened her laptop to begin her own work. Within twenty minutes the first of the tips started coming in. Mostly from concerned members of the public who thought they’d seen him. But one in particular from Denver seemed to stand out from the others, and it was credible enough for her to move it to the top of the list to be checked out.

Her cell phone rang. Pulling it out, her heart did a weird little flutter when she saw Tuck’s number on the display. She could feel her cheeks getting hot, which was stupid, because she had nothing to be embarrassed about. No one here knew that she and Tuck were together, and even if they did there was no breach in protocol because they didn’t work together. “Hey.”

“Hey. You on site?”

“Not anymore, I’m at the D.C. office. You still on shift?”

“Just got called back in, so I’m on my way there now. Since this is partly a business call, what’s the latest?”

He had an even higher security clearance than she did so she told him what she knew, what she’d seen on site. Plus they both had encrypted phones so she wasn’t worried about leaking classified information. “He’s a demolitions expert, likely with military or law enforcement training in that area.”

Tuck grunted. “Any theories yet on what his end game is?”

“No, but it looks like it has something to do with the agency.” Which didn’t really narrow the field down any. A lot of people had a beef with the FBI, so it didn’t make their job any easier to figure out who this guy was and what his agenda was.

He was silent a moment. “You be careful.” That deep, concerned voice was so sexy, especially since that concern was meant solely for her, but his words made her snort.

“You’re such a hypocrite,” she said with a grin. His job was a thousand times more dangerous than hers and he loved it.

“Hey, I’m always careful. And I’ve got a team full of badasses to back me up.”

She looked around the table. “My team’s pretty badass too. Besides, I’ve already had my life-threatening incident recently. It’s like being hit by lightning. Chances are it won’t happen twice.”

A low, rough chuckle answered her, stroking over her skin like a caress. “You’re hardcore, Morales.”

“Yeah, and you love that about me.”

“Sometimes,” he admitted, and his enigmatic response gave her pause.

“Only sometimes?”

“Yeah. Let me know when you’re heading home.”

It was sweet of him to check in on her. As long as it had nothing to do with Zoe saying something to him about what had happened earlier, but she didn’t think it did and it was way too early for Zoe to be calling him anyway. “Sure. Text me if you’re off before then.”

“Okay. Hope you find the bastard, sunshine.”

Those two words were so incongruous in the same sentence, it made her smile. “We will. Take care.”

“You too. I’ll see you later.”

The promise in his words sent a pang of yearning through her. Ending the call, she blew out a breath and shoved all thoughts of Tuck aside so she could deal with what mattered most at the moment. There was a terrorist loose in the city. She was going to bring him down before he could strike again.

****

As he headed to his truck in the team parking lot just after one p.m., Tuck’s heart sank when he listened to the message from the care home on his cell. His father wasn’t doing well at all today and they’d had to restrain him during an outburst of rage.

He deleted the message and put the phone to his ear to call them back just as a text came in. It was Celida, telling him she’d gotten a call about his dad and was at the care home now for a few minutes during a quick lunch break. He’d had the care home add her name to the emergency contact list after she’d volunteered, since his job made it tough to drop everything and run over there if something happened. Celida’s schedule was tight too, but a bit more flexible than his and he was grateful for the backup.

Meet you there
, he texted back, his heart swelling with emotion. His father was the least violent man he’d ever known, so if the staff had had to restrain him he must have really lost it. Another one of those episodes where the confusion and panic took over and he turned on the staff, roaring at them in his NCO voice, honed to perfection by decades of service to his country.
Who the hell are you? Where is my wife? What have you done with my son?

When he got like that he literally didn’t know where he was, why he was there or even
who
he was. Had to be terrifying.

Tuck ran a hand over his face, the stubble scratching at his callused palm. While he didn’t want Celida to see it or have to deal with any of this shit in the middle of a critical investigation, he was so damn grateful for her help. Once again, she’d just stepped up without him even having to ask. Damn he loved that woman.

He drove straight to the home and stopped at the reception desk where a nurse was waiting for him. Celida must have told them he was coming. “Your father’s up in his room with a Ms. Morales,” the woman informed him with a sympathetic smile.

His stomach muscles grabbed. “Is she safe?” Not that Celida couldn’t handle herself, but she didn’t know what his father was like in one of his rages and she’d be too worried about not hurting him instead of defending herself.

“Oh, yes. As soon as we got him back to his room he settled down. He’s eating lunch right now.”

Still worried, Tuck hustled up the stairs because the elevator took too damn long, and jogged down the hall to his father’s room. The door was partially open, probably for security reasons. He halted in the doorway. Celida was in a chair next to his father’s bed, patiently holding a spoon to his lips. She glanced at him there in the doorway, and the tentative smile she offered made his stomach cramp.

“Al, look who came to see you,” she said softly.

His father turned his head to follow her gaze, and the absolute emptiness in his eyes as he stared at him made it feel like a giant hand was crushing his chest cavity.

Tuck stayed in the doorway, unable to move.

Celida glanced from his father to him and back. “This is my friend Brad,” she told him, spooning up another bite of soup.

His father said nothing, his expression eerily blank, and docilely opened his mouth for the soup. Celida fed him a few more spoonfuls, paused to wipe at some that had dribbled down to his whiskered chin. “Soup’s all done.” Her quiet voice was gratingly cheerful in the awful silence.

Tuck forced himself to enter the room. As though drawn by the movement, his father’s eyes landed on him once more, without a hint of recognition or even interest. He was merely observing. Existing.

“Did they sedate him?” Tuck asked, his voice sounding rusty.

Her eyes were full of sympathy. “No.”

The hand around his lungs squeezed harder, until it hurt to breathe. This wasn’t the first time his father hadn’t recognized him. It shouldn’t hurt this much by now, at least not every time.

But it did.

He cleared his throat and crossed to her. “Thanks for coming. I’ll take it from here.” He didn’t meet her eyes as he switched places with her and picked up a clean spoon to offer his father some applesauce. His dad opened his mouth when the spoon touched his lip, responding by sheer reflex. It reminded Tuck of a baby bird. His throat clenched.

Celida stood close behind him, settled one hand on his shoulder. His muscles bunched beneath it, almost a flinch, but she didn’t withdraw. “How’s the investigation going?” he asked as he fed his dad another mouthful, hating this goddamn disease and everything it had taken from the man he’d worshipped his entire life.

“Lots of tips coming in. We’re following up on a few promising leads right now but we don’t have any big breaks yet.”

He nodded, tried to keep the conversation going when his mind was in chaos. “Not sure if I’ll get called back in later, but I’m gonna stay with him a while. Maybe after that I’ll head to your place, hang with Zoe until you get home.” She had to get back to the office and who knew when she’d be able to go home.