The Hunk Next Door (17 page)

“No.”

She watched as he looked around the docks.

“You felt the car shift when you hit the button, right?”

“Yes.” She’d definitely felt it.

“I’m going to look for some kind of timer.”

She held her breath when he leaned into the trunk, pulling a knife from his pocket. She appreciated his concern, but if the terrorists wanted her dead, they could detonate the bomb at any time—an assessment that assumed they were watching this play out.

Riley’s back blocked her view, so she used her cell to update the officers behind them. There was no way to be subtle about clearing the area, especially when she didn’t know how big a threat they were dealing with.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. “Riley?”

“It’s counting down, Abby. Please get to safety.”

Fear trickled into her veins. “Only if you’re coming with me.”

“I’ll be right behind you.”

“I don’t believe you.” She actually laughed a little when he swore. “Can you disarm it?”

“Not sure,” he said.

Every second seemed to tick by with individual clarity. “How much time?”

“Enough.”

“Good.”

“No. Weird. Ask yourself who benefits from blowing this up while you stand by helplessly?”

She cast a glance over her shoulder at the media. “I know who it hurts. All of Belclare. Is there anything resembling evidence?”

“Probably, but the explosion will destroy it,” he countered. “Get me the keys.”

“Why?”

“Do it, Chief Jensen. The sooner this is resolved, the sooner we can find Mrs. Wilks.”

She darted back to Calloway. He found the right evidence bag and tossed it to her. But when she turned back, she realized Riley had tricked her into leaving him.

Somehow he’d started the car without the key and was steering Mrs. Wilks sedan toward the water.

Understanding dawned slowly. He intended to put the car in the water to save the surrounding area from the explosion. What had he seen on that bomb and why hadn’t he been honest about it? For that matter, why didn’t the terrorists behind this throw the switch? She didn’t want Riley in any more danger, but the tactics didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

His words echoed in her mind and she prayed they weren’t the last ones she’d hear him speak.
Who gains?
The phrase consumed her as she alternately watched the sedan’s progress and the people gathered around watching with her. Any one of them could have a thumb on a detonator ready to make this a spectacular tragedy.

Who gains?
She couldn’t come up with an answer, not while she watched a civilian, a stranger who’d so quickly slipped through her defenses, sacrifice himself. If he lived, she might have to beat him senseless for putting her through this.

The sedan’s engine revved suddenly and she waited for the explosion, but Riley jumped out of the driver’s seat and the car rolled off the dock and into the water.

Riley hadn’t even gained his feet when the explosion sent water spouting into the air like a fountain.

Heedless of the media and public opinion, she raced down the dock to check on him. “What the hell were you thinking?” she shouted in his face even as she looked him up and down.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

“That was stupid.”

“Would you rather the thing blew up the dock? Imagine the fallout. The lost revenue. The cleanup.”

“Stop using logic. You could’ve been killed.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What does that mean?” She wanted to hug him and punch him at the same time. “I should have you arrested.”

“On what grounds?”

“You’re a danger to yourself.”

“But not to others?”

She didn’t have time to dignify that. They’d reached the area where the police had been holding people back and everyone burst into applause and cheers.

“Smile,” she instructed, although she knew he was already doing so. “You’re a hero.”

“An hour ago I was a suspect.”

“Not in my book,” she said.

She answered a few questions posed by the reporters of the local station and let Mayor Scott, who’d caught the scent of a good public relations opportunity, handle the rest. Once she’d given instructions to the officers on the scene, she pulled Riley away from the noise and chaos.

“Even with the bomb neutralized, it will be a wonder if anyone comes out tomorrow,” she grumbled.

“It will probably be the biggest opening day ever.”

“That’s not funny,” she said. “We still have to find Mrs. Wilks.”

“I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it.”

“Try me. She’s my number-one priority.” Once she found her neighbor, then Abby would take the time to ask how Riley had developed such a thorough recognition of bombs. She was sure there was a reasonable explanation, but she wanted to hear it from him.

The Belclare police force wasn’t comprised of idiots, but they hadn’t noticed the threat when they’d searched the trunk. Unless one of them was in on it.

She jerked herself back from that slippery slope. Paranoia would not resolve this any sooner for her lost neighbor.

“Here.” Riley handed her a rolled-up piece of paper.

“What’s this?” She opened it, startled to see a line sketch of the Belclare shore. Three different points were marked with different numbers.

“It was wrapped around the primary wire.”

“Dear Lord,” she whispered. “That’s why they left her car out here. It’s a countdown game.”

He nodded. “One sick scavenger hunt. If it’s counting from the explosion in the car, that only gives us ten more minutes to reach the first point.”

“She won’t be at that one.”

“You can’t be sure,” he said gently. “And someone else might be.”

He was right. Her stomach pitched and rolled. Anger and fear fought for dominance, but neither would help save Mrs. Wilks or anyone else.

“She’s an innocent old lady,” Abby said through clenched teeth. It infuriated her that people she cared about were suffering because she knew how to do her job. Because she’d vowed to keep Belclare crime-free. “She might already be dead of exposure.”

Riley rubbed her arms, chasing away the chill that threatened to drag her under. “You have to stay positive.”

Positive was becoming exhausting. “But be prepared for the worst.”

He acknowledged her comment with a bob of his head. “I can get started while you organize a search party.”

“No. This is personal and I’m done taking risks with the lives of those who trust me.”

“Abby, if you ditch protocol and rules now, every effort you’ve made is for nothing. Stick with your system. It works.”

He was right and Mrs. Wilks needed Abby at the top of her game.

“I’m heading to the first point. Get a team together and do this the right way.”

“Fine. I’ll be right behind you,” she said, echoing his words from earlier.

“I believe you,” he said, smiling.

She longed to give him a kiss, but that would make him more of a target than he already was.

As she shared the map with Calloway and issued orders, pairing off available troops in different directions, her mind mulled over the question of
who gains.

Today’s events only confirmed her worst suspicions. This wasn’t simply a matter of random thugs descending on her town to prove a point. No, the problems were being meticulously planned and carried out from right inside Belclare.

The feds had warned her that the drugs might be funding a sleeper cell. But she hadn’t wanted to believe anyone in her town was capable of fooling the entire community that way. She hadn’t wanted to admit she’d been fooled.

By their nature sleeper cells blended in, participated and carried on as valuable members of a community. Until called to action.

The drug bust had not been a random event. The vandals, Calder’s attacker, Filmore. Mrs. Wilks’s kidnapper. The evidence planted to implicate both her and Riley in different crimes. None of it had been random.

As the search teams set off, Abby jogged along in Riley’s wake. She wasn’t about to let her newest ally face her enemies alone.

Chapter Thirteen

Riley didn’t hold out much hope that Mrs. Wilks would be at the first marker as he rushed down to the rocky shoreline. That would be too easy. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, checked the reception and entered Director Casey’s personal number.

“This is unexpected,” Casey answered.

“Yes, sir. Things are escalating rapidly. Do you have anything connecting the names I sent?”

“Not yet.”

Riley paused, picking his way around an outcropping of sharp slate-colored stones. “Calder is clean.” He’d thought Calder’s accident might have been staged to disguise his link to the terrorist cell, but not anymore. The man had no ties to the drug runners and while Calder knew Filmore, their association had been strictly professional. “It’s like ghosts taking potshots around here.”

“Stay on it,” Casey said. “Belclare needs you. We picked up the call to the state police for backup. FYI, they have a bomb squad but it likely won’t arrive in time.”

On that sour news the call ended. Riley put his phone away and checked his watch. He had to be getting close to the first marker.

He looked over his shoulder at the docks. The search teams Abby had put into play were combing other parts of the shoreline. Riley gazed out across the water. One of the tugboats was motoring out into the bay. Hopefully the team on board was working for their side and not the terrorists. Checking his watch, he had less than three minutes to find the marker or, if the map and timing were accurate, there would be another explosion.

“Mrs. Wilks!” he called out, praying there wasn’t another victim to rescue...or recover.

He chose his steps with more care, alert for a glimpse of a trip wire or any sign someone had been here. He saw it then, a rounded cache of stones that wasn’t quite as natural as the rest of the area. He approached with extreme caution despite the dwindling time, unwilling to rush and set something off prematurely.

A bullet whistled past his head, knocking the top stone from the cache. Riley had jerked back, seeking cover, when he heard the soft whimper.

“Mrs. Wilks?”

Another muffled response came from closer to the scruffy, wind-sculpted trees to his left. Rocks and twigs skittered down the slope toward him.

He took that as an affirmative.

The small cascade revealed red and green wires running from the cache of rocks up into the trees. Definitely a bomb, he thought grimly. “Hold still,” he called out to the woman. God help them both if she did something to set it off.

He peered up but couldn’t pick out the armed guard. The shooter could be anywhere, in a tree or undercover on the ground.

In the back of his mind, a clock seemed to tick off the seconds. He wondered about the twisted strategist who’d gone to such lengths just to get even with Abby. Whatever the goal, he had to deal with this first.

Stretched out on his belly, he inched closer to the wiring. Another bullet bit into the rock-strewn ground millimeters from his fingertips. Splintered rocks bit at his face. Even if he’d had a weapon it wouldn’t have done him much good at the moment. There was no time for him to stop and return fire.

Both he and the guard were equally determined to succeed, with Mrs. Wilks’s life in the balance. Riley shifted as fast as he dared up the slope and the radio at his belt crackled.

“At your back,” Abby’s voice came through the device.

Despite his precarious position, Riley smiled. Of course she had his back. Thinking about how the bomb in the car had been wired, he went for the cache of explosives closer to the water. He couldn’t afford to waste precious seconds with a panicked hostage.

This time when the sniper fired, another weapon returned fire. Out of habit, Riley kept track of the bullets from Abby. The Belclare P.D. used 9mm handguns with a fifteen-round clip. Whatever Abby was firing was beefier than that, the sound too deep for a standard 9mm.

His attention on the bomb, he ignored the shouting, knowing Abby would follow protocol and ask for a surrender. The timer was inside twenty seconds when Riley disconnected the detonator. He followed the wires up the bank, another volley of gunfire flying over his head.

“Mrs. Wilks!” Relief at finding her alive washed over him and he wanted to shout in victory when he saw the timer on the device strapped to her waist frozen at twelve seconds. “You’re fine. It’s over,” he said, cutting through the tape and sliding the explosives away from her.

Her round face was pale under the dirt and her eyes were shining with tears. “This might hurt,” he warned, gently peeling away the duct tape covering her mouth. He looked at the adhesive side, noting the smudge of pink lipstick.

“Thank you!” She threw herself into him and he caught her, letting her cling.

“Are you hurt?”

“My pride,” she said, tears flowing freely now. “The bruises will heal faster, I’m sure, but I’m so cold.”

“Nothing broken?” He pulled the radio from his belt and called for paramedics. “Nothing bleeding?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “My word. They were shooting at you.”

He decided the woman had an ironclad fortitude to be more worried about him than herself. “It wasn’t as close as it looked. Did you see who did this to you? Can you give us a description?” Then he noticed something missing. “You aren’t wearing your glasses.”

“Young man, my distance vision is still perfect.”

Which meant she might or might not be able to describe the person or persons who had done this to her.

Tree limbs popped and snapped as something crashed down nearly on top of them.

“Get down!” He didn’t hesitate at Abby’s command, pushing Mrs. Wilks back into the shallow hollow that might well have been her grave.

He heard one more deep shot from Abby’s gun, followed by a terrible sound that split the air in two. The concussion wave from the explosion threw him down and a blast of heat kept him there while pieces of trees and rock and ash fell all around them like dirty rain.

Two more loud explosions sounded too close for comfort, shaking the earth and rocks under them. It reminded him of the day he’d watched a crew take down an old building two blocks from the orphanage. He hoped that meant the other caches were blown and this trial was over.