“Oh my God!” Luca cried. He reached for Kane again and looked imploringly into his eyes. “I’m such an idiot.”
Kane shook his head. “No, you’re not.” He leaned down and kissed him on the tip of his nose before hugging him hard. “Now, I need to get out of here. Will you stay?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll return these voice mails and then take a nap.” He smiled. “I might pop out to the store to pick up something to make you a decent meal, though. Do you realize your cupboards are bare, Mother Hubbard?”
Kane smirked. “Fine.” Luca started to turn away but Kane laid a hand on his forearm, stopping him. “Check in with me after you get back, okay. I just need to know you’re safe.”
Luca nodded and reached up to pat Kane’s cheek. “I promise.”
Kane smiled and leaned down to peck him on the cheek. “Okay, I’m gonna get dressed.” He turned away and went into the bathroom to scrape the stubble off his chin, something he’d been hoping to avoid today.
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
When Kane got to the Brentwood substation, he was surprised by the number of people who’d gathered. In the bull pen, he found several detectives and patrol officers being briefed on the next steps the LAPD would be taking. Lieutenant Peter James had been called back from vacation and he was handing out assignments, heading up the LAPD’s contribution to a joint task force, set up by the ATF, the lead federal agency investigating the bombings.
“Nice of you to join us, Delancey,” he said. “I’d like you and Murphy out at the crime scene. ATF is already on scene.”
Kane nodded and looked over at Kelly who smiled back.
“Report back and let me know what the Feds are up to. FBI is also on scene. You two will be the LAPD liaisons with them until this bomber is in custody.” Several detectives turned to them and smirked, no doubt happy that they weren’t the ones tapped to liaison with the Feds. No one but Cassidy Ryan and Mike Williams knew that Kane was actually an ATF agent on special undercover assignment with the LAPD until this WITSEC case was put to bed.
On the way over to the office, Kane had called his SAC, Sarah Connor, to check in. She’d already informed him of his role with the task force but because of his undercover status, he’d have to report to Lieutenant James prior to rolling out to the scene. He liked his boss a whole lot. Though she’d only been at the job a year and a half, the ATF had an advantage in Sarah because she was married to Lincoln Snow, their friend at the FBI. Unless something was classified, they were often privy to FBI files that would have had to be requisitioned otherwise. There was nothing more helpful than having a method to cut through the red tape.
“We understand, sir,” Kane said as Kelly joined him. “We’ll get back to you as soon as we know anything.”
“Good.”
Kane and Kelly left the squad room side by side, happy to get out of the hot press of bodies. When they got to the elevator, Kane turned to her.
“We need to make a coffee run before we go out to the site of the blast.”
Kelly shot him an amused glance. “Not caffeinated enough, Delancey?”
He smirked. “Let’s just say investigating a bombing wasn’t the way I was planning on spending my day, Murphy. I had other things on my mind.”
Kelly’s eyes widened. “Oh…”
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said as the elevator arrived and the doors slid open. They stepped inside.
“It’s getting serious between you guys, isn’t it?”
Kane glanced at her as the elevator doors slid open. He sighed deeply and then faced forward, looking at her in the reflective metal of the elevator door.
“I’m afraid it is for me.”
She grinned and he turned to look at her as she stared back at him. “And, you’re still worried about how people will perceive you because you’ve started dating a man?”
“We’re not exactly dating,” he said, dismissing her description.
“Well, what do you call it then? Horizontal surfing?” She grinned.
Kane snorted. “Horizontal something, anyway.” He smirked.
She shook her head. “No, it’s a lot more than that, Delancey. I haven’t known you long but I know love when I see it.”
Kane instantly lost his smile. He stared at her for a long time before he finally reached up and scrubbed a big hand over his face. “Shiiiiiiit,” he moaned.
Kelly chuckled. “It happens to the best of us, Delancey.”
As the elevator stopped and the doors opened, they stepped out into the main lobby and turned toward the parking lot. They were silent as they passed several patrol officers and detectives on their way into the station. Kane felt like a salmon swimming upstream. The LAPD really was turning out in droves to catch this murderer who used bombs as a weapon. As they stepped out into the sunlight, he turned to Kelly, stopping her with a tug on her sleeve and moving her to the side to let passersby have a wide berth.
“Hang on a second. I just had a thought,” he said, frowning.
“What is it?” Kelly asked.
“I was just thinking about the profile the FBI guy, Watterson, gave us.”
“Casey Watterson, yeah,” Kelly said. “What about it?”
“He talked about victimology as one of the five elements profilers consider while trying to develop their profile.”
“Right,” Kelly said. “He said that part of what they do is to try to figure out why a serial killer picked the victim they did.”
“There. You said it. A serial killer,” Kane said, almost sure he’d just figured something out. “Maybe Carlow isn’t just a bomber. Isn’t is possible that he’s a serial killer who uses bombs as a weapon?”
“It’s a thought. Maybe we should ask Watterson.” She tugged at his coat. “Come on, Delancey. They’re expecting us. Let’s drive while you tell me why you think Carlow is a serial,” Kelly said. “This should be interesting.”
Kane smiled at her. “My spidey senses are telling me there’s something more going on here than a simple act of knocking off people in WITSEC.”
She turned to look hard at him. “Okay, let’s do that. It’s a different angle anyway.”
They drove out to the address of the most recent bombing. The older home had been on Fountain Avenue near the cross street of Formosa, less than a mile away from the American Academy of Dramatic Arts, the Chinese Theatre, and the Capitol Records building, all famous Hollywood landmarks on the Sunset Strip. They parked on Willoughby, a couple of blocks away since the police had cordoned off the streets all around the site of the blast to thru traffic, only allowing residents in or out. The showed their credentials to the officer standing at the police tape and he lifted it, allowing them to duck underneath so they could join a group of their colleagues standing in a cluster about a hundred feet away.
As soon as they walked up, Kane and Kelly were greeted by Jarrett, Thayne, Kane’s partner, Dev, and Snow and McCallahan from the FBI. Surprisingly, Casey Watterson stood beside Lincoln. Kane thought his presence was fortuitous since he had a hell of a lot of questions for the man. He spotted Cassidy and Mike standing close by, talking to another pair of detectives from their station. They excused themselves and began walking over as Kane and Kelly shook hands with their colleagues.
“Hey, guys,” Jarrett greeted, shaking their hands. “We were just getting’ ready to go back to the office.”
“Already?” Kane asked.
Jarrett smirked. “We’ve been here an hour already and there’s not much to see. We were just getting’ ready to head back to discuss things.”
“Gotcha.” Kane turned away from Jarrett and smiled at his partner. Dev stepped forward and gave him a brief hug, patting him on the back.
“Good to see you, partner. I really miss you at work.”
Kane smiled as they separated. “I miss you too. Hopefully, we’ll be able to put this WITSEC case to bed soon so I can come back.” He looked up at the house that had been blasted away. Firemen w
ere still putting out fires with hoses attached to a fire hydrant situated conveniently only one house down from the burned-out structure.
“Wow, what a disaster,” he said, walking over to join Kelly who couldn’t seem to be able to tear her eyes away from what was left of the century old two-story Craftsman. Kane had always loved these old homes in Hollywood and other parts of the southland. There weren’t a whole lot left in their original condition as single family homes. Because of their historical status they were protected as landmarks and couldn’t be torn down. That hadn’t stopped a lot of owners from converting the multi-room structures into rooming houses after World War Two. Most of them remained that way. They all had multiple stories and multiple bathrooms so they made for perfect communal living.
As Kane studied the house, he formed a picture of what it would have looked like before the bomb destroyed it. These old homes almost always had huge gardens and massive kitchens. If untouched, the old Craftsman architecture inside this property would have consisted of built-in woodwork, crown moldings, hardwood floors, hand-carved balustrades leading up a sweeping staircase, and built in bookcases. Windows would have let sunlight in through original stained glass, keeping the richly wood paneled walls bright. This home had one fireplace which was still half standing at the back of the house but in some cases as many as three fireplaces trimmed with original hand-painted tile on their hearths would have graced other old Craftsman homes in the neighborhood. To see one of these structures blown apart by a bomb was heartbreaking.
Kane was drawn out of his musings when Thayne walked over to stand beside him. “It’s a fucking disaster, right?” Thayne asked.
Kane glanced over at him and nodded. “It really is. It’s a terrible thing to see.”
“So, I heard there were three casualties?” Kelly said from the other side of Kane.
Thayne nodded, turning to point at what was left of the structure. “We were told by survivors that all three of the dead were in the kitchen at the back of the house where you see the remnants of the fireplace. No other residents were in the property at the time. The house manager had gone out for groceries with two other residents while the remaining three residents who lived there were cleaning up the kitchen and doing dishes from breakfast. Let me show you something the fire department found.”
Kane and Kelly followed Thayne to the curb and then stepped up onto the grassy parkway strip that divided the curb from the sidewalk. They walked up the lawn beyond, making sure to skirt around the firefighters who still stomped over the structure aiming hoses at hotspots. Thayne led them down a path down the side of the property, through a gate, to the back of the house. As soon as they rounded a low wall that had partially collapsed, Kane spotted what Thayne wanted him to see. The raised decking had been blasted away right at what would have been a support column of the house. Kane had done enough remodeling on his own townhome to recognize a support column that would have held up the second floor.
“The bomber set charges at both rear support columns. The bombs took down the upper floors of the house at the same time as it wiped out the kitchen. We were told by the house manager that most of the residents gathered in the kitchen since it was east facing and got most of the morning sunlight. It had huge windows that looked out onto this back garden. Even in the evenings, people gathered in this kitchen because it was where the fireplace was located. The insulation wasn’t so great in these old homes which is why the fireplace is so important.”
“So the bomb killed the residents instantly and most likely would have taken out everyone else if they’d been home,” Kane said, studying the layout.
“Right,” Thayne said.
“So he was going for maximum damage to the structure and loss of life,” Kelly said.
“That’s right,” Thayne replied. “He couldn’t have picked a better place to plant a bomb.”
“Okay, now, how do we know this is the same bomber as Marty’s?” Kane asked. He scanned the ground as Thayne squatted and reached out to pick something up. He held it up for Kane and Kelly to see.
“This is how we know.”
Kane looked at the scorched needle in Thayne’s hand. He almost couldn’t believe his eyes. They stood up and Thayne handed him the needle. He turned and gave it to Kelly before glancing back at Thayne.
“Why the hell would he put needles in his bomb?” Kane asked. “Why would he put any shrapnel at all in his bomb? I mean, he set a powerful enough bomb to bring down the upper floor of the building while at the same time taking out an area where he knew most of the residents would be gathered at any one time. Why would he need the shrapnel?”
“It’s his signature,” a voice said from behind them.
Kane turned to find Casey Watterson walking toward them. He was followed by Lincoln and Jarrett.
“You think so?” Kane asked.
Watterson nodded and then dragged his gaze away from Kane to the remnants of the structure. “Using bombs with this particular shrapnel is a compulsion. He can’t help himself. He has to use it or it won’t satisfy his urges.”
“I actually want to talk about this with you,” Kane said. “I was telling Kelly on the way over that I have a theory I wanted to run by you.”
Watterson nodded. “Good. I have some thoughts to share with all of you on a pattern I see emerging here. It’s why I rushed back from Hawaii this morning to talk to you. Then all of this happened and I had to come out to see if this bombing fits the pattern.”
“The pattern of a serial bomber?” Kane asked.
Casey smiled knowingly. “I think so.”
“We’re headed back to our office,” Jarrett said. “Let’s go sit and figure out what the hell is goin’ on.”
Kane was fine with that.
Chapter Nineteen
Luca woke from a nap to find that more than half the day had passed. It was now after 3:30 and he felt almost as tired as when Kane had left him at 11:30 that morning. He sat up in bed and looked around Kane’s large master bedroom. It was a warm space filled with oak furnishings and comfortable neutral bedding and throw pillows. So unlike his own bedroom at his apartment that was dotted with splashes of color everywhere a person looked, Kane’s taste in color was more muted—more masculine in some ways. Nevertheless, he had hung photographs on the walls that were much more personal.
Luca threw aside the soft blue blanket he’d covered himself with after making up the bed and slid off the huge mattress. He padded to the bathroom, also a masculine space with dark brown and midnight blue towels. In here, the walls were painted a muted mocha-brown color that contrasted with the wood moldings painted a glossy white. The countertop was white marble not unlike his own kitchen counter, and Luca took a washcloth and ran it over his face, staring at the black circles under his eyes in the wide mirror behind the backsplash. He sighed, grateful to Kane for calling Sebastian and telling him he wouldn’t be coming into work today. He both looked and felt exhausted and he knew without a doubt that Kane had been right. Grief was draining.
He used the commode, washed his hands, and brushed his teeth before walking back into the bedroom. His gaze was drawn to a row of photos that had been enlarged and put into frames before hanging on the walls. He walked over and began examining them. Luca smiled as he recognized Kane in several of the photos. He was dressed in fatigues and his glorious naked chest was bare along with the other men in the photos. They were gathered in some sort of central courtyard of several buildings. There was no color on any of the buildings or the dirt beneath their booted feet. Everything was shades of brown, broken up only by the brightness of the smiling men who stood with their arms around each other’s waists, looking out at the camera.
All the men pictured with Kane wore dog tags and floppy hats that kept the blazing sun off their faces but they looked happy, sweaty, and relaxed. Luca instinctively knew that these men had to be his brothers in arms and that the pictures were taken in some desert wasteland far away. Though Kane hadn’t talked to him abou
t his days in the service, Luca could tell from Kane’s youth, that the pictures had to have been taken when he was in his twenties. He looked healthy and fit and unsurprisingly sexy in the photographs.
His phone suddenly beeped and he turned away from the photos, walking to the bedside table where it lay. He picked it up and immediately saw a text message. It was from Kane.
“You awake, baby? Text me back. Miss you.”
The simple text from Kane made Luca’s stomach flip. He was over the moon whenever he thought about Kane but when he initiated a text like he’d just done, letting Luca know that he was thinking about him, he felt ten feet tall. Nothing made him feel better. Since getting back together, Luca had seen such a change come over the man, he felt like he was living in a dream. The night before, Kane had called him “love”. It had no doubt been a slip of the tongue but he hadn’t taken it back. In fact, he now often used “baby” when he spoke to him the way he had in the text. The endearment made Luca feel treasured, as though he was special to Kane. He couldn’t deny and didn’t want to—how amazing it felt to be wanted by the big strong man. Luca’s romantic heart had always yearned for a man who would treasure him but until he’d begun to see the innermost workings of Kane Delancey, he hadn’t really believed there was such a man.
He smiled as he began to type, writing out a text to Kane. “I miss you too. Just woke up. Gonna go out to the store then cook for you. Before you ask, I’ll be cautious and text you later. xoxo.”
The smiley emoji followed by xoxo that came back left Luca feeling like a million bucks.
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
By the time Kane and Kelly got to their office in Glendale, it was late afternoon. He was smiling as he tucked his phone away in his jacket and then looked over at Kelly who was pulling the Mini into a parking space. She turned to grin at him.
“Were you just texting Luca?” she asked in unveiled amusement.
Play With Me Page 25