The man furrowed his bushy brows. “Seven years in September.”
“Do you know many of the people in this building?” Max asked.
“Most.” He fixed his appraising gaze on Max. “Almost everyone by face, if not by name.” He clutched his mail protectively against a baggy Mr. Rogers–style cardigan. Khaki pants hung askew on his slight frame, and Max wondered if the man had lost weight or been given the too-large clothes. He hated the thought of his father or grandfather living in a run-down building like this one.
“I’m Max.” He offered the man a hand. “You live here with your family?”
“No. They’re all gone now. My Ellie passed in February ’03. Kids are grown, living all around the country. No one’s in Michigan. Everyone’s busy. I’m Henry.”
Max smiled. “Nice to meet you, Henry.”
He pushed heavy-framed glasses up his narrow nose, magnifying milky blue eyes. “Is someone here in trouble? Or are they on the run?”
“Maybe neither,” Max said.
Henry made a derisive sound. “The government doesn’t send two big hulks like you out to look for someone who’s not in trouble or on the run.”
Max grinned despite himself. Neither he nor Axel was considered especially large in their circle, but compared to the man before them, reaching for five-eight, Henry’s assessment was one he couldn’t argue with. “Do you know the man in apartment 325?”
“O’Lear,” Henry said, looking proud.
“That’s right. You know Mr. O’Lear?” Max asked, pulling his phone from an interior coat pocket.
“No.” Henry pointed to the mailboxes, each with a different last name.
Axel smiled.
Max brought up the photo of O’Lear from the real-estate ad. “Is this him?”
Henry squinted and stared. “Maybe, but he doesn’t look like that now, if it’s the guy I’m thinking of.”
Max flipped to the grainier, more distant shot of O’Lear leaving Burger Mania. “How about him?”
“That’s the guy,” Henry said, raising his eyes to meet Max’s. “He looks like that now. I never saw him looking the other way, like a shiny penny. Like you two. I’d remember.”
Max laughed. He’d been called a lot of things, never shiny or a penny.
Axel craned his head for a pointed look up the staircase. “Is Mr. O’Lear home now? Any chance you’ve seen him today?”
“No. Come to think about it, I haven’t seen him since he had that argument with the super.” Henry rubbed his chin and jawline. “That’s been a day or two. I can’t be sure. Sometimes I get fuzzy when it comes to time.”
The sound of an old-fashioned telephone interrupted, and Henry pulled a large flip phone from his pocket. He frowned at the number on the screen. “Speaking of losing time. This is my doctor’s office. If I miss another appointment, they’re going to charge me for not canceling.” He raised the phone to his ear and wrinkled his nose.
“Thanks, Henry.” Axel moved toward the stairs. “I’m going to take a look. Maybe you missed him.”
“Hello?” Henry answered the call.
Max handed Henry a business card. “Thank you for your time,” he said quietly. “If you need anything else, or think of something you want to tell us, call.”
Max followed Axel to apartment 325 and waited while he knocked. As predicted, no answer.
They parted ways from there. Axel moved to the next door. Max went to the second floor. More than an hour later, they were back at the first-floor mailboxes, with Henry in tow. Max had unintentionally brought him out again by knocking on his apartment door. From there, Henry made introductions. He started with his name and apartment number, then introduced Max. The residents were chattier and visibly more at ease with Henry’s company than when Max had knocked alone, so he kept him on the case.
“Anything?” Axel asked, already waiting for Max.
“Not really.” Max rested his hands on his hips. “Of the people who answered, and admitted to recognizing O’Lear’s name or photo, all I learned was that he was quiet. Kept to himself.”
Axel nodded. “Same here. Most folks didn’t want to talk, but the ones who did all said he seemed like a nice guy.”
Henry stood taller. “You should’ve had me come along on all the interviews. Folks liked talking to me, and you know, that’s what they say about the serial killers. They all seemed like nice guys.”
Axel dragged his gaze from Henry to Max. “You took him on the interviews?”
Max smiled.
“Is he a serial killer?” Henry pressed. “I hope not. That guy had a temper.”
Max took a beat to process the information. “He was arguing with your building superintendent the last time you saw him?”
Henry nodded. “Yeah. Right out here by the mailboxes.”
“What were they fighting about?”
Henry rubbed a soft wrinkled finger against his brow. “Rent, I think. He was late on payment for the month, and the super doesn’t have a grace period. He’s a real pain. He doesn’t want to fix anything around here, but he threatens to kick us out if we’re a little short or a couple days late.”
“O’Lear’s been out of work,” Axel said, catching Max’s attention over Henry’s head. “Probably running through his savings, assuming he had any.”
Henry left his eyebrow alone and snapped his finger. “He said he should get a break on rent because his thermostat is broken. I remember now. There aren’t any breaks on rent, and I haven’t seen him moving, so I figured he’s staying somewhere else ’cause it’s so darn cold.”
Snow had begun to fall in fat, steady flakes outside the filthy security window. Wind whipped through barren limbs and bent saplings in a park across the street. It wasn’t a good time for a broken thermostat.
“How long has O’Lear lived here?” Axel asked, drawing Max’s attention back inside.
Henry shrugged. “Six, eight months? You sure he’s not a serial killer? You guys only come out for serious stuff. Is he a fugitive? Is that your shtick?”
“No. That’s the US Marshals,” Axel said, sliding his eyes to Max, lips twitching with suppressed humor.
“Well, it’s not as if this guy is wanted for robbing a bank,” Henry said. “Anyone with money wouldn’t stay here. So what is it?” He scowled and pressed a palm to his chest. “Is he a pedophile? We’ve got kids in this building. That isn’t it, is it? He’s a pedophile?”
“Not that we know of,” Max said. “We think he might know something about the bombs that have detonated in Grand Rapids this week.”
Henry cringed. “That’s better than a pedophile. But if you’re right, I’d hate to be our super.” He turned his eyes to the door at the end of the hall marked 101 and also Staff.
The only door neither Max nor Axel had knocked on yet.
“Is that your superintendent’s office?” Axel asked.
“Yeah, and it’s his apartment, too. He has an office inside the door. Then his apartment is through another door in the office. We take our rent to him in there. He owns the building, so don’t let that sign fool you. We don’t have any staff.”
Max strode in the door’s direction, instinct propelling him across the threadbare carpets. He pounded on the door.
“He’s not there,” Henry said. “I saw him go out after you guys headed upstairs. He goes out every day around now, and he’s gone until noon. He comes back with takeout. Then he spends the rest of his day avoiding unhappy tenants.”
Axel swore under his breath. He dragged a hand through his hair, then locked gazes with Max. “I’m going to call this in. Reach out to the team. We’ll stake out the building.”
“Henry?” Max asked. “Will you call me when the superintendent gets back?”
“Sure.” Henry patted the chest pocket of his sweater, where the top of Max’s business ca
rd poked out. “I’ll call you if I see the other guy, too. O’Lear. Apartment 325.”
“Don’t approach him,” Max said. “Just let us know he’s home.”
Henry nodded, the color and bravado bleeding from his face. “Will do.”
Max and Axel headed back to the SUV, heads down against the biting wind. Inside, and engine running, Axel adjusted the heaters, and the men sent texts with their new information to the team.
Axel’s phone rang a moment later, Aria’s face centering the screen. “Morrow,” he said, answering the call on speaker and holding the phone in Max’s direction. “I’m here with Max. What do you have?”
“I’m thinking about timing,” Selena said, forgoing small talk and customary greetings. She was using Aria’s phone. “Ramsey Realty was hit four days ago. Burger Mania two days ago. One day in between each. To recover. Recuperate. Gather additional materials,” she rattled, “maybe just to gloat and enjoy the press coverage.”
Aria’s voice echoed from the background. “Bomb day. Off day. Bomb day. Off day. You know what that makes today?”
“A bomb day.” The women’s voices arrived in near unison.
Max’s muscles tightened, and tension coiled uncomfortably in his core. “O’Lear hasn’t been back here since he argued with the superintendent.”
“Could he be planning to bomb the building?” Selena asked.
Max stared through the icy winter day outside his window. He’d hoped O’Lear had chosen the previous bombing times to limit collateral damage. Just after 7:00 a.m. at the realty office. After 2:00 a.m. at Burger Mania. But what if he was wrong? What if O’Lear’s only consideration had been the assurance he would get his target? If he wasn’t concerned about the number of additional casualties, then the entire apartment building could be in danger. “The superintendent isn’t there right now,” he said, turning back to Axel and the phone in his partner’s hand. Determination powered his words, and a plan formed in his head. “That buys us some time, but we’re going to have to move.”
“I’ll rally the team,” Aria said. “Selena’s reaching out to Carly and Rihanna now. We can be there in fifteen.”
Max brought up the dial pad on his phone. “I’ll get local PD out here along with the bomb squad. Contact Fire and Rescue.”
“You’ve got it,” Aria said.
“I’ll sweep the building with Sergeant Sims and hope we’re wrong.”
“And not too late,” Axel said. “It’s already after ten, and according to Henry, the super gets back predictably at noon. A prime time for detonation.”
* * *
AN HOUR LATER, the Grand Rapids police had located the building superintendent, William Teske, and moved him to a safe location while Max, the TCD team, first responders and the bomb squad set up outside the building in preparation for the worst.
Residents had been moved to an off-site location with plenty of heat and donated meals from a nearby café while they waited to hear if their homes blew up. Pets were caged and would be sheltered by the local animal protection organization until the building was deemed safe for everyone’s return.
Overall, Max was impressed with the cooperation and efficiency of so many local agencies toward a common goal.
He was less impressed, though not at all surprised, however, by the local media’s massive response. Once they’d gotten wind of the evacuation, they’d shown up in droves. News vans from all around the county had begun to arrive as residents and pets were relocated, and the reporters continually encroached on the perimeter Max had set.
Now onlookers lined streets and corners, drawn from their homes by Breaking News announcements on their televisions, radios and web browsers. Officers worked to keep everyone back, but there wasn’t enough crime-scene tape in Michigan to rope off a radius as large as Max would’ve preferred.
Snow continued to fall, coating roads, grass and walkways as Max worked out his game plan. Flakes piled on his teammates’ hats and the shoulders of their coats, no longer melting immediately from their body heat. Their cheeks were pink from the biting wind, their gloved hands shoved deep into pockets or wrapped around fast-cooling cups of tea or coffee.
The city’s engineering department had provided digital blueprints of the tenement building, giving the TCD an insider’s look at the bones of the structure. There were only one or two places a bomb the size of those used in the Ramsey Realty and Burger Mania attacks could be placed to maximize damage to Teske’s apartment, so those would be checked first. From there, Max would widen the search range for due diligence, viewing every location where O’Lear could have planned to reach his target.
He donned his protective gear on autopilot, fighting memories of the last time he’d geared up as a US soldier, searching for a potential bomb. The EOD—Explosive Ordnance Disposal—suit was heavy, at least sixty pounds, and unbearably hot, worse in a desert region already burning at well over one hundred degrees. Images of that day returned, and his heart rate rose. Heat licked up his neck and across his cheeks despite the current icy winds.
“How you doing?” Axel asked, breaking away from the team to check on Max. The hem of his wool coat flapped in the breeze. “Need any help?”
“Nah,” Max said, fastening the final strips of Velcro at his wrists and willing the panic to recede. “I’m good.”
“You look flushed,” Axel said. “Can I get you anything? Water?”
Max nodded. “Thanks.”
Axel went in search of water, and Max pressed his eyes shut. Pull it together, McRay, he demanded internally. You’re in Michigan. Not Afghanistan. Now, tighten up.
He concentrated on his breaths and brought images of Allie and Max Jr. into mind. This was his job, and he was good at it. Once he finished here, he could shower up and be with his family again, something he hadn’t gotten to do twice in a row for far too long.
“Hey.” Axel returned with a bottle of water and handed it to Max. “Anything else you need?”
“No.” Adrenaline coursed through Max’s veins as he sipped the cool liquid and scanned the scene around them once more.
This wasn’t the desert. His leg was already gone. That mission was over. This one was still ahead.
“You’re going to have one hell of a story for Allie tonight,” Axel said, taking the nearly empty bottle when Max passed it back.
He forced a tight smile. A bead of sweat rolled over his temple. “No doubt.”
Max had so much he needed to make right with Allie. He hadn’t lived up to his vows or been what she deserved.
He knew that now. He’d known then, too, but he’d been too proud and stubborn to acknowledge it. The minute he’d pledged his allegiance to Allie, her needs should have come first. Above his, and before the TCD. She’d only wanted him to let her in. To include her in his decisions and travel plans. She’d wanted him to talk to her about his work, but he’d been so busy trying to keep his job and home life separate that he’d ended up being forced to choose between them. When he hadn’t, she’d made the decision for him.
Max stared at the building. A possible bomb inside, waiting to explode.
And all he could think about was Allie.
A sharp whistle broke his reverie, and Sergeant Sims came into view. The local bomb-squad leader circled a finger in the air. Time to roll out.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sweat beaded on Max’s forehead and temples as he moved onto the property, followed by two members of the Grand Rapids bomb squad in EOD suits. Mounting anxiety and the uncomfortably heavy gear worked in tandem to slow his every step. He pulled in long, steady breaths, moving through the mental techniques he’d once relied upon to get through each day. Deep inhalations through the nose, slow releases through the mouth. Concentrate on one thing at a time, he reminded himself. Don’t become waylaid by the big picture.
He batted his eyes against a stinging drop of swe
at, fallen from his forehead. The helmet that was part of his gear made it impractical to clear the drop properly, but Max would get by.
The crowd fell deadly silent as they watched the trio make their way up the walkway. An earlier sweep of the exterior perimeter had revealed nothing more than mounding snow and debris from local litterbugs along the building’s edge.
Now it was time to move inside. He waved two gloved fingers toward the open door. With the eyes of an entire county or more on them, thanks to the abundance of news crews, cell-phone cameras and the internet, Max gave a nod, then led the men inside.
He could only hope the bomber hadn’t taken notice of the hoopla yet. If he had, and he’d planted a remotely detonated device, he could end the small squad’s life at will.
He and the others split up at the mailboxes. One of the men moved onto the second floor, assigned to search the zone above the superintendent’s small office space and apartment. The other man descended a secondary staircase to the basement, searching the area below.
Max stopped at the door marked as 101 and Staff. Henry hadn’t seen O’Lear since he’d witnessed him fighting with the superintendent, but according to Teske, O’Lear had returned early this morning, ignoring the office hours Teske said he kept but none of the other tenants seemed to know of.
O’Lear delivered the rent as Teske had demanded, which thrilled the super, but he’d had to leave O’Lear alone in the office for a few minutes. Since Teske hadn’t been expecting him, he’d had to return to his adjoining apartment for his glasses and to quiet his small dog.
If there was a bomb hidden in the building, Max suspected he would find it here.
He maneuvered the small key into the lock, then twisted until he felt the tumbler roll. His breath caught and silent prayers went up as the resulting click echoed through his body. The lock had released. Max hadn’t blown up. He took a quick, steadying moment, then turned the knob and slipped cautiously inside.
Foreboding churned in Max’s gut as he surveyed the surroundings. A large clock on the far wall indicated the time was eleven thirty. If Max’s guess on O’Lear’s plan was right, Max had thirty minutes to discover and disarm a ticking bomb.
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