Max lifted his eyes to hers, catching her staring.
She smiled, and he nodded, a silent exchange that told her she wasn’t off base with her deductions. He’d just single-handedly located and disarmed a bomb, at the last second, then found his ex-wife waiting for him on the sidewalk. He’d likely also realized that the bomber was watching. Which had potentially put a target on her back.
“Let’s take this meeting inside, shall we?” Carly asked, speaking up while Max pulled himself together.
She tipped her head toward the row of reporters and cameras, all angling for a look at them and the bomb-squad robot being deployed. The robot was fascinating. She could admit that it was fascinating, and not something most people saw every day. The robot would collect the device and seal it inside a container to take to the lab for deconstruction. But unlike the crowd, the TCD had work to do.
The team broke up, climbing into their SUVs for a rendezvous at their temporary headquarters. They’d take notes and text updates to Rihanna from the meeting, and she would do the same in return, sending details from the scene.
Carly raised her hand to Rihanna as the SUVs pulled away from the curb. Rihanna had hit the ground running as liaison the moment she’d arrived on-site, heading into the mix of reporters and before a buzzing crowd of local residents, determined to soothe nerves and deliver accurate information before rumors led to panic.
Traffic was light through town as Carly followed the SUVs in front of her. Axel driving Max, and Aria driving Selena, who was so turned around without Blanca in tow that she’d left the hotel this morning with dog treats in her pockets. The women had laughed about it at the time, but Carly could see Selena was as eager to get home as any of them.
The Grand Rapids Police Department was a flurry of activity when Carly and the team arrived. Officers rushed in and out of the main entrance and through the secured inner lobby. Phones rang off the hook at every desk, and the white noise of walkie-talkies filled the air.
“It’s like someone kicked a hornet’s nest in here,” Carly said, making her way down the narrow hall to the conference room.
Aria smiled, looking a bit nostalgic for her days in blue. She’d been a Traverse City cop while earning her criminal justice degree. Neither was an easy feat. Succeeding at both at once was some other-level stuff. And Aria had definitely succeeded. The rookie had taken down a drug kingpin before Director Suzuki picked her up for the TCD team. “Once this bomb hit the news, these guys were probably instantly underwater,” Aria said. “Anonymous tippers, witnesses hoping to help break the case, nuts wanting attention, people afraid their building will be next.”
Carly smiled. Aria was right. Chaos always came quickly after something this big went public. The Grand Rapids PD would have their hands full calming a fearful population and stopping criminals determined to take advantage of the department’s increase in calls and distractions.
Rihanna would do what she could, but ultimately the local media would make the difference in how things went from here. Unfortunately, sensationalism sold papers and gained viewers, so things typically got worse before the case was closed.
All the more reason to wrap this up ASAP. Panicky people were a danger all their own.
The team circled the conference-room table and took their seats. Axel powered up the projector and connected his laptop.
Opaline’s face appeared on the screen. “Hello,” she said instantly, glancing up while typing wildly on her keyboard. “Thank you for keeping me in the loop. I’ve got all your local news stations on my other monitors. And Rihanna is updating, as well. How are you all doing?”
The team gave a sober round of “Okays,” “All rights” and “Fines.”
Opaline’s bright smile faltered. “Hmm.” She leaned closer to the camera, stilling the room along with her. “Max,” she said softly. “Can we just…?” She eased back, smile growing, and lifted her hands into view for a slow clap.
Carly smiled as Max shook his head and waved her off. Then she joined Opaline in the steady, appreciative rhythm. As did the rest of their team.
“Okay,” Max said. He pushed up to stand, and the applause climbed to a crescendo before eventually coming to a stop. “Thank you,” he continued. “Without all of your help, the fast action of this team and the local bomb squad, things could have gone a lot worse today.” He blew out a shaky breath. “We were fortunate to get the result we did. Timing is everything right now, so we need to get back down to business or we could be a lot less lucky very soon.”
Carly felt a tug of emotion in her chest as she took in his tone, expression and words. Max had done the real work today, putting the safety of others above himself. He’d overcome fear and likely some raging PTSD in the name of duty. Everyone on the team had been through tough things, but losing an appendage to a bomb, then making a career out of disarming the devices, was something completely beyond her ability to reason. She’d often thought that decision either spoke of true insanity or utter heroism. And she’d known Max long enough to say it wasn’t the former. Yet he stood there, dividing the success of what he’d done among his teammates and others on scene.
Max smiled, and his dark brown eyes flickered with pride. He pressed his palms to the table and swung his attention to Opaline’s bright expression on the screen. “Selena and Aria were smart to point out the pattern on these bombs. One bomb every other day with a rest day in between. It was only a hunch when she commented on it, but this bomb was set to detonate at noon. Three incidents make a pattern. Chances are O’Lear will wait another day, regroup and adjust his plan. Then we’ll see the fourth attempt in forty to forty-eight hours, but there’s also the chance he’ll push his next move up to stay on schedule. We can’t take any chances, especially after he sent that text message. We’ve ticked him off, and that’s not good. So let’s figure out who his next target will be and beat him to the location. Better yet, maybe even locate him before he makes his move.”
“What do we know so far?” Carly asked, redirecting attention so Max could breathe.
He took his seat and waited for someone else to answer.
“We know he’s watching,” Selena said. “He sent the text. So he knows we’re here.”
“And working against him,” Aria added. “We know he’s not worried about collateral damage, and that he has at least one more hit on his list, based on his text. If he doesn’t take another crack at the superintendent later.”
Selena tapped her pointer finger against the desk, thinking. “What do we know about the number that text was sent from?” She turned to her sister, Opaline, on the screen.
The eyes of the TCD turned with her.
Opaline nodded. “I’m working on that. I’ve been able to confirm the number belongs to a burner phone, which is turned off. So I can’t trace where the device is at the moment. But every phone has a serial number, and I’m running through a database of those numbers now, trying to get the serial number matching the phone number and phone used for that text. With that, I can determine which store the phone was shipped to and purchased from. Then I can request register receipts for a time stamp of the purchase, and look at corresponding surveillance videos to see if I can track his path visually when he leaves the store. Maybe get a look at what he’s driving or anyone he speaks with.”
Carly grinned. “Remind me to never try to hide from you.”
Opaline chewed her lip. “You might give me a run for my money, but I’m going to find this guy soon. I’ve widened the scope of my search, and his photo is all over the news. Someone out there knows this guy, so if the PD phone lines are blowing up, that means folks are already trying to help out.”
Axel shifted forward, resting his forearms on the table. “I’m hoping to have a warrant to get inside O’Lear’s apartment this afternoon. We’ve got enough direct links from the bombs to this guy to make the request and get a quick signature from the
judge. Chief Drees will keep me posted. The minute it comes in, I want a team over there.”
“We can go,” Carly offered, motioning to Aria and Selena on either side of her.
Axel cast a look in Max’s direction, waiting for his feedback. Axel was the supervisory agent, but Max had taken lead on this case, and he’d saved a lot of lives today. If he said he wanted to be there, he would. Carly hoped he’d take some time to breathe first.
Max nodded. “Yeah. Sounds good. Keep me looped in.”
Carly smiled. “Absolutely.”
“All right.” Axel turned his eyes back to the screen, where Opaline frowned furiously at something out of view. “Can you put together a list of possible targets from the information you have now?”
“Soon,” she said, typing wildly on her keyboard, expression deadly serious. “I’ll be in touch again the minute I have anything to share.”
And with that, she was gone.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Opaline ordered her favorite Tex-Mex takeout on the way home and changed immediately into her pajamas once the food arrived. Her cats, Snape and Dobby, met her at the door, meowing and attempting to lead her to their food bowls.
She gave them pats, filled their bowls and scratched behind their ears, thankful for the safety and comfort of her apartment, a space where she could freak out, break down and take off her smile as needed. She’d forced the cheer and positivity today until she thought she’d lose it on-screen. She’d basically hung up on the group at the end of their last video conference. The smile was for them. They were in the thick of things, risking their lives, and the least she could do was to be a constant and reliable source of positivity.
Except she was fresh out of happy, and moving fast into rage and despair. If she didn’t get her team some information they could actually work with soon, there would be another bombing, and more people would die.
Her chest tightened at the thought. Tonight was a work night. A fight night.
And Fritz O’Lear was her weaselly, no-good opponent.
She wore her favorite maroon-and-gold-striped cotton sleep pants and oversize T-shirt proclaiming Life’s a Struggle When You’re a Muggle. Though tonight she needed to be a wizard, at the keyboard at least. She whipped her hair into a messy bun, donned her fuzzy black socks, then carried her takeout to her workspace.
Dobby and Snape followed, having lost interest in the kibble once she’d opened the disposable container to steal a loaded nacho and inhale the cheesy, salty, spicy scents of her favorite chicken enchiladas. “You each get one bite,” she said, pinching off a shred of chicken and offering the kitties a tiny little morsel. “I have to work. You have to go be adorable somewhere else until I take a break. No distractions. And you can’t have any more of my dinner, so don’t get any ideas.” The cats stared, and Opaline caved. “Okay. One more bite, but that’s it.” She gave them each another taste before digging into her work.
“All right, O’Lear. It’s time to stop this nonsense and show yourself.” She forked a bite of enchilada, sipped the steamy coffee and got busy.
Opaline had been up against a lot of criminals in the past, but none with less of a digital footprint than this guy. Some of the younger nuts she’d chased through cyberspace had even bragged about their crimes. Gang members were the worst, or maybe the dumbest. Definitely the most prideful, posting images of themselves with rolls of cash, guns, drugs and everything else to their social-media accounts. They boasted. Called out enemies by name, and their latest hookups, too, often adding location tags. Those criminals were so easy to locate that they practically invited her to hang out. Fritz O’Lear, on the other hand, was giving her fits.
She crossed her legs on the office chair, then powered up her laptop. Four independent screens flickered to life on her desk. She selected her favorite, work-all-night playlist, popped her phone onto the speaker dock, then snagged another nacho.
“Who are you, Fritz O’Lear?” she asked for what felt like the thousandth time in a few days. Serial bombers and psychotic killers didn’t live in a vacuum. Someone knew this guy. And someone had gotten a bad vibe from him along the line. She needed to find one of those people. O’Lear or the person who knew where to find him. She wasn’t picky.
Fritz O’Lear was just old enough to have missed spending his youth online, and apparently he’d never picked up the lifestyle. If he had an email address for personal use, it was registered under an alias, because she couldn’t find it. He didn’t have a LinkedIn profile, nor a Twitter account. His Facebook page hadn’t been updated in years, and even then he’d barely bothered to use it. He claimed to like country music and a handful of old sitcoms in his barely completed profile. Grand Rapids was listed as his hometown, and the local high school as his alma mater. He only had a handful of friends and no family listed.
Not exactly a treasure trove of information.
Opaline opened each of his friends’ profiles in new windows and scrutinized their lives, looking at how and where they’d intersected with O’Lear through the years. She scanned his personal photos and images where others had tagged him. Noted places in town where he’d spent time, then followed each of his friends around the world wide web. Jumping platform to platform, attempting to understand O’Lear by getting to know his friends. The more she understood who he was, the easier it would be to find him.
One pal stood out, and his name was Mark Waters. According to a photo Mark had tagged him in, the two were “lifelong friends.” Unfortunately, that lead, like all the others, came to a dead end, literally, when Mark’s obituary surfaced. He’d been in an accident ten months ago. But Opaline wasn’t letting go of a lead that easily. Instead, she used the online memorial page to track down Mark’s parents, who conveniently still lived in town. A lifelong friend of their son’s might be someone his family remembered, maybe even someone they’d known personally.
She thought of messaging some of Fritz’s other social-media friends, using an alias, to ask if they knew where Fritz was because she had to get in touch with him about some money he’d inherited. But that could accidentally alert him to her search, so she held off. She’d use that tactic if necessary, but first she’d try tracking down this Mark fellow’s family.
Snape climbed onto Opaline’s lap after midnight, purring and sniffing the nearly empty take-out containers. She stroked his fur, thankful for the kitty comfort, but wholly dissatisfied with her progress on the case. She needed a smoking gun. But all she’d managed to find was smoke. Nothing tangible. Nothing concrete.
“What do you think, Snape?” she asked, a yawn opening her mouth wide. “We need more than the names of an old friend’s family members to offer the team tomorrow. We need the name and location of someone who’s actually talked to this guy in the past year. Preferably on a personal level, not the employees at Ramsey Realty.”
Snape stretched on her lap and bumped his head against her chin, nuzzling and purring more loudly. He kneaded his paws against her middle, then curled into a fluffy black ball on her lap.
* * *
OPALINE’S HEAD FELL suddenly forward at two thirty in the morning. She let out a yelp, and Snape screeched away. “Sorry,” she whispered, pushing onto her feet for a stretch.
She went to the kitchen and tucked her food containers into the fridge. Then she bumbled into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. From there, she put on a pot of coffee.
Images of Max’s expression as he’d walked out of that building, half stunned, half horrified, burned in her mind. Opaline had waited with the masses, holding her breath and sending up silent prayers that he would return at all. She tried to imagine what kind of person it took to go into a building and look for a bomb. Then to find a device counting down, with only three minutes left before detonation, and not turn away and run. How did anyone do that? Especially someone who’d nearly died doing the exact same thing once before.
Lives were at stake. Lots of lives. Including the lives of her teammates. And her sister.
Tears spilled, hot and fast, over her cheeks.
Fritz O’Lear had been prepared to murder forty people today. He had to be stopped. The TCD was ready. But they couldn’t stop him if they couldn’t find him, and that was on her.
And she was failing.
She thought again of the images she’d seen on television. All those pets and people O’Lear had been ready to blow up so he could feel powerful for one second. So he could punish someone who’d made him feel weak. And she thought of the funerals that were coming tomorrow and the next day, as his recent victims were laid to rest. The families they left behind, forever changed because O’Lear had been rejected, because he’d been teased.
Opaline scrubbed heavy hands across her face and against her eyes as determination overtook despair. She wiped tears and shook away the feelings of failure and fatigue. She had the rest of her life to question her skills and beat herself up, right after she got back in her chair and helped her team.
She poured a bowl-sized mug of black coffee and marched back to her desk. She couldn’t physically defend her teammates on the front line, but she could have their backs on her turf. Online. She could and would get them the information they needed to stay safe and protect others. And she wouldn’t stop trying until she succeeded.
She didn’t lower her head again until the sun began to rise.
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