by Aimée Thurlo
“More likely the restaurant staff,” Rick said. “If the doors hadn’t been blocked, another motive would have been to burn down the business so the owner could collect the insurance.”
His gaze drifted back to Kim, who was crouched by her uncle. The bleeding had slowed from what he could see.
“Kim, who’s the owner of the Brickhouse?” he asked, going over and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“My uncle Frank is half owner,” she said, never taking her eyes off her uncle. “His business partner is Arthur Johnson, but Art would never think of burning down the place or hurting anyone, especially Frank. Those two have been good friends for years, and the Brickhouse has always made money for both of them. You guys are off base on this.”
“I’d have to agree with Kim. There’s no way this place is losing money. It’s always packed,” Preston said.
“Gene’s grabbed a big wrench from the toolbox in his pickup and he’s going to shut off the gas at the meter. That’ll help the firemen,” Daniel said.
“Meanwhile,” Preston suggested, “let’s focus on what we know. Because of the timing, the firebug must have blocked the front first before entering the kitchen from the alley.”
“If it was an inside job, it wasn’t done by anyone who escaped with us,” Rick concluded.
They heard the wail of an ambulance followed by the sirens of several police cruisers racing up Main Street. “Time for me to get to work,” Preston said. “If any of you come up with a motive or a suspect, let me know. Right now, I’ve got to help secure the scene.”
The big white rescue unit came up the street from the opposite direction, just ahead of a second fire truck. Preston stepped out into the street and motioned to the approaching vehicles.
Less than a minute later the firemen were working to suppress the fire. Two EMTs, having gathered their equipment, approached Frank, then crouched next to him.
Rick stood back with Daniel. “Frank’s probably our best witness and may have some of the answers. There’s a chance he saw the arsonist before he got clocked.”
“Preston will follow up,” Daniel said, “but there’s something I need to talk to you about. Is it possible that the man responsible for the scar on your face came back to try to finish the job?”
“No, he’s dead,” Rick said, “but some of the ones he worked for in the Mexican cartel avoided arrest. They’re still at large and fighting for control of what’s left of their criminal operation. You never really defeat that kind of evil.”
“Any chance you were followed home?”
Rick expelled his breath in a slow hiss. “To the U.S., then all the way to Hartley? My gut says no. They know I can’t work undercover anymore. I’ve been marked in a way that makes it impossible for me to hide my identity. More importantly, I’m no longer a threat to them, so there’s no profit in taking me out. I doubt they’d waste their resources.”
“All right then.” Daniel glanced at the debris strewed in every direction. “Taking on one of Hosteen Silver’s boys is a bad idea, but taking all of us on is nothing short of a death wish. Whoever he is, he’s going down.”
“No doubt about it,” Rick said. He looked over to where Kim stood watching the paramedics work. “I’m going to follow her to the hospital. I’d like to talk to her uncle as soon as he’s conscious.”
“Better wait for Preston. He’s the only one of us who still carries a badge, and this is his turf, not ours,” Daniel warned. “You know how he is about going by the book.”
Rick gave his brother a mirthless smile. “Good for him. I started out that way, but undercover—”
“I know, but there are rules here,” Daniel reminded him. “You’re home now.”
Daniel was right; he had to stand back. It wasn’t his case.
Seeing Kim arguing with the paramedics, who wouldn’t let her ride in the ambulance, he jogged over. “Come on, Kim, I’ll take you to the hospital.”
“Thanks, my car’s at home.”
As they strode to his rental SUV, Preston intercepted them. “Gene’s going to take the women over to Level One Security, just in case it’s a family threat. The kids will be brought over by the babysitters, too. Until we get a better handle on things, Daniel’s office is like a fortress.”
“What about Kim and the other two members of the tavern staff?” Rick asked.
“The servers have been told to stick around until I have the chance to ask them a few questions. Kim, you’ll need to come back here after you check on your uncle’s status,” Preston said, looking directly at her. “Or you can meet me later tonight at the station. Your choice.”
“I’ll be sticking around at the hospital. If you need to speak to me before tomorrow, it’ll have to be there.”
“Fair enough. Under the circumstances, I don’t blame you for wanting to stay close to your family, but it might be late before I make it to the hospital,” Preston advised.
“As for you, Rick,” Preston continued, “I’d like you to stick around. In your work I’m sure you’ve grown familiar with makeshift bombs, and I’d like you to go inside the building with me to help search for evidence.”
Rick turned to Kim and held out his keys. “Take my SUV. It’s the dark blue one toward the end of the block.”
“Don’t worry about it. I know Uncle Frank keeps a spare set of car keys. They’re in a magnetic holder by the right front tire. It’s okay if I take his car, isn’t it?” she asked Preston.
“Yes. It’ll have to be moved anyway once heavy equipment is brought in to clear the rubble off the street,” Preston answered.
“Good,” Kim said. “I’ll be at the hospital, probably all night, if anyone else needs me.”
“I’ll catch up to you later,” Rick said, watching her hurry down the sidewalk to a parked car. Kim was great-looking, and had guts. He’d only just met her but he sure liked what he’d seen.
* * *
AS RICK STRODE toward what was left of the building, he saw it was now illuminated by floodlights placed strategically along the street and inside the dining room. Going into agent mode, he stilled his thoughts and allowed a familiar coldness to envelop him.
He stopped by the front door and studied it without touching anything. “What kept this from opening?” he asked Preston, who’d jogged over to meet him after speaking to the Hartley Fire Department station chief.
“A pipe was wedged into the wrought-iron security grillwork on both sides of the door, barring it from the outside. I bagged and tagged it before anyone else besides Erin touched it. It’ll need to be processed for prints.”
“The chains on the outside kitchen doors...those being processed, too?” Rick asked.
“Yes, including the lock and the metal door hardware. It’s all been tagged for the lab.”
“All right, then, let’s go into the kitchen. I only got a quick glance before we got out, so I’m still not sure what actually set off the explosion—an open flame, some kind of timer, or something else.”
Preston led the way through the front entrance where a metal door dangled by the upper hinge. Broken chairs, table lamps, dishes, utensils and other items were scattered all around them.
As they started to pick their way across the interior, a tall man carrying a camera and wearing an H.F.D. jacket stepped out of the shadows.
“Stop. The kitchen area is off-limits to everyone except fire department personnel right now.” He identified himself to Rick as the fire marshal. “There’s no surveillance footage here, so it’ll probably take me until tomorrow to compile my report on what caused the explosion. For now, you guys have to get out of here.” Without another word, he strode into the kitchen.
“That’s Arnie Medina,” Preston said. “He has jurisdiction here at the scene, so let’s leave the kitchen to him and we’ll concentrate on e
vidence that might help us determine who the suspect was, or how long he was inside the building. That would give us a time line when tracking people who were in the area.”
Rick glanced around at the wreckage. Over the past four years, deep undercover, he’d worked alongside people who would have slit his throat just for practice. He’d looked forward to coming home and no longer having to sleep with his weapon at arm’s reach.
Now his much needed R & R would have to wait. His family was in the line of fire. The first attempt had failed, but experience taught him that killers seldom gave up until they succeeded—or were put down.
As they entered an employee area adjacent to the kitchen, Rick noticed a canvas tote next to the wall and lifted it out from behind a fallen roof tile. He looked inside and saw several textbooks. There was also a small purse along with a set of keys. He held up the purse so his brother could see. “Still dry. Somebody got lucky.”
Preston took the wallet and located the driver’s license. “It’s Kim’s. I hope she doesn’t get stopped. I’ll make sure to take it with me when I go to the hospital later tonight.”
Rick nodded absently, then taking a closer look at the books, realized that one of the volumes was a textbook on police procedures, another on criminal law and a third one on evidence collection. “What’s this all about?” he asked, surprised.
“Kim’s working on an associate’s degree in criminology. Her dad was one of ours, and she wants to follow in his footsteps. Jimmy Nelson was a good man.”
“‘Was’?”
“He was killed in the line of duty,” Preston said, noticing a crime scene investigator waving him over. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Rick hung the bag from a wall bracket that was still intact, minus a shelf, and continued to search. It was becoming increasingly difficult to stay alert this time of night. He’d spent most of the day on the road and was physically beat. He was running on pure adrenaline.
Preston motioned him outside. “I think you should consider staying with everyone else at Daniel’s tonight. I’ve got a late night ahead of me.”
“Do what you have to,” Rick said. “I was thinking of stopping by the hospital and talking to Kim.”
“No. Not until I question her.” Preston took a breath and let it out slowly. “I won’t bother telling you not to get involved in this case, Rick, because you already are, but you need to remember you’re not FBI anymore. Most important of all, you have no concealed carry permit.”
“Actually, I do. The Bureau made sure of that before I left.”
“Okay, one less problem. Where’s Kim’s purse?”
“Inside,” Rick answered, telling him the location.
“Okay,” Preston said with a nod. “Considering this might yet track back to your past, let me know if you’ll feel safer carrying a badge just in case you have to mix it up with someone. I’m pretty sure the chief would deputize you, considering you’re a highly trained former special agent with a distinguished record.”
“Good. Do that as soon as you can. It’ll be good backup.”
“Consider it done. So, will you be going to Daniel’s?” Preston asked.
He shook his head. “If someone’s after me...” He let the sentence hang.
“There’s no safer place on this earth than Daniel’s compound,” Preston told him, as if the issue was settled. He looked toward the brother in question, who was coming up the sidewalk.
For the first time since the blast, Rick smiled. Out of all his Navajo foster brothers, Daniel, the owner of a major security company, was the one he understood best. “I hear your place is as secure as Fort Knox.”
“Did you expect anything less?” Daniel said as he stopped in front of them. “Speaking of safety, Rick, you’re driving a rental SUV, but considering what happened tonight, you’d be better off with something from my company’s motor pool. Tomorrow I’ll match you up with a more suitable ride.”
Preston excused himself and went to interview the two waiting employees, while Daniel walked with Rick back to the rental.
“Death follows me,” Rick said as he climbed into the SUV. “Undercover, that’s a given, but I never expected to find it here.” His lips straightened into a thin hard line. “I guess they don’t realize it yet.”
“What?”
“Hosteen Silver’s boys are damned hard to kill.”
Chapter Two
After spending a restless night, Rick headed to the kitchen for coffee, desperate for a shot of caffeine.
Paul and Preston’s adopted sons, Jason and Bobby, were playing a loud video game in the next room, and as he poured himself a mug of the dark steamy brew, Daniel intercepted him.
“Come on, time to work. This way.”
Rick followed his brother into the main room, the office’s planning and computer center. A huge horizontal computer screen the size of a table rested adjacent to four large monitors on the wall.
“I have access to intelligence chatter, courtesy of my Department of Homeland Security and National Security Agency contacts. There’s been nothing at all to indicate you were specifically targeted last night. I contacted the Bureau, as well, and their sources agree with the other agencies. No flags were raised,” Daniel said.
“So they might have been hoping to kill everyone, or maybe only one or two of us, while the rest of the family became collateral damage,” Rick said. “That’s pretty cold.”
“There’s no way to be certain, but my instincts are telling me that if they wanted one of us specifically, they would have taken their shot before now,” Daniel said. “Their real target could have also been Frank, Kim, one of the two servers or the Brickhouse Tavern itself.”
“The timing was linked to my homecoming, though,” Rick said. “Besides that, was there anything special about last night?”
“Not that we know of,” Daniel said, “but if your theory is right and this has nothing to do with your undercover work, then we should be looking for an enemy you made here, maybe during one of your infrequent visits.”
“I can’t think of anyone,” Rick said, shaking his head, “but I’ll give it some thought.”
Preston came in just then. “Frank Nelson still can’t be questioned. He’s out of danger, according to the doctors, but they want to keep him sedated and are monitoring him closely for swelling of the brain. Kim gave us a preliminary statement late last night, but she was too shaken to remember anything we don’t already know.”
“It was close to home for her, but if she’s going to be a cop, she’ll have to toughen up fast,” Rick said, his voice heavy.
Preston looked at his brother. “She will, but she’s barely out of the starting gate. Her dad’s gone and right now her uncle’s her only living relative. The incident last night turned her world upside down.”
For a moment Rick found himself indulging in an emotion he seldom experienced—sympathy. He knew what it was like to suddenly find yourself all alone.
“I’d still like to talk to her. Kim may know something useful. I’m not a cop, at least not anymore, so that might set her at ease and help her remember some details,” Rick said.
Preston nodded. “Go for it.”
“Before anyone leaves, we need to decide if our families need extra protection,” Daniel said.
“I spoke to Gene this morning, and he agrees with me,” Preston said. “The best solution is to get them out of town. Fortunately, Kendra has her U.S. Marshals training, so she’ll keep them safe,” Preston added, referring to Paul’s wife. “We can also send two of your top security people along with them, Daniel, just to make sure.”
“Where are you planning to send them?” Rick asked.
“To Gene’s ranch,” Preston replied. “You’ve never been there, Rick, but it’s in Colorado, a few hours from here, out in open countr
y where intruders are easily spotted.”
“Since the trouble his wife, Lori, had a few years back, Gene’s place now has surveillance cameras that feed to our computers here,” Daniel explained. “With some handpicked men, and Gene and Kendra on the job, they’ll be safe.”
“Good plan,” Rick said.
Paul came in just then. He still favored his shoulder when he moved, the result of the gunshot that had forced him to retire from the U.S. Marshals Service. “I’ll be monitoring things from here.”
“I’ll handle the details,” Daniel said, then looked at Rick. “You’re going to need one of our special SUVs. Just leave the rental here and one of my men will take care of it. I’ve got a black one outside that’ll be perfect for you. It’s got extra Kevlar armor, a GPS tracker and run-flat tires.”
“Good. I’d like to get going,” Rick admitted.
“They wouldn’t let Kim in to be with her uncle after I spoke with her last night, so she went home,” Preston said. “If Kim isn’t at the hospital this morning, you’ll find her at Silver Heritage Jewelry and Gifts. The shop is owned by a member of our tribe, a Navajo woman, Angelina Curley.”
“So Kim has two jobs, one at the Brickhouse and one at a jewelry store?” he asked.
“She’s paying her way through college with gigs that let her keep flexible hours,” Preston answered.
“I know she thinks highly of you. What’s the story there?” Rick asked Preston.
“I put the man who shot her dad behind bars. Her uncle Frank really stepped up for her after that, but the P.D. kept an eye on her, as well. We wanted Kim to know that officers take care of our own, and if she needed anything, she had help. After she enlisted in the army out of high school, we kept in touch. She was deployed for a few years and then came home determined to follow in her dad’s footsteps.”
“So I should treat her with kid gloves, is that it?” Rick asked. It was a fair question, and there was no rancor in his voice.
“No, not at all. Just be aware that she’s got a lot of officers watching out for her.”