“You’re not a bomb maker.”
Exactly. Wyatt was running out of angles to attack this from. There wasn’t enough logic for him to cling to.
“You can talk me in circles all day if you want,” Landry said. “It doesn’t change the evidence.”
That should be Wyatt’s line. “How does the rest of your story go, then? You find enough clues—flimsy or otherwise—to put me away. Or at least get me through a trial. You get all the praise and glory. Your bosses back off. Job well done. Anything that happens after, bombing related, you either blame it on this mysterious accomplice or on a copycat.
“If I’m as unhinged as you say, that I committed a crime to gain the attention of a woman who’d already noticed me, by blowing up boxes that had nothing to do with her, maybe my defense is insanity.” Or maybe Landry’s was.
Landry shrugged. “A hard thing to prove. You have to be tested by court doctors. You have to make the jury believe you’re nuts, and not just intelligent and arrogant. Juries hate smart people, by the way.”
Wyatt suspected they’d hate hearing how Landry was talking about them even more. “You’re not making any sense.”
“If you know your motives are fucked up, then you don’t have much of a defense.”
Wyatt didn’t know what else to say. Logic wasn’t winning out. The truth didn’t do him any good. Reality seemed to be fragmented. This guy was a believer, and he’d put all his faith in Wyatt’s guilt.
“Who’s your accomplice?” Landry asked.
Wyatt was done trying to talk this through. Time to go back to the simple answers. “I don’t have one. Because I didn’t do anything.”
“What do you want from Fiona Walters?”
“To spend the rest of my life with her.” The opportunity to tell her exactly that.
“How does setting off a series of package bombs accomplish that?”
Wyatt raked his fingers through his hair. “I have no fucking idea.”
Landry stood. “We’re done here.”
Apparently they were done before Wyatt had been brought in for questioning the first time around. How the fuck was he supposed to fight that?
PARKER SAT NEXT TO Fiona on a bench in the local courthouse. They’d asked her to come down and give a more formal deposition. If they were anywhere else, the officer accompanying them would look out of place. Like he did when they went out to dinner. Or sightseeing. Or anything.
Here, the man fit in.
Fiona bounced her leg at jackrabbit speed, and Parker rested his hand on her knee to calm her. She glanced at him with a faint smile and went back to staring off into space and fidgeting.
It had been almost a week since he quit the competition. He’d posted a few brief videos to his channel, to keep up with subscribers, but that was it. Not having the deadline and rules hanging over his head removed such a huge weight from his chest. The worries that came with his decision paled in comparison to his peace of mind.
“How much longer do you think we’ll be waiting?” Fiona sounded as impatient and nervous as she looked.
Parker wished he could do more for her than be here. It felt like such a vague, ineffective thing.
The officer with them—John? Joe?—shrugged. “You know as much as me.”
He’d already told them their odds were as good of getting in right away as they were of being stuck here for a few hours. It all depended on how long the person before them took.
Fiona stood. “I need to use the restroom. If they call my name before I’m back, tell them I waited two hours; they can hold on for five more minutes.”
“Will do.” Parker squeezed her hand.
As she walked away, the officer followed. She cast a glare at him. “It’s around the corner, and we’re in a courthouse, surrounded by people like you. I can walk there on my own.”
The man didn’t look fazed. “I’m sure you can. But I’ll be outside the door.”
Parker waited. As the minutes passed, his leg adopted the same bounce Fiona’s had.
The officer returned alone and handed Parker his cell phone. “It’s for you. Your sister. She says there’s a family emergency and she told dispatch she needs to talk to you now. Make it quick.”
Parker didn’t have a sister. He took the phone. “Hello?”
The officer glanced over his shoulder every few seconds, as if Fiona might vanish into oblivion if he wasn’t careful.
“You’re a difficult guy to get a hold of.” A woman’s voice greeted him.
Fury spilled over Parker. It was Ms. Passion. “Might be because the FBI confiscated all of my electronics.” The only reason he didn’t hang up was that he wanted to ask her about her connection to Tim. Not that she would answer, but she was the one who placed the call. “What do you want?”
“Hear me out. You can keep hating me; you have every right. God, I’m so sorry.”
He didn’t care about the apology in her voice. “I’m listening, and then you can tell me about Greg and Tim.”
“Gregory. Never Greg. That’s why I’m calling. You know? Of course you do. That fucking wedding photo. You have no idea how furious their family was about what happened to Tim.”
“What happened to Tim?” Parker spat her words back at her. “How about what Tim did to Fiona? Any of them care about that?”
“You don’t understand. I know the guy. He would never—”
“He did. I saw it. Why are you calling?” Parker had zero patience for this.
“The video I did, where I said Fiona was their suspect? Gregory gave me that information. Said he knew someone on the inside. He used to be in law enforcement, so he’s got friends in unique places. He’s my husband. Of course I believed him. Busting that story first, before anyone else knew? That would make my channel.”
Sick and disgust churned inside Parker. “You were already made. You were willing to sell out a stranger for a couple more subscriptions?”
“I wasn’t selling anyone out. Gregory assured me she was their suspect. I never would have said... I thought he was telling the truth. And he was furious when he found out they’d arrested someone else. He gets mad sometimes, but not like this. I was scared. Not that he’d hurt me. Never. But it was tense.”
Parker clenched his free hand so tight, his knuckles ached. None of this was making him feel better. Now he wanted to find this Gregory guy and take another swing at him. The hits he landed in diner weren’t nearly enough. “If you’re looking for forgiveness, I don’t have it for you.”
“I’m not. I already told you that. Gregory left on business a few days ago. He travels a lot for work. no big deal. But this time, I was cleaning the garage and I found things. Camera equipment the same brand as I’ve seen in your videos. Supplies...”
“What kind of supplies?” Parker’s gut clenched, as he jumped to an answer without her saying the words.
“I didn’t know at first. Wires. Batteries. Prepaid cell phones. But then I found pieces of a half-shredded printout. Bomb-making instructions. And I checked his cell phone GPS. It might be wrong, but it says he’s in Chicago—”
Parker disconnected without listening to the rest, and shoved the phone back at Josh. “Where’s Fiona?” he asked. It had been almost ten minutes. She should be back.
Josh shook his head. Parker sprinted past him and around the corner of the hallway. He paused for half a breath in front of the women’s restroom, before pushing inside.
A brunette in front of the mirror looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Get out, or I’ll scream.”
“Fiona?” Parker’s question bounced off tile.
Nothing.
He looked at the woman. “Did you see a redhead in here?”
“No. Get the fuck out.”
Parker stepped back into the hallway, to find Josh waiting. “Lock the building down,” Parker said. “I think the bomber is here, and with Fiona.”
Josh was already dialing. “You’d better feed me information as I ask for it,” he said to Par
ker, before he put the phone to his ear.
Parker nodded and shot his gaze around the hallway. Was she in one of these rooms? Someplace else? Several minutes was a long time to get someplace new if no one was looking for you.
He couldn’t believe this was happening again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
FIONA WAS SURPRISED to walk out of the restroom and not find Officer Reynolds waiting. Parker’s voice carried from around the corner, loud enough she heard the frustration, but not enough she knew what he was saying.
Something hard jammed into the small of her back, startling her, and a male voice said, “It’s a gun, and I’d rather not shoot you but I will, so only make a scene if you plan on dying.” His voice was low and steady, only meant for her ears. “Walk.” His tone implied it wasn’t a good idea to call his bluff.
Every muscle in her body coiled, until an ache ran from her neck to her feet. His demand and approach were cliché, but she wasn’t in a position to point that out. With each step, her heart pounded louder, until she thought it might tear from her chest.
They climbed the stairs one floor, and he shoved her into a room halfway down the hallway. Why didn’t they go further? A building sweep would find them in a few minutes.
She sure as fuck wasn’t going to point that out to him.
She spun as he locked the door behind them, and wasn’t surprised to see Gregory. Fiona refused to crack for this man. She wouldn’t show him any fear. She wouldn’t be the helpless maiden in distress she was when his brother forced her into his hotel room.
“Sit.” He gestured to one of the chairs.
Her pulse hammered in her ears, but every sound and smell and sight was amplified. It was too bright. His voice and breathing were too loud. He reeked of body odor.
She’d find a way out. She wouldn’t be a victim again. As the promises echoed in her head, determined the best way to rush him. Could she do it without getting shot? He was bigger than her. She know from his fight with Parker that he hit hard...
Gregory pointed the gun at his own head. “Now you listen, or I shoot myself.” His tone was as unwavering as his grip.
Her breakfast surged into her throat, and she swallowed it back. “I’m listening.”
“Why aren’t you in jail?” he asked.
That was the last thing she expected to hear. Even, Would you like a cup of coffee? would make more sense. “Because I didn’t do anything wrong?”
His laugh was sharp, slicing more of her composure. “That didn’t matter with that Wyatt guy you let take your place. It sure as hell didn’t make a difference for Tim.”
“Tim stalked me, bound me, and threatened me. He locked me in a room against my will—” She cut off the words when Gregory thumbed back the hammer on his pistol.
“That memory card came from your boyfriend’s laptop bag. The supplies were thrown away in your hotel garbage can. Why didn’t the police arrest you?” Gregory’s voice was low but terrifying.
Fiona’s skin burned hot with panic. She forced herself to breathe, despite the fist closing around her lungs. “I don’t know.”
“Why the fuck are you still free?” He shouted the last word, and she jumped.
Was she supposed to answer him again? She tried to be subtle about surveying their surroundings. Not that there was much to see. A table in the middle of the room. The chair she sat in and one other. Would he really shoot himself? Would he hesitate if she rushed him?
Then what?
“Tim’s a little odd, but you like weird and nerdy.” Gregory stared at her, barely blinking. “All you had to do was hear him out. Give him a chance. Instead, you had to call the fucking police.”
She didn’t know what to say. She wouldn’t apologize. Things weren’t supposed to go like this. She’d been careful this time around. Kept her location private, her plans—everything. And she was still cornered by another psycho.
“Tell me more about Tim.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say, but keeping this guy talking seemed like a smart move.
She prayed no one burst into the room and startled him.
“You don’t care.”
“Of course I do.” She gripped the truth of the statement. “He’s a human being. I don’t like to see people hurt. You know that, or you wouldn’t be holding a gun to your own head.”
“It’s a waste of breath.”
No. She had to make him go all mad-villain and explain his plan. Or anything that meant the conversation didn’t stop. “He found me on YouTube, right?”
As she said the words, inspiration struck. Parker had used her phone to stream his last video. He was still logged into the app. What were the odds that she could start broadcasting?
Slim to none, especially using voice commands, but she was sure as fuck going to try. “Maybe he opened YouTube. During a recently started live stream.” Who the fuck talked like that? Was she giving herself away? “To check out Maxine’s competition—”
“Don’t you dare bring her into this.” Gregory spoke through clenched teeth. “You’ve ruined her career, too. How many more of the people I love do you think you’re going to take down?”
“So you wanted to get back at me. I get that. I’d do a lot for my family. What was the plan?”
“I told you. Steal the memory card and business card covered in your fingerprints. Plant the supplies in your hotel room after you left. No one was going to get hurt. Just you.”
He’d been in her hotel room. She thought she couldn’t feel sicker. Apparently she was wrong. “How does that help Tim?”
“It doesn’t, you fucking cunt. You already fucked him over. But at least you’d know what he was going through. He just wanted to get to know you. How hard would it have been to give him a chance?”
“I’m in a relationship.” It was a weak response, but it was the safest thing she could think of that didn’t compromise her opinion. Was now really the time to be stubborn about that?
Yes. God damn it. He wasn’t taking her beliefs from her, even just vocally.
“With a media whore who fucked half the world before you. Tim would have treated you like a princess.”
Princess Peach. The random thought sent a tremor of irrational amusement from her, and she swallowed a giggle. She was so tempted to ask about Maxine—Ms. Passion—and her channel, but she had no idea what this man wanted or what he was capable of.
“What now, then?” she asked. “You have me here, in a courthouse. At any moment, someone will find me. You know they’re looking, right? I came here with a police escort. Then what?”
“I shoot myself.” He made it sound like the most obvious answer. “You live with the guilt.”
She nearly gagged on the thought. So much of this didn’t make any sense. If this were a mystery movie, they’d have found him in the first act. There was no way she was helping this guy figure out the holes in his plan, though. “What about everyone else in your family? I’m not worth the stress this will put them under.”
“You’re the reason they’re under stress.” His shout made her eardrums throb.
Tears trickled down her cheeks, and her eyes stung. She didn’t dare brush them away.
Her lungs were starting to burn too. She dragged in a deep breath, and nearly choked on the ache. What the fuck? Was this a panic attack? A heart attack?
Tears slid down Gregory’s face, too. Was that regret?
“There has to be another way.” Her throat felt raw.
“You know there’s not. What the fuck is in the air?” He wiped the back of his hand across his face.
Was that it? Something in the vents? Her eyes itched now, begging for relief. She sat still. “Nothing, as far as I know. Are you all right?”
“Fuck. I’m fine. I’m just—” He wiped his cheeks again. His eyes were red and swollen.
The air smelled funny. Or was that stress? Her sinuses burned.
A loud bang cracked through the air, and Fiona swore her heart stopped. Did he shoot himself?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“On the floor, now,” someone shouted. Men in body armor and masks rushed into the room, and one tackled Gregory.
Fiona gasped, and her lungs protested. Her eyes watered enough that she struggled to make out what was happening.
“Room is secured,” a different voice called. “We have them both.”
A figure knelt next to her and pressed something cool and damp to her face. “Close your eyes,” he said. “Hold this in place and don’t rub. We have an ambulance waiting.”
She nodded. Her words were gone. She wanted to sink back onto the floor and cry.
“Come on.” Someone helped her to her feet. “Lean on me. I won’t let you fall. You can lose your shit in about two minutes, after we wipe away the traces of tear gas. Okay?”
“Okay.” Her own voice sounded distant.
TWO HOURS LATER, FIONA sat the edge of an examination table in the emergency room, waiting for the police to find her, so she could answer their questions and be discharged. One of the agents on the bombing case had alerts turned on for Parker’s channel, so when Fiona activated the live stream—she still couldn’t believe that worked—the talking gave police enough information to know how to approach the room.
They’d evacuated the building quickly, since bombs might be involved, shut off the HVAC, and let enough pepper spray into the room to make breathing uncomfortable.
She didn’t know the logistics of decontamination, but she was grateful their plan worked.
Parker had refused to leave her side, though he wasn’t allowed to touch her until the contaminated clothes came off. A nurse finally convinced him that, while Fiona was in the shower, he should go buy her a T-shirt and sweats from the gift shop, so she wouldn’t have to go home in a hospital robe.
He looked smug when he handed her the plastic bag. The shirt he found said Bad Ass Chick and had a cartoon baby duck on it.
“I don’t know what’s worse—that the shop sells this or that you thought it was funny.” Fiona was smiling, though. The terror wasn’t the same as last time. She felt like she’d played a part in freeing herself.
Red Consumed Page 17