by Tee O'Fallon
“Tess, I need you to come to the ATF office. Now.” There was an undeniably angry emphasis on the last word.
Oh, no.
The phone rang, startling her so much that it slipped from her hand, falling between her feet. She expected it to be Eric again, but when she retrieved the phone, she froze.
The number staring back at her wasn’t Eric’s. Her heart slowed. All the hope and optimism inside her instantly died.
It was him.
My stepfather.
Her vision blurred. The old adage, there’s no going back, seemed ridiculous, because a phone call from him meant that was precisely where she was going.
Back to hell.
With a trembling finger, she touched the green button and answered the call.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Eric hated giving presentations, especially to a room packed to the gills with some of the highest-ranking law enforcement officials in two states.
I’d rather suck-start a stick of dynamite.
Didn’t help matters that his concentration had gone to shit. All he could think about was the confrontation to come with Tess the second she walked in the door. As soon as he confirmed what he suspected, he’d update his superiors. First, he needed to hear it directly from her.
“We’ve got pinhole cameras set up inside the barn, giving us eyes on the drums 24/7,” he said, addressing the men and women taking up every chair in the conference room.
Sitting before him were Special Agents-in-Charge of the Newark and New York FBI, ATF, and Homeland Security offices, representatives of the JTTF, New York and New Jersey State Police, and several other agents, including Dayne and RAC Verrone.
“We have more teams stationed less than a mile from the barn.” Eric pointed to a map on the wall behind him. “If the drums are moved, we’ll follow them then get a search warrant and take down the entire operation.”
“Sounds reasonable.” ATF SAC Art Hellman looked up from making notes on a pad. “Why do you think they’ll be moved? Isn’t it a possibility those drums are all they have and that the bomb will be constructed at the barn?”
“It’s possible.” Eric nodded, briefly meeting Dayne’s gaze. “But our theory is that the amount of ammonium nitrate in those drums is only part of the full quantity they’re amassing.”
“Why do you think that?” FBI SAC Amy Gonzalez raised her brows.
Eric indicated for Dayne to pass out copies of the ATF lab report. “It’s been over twenty years since a sovereign citizen blew up the Oklahoma City federal building with an ammonium nitrate bomb. Since then, there’ve been changes to federal regulations requiring anyone purchasing greater than twenty-five pounds of ammonium nitrate at a time to have a license and file paperwork. As you can see from the report, each of the drums contains less than twenty-five pounds, and all were obtained from different companies in different locations around the country. We believe they’ve been piecemealing to fly under the radar and accumulate a much larger quantity of AN without getting red flagged. The only questions at this point are how much they’ve acquired and whether they’ll construct the bomb at the barn or transport these drums to another location.”
“How long has it been since the controlled delivery?” SAC Hellman asked.
“Just over twenty-eight hours.” Five hours since he’d made love to Tess. He glanced at the door.
Dammit. Where the hell is she?
It had been over an hour since he’d left her a voicemail message and texted her to get to the ATF office. She should have been there already. If she’d taken Jesse and run, he’d—
“What about Pritchard and the other men?” SAC Gonzalez asked.
“Pritchard, Ruffalo, and Fenway are holed up in a hotel in Chester.” Eric did his best not to reveal the personal battle going on in his head. He worried it was written all over his face. “We’ve got two teams watching them around the clock.”
“So, we’re in a holding pattern for the moment,” Hellman said.
“Let’s get back to the men in the hotel,” Homeland Security SAC Max Murray interrupted. “Did we do a dump on their phones, hard lines and cell phones?”
“We did,” Dayne answered. “None of their toll records contain calls made to or from anyone of interest. All their cell phones are turned off, so there’s no way for us to track them.”
“Which shouldn’t be an issue,” RAC Verrone added, “since we have eyes on them. We even stationed an agent outside their residences. Just in case.”
SAC Murray narrowed his eyes. “In case what?”
“I’ll let Special Agent Miller respond to your question.” Verrone nodded to Eric. “Agent Miller was previously assigned to the ATF’s Birmingham, Alabama office and has personal experience with a group of active sovereign citizens down there.”
Once again, all eyes turned to the front of the room. Not that he doubted it for a second, but it was his ass was on the line here. Big time.
He cleared his throat. “We believe an Alabama chapter of sovereign citizens run by Harley Gant is assisting or spearheading this whole thing. Gant was responsible for murdering three ATF agents in Birmingham several years ago, and he has a penchant for using explosives.”
Several minutes later, after he’d succinctly described what had happened in Alabama, along with the connection between Pritchard and Gant, RAC Verrone added, “That’s why we have agents looking out for Harley Gant.”
SAC Murray’s expression was grim. “Given what happened to you and your colleagues, Agent Miller, are you certain you can be objective about all this?”
“Yes, sir.” Not a chance in hell, but no way was he about to say anything that would get him pulled off the case.
SAC Gonzalez held up her hand. “What about Jesse McTavish? Can he be of any more assistance?”
Good question.
He and Dayne exchanged meaningful looks. “We dumped the toll records for his phone. Every number is an untraceable burner phone, including the one used to give Jesse the logistics for the controlled delivery.”
“What do you think their motive is?” SAC Murray crossed his arms. “Why would a previously nonviolent group of sovereign citizens suddenly align themselves with a madman like Gant?”
“I can’t say for sure,” Eric admitted. “They’re either doing Gant’s bidding, or they need his assistance to get themselves on the map.”
“Maybe,” Dayne added, “these assholes just needed someone to show them how to build a damn bomb.”
The room went dead silent.
Gant and Pritchard definitely knew how to construct a bomb. Eric had the scars all over his body to attest to that.
“Regardless of their motive,” JTTF Director Fuentes said, entering the conversation, “sovereign citizens always attack government buildings or government officials. Do we have any idea what their target is?”
“Negative.” Eric shook his head. “Alerts have been issued to all federal, state, and local governments, including every police department in every state sharing a border with New Jersey. Once constructed, an AN bomb would be shock sensitive, so we believe the target is somewhere in Jersey.”
“Hence the importance of following those men and watching those drums,” Verrone said. “One way or the other, we’ll get them.”
A knock sounded on the door and Joe Eden, the duty agent, poked his head in, hesitating as he caught sight of all the brass in the room. “Excuse the interruption. Eric, you wanted to be notified as soon as Tess McTavish arrived.”
“Thank you.” He gave a curt nod to Eden, grasping at what little was left of his self-control and steeling himself mentally for what he had to do. Inside, renewed fury washed over him, but he couldn’t allow anyone in the room get even a glimpse of his emotions. He took a step toward the door.
“McTavish?” Director Fuentes shifted from Eden back to Eric. “Any relation to Jesse McTavish?”
“She’s his sister. Bring her in,” RAC Verrone ordered the duty agent.
Sh
it. Eric had wanted to confront her first. Alone. Those plans had just gone down the crapper.
“Yes, sir.” Eden closed the door, and a minute later returned with Tess in tow.
Agent Eden stood aside, allowing Tess to enter the room. At the same time, Eden’s cell phone rang, and he stepped back into the corridor, preparing to close the door.
Tess hadn’t gotten two feet into the room when she stopped, staring at him with a combination of fear and terror on her beautiful face. Even from this distance, it was impossible not to miss how red her eyes were. She gripped the rose quartz crystal pendant around her neck as if it were an energy-source lifeline.
He fisted his hands. Don’t be fooled. Her lies could fill an explosives bunker.
Memories blasted him. Three funerals in three days. He’d watched from a wheelchair as his best friends were lowered into the ground while their families held each other, crying and sobbing. Their grief—and his own—still drove him to seek revenge against the man who’d ordered their deaths.
Under the circumstances, it was bad enough that he’d slept with Tess. Given what he now suspected, it was worse than bad.
She started toward him. “I have to tell you something, and I need your help.”
“Not here.” He gently but firmly guided her back to the door.
“Agent Miller.” SAC Hellman stood. “Where are you taking this woman? We’d like to question her.”
“Not until I get first crack.” As he ushered Tess hastily into the corridor, he met her frightened gaze, completely ignoring the command issued by a SAC who was at least three levels above him in seniority. Fuck it. This was personal and he damn well intended to grill Tess. Privately.
Disregarding more stares from the few remaining agents who weren’t in the field, he pushed open the door to an empty office, slamming it shut behind him.
“He has Jesse,” she cried.
“Who has Jesse?”
“My stepfather.”
“Sit down,” he ordered in a cold voice, indicating one of the two chairs in front of the desk. “I watched the video. The full video, and I heard everything. I know you lied about not knowing Mark Pritchard, so start talking.”
She covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders slumped, and for a moment he thought she’d lose it and start crying. If that happened, he didn’t know what he’d do.
Letting her hands drop, she sat in the chair. It was all he could do not to shake the truth out of her.
“Pritchard found out my brother and I were working with you,” she said, looking at him from watery green eyes.
His chest tightened. Don’t. Cry. That would be his undoing.
“How do you know this?” He steeled his expression for what was to come.
She didn’t hesitate. “They used an online app to locate Jesse’s phone in New Jersey. Even though you kept it turned off most of the time, it was on long enough that they were able to track it to the Newark federal courthouse. After that, you gave the phone back to him in case they called to ask why he didn’t show up at the original meet location. Eventually, they traced him to Flemington, but I turned the phone off. I don’t think they tracked him to your house.”
He clenched his jaw, barely able to hold himself in check. “You can’t track a phone that way unless you’re the account holder.”
“I know.” She swallowed, drawing his attention to where she still clutched the rose quartz.
“Who’s the account holder?” he demanded, already knowing, but needing her to say it.
When she didn’t answer right away, a violent rage bubbled up inside him. He leaned over and grabbed the armrests of her chair. “Tell me,” he gritted out. “Say. His. Name.”
Closing her eyes, she swallowed audibly, then whispered the one name that could bring on a killing rage inside him like nothing else could. “Harley Gant.”
As much as it sucked, he knew what came next would be far worse.
“The day you showed up here, I asked you and your brother if you knew Gant. Both of you said you didn’t know him.” He paused to try and calm his racing heartbeat. “So how do you know who the account holder is?”
“Because I lied to you,” she cried. “I do know Harley Gant.” Her body began to shake. Tears streaked down her face, leaving long track marks on her pale cheeks. Ironically, he wondered how he could want someone so badly when they were about to say something that would shatter his world. “He’s my stepfather.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I’m sorry,” Tess whispered, her heart constricting as she looked up into the glacial blue of Eric’s eyes.
Only inches separated them as he towered over her, but he might as well have been standing on the far side of the earth, so great was the emotional distance between them.
A chill raced up her spine, and her body began to tremble. The room had gone cold, frigid even, and she had the answer to her question. Any chance that he might have loved her someday was gone. The name she’d spoken had obliterated any possibility of that happening.
Harley Gant.
The satanic bane of her entire godforsaken life.
Slowly, Eric released the armrests and stood. The derisive look he gave her said it all. He hates me. She squeezed her eyes shut, not blaming him one bit and despising herself more for deceiving him.
His voice was low and controlled, yet there was no doubt from his rigid posture that he was angry. Beyond angry.
“You knew how important Gant was to me. He murdered my friends in cold blood. I watched them die, and when it was over there wasn’t a scrap of flesh left on their bones that wasn’t burned to a crisp.” He shut his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath, clearly struggling for control.
Her heart went out to him, but there was nothing she could do to ease his pain. Gant had killed his friends and severely injured him. He might have recovered from his physical wounds, but her stepfather had inflicted lasting emotional pain. Now—years later—her actions were hurting Eric deeply as well. He wanted revenge on Gant, and she may very well have denied him the opportunity to make things right.
“If you’ve withheld anything else critical to this investigation,” he continued in a cool tone, “you can be charged with obstruction of justice.”
“What?” She jumped to her feet, barely able to contain her outrage. “Don’t you see? This is exactly why I didn’t tell you the truth about who my stepfather is. You’re looking at me as if I’m the lowest piece of garbage on the planet. Because I had the misfortune to wind up with him as my stepfather, you assume that I condone who and what he is, and that I know something about the bomb that I’m not telling you. I don’t, and neither does Jesse.” She ran her hands through her hair. How in the world can he think that of us?
“My brother is a pawn in all of this,” she continued. “He’s no more violent than a butterfly, but you’ve already tried and convicted us. If we’d told the truth earlier, you would have sent Jesse directly to jail without asking a single question. He would have been guilty no matter how much we helped you, and you damn well know it.”
With her chest heaving, she stared at him, desperately hoping for some indication that she’d gotten through to him, but his handsome face was dispassionate, as if he’d pulled a sheet over his head. She didn’t know the man standing before her. This one had cut off all human emotion.
This was her worst nightmare coming true with painful clarity.
Physically, she might have left Harley, Pritchard, and every other aspect of her life in Alabama a decade ago, but she’d never faced those horrible monsters and defeated them. She’d been an idiot, a fool for thinking she could ever break free of her past. It would always be there, like a cancer that had gone into remission, biding its time before rearing its ugly head again.
Exhausted, she sat back on the chair, staring at a tiny smudge on the dark gray carpet. Gone were her tears, dried up by the fiery anger with which she’d delivered her speech. One that had clearly fallen on deaf ears.
/> “Do you have any idea what it’s like,” she said without looking up, “to have a past that so completely defines your future that no matter how much you strive to change it, or how hard and fast you run from it, it follows you everywhere?”
Several moments of silence followed, then Eric sat in the chair opposite her.
“Why exactly did you leave Alabama?” he asked. “And if it was so horrible, why didn’t you take your brother with you?” He eyed her with mild curiosity, the way a scientist observes a rat stumbling through a maze.
Why not? Outing more lovely bits of her and Jesse’s childhoods couldn’t possibly do more damage than Harley had already.
“I already told you,” she began, “my father—my real father—disappeared without a trace. That was fifteen years ago. We thought he loved us. I guess we were wrong.”
Who was she to know what love was? There’d been a time when she’d thought that was what had been sizzling between her and Eric. A quick glance at the detached expression on his face now told her the only thing he truly cared about was revenge against Harley. Ironically, she was beginning to have more than a passing commiseration.
“Less than a year later, Harley came into our lives. All polished and refined. Little did we know what lurked beneath all that shiny polish.” She made a disgusted sound. “Eventually, he and my mother married. Jesse and I were never sure if she loved him, but she needed the financial support he could provide. We didn’t really know where his money came from, but he got us what we needed. Food. Clothes. Toys for Jesse. Things were okay for a while, until my mother got sick. Six months after being diagnosed with cancer, she was gone.” And with it, the now-obvious pretenses Harley had displayed while she’d been alive.
“The day after we laid her to rest, things changed. I was thirteen and Jesse was only three. He seemed to take Jesse under his wing, but he pulled me out of school and told my teachers he was homeschooling me.” Her laugh sounded more like a sob. “He wasn’t. His idea of homeschooling was ordering me to clean the house and cook for him and his friends, including Mark Pritchard. He taught me to shoot, so I could go out and get food for the table. One day, I told him I was going out to hunt rabbits. I left the rifle in the woods behind our house then snuck off to see one of my friends. He caught me coming out of her house. When we got home, he punched me in the face. I fell and hit my head.” She touched the scar. The same one Eric had questioned her about.