by Dee Davis
Sam felt the prick of tears, wondering if it would always hurt like this. It’d been five years, but it felt like yesterday—watching her father fade away before her very eyes. He’d fought the good fight, almost beat the bastard, but in the end it had triumphed. And Sam and her mother had been left alone.
Bill Waters had been the spark in their family, the glue that held them together. And though Sam’s mother had managed to make a new life for herself in Albuquerque, Sam knew that she’d never really be whole again. Bill had been the love of her life. And nothing could ever replace him.
Sam blew out a long breath and dumped the bag on the landing, fumbling for the key-card the desk clerk had given her. She’d learned long ago that the best way to deal with her loss was to sequester it away deep in her heart, and then ignore it.
If she hadn’t been so tired, she probably wouldn’t have thought of her father at all. Except that she’d met Payton Reynolds. The man was nothing like her father physically. And at least from first appearances, she’d say he lacked her father’s joy for life. But the stillness was the same. That inner sight that had probably saved his ass more than once.
She recognized it. And respected it. And if she was honest, was intrigued by it just a little. Not that she’d ever admit the fact. There was nothing to be gained in sharing thoughts like that. Besides, who the hell would she share it with?
Her job was a solitary one. She had colleagues certainly, but no one she trusted with her innermost thoughts. It was better that way. A couple times early in her career, she’d tried to date someone on the job. But it always ended the same. Either they were freaked out by her expertise, or they couldn’t handle the risks that she took every day.
And dating people from outside law enforcement only amplified the problem. At first they were intrigued, but as the relationship began to grow more serious, they’d start to pull away, claiming they weren’t ready or some such drivel. The truth was they didn’t want a woman like her.
After years of the same thing over and over, she’d just quit dating. It was easier. Because she sure as hell wasn’t giving up a job she loved just to please some guy’s need to feel superior to the little woman. Sad but true.
Hell, she sounded pathetic.
She smiled, and slid the card through the slot, then turned the doorknob. Using her hip to prop the door open, she grabbed the bag and walked into the hotel room. It was comfortable, but in a sterile, cookie-cutter kind of way. There was a tiny kitchen, a table and chairs and a sofa that no doubt doubled as a second bed.
An open door in the back wall led to an alcove that would contain the bed and bathroom. Nothing fancy, but a heck of a lot better than motel hell. She could see her suitcase lying next to the sofa, her other gear stacked against the far wall.
The door clicked shut behind her, the sound abnormally loud in the dead silence of the room. The hairs on Sam’s neck rose as the tinny notes of music suddenly filled the room. Instinct took control as her gaze swept the room again, this time noticing the metal box sitting on the counter in the kitchen.
A jack-in-the-box.
Not the usual hotel decoration.
Even as she turned to find the door handle, she recognized the tune. “Pop Goes the Weasel.” It was the last bar. Seconds to go.
She yanked on the door, just as the last note sounded.
A loud pop, followed by a whiz filled the air, and Sam dived out onto the landing, skinning her knees and elbows in the process. The night air was heavy with moisture, and she held her breath waiting for the fallout.
Nothing.
Except cicadas singing in a nearby live oak.
Slowly she turned around to face the room. It was shimmering in the light from the landing, bits of something fluttering through the air. Sam frowned, forcing herself to concentrate.
Confetti.
The jack-in-the-box had been full of confetti, the charge sending it spewing into the room like New Year’s Eve in Times Square.
She stood up, edging back toward the doorway and the now glitter-covered carpet. Her mind insisted that there could still be another bomb. Something more deadly. But years of training told her it was unlikely. The person responsible had only wanted to send a message.
The pertinent question, of course, being…what?
CHAPTER FIVE
“WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL SOONER?” Payton Reynolds stood in the doorway of Sam’s hotel room, his dark brows drawn together, the combination of scar and frown making him look somewhat demonic.
Sam, however, was merely amused. “I had everything under control.” She shrugged, and turned back to the technician who was carefully bagging the remnants of the bomb. The local crime scene folks had been there almost an hour. Photographs had been taken and locations marked. All that remained was to bag the evidence so that Sam could try and recreate the device in hopes that it would yield some kind of answer as to intent.
“So tell us what happened.” Gabe only looked slightly less angry than Payton. Sam bit back a smile.
“I told you pretty much everything on the phone.” She leaned back against a table. “I walked into the room, heard the music, spotted the jack-in-the-box and hit the deck. The explosion was minor, shrapnel limited to the box itself. Basically it was rigged like a roman candle or firecracker, only instead of shooting sparks, it shot confetti.”
“A message.” Payton as usual cut right to the chase. He walked over to the charred remains of the box. Only one corner was left, the rest having broken into pieces with the explosion. “Where’s Jack?”
It was a question that had puzzled Sam as well, and she felt an absurd sense of pleasure at the fact that Payton had followed the same train of thought. “There wasn’t one.”
She watched as he bent down to study the corner piece, careful not to actually touch it. “No fragments even?”
“Not that I’ve seen so far. I’ll have to put it back together in the lab to know for certain. But I’m fairly certain the box was empty except for the charge and the confetti.”
“So the question is whether that’s significant or just a factor of constructing the bomb.” Gabe, too, was right on point. Maybe this team thing wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
“Exactly.” Sam smiled. “Again I’m hoping that once I see what the original looked like, I’ll be able to make a more educated guess.”
“Any idea how it got in here?” Payton asked, turning back to face her with a frown. Despite the fact that she’d barely known the man a day, he seemed genuinely concerned. Not just generic concern, but I-care-about-you-and-don’t-want-anything-to-happen-to-you concern. She was obviously misreading it, but it felt nice just the same.
“Not a clue. I talked to the manager, and he can’t remember anyone requesting my key or calling the room. But it’s easy enough to get access to these rooms. I mean the doors all open to the outside. All you have to do is pretend to be a maid or a repairman or something.”
Gabe nodded. “And despite the electronic locks, it’s still possible to break in.”
“But not unless you have a pass key, or a working knowledge of electronics,” Payton added.
“Considering the end result—” Sam nodded toward the box “—I’d say we can count on the guy having electrical know-how.”
“That still doesn’t explain how he knew you were here.” Gabe had pushed away from the windowsill and was pacing, the kinetic energy no doubt helping him to think. “Cullen made the arrangements. But he sure as hell didn’t broadcast where we’d be staying.”
“He wouldn’t have had to,” Sam said. “The senators’ dying is big news. I imagine every paper in the country has had a picture of me or Payton at the site. From there, it wouldn’t be that hard for journalists to suss out where we’re staying. And if the media knows we’re here, then so does the rest of the world.”
“Including the bomber.” Gabe stopped, turning to face them.
“We don’t know that.” Payton’s voice was quiet, but there was a n
ote of authority there that Sam couldn’t ignore. “Do you have any enemies?”
Sam laughed. “So many I can’t count them.”
“So this could be one of them.” He met her gaze, his somber intensity making her shiver.
“Well, not too much of an enemy. He didn’t cause me any harm.”
Payton nodded to the shrapnel still littering the floor. “He could have.”
“No way.” Sam waved at the debris. “This bomb is hardly more than a firecracker. I certainly could have been hit by a piece of the box, but only if I walked right up to it. And that wasn’t likely. If the bomber had wanted me near the box, he wouldn’t have rigged it so that the music started when the door closed. This guy wasn’t trying to hurt me.”
“So we’re back to it being a message.” Payton tilted his head, eyes narrowed in thought.
“Yeah. We just don’t know what the hell he was trying to say.” Gabe shrugged, his frustration evident.
“We just heard. Is everyone all right?” Madison and Harrison rushed through the open door, Madison’s gaze immediately locking with her husband’s.
“I’m fine, sweetheart. Payton and I arrived after the fact.” Gabe’s expression was so full of love, it twisted Sam’s heart. She’d given up on relationships, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have the occasional tug of envy.
“Sam?” Madison turned to look at her, her gaze assessing.
“I’m fine, too. I don’t think the blast was meant to hurt anyone.”
Madison turned around slowly, taking in the remaining debris and the bomb remnant. “No shrapnel?”
“None except the metal pieces that broke off the box. And they didn’t carry very far.”
She nodded, chewing on the side of her lip. “How was it triggered?”
“The door clicking shut. It closed a circuit that sent a signal to the jack-in-the-box. A motor started the music and when the song ended the thing went pop—literally.”
“So we’re talking about intelligence then. Not just a way with electronics, but someone who has the capacity to work out distance and timing. The song have any meaning for you?”
Sam shook her head. “I recognized it, though. It was ‘Pop Goes the Weasel.” ’
“That’s pretty standard for a jack-in-the-box, isn’t it?” Harrison asked.
Madison nodded. “And it shows a sense of humor. Interesting.”
Sam could almost see the wheels in Madison’s head turning as she tried to get a fix on the perpetrator.
“So what else can you tell us about the guy?” Gabe asked.
Madison frowned, still thinking. “Well, I’d say guy is right. It has the telltale markings of a male. And I’d say that considering the sophistication of the device he definitely had the ability to do more damage had he chosen to do so. The message, if there is one, will be subtle. But I predict that he’ll follow up with something in writing if we don’t seem to be getting the point.”
“You think this is tied in to the San Antonio bombing?” Like Gabe, Payton seemed to hold Madison’s opinion in high regard, and Sam marked it as a point in their favor.
“I couldn’t say for certain. The timing certainly makes one think along those lines first. But I suspect Sam has made her fair share of enemies, and any limelight tends to bring people like that out of the woodwork.”
“You think the guy is dangerous?” This from Harrison, his gaze darting over to Sam.
“Hard to say. Obviously he’s capable of creating damage. And obviously he wanted her attention in a way that she’d appreciate. As I said before, if he really wanted to hurt her, he clearly has the necessary skills. So the fact that he didn’t, tells us something. But it’s all just speculation. And off the cuff to boot.” Madison shrugged apologetically. “Maybe after you’ve examined the fallout we’ll have more to go on.”
“And in the meantime, I can check the ATF computer archive to look for parallels between this incident and other cases Sam’s worked, including the one in San Antonio,” Harrison offered.
“Sounds like a plan.” Sam nodded to the tech, who had finished bagging the debris from the floor, and was now moving over to concentrate on the kitchen area where the box had exploded.
“Not tonight, though.” Payton’s tone brooked no argument.
“But…” Sam opened her mouth and then closed it again. She was tired, and there really wasn’t anything she could do until the morning. She looked at the room, realizing with dismay that there was no likelihood of the forensics team finishing up here anytime soon.
“I got you a new room.” Payton’s words actually stirred the hairs at the back of her neck, and she jumped, not realizing he’d moved so close.
She spun around to meet his gaze. “I could have handled that myself.” The words were out before she had a chance to think about how ungrateful she sounded.
His slow smile told her he knew exactly what she was thinking, and she bit her tongue against another retort.
“It adjoins mine.” He paused, watching her, waiting no doubt for her to erupt.
She held his gaze, lifting an eyebrow.
“We thought it would be safer.”
“We?” Disappointment surged, surprising her.
“It was my idea actually,” Gabe said. “Until we understand what’s going on here, I figure we’re better off paired up. Madison and I are next door to you and then Payton is on the other side—with an adjoining door.” There was no apology in Gabe’s voice. He was used to making decisions unilaterally and a part of Sam actually approved.
“What about Harrison?”
“I live here, remember?” Harrison’s smile was unassuming. A restful change from Payton’s testosterone-laden intensity and Gabe’s alpha male machismo. But then, still waters run deep. And Sam had learned a hell of a long time ago not to judge solely on surface appearances. “You’re more than welcome to stay with me. I mean, Payton isn’t much of a roommate.”
Sam started to contradict the fact, saw Harrison wink at Payton, and then to her abject horror, she blushed.
Men.
“I’ll be fine here. And if it turns out to be a problem—” she shot a smoldering look at Payton “—I’m sure they’ll give me another room.”
THE NEW ROOM was exactly like the old one, except that this one wasn’t covered with bomb debris, and on the other side of the connecting door, Payton Reynolds slept. Or at least she assumed he was sleeping.
She, on the other hand, was not even relaxed. The hands on the clock remained stubbornly fixed in the wee hours of the morning, and she’d finally given up tossing and turning in favor of sitting in front of the bedroom’s large picture window.
Facing away from the parking lot, the window afforded a view of the Colorado River. Or one of its “lakes.” Thanks to a series of low water dams, the river actually formed six small lakes as it wound its way through central Texas. The last two bodies of water, Lake Austin and Town Lake, bisecting the city. Sam was staring out at Town Lake, its water reflecting the lights of the city, a sort of rippling neon affair. Picasso meets Monet.
Not that she was enjoying it all that much. The flickering colors reminded her of the confetti shower, and despite the fact that she had dealt with much worse, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more than just a prank.
Sure, her work attracted the attention of all kinds of crazies. She’d had her share of notes, and threats, and even the occasional bomb. But so far nothing that couldn’t be traced back to something concrete. Something she could either act on, or file away as part and parcel of doing her job.
But this one felt different. Whoever was behind this one, knew her—and knew her well.
Or had made a hell of a lucky guess.
Her father had given her a jack-in-the-box when she was little. He’d found the toy in a bazaar in southeast Asia. She’d treasured it, the sound of the music always making her feel closer to her father when he was away.
She’d lost it years ago in a robbery. Her apartm
ent had been trashed, the box along with three-quarters of her belongings gone missing. At the time she’d told herself it was just an old toy. A piece of tin.
But it was more than that. It was a memory. A tie to her father. And somebody knew that. The bomb was testament to the fact. There was no question in her mind that the bomber’s choice was symbolic. It wasn’t a random act, or something tied to the bombing in San Antonio. No, this was personal.
And the thought scared her more than she wanted to admit.
As if to mimic her fear, an eerie moan echoed through the partially cracked door dividing her room from Payton’s.
Startled, she jumped to her feet, and cautiously made her way to the opening, ears straining to identify the source of the noise. Silence reigned for a moment, and then again the night was split with a cry, this time anger combining with something so guttural she wasn’t even sure she could identify it, but the hairs on her arms stood up in response to the sound.
Without stopping to think, she swung through the door, her stance defensive as she scanned the room for signs of danger.
The bed was still made, and except for a duffel thrown in the corner, the room looked uninhabited. Frowning, she moved to the doorway, her gaze scanning the adjacent room for anything amiss. The drapes were open, the harsh fluorescent light from the landing shining in through the window. At first she thought this room, too, was empty, but then another moan filled the air.
Spinning around she froze at the sight of Payton asleep on the sofa. His eyes were closed, but every muscle in his body was tensed as he fought against an unseen foe, his head tossing back and forth as if avoiding someone’s fists. Sweat glistened across his skin, the moisture and light combining to turn the scar on his face silvery-white.