Enigma

by Dee Davis

  “No.” She shook her head. “But just because I can’t substantiate it doesn’t mean it isn’t the truth.”

  “We see what we want to see,” Payton said. “The senators are big news, and so we naturally assume that they’re the reason the building blew.”

  “All right, then, maybe we need to come at this from another angle,” Gabe said, resuming control of the conversation.

  “Like was there any other reason someone would want to blow up the Prager?” Madison leaned back, absently stroking her belly.

  “Or if there’ve been any other blasts with a similar M.O.” Sam was still chewing the side of her lip, her arms crossed over her chest as she tried to put together the facts.

  “I’ve got an answer for that one,” Harrison said, pulling out another file. “I searched N-Force over the past twenty years for anything that had the same earmarks of the San Antonio blast, and came up with eleven matches. One bomber is dead. And two of the blasts were the work of a Joe Pantemo. He’s in a Colorado penitentiary serving life.”

  “So that leaves eight more,” Gabe said, his frustration obvious. Like Payton he preferred action to discussion.

  “Six actually. The other two were the work of a Zachary Robertson. However, the last one left him paralyzed from the neck down and since he can’t even breathe on his own, I kinda doubt he’s our man. Of the remaining six, five are unsolved. And one was the work of Edwin Marcus.”

  “I know him,” Sam said, leaning forward again. “He’s a three-time loser with an uncanny way with pipe bombs. Blows things up for the pure hell of it. I helped put him away about three years ago.”

  “He’s out on bail,” Harrison said. “According to his parole records, he’s currently living in Houston.”

  “Sounds like it’s time for a road trip.” Payton felt a rush of adrenaline. Hunting people was what he did best. He turned to meet Sam’s questioning gaze. “You up for it?”

  “I’m in if you are.” Her eyes flashed, and the right side of her mouth twisted upward, the expression making her look a little dangerous.

  He liked the look, found it downright arousing in fact. Not that he intended to do a goddamned thing about it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  HOUSTON WAS HOTTER than hell, the humidity upping the temperature to near intolerable levels. It was the kind of heat that made you want to shower again five minutes after leaving the house.

  Sam pushed damp hair behind her ears, and wished she’d worn something cooler. Her chinos had gone from freshly pressed to wildly wrinkled, and her cotton blouse was glued to her back and breasts like a wet T-shirt, leaving little to the imagination.

  She was used to Atlanta heat, but the air here was so thick with moisture that it was difficult to breathe, and from what she could tell there was no respite in sight. The piece of crap Eddie Marcus called home wasn’t the kind of place that had air-conditioning.

  A nineteen-twenties bungalow, the place had obviously seen better days. The porch listed at an angle that defied gravity, giving her doubts as to its stability. Payton, however, had no such qualms. Hand on the gun in his holster, he stepped over the rickety steps right onto the porch itself, a quick glance in her direction indicating she should follow.

  It had taken them most of the morning to run the man down. His parole officer had produced an address, but Eddie had long since moved on, not bothering to let anyone know. Fortunately the woman who was renting his old apartment had a friend of a friend, and two hours later they were standing in front of Eddie’s new place.

  The question, of course, was whether or not they’d find him at home.

  Payton knocked as Sam stepped onto the porch, positioning herself on the other side of the door, her weapon drawn. She didn’t carry a gun that often, and it felt unnatural in her hand despite the fact that she worked hard to stay on top of her proficiency.

  Payton, on the other hand, handled his gun with the ease of familiarity. Then again, she supposed, he probably had more notches on the thing than she cared to know about. They were both in the same business more or less, but on the other side of the coin. Her job was to disarm weapons, his to discharge them with lethal force.

  Payton’s gaze met hers, and she nodded. In for a penny and all that.

  He knocked once, and then reached out to open the door. It was locked, but that didn’t stop Payton and in what seemed like seconds, he’d jimmied the lock and they were inside.

  Eddie’s housekeeping skills weren’t exactly on a Martha Stewart level, and the front room reeked of stale beer and old takeout. Sam resisted the urge to hold her nose, and moved into the room, weapon ready.

  It was empty, but a telltale slamming of the back screen door signaled the quarry was on the premises. After motioning her to stay put, Payton was gone, like a shadow slipping through the house and out the door.

  Sam followed suit, heading through the front door, thinking she’d cut the man off before he had the chance to hightail it out of there.

  She needn’t have bothered.

  No more than three minutes had elapsed, and Payton was already rounding the corner, Eddie in front of him, the excon’s arm twisted backward between the two of them. Eddie’s face was an odd mix of amazement and fear, and if the situation hadn’t been so serious, Sam would have laughed.

  Instead, she followed them inside, watching as Eddie scrambled to a chair in the corner, trying to put some distance between himself and Payton. Smart man.

  “You cops?” The words came out in a strangled sort of fashion, Eddie’s fear momentarily winning the day. No one on the planet would ever mistake Payton Reynolds for a cop. Eddie was just spitting out the first thing that entered his head.

  Payton shook his head, and turned a chair around to straddle it, his gun never wavering from its target—a spot somewhere in the vicinity of Eddie’s wildly pounding heart. Sam walked over to the window and leaned back against the sill, wishing for just a hint of a breeze to deflect the odor of really old burgers.

  She kept her gun out, but more for show than anything else. Payton had things well under control.

  “You with Big John?” Eddie’s skin was turning a peculiar shade of gray, and Sam figured Big John was a breaking kneecaps sort of guy. A bookie or a crime boss maybe. It didn’t matter.

  Again Payton shook his head. In most instances this would have been good news, but in light of Payton’s steely-eyed gaze, Eddie looked more like he wanted to pee his pants.

  “Then who?” he whispered, his fingers picking at the material on the arms of the chair.

  “Doesn’t matter.” Payton kept his gaze fixed on Eddie, his body so still she couldn’t even see him breathing. “What does matter is some dead senators in San Antonio.”

  “That wasn’t me.” Eddie began shaking his head vehemently. “I haven’t been to San Antonio in at least six months.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  Eddie blew out breath, defeated. “Not specifically. I mean there’s people who’ve seen me around here. And maybe someone could vouch for me. What’s the window you’re looking at for the blast?”

  “The bomb could have been planted anytime, Eddie. The trigger was on a timer.” Payton waited for this newest bit of information to sink in.

  “So there’s nothing I can say that’s going to satisfy you.”

  “You could confess,” Sam said, keeping her voice light. Good cop, bad cop seemed appropriate.

  “But I didn’t do it.”

  “So you say.” She smiled at him, and he narrowed his eyes, recognition dawning.

  “You’re that bitch that put me away.”

  So much for good cop. Sam shrugged. “I recognized your signature, and put the pieces together to ID you. But basically, I’d say you’re responsible for putting yourself in prison.”

  “Yeah, well, I disagree.” He lunged at her, his fear of Payton momentarily forgotten. Big mistake.

  Payton was out of his chair in an instant, pulling Eddie into a choke hold. “You touch h
er, slimeball, and I’ll gut you like a fish. You got it?”

  Eddie nodded, his eyes so wide they looked like marbles glued to his face. Payton released him, and resumed his place on the chair. He hadn’t even broken a sweat, and in this heat that was quite an accomplishment. Sam suppressed a shiver, not certain that she’d ever really understood the meaning of the word “deadly” until now.

  Payton raised the gun again, and glanced over at Sam. The flicker of concern in his eyes pulled her thoughts back to the task at hand. She couldn’t say she truly resented his intervention, but she was also fully capable of taking care of herself.

  “So tell me the truth, Eddie, because you know I’ll figure it out anyway.” She met the man’s gaze square-on, keeping her expression masked. “Did you blow up the senators?”

  “No.” This time there was no hedging. He was telling the truth. She could feel it in her bones. “I don’t kill people.”

  The fact rang true with what she remembered of his cases. Three separate buildings—unoccupied—seemingly unrelated. But his methodology had nailed him in the end. A tendency to weld the end caps into place, a dangerous yet effective strategy. And ultimately they’d tied the bombings to a real estate investor who was trying to buy historic property for development. In an effort to speed the process, he’d hired Eddie to clear the properties of historic buildings, thus making an end run around community outrage.

  There was potential for the Prager to fall into the same kind of scheme, but she doubted it. Downtown San Antonio was sort of sacrosanct in the historical department and destroying a building wouldn’t necessarily accomplish anything except an historical reproduction.

  “All right,” she said, still holding Eddie’s gaze. “If you didn’t do it, who did?”

  “How the hell would I know?” Some of Eddie’s confidence had returned, his voice full of belligerence. Payton only lifted the gun a fraction of an inch, but Eddie shuddered in reaction, his bluster evaporating. “It’s not like we have a newsletter.”

  “Yeah, but you sell your services, Eddie. Which means there’s got to be a network, and I can’t believe you all haven’t been talking.”

  Eddie sighed looking down at his hands, and then up to meet Sam’s gaze again. “Ain’t no one taking credit for it. At least not that I’ve heard. I figure it’s some crazy-ass dude with no desire to live. People like you lookin’ for him,” he shot a guarded look at Payton, “I’d say his days are numbered.”

  “How about speculation, Eddie?” Sam asked. “Anyone thinking it wasn’t about the senators?”

  “Some talk. Mainly about the insanity of a hit like that. But you know what bugs me is the firepower wasn’t right for a hit. I mean if the dudes had been standing two feet different in any direction they might have lived.”

  “I had the same thought,” Sam agreed.

  “I ain’t seen the site of course except on television, but from what I could tell placement was designed to kill the building, not people. Of course I ain’t no expert.” He shot a sideways glance at Payton.

  “You know more than most,” Sam said, interested to hear his take on it. “I’ve seen your work, remember?”

  He smiled, his fear of Payton forgotten in the wake of the compliment. Bombers were loners by nature, and the chance to discuss business was an opportunity not to be missed, no matter the circumstances. “I been around. But this guy is a real pro. I’m betting he planned this thing a long time. Meticulous work. Am I right?” He sat back, waiting, his gaze locked on hers.

  “I haven’t had much time to examine the fragments, but from what I’ve seen I’d say the guy has an almost anal need for perfection.”

  Eddie nodded. “Got his own tools, too, I’ll bet. Like the Unabomber. Now that was one lethal dude.”

  “But he targeted people.” It was the first time Payton had spoken since he’d manhandled Eddie, and they both jumped.

  “True,” Eddie said, his eyes thoughtful. “But I still stick by the idea that this guy was after the building. You figure out why it’s significant to him, and you’ll be a hell of a lot closer to finding him.”

  “Thanks, Eddie. I’ll keep it in mind.” She was always fascinated with the way people like Eddie thought. You couldn’t spend as much time as she did taking bombs apart and not wonder a bit about the people who put them together.

  “One more thing.” He leaned forward, this time with enthusiasm instead of anger. “This ain’t his first time out of the stable. It takes practice for the kind of precision he had going.” This time there was a hint of admiration in his voice. “I figure he’s blown before. And not just for practice. There’s an art to his work that signifies a real passion for it. And believe me, once you got that kind of fever, you ain’t going to sit on it.”

  Which meant, of course, that Eddie was most likely still in business himself, despite his recent incarceration. But Sam was convinced he wasn’t their man. And equally sure that they’d gotten all that they could from him.

  She pushed off the sill, a signal that she was finished. Payton took the cue and rose effortlessly from the chair, the gun still trained on Eddie. “See that you don’t go to ground. We might have more questions. And believe me, Eddie, there’s nowhere you can go that I can’t find you.”

  Sam believed every word, and apparently so did Eddie. He nodded, his gaze never leaving the gun pointed at his chest. “I ain’t going nowhere.”

  Payton nodded, his voice devoid of all emotion. “You can count on it.”

  “YOU WERE pretty amazing in there.”

  Payton turned in the airplane seat so that he could better see Sam’s face. There was no hint of mockery there. Nothing to indicate she was repulsed either. Except for Madison, he hadn’t met many women who could handle what he did for a living.

  Of course he hadn’t killed Eddie Marcus, and that probably helped. Not that he hadn’t wanted to. The little slime wasn’t exactly making the planet a better place. But despite his reputation, Payton wasn’t in the habit of killing needlessly. And for the most part, Eddie had been forthcoming.

  “I just did what had to be done.”

  “In a James Bond kind of way that would have made even the most hardened criminal shit his pants. I bet Eddie’s chair won’t ever be the same.” She was laughing now, her eyes crinkling at the corners, her mouth curled upward invitingly. It would be so damn easy to lean over and kiss her, and he was surprised at how very much he wanted to do just that.

  But it wasn’t the place or the time. Besides, if he was honest, her joyful abandon made him uncomfortable. He’d never been able to understand exuberance—hell, most emotions scared him to death. At least outward displays.

  He felt things deeply. There could be no denying that. But he never let it show.

  Never.

  It was too damn dangerous.

  “I’m not James Bond,” he answered. “There’s nothing suave or sophisticated about me or the jobs I do.”

  “But someone’s got to do it, right?” She tipped her head quizzically, studying him.

  “Something like that.” He shrugged. “I gather you believed Eddie.”

  “I think he was telling the truth. Partly because he was so afraid of you, and partly because he sounded downright envious when he was talking about the bomb. If he’d done it there’d have been a note of bravado, and I didn’t hear that.” She toyed with the pack of almonds the stewardess had left. “What about you? What was your take?”

  “Honestly? I think the guy was too stupid to be behind it.” He leaned back in his seat. “Based on what you’ve said about the bomb, and what I observed at the site, I’m thinking he’s not exactly up to the task.”

  “You’ve never seen his work.” Sam closed her eyes. “One bomb took out an entire city block. The only reason no one was killed was that it was the middle of the night. And even with that it was a miracle no one was hurt.”

  “But it wasn’t precise. Isn’t that what you’re saying?”

  She opened her eye
s again, her gaze meeting his. “No. I’d say he was a bigger-is-better kind of man.”

  “My point exactly. Our guy is very focused. Just look at the jack-in-the-box.”

  She frowned. “You’re assuming they’re tied together.”

  “It’s the most logical explanation.” He shrugged, noticing for the first time the little lines of worry between her eyes. The confetti bomb had frightened her more than she was letting on. “And until I’ve got proof to the contrary I think it’s safer to assume it’s a fact.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” she sighed. “I guess I’d just rather think it’s some oddball with nothing more on his mind than testing his mettle on me.”

  “It’s more than that and you know it.”

  “I do.” She nodded, the worry lines deepening. “But it’s easier not to go there. I don’t like the idea of his targeting me.”

  “It could be nothing more than the fact that you’re leading the investigation—the expert on bombs.” He reached over to cover her hand, pleased when she didn’t pull away.

  “I know that makes sense. In fact, intellectually I believe that. But emotionally I’m having a little more trouble.”

  “Because of the jack-in-the-box.”

  “Yeah.” She reached for the almonds, pulling her hand from his, and he resisted the urge to reestablish contact. “But I’m just being paranoid.”

  “We’ll get this bastard, Sam. That much I can promise.” He just hoped it was a promise he could keep.

  “I believe that.” Her gaze met his, her eyes somber. “But the million-dollar question is whether we’ll get him before he has time to kill someone else.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “I DIDN’T KNOW you were back.” Harrison walked over to the table where Sam was sorting through parts, and plopped down into a chair. “How was Houston?”

  “Hotter than hell.” Sam wrote a note about the fragment she was holding, and then sat back, meeting Harrison’s quizzical gaze. “And pointless. Eddie didn’t have anything to do with it. Although he seems to agree with our assessment of the situation.”