Running Out of Time

by Cindi Myers

  The idea was flattering, but when she considered her father’s likely reaction to Jace, the fleeting satisfaction vanished. “My dad is harder to read.”

  “I’m betting I dealt with plenty like him in the army. Proud, strong and loyal. Also by the book and unbending. He’d hate my guts. At least until I won him over.” He grinned, surprising a laugh from her. “What? You don’t think I could win him over?”

  She shook her head, unable to speak. Jace had won her over, and not that long ago she would have said that was impossible. “I’m not worried about my dad.” She took his hand. “My dad taught me to make my own decisions, so my opinion is the only one that really counts.”

  “What is your opinion?” He tried to keep his voice light, but she heard the tension in his words.

  “You’re more complicated than I thought,” she said. “I like complicated.”

  “We have that in common.” He squeezed her hand, sending a thrill through her. She could get used to this, but she didn’t trust the feeling. As an agent, she was confident in her ability to evaluate a situation and stay on top of a case. But when it came to romance, she was a rank amateur, and she didn’t like her odds of succeeding.

  * * *

  THE FOURTH BOMB exploded at two o’clock the next morning, on Merry Winger’s front porch. No one was injured, but the explosion sent a wave of terror through the town. Before, the Strouds had clearly been the target of the bomber. Now, it seemed, almost anyone could be a victim.

  The poisonings had frightened people, but to avoid that danger, all you had to do was avoid taking Stomach Soothers—or all Stroud products if you were extra cautious.

  But a bomb—how did you avoid a bomb? How did you live with that kind of fear?

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Where were you last night from approximately 8 p.m. until 6 a.m.?”

  Donna Stroud, pale and disheveled, didn’t look like herself without her suit and makeup. The local police had visited her home a little after seven that morning, and found her dressed in faded pink cotton trousers and a Smoky Mountains National Park T-shirt. To Ana, she scarcely resembled the competent professional she had met with her first day in town.

  “Where was I last night?” Confusion clouded Donna’s blue eyes. “Why is that important?”

  “Please answer the question,” Ana said. She and Rogers and Captain Simonson, of the Mayville Police Department, sat across the table from Donna and her lawyer, Adam Sepulveda, a local attorney who, after blustering a few feeble protests, had remained silent, occasionally fidgeting in his chair or tugging at his tie.

  “I was at the hospital, visiting my son, until almost eight,” Donna said. “Then I went home.”

  “Was anyone at home with you?” Ana asked.

  “No.”

  “Did you talk to anyone on the phone, or speak to a neighbor? Is there anyone who can confirm that you were home last night?”

  Donna sat up straighter, a little life coming back into her face. “I told you I was there and I don’t lie. There isn’t any other proof, but I don’t see why you need it.”

  “What’s your relationship with Merry Winger?” Rogers asked.

  Donna’s eyebrows rose, disappearing beneath her fringe of short bangs. “Merry works in the administrative offices of Stroud Pharmaceuticals. She is also involved with my son.”

  “Involved?” Ana thought this was an interesting word choice.

  “I know he sleeps with her and buys her gifts, but I’ve rarely seen them out together, and he’s never brought her to our house, so I wouldn’t call her his girlfriend.”

  “You don’t like her,” Rogers said.

  “She wouldn’t be my first choice for my son, but most people learn best by making their own mistakes.”

  “You think Merry is a mistake?” Ana asked.

  “Time will tell.” She spread her hands flat on the table in front of her. “What is this about? Has something happened to that girl?”

  “Why do you think something happened to her?” Rogers asked. “What would have happened?”

  “You asked me where I was last night. That tells me you’re trying to establish my alibi. Then you ask me about Merry, a young woman I scarcely know. I don’t have to be an amateur detective to put the two ideas together. Did something happen to her?”

  “Merry is fine,” Ana said. “But a bomb exploded on her front porch this morning.”

  Donna stared, mouth slack and eyes wide. She made a low sound in the back of her throat, and Ana was afraid for a moment that the older woman was having a heart attack or stroke. Ana touched her arm and Donna stared at her, then gradually came back to herself. She wet her lips. “Was it...was it like the others?” she asked.

  “It was similar,” Rogers said.

  In fact, the bomb was identical to the other three, set to go off when the front door was opened, as Merry would have done when she went out to work in her flower garden or to get into her car, parked at the curb. Instead, the bomb had exploded when her neighbor had driven by on his way to work, in a custom pickup with oversized tires, rumbling exhaust and throbbing bass that shook the windows of every house as it passed.

  “The bomb exploded accidentally,” Ana said. “No one was hurt, but if Merry had opened her front door, she would have been killed, or very badly injured.”

  Donna covered her mouth with her hand and tears filled her eyes.

  “Did you put that explosive device on Merry Winger’s front porch?” Rogers asked.

  “No! I would never do something like that. Not to anyone, ever!”

  “My client is a law-abiding pillar of the community who has never had so much as a traffic ticket,” the lawyer said. “I strongly object to this line of questioning.”

  “You’re not in court,” Rogers said. He turned his attention back to Donna. “Do you have any idea who might have put that bomb on Merry’s front porch?”

  “No. I swear if I did, I would tell you. I want this to stop.”

  “Mrs. Stroud, the first explosion at Stroud Pharmaceuticals, on May 6, was wired to a side door used only by personnel who had a key,” Rogers said. “You yourself stated that you were usually the first person at the office each morning, and that you always entered via that door. Several people have confirmed this.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yet the morning the bomb exploded, you were not the first to arrive at the building. Instead, Lydia Green opened that door and was killed.”

  “I was dealing with my husband. He was agitated and I had to calm him down before I came to work.”

  “The second explosive device was wired to the door of your office,” Rogers continued. When it exploded, it killed Angela Dupree. Again, you were late for work that day, something several people have stated was highly unusual.”

  “My husband isn’t at his best in the mornings.”

  “The third explosion, the one that killed your husband and injured your son, was wired to your husband’s office door,” Rogers said. “Everyone we spoke with said that you and your husband were the only people who entered that office since your husband’s retirement, but he was there only occasionally. You were the mostly likely target of that explosive device and yet once again, you escaped injury.”

  “What are you implying?” Donna asked.

  “We’ve reviewed the incorporation papers for Stroud Pharmaceuticals,” Ana said. “As written, your husband has primary authority over the business until his death. No provision was made in the case of his disability by illness or injury. While you were acting administrator, you had no real authority to expand or sell the business. Your ability to borrow money for the business was also limited. Your husband’s death frees you to make those kind of decisions.”

  “I did not kill my husband,” Donna said, her voice trembling. She gripped the edge of the table. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
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  “Mrs. Stroud has lost her husband.” The lawyer stood. “Her own life has been threatened several times. For you to suggest—”

  “Someone connected with Stroud Pharmaceuticals is planting these bombs and killing people,” Rogers said. “It’s our job to take a hard look at everyone who had motive and opportunity. Mrs. Stroud had both.”

  “I didn’t do it,” Donna said. “I swear.” She bent her head and began to weep, shoulders shaking.

  Ana turned away. Though she wasn’t convinced of Donna’s innocence, she felt sorry for this woman who had lost so much.

  “We can continue this interview later,” Rogers said.

  “I demand that you release my client at once,” the lawyer said.

  “She’s free to go,” Rogers said. “But we’re continuing our investigation.”

  Ana walked with Rogers to the observation room where Smitty and Cantrell waited with Rowan, who had returned to Mayville last night. “How long do you think it’s going to be before a story shows up in the local paper about how the FBI is bullying the newly widowed patron saint of Mayville?” Rowan asked.

  Rogers dropped into the chair at the end of the table. “You tell me—how long?”

  “I’d say about twenty-four hours. That lawyer had the look of someone who will hurry to get the press on his client’s side.”

  “Then he’s smarter than I gave him credit for,” Rogers said. “You and I both know we’re not here to win friends. And right now, Donna Stroud had the most to gain from getting rid of her husband, the chief financial officer who maybe had too tight a hold on the company purse strings, and her son’s lover whom she didn’t approve of.”

  “She also had the most to lose,” Smitty said. “Her husband, her best friend, and the reputation of the business she devoted most of her adult life to.”

  “Do you think she’s innocent?” Ana asked.

  Smitty tucked her long hair behind one ear. “I’m not saying she’s innocent or guilty,” she said. “I just think it’s good to keep all the evidence in mind, not just the parts that fit one theory.”

  That was vintage by-the-book Smitty. Rogers glared at her. He and Smitty had clashed more than once over her penchant for telling others how to do their jobs.

  Ana shifted her gaze to Cantrell. Of all the team members, he and Smitty had locked horns the most, and she expected him to come to Rogers’s defense. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, relaxed. “The trouble with this case is, every one of our suspects has just as good reasons he or she isn’t responsible for these crimes as anyone else,” he said.

  “That just tells me we need more evidence,” Rogers said. “We get the right information, we’ll find the right person.”

  “Did the locals uncover anything useful at Merry’s house?” Smitty asked.

  “We gave it a good going over and didn’t find anything,” Chief Simonson said.

  “Merry says she worked in her garden until about eight last night,” Rogers said. “She went in, ate a sandwich and watched TV in her bedroom until ten thirty, then went to bed. She never heard anyone outside and she didn’t see anything suspicious.”

  “Her bedroom is at the back of the house,” Simonson said. “If she had the television on, she probably wouldn’t hear anyone up front. She doesn’t have a dog to alert her to a stranger’s presence.”

  “All the other explosives have been at the Stroud plant,” Ana said. “Why target Merry with this one?”

  “Because someone—Donna Stroud, or maybe Parker Stroud—wants to get rid of her,” Cantrell said.

  “Or because the bomber thinks Merry knows something, and is afraid she’ll tell,” Smitty said.

  “Parker was in the hospital last night,” Simonson said. “He’s supposed to be discharged this morning.”

  “What about Leo?” Rogers asked.

  “He’s still locked up tight. And he hasn’t had any visitors or talked to anyone but his lawyer, who is still advising him not to talk to law enforcement.”

  “Has anyone told him about this latest bombing?” Smitty asked.

  “I don’t think so,” the captain said.

  “Tell him, and let us know his reaction,” Rogers said.

  The door to the conference room opened and a young woman stuck her head in. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Chief, but you’re needed up front. We have a, um, situation.”

  “What kind of situation?” Simonson asked, already on his feet.

  “Parker Stroud is up front, demanding to see you.”

  Ana and Rogers followed the captain down the hall to the police department lobby, where Parker Stroud looked as enraged as a man can when he’s leaning on crutches and dressed in sweat pants, rubber sandals and an untucked dress shirt. When he spotted the captain, he lurched forward. “Are you out of your mind?” he shouted. “Arresting my mother? Hasn’t the woman suffered enough without you digging your knife in?”

  “Your mother is not under arrest,” the captain said. “She agreed to answer some questions for us and you should find her at home now.”

  Parker spotted Ana and Rogers. “You’re behind this,” he said. “You can’t find anyone else to pin this on, so you go after a helpless old woman.”

  Ana doubted Donna would thank her son for referring to her as either helpless or old. “Gathering evidence in a case like this requires asking lots of questions,” she said. “We can’t afford to omit anyone who might have the answers we need.”

  “My mother doesn’t know anything.” He leaned more heavily on his crutches, his face gray beneath the scruff of beard. “And she’s the person someone is obviously trying to kill.”

  “And you have no idea who that person might be?” Rogers asked.

  “No.” Parker shook his head.

  “What about Merry?” Ana asked.

  He frowned. “What about her?”

  “A bomb exploded on her front porch early this morning,” Rogers said.

  “Oh God.” He wiped his face with his hand. “Is she—”

  “She’s fine,” Ana said. “She was inside when it happened. No one was hurt. You hadn’t heard?”

  “I was just released from the hospital. No one there said anything. Where is she now?”

  “I believe she’s home,” the captain said. “The damage was only to the porch and the front room.”

  “I should probably go see her,” Parker said.

  “You don’t sound very enthusiastic,” Rogers said.

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been trying to find a way to break things off with her.”

  “You don’t think she’ll take it well?” Ana asked.

  He grimaced. “Let’s put it this way—if Merry gets her hand on one of those bombs, she’ll probably gladly launch it at me.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “What are we missing?” Laura stared at the sheets of parchment she had taped to the pantry door, each filled with the notes she and Jace had made about the case. For the last hour, they had been going over everything on those pages, searching for a clue they had previously overlooked. Lists of victims, suspects, timelines, data, and other details that might or might not help solve the crimes crowded the paper, written in Laura’s neat block printing.

  She stabbed a finger at Steve Stroud’s name. “We should have talked to him,” she said. “He accused Parker of negotiating to sell the business to a competitor. What if that was true? And he kept insisting on sneaking off to his office—maybe because he knew something shady was going on there. Now we’ll never have a chance to hear what he might have told us.”

  “He had dementia.” Jace slouched in a kitchen chair, legs stretched out in front of him, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans. “We didn’t question him because he wasn’t a reliable witness.”

  “We should have tried,” she said. “A mistake like that could cost us this cas
e. It may have already cost lives.” The idea that Steve might still be alive if she had acted faster or done a better job nagged at her.

  “Beating yourself up over this isn’t going to help.” Jace stood and walked to her. “Let’s give it a rest.” He put his arms around her and drew her close. “Tomorrow morning we’ll be fresher. Maybe we’ll see something new.”

  She leaned against him, drawing strength from the power of his arms around her. She had always resisted the idea of dating within the Bureau, believing it wise to keep her work life and the rest of her life strictly separate. But there was something to be said for being with someone who understood how consuming the job could be, and the emotional as well as the physical toll the work could take.

  He brushed his lips across her temple, then her cheek, then he found her mouth and kissed her deeply, until she was breathless, her whole body humming with desire. He danced his fingers down her bare arms, sending tremors of pleasure through her. He grasped her hips and she arched toward him, weak-kneed with wanting.

  “I think we should go to bed now,” he said, his voice rough. “Though I’m tempted to take you right there on the table.”

  His impatience sent a fresh heat through her. She had a vision of plates and papers flying as he laid her back on the table. “Too messy,” she said, breathless. “Too...hard.”

  “I thought you liked it hard.” He rocked forward, letting her feel how ready he was for her.

  She responded by cupping his fly, smiling as he hissed out a breath through his teeth. Still holding him, she started backing toward the bedroom, thrilling to the naked desire in his eyes as he followed her.

  She was more sure of herself with him this time, a little more bold. After they undressed, when he took the condom from the box by the bed, she claimed the little packet, pushed him back on the mattress, and sheathed him while he watched, reaching for her when she straddled him.

  They made love at a leisurely pace, watching each other as they moved, not saying much, but so intensely in the moment words hardly seemed necessary. He let her take the lead, responding to her guidance with a skill that kept her on edge for a long time before she came.