“Yeah,” she finally said, a breath of sound that wrapped around him and eased something that had been tightening inside him. “Yeah, Alex, we can let that be enough for now.”
NINETEEN
“Whoever made this baby knew what the hell he was doing.” Alex surveyed the damage in the bedroom as Mark, Tyrell, and a less-than-cooperative police detective picked through the rubble, sorting through it for pieces of the bomb and the shrapnel it contained.
“Any six-year-old can put one of these together off the Internet,” the detective informed him hostilely.
“Off the Internet, any six-year-old can’t set a timer to it and give it the exact amount of time needed to get away from the window,” Mark stated coldly as he used a large set of tweezers to lift another piece from the carpet.
He looked at the part of the device he was holding, turned it and considered if for long moments. “Hell of a timer, Major.”
Alex inhaled slowly, his nostrils flaring in rage. “So we have an explosives expert to find. Someone who’s obviously native to the area.”
“Lots of explosives experts around the world,” the detective muttered. “Not everyone that wants to kill comes from Somerset.”
The detective, Joey Runyon, was a Somerset native. At five-ten and forty-seven years old, he was a veteran on the force. His shoddy work wasn’t an example of his past record.
“Detective, do you have a problem with this job?” Alex leaned against the doorframe and watched him with cool curiosity. “Because I can make damned certain you’re reassigned.”
Detective Runyon rose to his full height, not that it did him any good. Five-ten wasn’t six-plus feet no matter how much a man threw his shoulders back and lifted his chin.
Mark came to his feet, laying the piece of the timer in the shallow plastic container used to collect the shrapnel and debris from the bomb.
“You’re not police chief yet,” Runyon sneered. “And after this, it’s doubtful you will be. Everyone knows
Jane Mackay is nothing like her brother. She was her daddy’s little pet whenever she was around.
Sleeping with her isn’t going to gain you points—”
Alex didn’t have to jump for the man. He took one long step, his arm snapping out, his fingers latching around the other man’s neck as he slammed him into the wall.
The detective’s eyes bulged, and his face paled as he struggled against Alex.
“I really want to kill you,” Alex said softly. “If we were anywhere else, I’d cut you in tiny pieces, Runyon, and feed you to the local wildlife. Is that what you want?”
“Major Jansen, what have I told you about harassing local detectives? Son, it’s bad for the Department of Homeland Security’s image. You know that. Let the little fart go so I can have his ass fried with his superiors. That’s always so much more fun.”
Alex’s teeth clenched at the sound of the familiar voice. He should have expected it. Why hadn’t he expected it? Timothy Cranston, special agent in charge of the investigation that had been responsible for cracking the theft and potential sale of weapons in the Somerset area two years before.
“Come on, Alex, let go of the little fucker’s neck. You know how much I enjoy breaking careers.”
Timothy patted his shoulder as he stepped farther into the room.
“Man, you are so fucked-up.” Alex sighed as he stared back at the detective. “I would have just killed you. The Rabid Leprechaun over there will make you wish you were dead. Over and over and over again.”
He released the detective.
“Detective Runyon,” Cranston drawled. “You were in the military, weren’t you?” Cranston flipped open the little notebook he never left home without.
Runyon rubbed his skinny little neck and glared back at Cranston. “Yeah. I was.”
“Runyon worked with explosives, Major Jansen,” Cranston drawled, his brown eyes flicking to the detective with malevolent humor. His chubby face was wreathed in a devil’s smile, his hair almost standing up in spikes.
“Then he should have known any six-year-old couldn’t have built this explosive,” Mark commented.
Cranston turned to Mark with a frown. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
Mark grinned. “I’m the ghost of explosives past, just lending a little wisdom here and there.” He arched his blond brows expressively.
Cranston sighed and turned back to Alex. “Is this the best you could do on short notice for a team? Son, call me next time; I’ll send you a team.”
“Special Agent Cranston.” The detective spoke up then; evidently he knew Cranston. It seemed sometimes that everyone did.
“Don’t talk to me, asshole. You don’t exist.” Cranston frowned back at him heavily, his shaggy brows arching like little demi-horns as he turned back to Alex. “How did you get stuck with that prick?”
“Cranston, you don’t have jurisdiction in this case.” Runyon stepped forward aggressively.
Alex stepped back cautiously. Because Timothy smiled. A real-life honest-to-God filled-with-amusement smile as he rubbed his hands together in glee.
“So report me,” Timothy drawled, his brown eyes sparkling in childlike pleasure. “I dare you.”
Runyon finally had the good sense to swallow nervously.“This isn’t a federal case.” Runyon was obviously restraining his own sense of self-importance.
“Hey, dickhead, there was an attempt on a military officer’s life, one assigned to the Department of Homeland Security—that makes it a federal case,” Timothy growled in disgust. “Alex, where did this little turd come from?”
Alex winced. He’d rarely seen Timothy so pissed off. This was Timothy carrying a load of pissed, and the dumbass detective was about to get the brunt of it.
“He was the first one on the scene last night.” Alex lifted his good shoulder in a shrug. “Besides, the chief and I are friends. I figure there had to be something good about him somewhere.”
“I’d question that friendship if I were you.” Timothy turned back to the detective. “Get your bony ass out of my investigation, you incompetent little prick. And pray to God I don’t decide to see if I can’t pin this explosion to your sharp little nose and throw you behind bars for a nice little vacation.”
Runyon stepped back.
Alex shot him a compassionate look and shook his head warningly. “Go, Runyon. I’ll see if I can’t settle him down and save your job.” Alex grinned. “At least until I’m your boss. Then we’ll talk.”
Runyon stalked out. Seconds later the front door slammed as Timothy cackled.
“That little prick.” The special agent shook his head. “He’s got issues. I’ll have him checked out.”
“What the hell are you doing here, Timothy?” Alex watched curiously as the special agent stared around the room slowly.
Timothy shrugged. “Forced vacation. They were making me take a break until this came across the wire.
Since I handled the investigation here, they let me come back to work.”
Alex’s brows arched. Timothy didn’t take breaks. He was always manipulating, conniving, and catching criminals. It was all he lived for. He’d die in the line of duty, Alex was convinced of it. Likely from a stroke.
“I don’t need any help, Timothy,” Alex told him firmly. One had to be firm with Timothy. “I have it covered.”
“I’ll just make sure of that.” Timothy shoved his hands in his pockets and turned back to him. “Report says you’ve been living with that little Mackay girl, Natches’s sister. You like living dangerously, don’t you, boy? I’m surprised he let you live.”
Alex’s lips quirked as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been touch and go, the letting me live part.”
“She’s a good girl.” Timothy nodded slowly. “I had a full investigation done on her. Damned shame how Dayle Mackay tried to use that kid against Natches all those years.”
“She’s survived.” Alex had to fight the anger that threatened to return.
“Survived only to come home and face this bullshit.” Cranston stared around the room again. “You know what, Alex?”
“What?” Alex’s eyes narrowed on the other man. His expression was heavy, his gaze dark with grief.
“She looks like my baby girl,” Cranston said softly. “My little Maria. She was in the Federal Building with her mother when that terrorist’s bomb hit, you know.”
Shit. He hadn’t seen the vague resemblance. “Yeah, she does, Timothy,” he said gently.
The agent had lost his wife, his daughter, son-in-law, and new granddaughter in a strike by homeland terrorists. Cranston had taken every terrorist-related assignment he could get since. He didn’t rest. Alex knew he would never rest.
“She looks like her,” he repeated as he turned back to the bedroom, his expression twisting for the slightest second in rage and pain. “Bastard tried to blow her to little pieces, didn’t he?”
“He almost managed it.” Alex had to grit his teeth against the rage.
“And almost took out my best fucking team commander,” Cranston snarled. “Where’s your mind? I got the papers the other day that you’re not returning? What’s with that shit?”
Alex grinned. “Bum leg.” He rubbed at his thigh.
“Lying bastard.” Timothy stared around the room again, his attention shifting from the window to the bed.
He pursed his lips as he measured the distance. “Five-ten, maybe,” he murmured. “Your perp. Not a big boy. Didn’t take a lot of force, but he would have had to put everything into it. Jerked a little; aim was a little off when it came through the window, I bet.”
Alex looked between the shattered window and the hole in the bed where the bomb exploded. “How do you figure?”
“Placement.” Timothy shrugged. “It came in high, dipped, and missed the exact center. He wasn’t as strong as he thought he was.”
Timothy was fucking scary.
“I think he’s right.” Tyrell moved into the room as Alex turned to him. “I was checking outside. Found some prints in the yard that were a little off. Ground is still damp where she uses the sprinklers in the evening. Someone dug in deep at one spot, braced, and threw, I suspect. Footprint is small, likely size eight to nine. Zeke is casting it.”
“Where’s the Mackay girl?” There was the barest edge to Timothy’s voice. Sorrow mixed with concern and the cool disinterest he wanted to portray.
“In the restaurant.” Alex grimaced. “Chaya showed up, and last I heard Natches was cursing a blue streak. Janey just smiles at him and does what the hell she wants to.”
Timothy chuckled at that. “She’s a good girl, but she’s got no business here. It’s like a fucking war zone.” He stared around. “I’m pulling your team back. They’re on training missions at present so it’s not going to affect anything important. I want enough men to cover this. We place them right, pull in a few of our female agents from Louisville, and we should be able to catch him fast.”
“This is personal, Timothy,” Alex warned him. “The department’s going to slap you over it.”
“Hell, won’t be the first time.” Timothy grinned. “And it’s not personal. Attempting to kill one of my boys is serious shit. Department takes it serious.” Timothy turned, looking around the room again. “Did you find all the cameras?”
“There was one in every room except the kitchen. There’s no overhead vent there,” Alex told him.
Timothy moved beneath the vent, turned, looked at the side of the bed, and tilted his head before moving through the apartment. Alex followed after him.