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  Sunshine’s and Roth’s personalities precluded them from that kind of approach. They were open people who didn’t have much to hide and felt others shouldn’t, as well. It was refreshing, in its own way.

  She’d lost a part of her in the floods, more than just a husband and children, but the dream of her life, her future, her place in the world. She’d spent years planning out her life, knowing where each step would be placed, like ancient stones across a river. And then that river had risen up and swept the stones away, leaving her alone on the bank, watching for the stones to reappear, not knowing how to reach the other side without them, or even whether she wanted to try.

  Fate had different ideas for her. It had steered her away from the prophetic river, brought her to D.C., to the home of another she’d loved and lost, and then to his friend and fellow soldier Xander. She didn’t know why they’d been brought together, and it was still so early in their relationship that she rarely questioned it, was just enjoying not being sad all the time. But the word marriage held some significant connotations for her.

  He was getting serious about her.

  She loved Xander, of that she was sure. He was a good man, a decent man, even with his demons. She had demons, too, she could hardly begrudge him his. But marriage...she didn’t know if she could ever commit like that again.

  But there were more important things going on right now, lives to be saved.

  The rest would just have to wait.

  He finally broke the awkward silence.

  “You have to forgive my mother. She thinks she knows me better than I do sometimes.”

  Safe territory was needed. Neutral ground. “That’s what parents are for. Why don’t you call them Mom and Dad?”

  “Oh, that. I know it must seem strange. Part of our childhood equality lessons. If we called them Mom and Dad, that gave them power over our actions and emotions. An open command structure that flowed from adult to child. Instead, we all used our first names and we all worked together to get things done instead of them relaying orders, as they saw it, for us to do chores, our homework, to be pushed to read, to play the piano, or violin. Everyone had—has—equal footing in the family. It was designed to help us self-motivate, and it worked. Both Yellow and I excelled at most anything we tried, and there were no limits set that said we couldn’t try something because we weren’t old enough, or mature enough, or it wasn’t time to get out the finger paints, or we might spoil our supper.

  “It seemed totally normal to me until I got out of the house and saw how other kids lived, with all these rules and regulations and limitations. I remember when Will Crawford got grounded for not cleaning his room. He had to explain what grounding was to me. It all seemed very unfair.”

  “And yet you end up in the military, with possibly the most stringent command structure in the world. Why?”

  “It wasn’t because I wanted more structure, that’s for sure. What was it Fletcher said to you that time? Don’t let the romantic warrior full of valor get in the way of your emotions?”

  “My common sense, I think he was intimating. But yes, that was the quote.”

  “Well, when I was a kid I read The Red Badge of Courage, and everything Hemingway wrote. There was something romantic about the idea of courage, of standing shoulder to shoulder with your brothers in arms, of being willing to lay down your life for that which you believed in, and procuring freedom for the masses. My parents swung between anarchy and apathy depending on their moods, and of course encouraged us to make our own decisions, never imagining that either Yellow or I would ever arrive at a different conclusion. It about killed Roth when I said I wanted to enlist. That was not the life he imagined for me.”

  “Yet you’ve put your differences aside. You seem to have a solid relationship now.”

  “Part of encouraging autonomy means accepting the choices your offspring make. He didn’t do what his father wanted either, so he couldn’t get too fired up at me for choosing my own path.”

  “What about your grandfather? Do you know him?”

  “Only through news reports. He cut Roth off the minute he and Sunshine said ‘I do’ under the willow tree in their backyard.”

  “Have you ever been tempted to look him up?”

  “No. Here we are.” He had pulled up on the main street in downtown Dillon in front of the Arapahoe Cafe, stunningly backed by the shimmering blue lake. The scent of pine smoke permeated the truck, and despite her recent breakfast, her stomach growled in response.

  “That smells amazing.”

  Xander smiled. “Don’t you dare tell my parents, but this place has the best cheeseburgers I’ve ever eaten.”

  “Naughty boy. Your secret is safe with me.”

  “Good. Sunshine would never forgive me. Do you want the internet first, or the Chief?”

  As if it knew she’d arrived back in civilization, her phone chirped to tell her she had missed messages.

  “Guess I better hear what Fletcher has to say before we tackle either.”

  She hit 1 for her voice mail and listened.

  There were actually two messages, one from her best friend back in Nashville, Taylor Jackson, who was checking to make sure Sam was okay. She’d call her back later, they had things to talk about, to catch up on. The second was Fletcher, with an ominous, “Call me the minute you get this message.”

  “Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good.”

  “What’s the matter?” Xander asked.

  Sam was busy dialing Fletcher back. She held up a finger. Fletcher answered right away, his voice jubilant.

  “We think we got him.”

  “The Metro killer? Wait a minute, let me put this on speaker so Xander can hear.” She pressed the button then asked, “Who is he?”

  “Moroccan national. FBI’s been tracking him, working on a deal with him for months. He dropped off their radar last week, they figured they lost him. D.C.’s been locked down tighter than a drum, no one was getting another attack through. They mobilized everything when they figured out who it was. He was online overnight saying his goodbyes, they picked up the chatter, and they popped him this morning heading to the Capitol with a vest on full of explosives. We found a backpack in a Metro Dumpster that had an address, and found his apartment. It was full of bomb-making materials, and other stuff that’s being tested right now. The bombs he was making weren’t real, of course, he’d been duped. The FBI’s been posing as al Qaeda agents and recruited him to do a bombing. Looks like he might have branched off into the abrin without them knowing. It will be on the news any minute now.”

  “That makes no sense, Fletch. That he’d been able to manufacture the abrin, slip their grasp and plant it in the Metro?”

  “That’s how it all looks, though. We found a canister at his place that could have been used to fill an aerosol can—they’re testing it right now—plus workman’s clothes from the subcontractor who’s laying the Silver Line. The Metro cameras have spotted the suspect leaving the Rosslyn station, he matches the build of the Moroccan. They’re looking through the Dumpsters for more. It’s starting to look like an open-and-shut case.”

  “So he was working with more than just the feds on his plans?”

  “We’re looking into that.”

  “A self-actualized radical? Or part of a group?” Xander asked.

  “Loner, it seems. You know how they crawl up out of the gutters. He’s been in the country for over five years, came over on a student visa and dropped off the face of the earth. According to Bianco, he got on their radar a couple of months ago wanting to execute a major attack, and their agents strung him along. They figured he’d been tipped, that’s why he went to ground, but he was just getting his rubber ducks in a row.”

  “And the ties between Ledbetter and Conlon? And the congressman’s background issues? Just happenstance?”
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  “It’s a small town, Sam. The good news is, you’re off the hook. You and Xander can come home without any worries. Bianco won’t make any trouble for you. Listen, I’ve got to go, wrap up a few things. But call me later.”

  He hung up, and Sam looked at Xander. He had his hands on the steering wheel and was contemplating them, squeezing first one, then the other. Sam had seen him do that before. It signaled he was lost in thought.

  “Well, that’s good news, don’t you think?”

  He looked over at her. “Absolutely. If they’re right.”

  “Meaning?”

  He shook his head. “FBI and Homeland need to save face. An attack happened on American soil on their watch. It’s not fair, because they prevent a ridiculous number of attacks, but the only time they make the news is when one slips through their net and something bad happens. You notice they’re releasing more and more information about events they’ve thwarted? PR, pure and simple. They have a thankless job, and the people of our country haven’t the first clue just what happens behind the scenes to keep them safe so they can drive their minivans and go to the movies and complain about their injustices on the internet.”

  “I follow. What are you saying?”

  “If a Moroccan national committed this crime, I’ll eat my hat.”

  “You’re not wearing a hat.”

  “Euphemism. I have plenty back home. Seriously, Sam. No way. No way.”

  “Xander, I hardly think the entire jurisdictional force of the JTTF and the FBI and Homeland are going to make a mistake. Why do you think they’re wrong?”

  “You don’t?”

  “I asked you first.”

  He wrapped his hands around the steering wheel again, sat in silence.

  “Xander, I think you’re keeping something from me. What’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours?”

  That got a smile out of him. “Why don’t we grab some coffee and go talk to the police first. It just feels too neat, too easy. Someone already on their radar manages to slip the net and commit an attack? It doesn’t feel right.”

  “You’re borrowing trouble, my friend.”

  “Maybe. Maybe I’m just paranoid. But I can’t wrap my head around why Will Crawford would shut down his site if there wasn’t a tie directly to him.”

  “Maybe he was doing something else wrong.”

  “Maybe. Come on. Coffee. Police. Then we can tackle Will.”

  “Police first, Xander. The coffee will wait.”

  He groaned but walked past the entrance to stairs that led to the cafe. She saw him cast a wistful glance back toward the restaurant’s door.

  “We’ll make it fast. I promise.”

  Chapter 34

  The police chief, Reed McReynolds, had sun-bleached blond hair and a round face decorated with a darker goatee, broad shoulders and long, rangy legs. A surfer cowboy, plain and simple. He sprang out of his chair when they walked in, a smile a mile wide across his sunburned face. She liked him immediately, his open laugh and surprised eyes made him look even younger than he was, which Sam assumed must have been around thirty.

  “Well, I’ll be damned, if it isn’t Xander Moon. How the hell are you? Your parents know you’re back in town? And who’s this stunning creature?”

  “I’m good. Yes, they do. This is Dr. Samantha Owens.”

  McReynolds shook her hand. “You can do better than this piece of chum. You know he can’t even keep himself upright on a board? Falls over on his ass every time.”

  Xander was grinning, easy, comfortable. She hadn’t seen this side of him before—he was always so serious and buttoned up. He was home. Home among his people, his family, his friends. She liked it. Liked him loose and happy.

  “Don’t you start, you know that’s not true. It was only that one day, and I had an ear infection. Couldn’t keep my balance on flat ground much less a piece of fiberglass hurtling through the pipe.”

  Snowboarding, Sam came to find out, was McReynolds’s passion, existence and reason for living. The law enforcement gig was secondary, just a little something so he didn’t get bored.

  “You ever been snowboarding, Dr. Owens?”

  “It’s Sam, and no, I haven’t. Skiing, yes, but I’m no daredevil. Give me a nice blue run and I’m perfectly content.”

  “Ah, you gotta get this cheek to teach you. He’s pretty good. Or used to be, before he had his wittle bitty ear infection.”

  “God, Reed, let it go.”

  “Fine. How long you here for? They’ve got the grass skiing open. We could take a few runs after I get off today.”

  “Would that I could, man. I need to chat about something else. You familiar with the Gerhardt case?”

  “How’d you hear about that? Your dad?”

  “Yeah. He mentioned it this morning. What do you know?”

  McReynolds sat on the corner of his desk and crossed his arms on his chest. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Sam here has a hunch. Any chance we can get his autopsy records?”

  “What kind of doctor are you anyway, Sam?”

  She smiled. “A forensic pathologist. I’ve been working on the abrin attack in D.C. I think it’s reasonable to assume the killer tested the abrin before he set it off in the Metro, because he’d need to have an idea of just how much could kill a human. It seemed odd that Mr. Gerhardt and his cattle would die at the same time.”

  “It was damn odd, but the coroner felt the cancer had returned, and progressed incredibly fast. They sent him up to Golden for an autopsy. And the cows, well, the vet thought that was tetany. Rare in these parts, but it happens. You think it was a test run for the attack?”

  “I don’t know. But if I could get my hands on the files, it would certainly help. I’ll know rather quickly if Mr. Gerhardt was exposed. And if the vet who did the necropsy is still around, I’d love to talk to him, too.”

  “Her. Name’s Carly Skinner.”

  “No kidding?” Xander asked. “Carly’s the large animal vet around here now? I figured she was gone for good when she went to L.A.” He gave his friend a sly smile.

  “She was. But remember when she came back a few Decembers ago? She decided to set up shop instead of acting. More important things here.”

  “Yeah, I get it. It’s nice to come home again.”

  “It wasn’t home she came back for. It was me.”

  “You? She threw over her acting career for you?”

  Reed punched Xander’s shoulder, hard enough to make him suck in his breath. “Yes, you asshole. And I married her. See what you miss living up in the rocks alone? Carly Skinner McReynolds was too much of a mouthful for her so she stuck with the maiden name.”

  Xander grinned at him. “About damn time that girl found some sense. That’s great, Reed. Congratulations. You guys were meant for each other, we all knew it.”

  McReynolds smiled, shyly this time, pleased with Xander’s obvious happiness for him. “Ah, go on. You know how much she loves to ski. There was no keeping her away for long. I’ll go call her, you all wait here for a minute. I’m sure she’ll be happy to go over the stuff on Gerhardt’s stock. And I’ll get the records pulled from Gerhardt himself. Might take a little bit though. Where will you be?”

  “Back at Arapahoe Cafe. We need the wireless to look at some other stuff.”

  “They caught the guy who did it, you know.”

  “That’s what we hear.”

  McReynolds pushed himself off the desk. “All right. Let me go get your info. Meet you back here in an hour, say?”

  “That’s perfect. Thanks, Reed.”

  “Oh, you owe me. I’ve got a list the length of my...arm of things you’re gonna do to repay me.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” They jostled each other shoulder to
shoulder, the grown man’s version of a hug, then Xander took Sam’s hand and they walked back out onto the street.

  “What’s next, madam?”

  “Well, you need coffee before you faint. And I’d like to go through Loa Ledbetter’s photos more thoroughly. I can do it on my iPad. So let’s settle in at this cafe for a bit, see what we can’t uncover.”

  Chapter 35

  Washington, D.C.

  Detective Darren Fletcher

  Fletcher hung up the phone and stowed it in his pocket, then turned the sound up on the television in Bianco’s office. The announcer was holding back a smile, trying to look serious while also relieved.

  “We are here with breaking news right now, good news, as we’ve learned that the Metro attacker may have been caught. A suspect was arrested by police on his way to stage another attack, this one on the Capitol building. This news is just coming in to us over the wires. Again, it seems the Metro attacker suspect has been identified and detained by police. Stay with us, we’ll be right back.”

  Fletcher watched as the station went to commercial, in awe of their audacity. If this backfired, they were all fucked.

  Bianco stood to his right, a grim smile on her face.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Fletcher said.

  “It’s better this way. He won’t know that we know. He’ll think we’ve backed off, and he will relax, and then he’ll slip up and we’ll catch him.”

  “Disinformation is a tricky thing, Andi. You’re going to have to admit you were wrong about the Moroccan.”

  “I’m not wrong about the Moroccan. The FBI has been working him for several months. He was on his way to the Capitol with a backpack full of what he thought were explosives loaded with shrapnel and ball bearings, all puffed up on the idea of a second attack in as many days destabilizing us. The material found at his apartment makes him a strong suspect in the Metro attack.”