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  Oh, no. His bombs. His beautiful, precious bombs. They’d comb the building and might find the devices. Hurry, hurry, hurry.

  Two more businesses empty, devoid of his daughter.

  He ran back onto the street. There was a flash of red, in his peripheral vision.

  There she was. One hundred yards away, talking to a grandmotherly woman. He would be able to make it, to grab her, to get her back to the truck, to hit the Send key. It would all be okay. She must have wandered off, trying to find him. Lost without him. He knew she was a good girl.

  His breathing evened, and his strides grew long, eating up the distance between them.

  He watched them turn. The old woman took Ruth by the hand and led her through a small blue wooden door.

  He didn’t want to run, didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

  One hundred feet.

  Fifty.

  As he put his hand on the door to follow after them, the ground began to shake. The roar of the explosion hit him a moment later. A million years of instinct took over and he hit the deck.

  His ears were ringing. And a single sentence kept flowing through his brain, competing with the noise.

  My daughter triggered the bombs.

  He froze facedown on the concrete sidewalk. Wails grew, and shouting, and the alarms on the cars nearby began to sing, their very cores shaken.

  My daughter triggered the bombs.

  A clock started counting down in his head, and his mind began measuring wind speed and distance. He had to get out of there.

  He got to his feet. Didn’t look back. There would be no way to trace this back to him. Ruth was gone to him now, in the hands of the devil. She had committed the ultimate sin—was dirty with it. It was too late for her. She wouldn’t have any idea how to find him; they had no address or phone number or driveway. She was lost in a world that he devised for her, an innocent. She couldn’t lead them back to him.

  And in ten minutes or so, none of that would matter. She was beyond his help now.

  He couldn’t worry about her anymore. He needed to save himself. The abrin would be floating in the air, and everyone in the vicinity would be affected. Those who hadn’t made it out of the building would be pulverized, those who did were breathing deep the venom, molecules of death that coated their souls. He had to get out of there, he didn’t have his mask on.

  Get out, get out, get out.

  How could this happen?

  His daughter had triggered the bombs.

  He was back at the truck now. Fumbled with the keys, realized he was only half upset. She’d become a handful anyway, always needing attention, always wanting him to read to her, tuck her in, feed her, protect her. He was better off alone. He could always snatch her again, should he want to. If she survived. But for now, he just needed to get the hell out of there, back to his camp, to the soothing trees, the warm summer sun catching the rumps of the deer and squirrels, the flowers, the field of columbines he’d planted, glowing blue and yellow.

  Leave now, and live to fight another day.

  The sirens were shrieking now, close and vivid, but he ignored them. Got in the truck, turned over the engine and slammed it into gear.

  He was gone.

  Chapter 47

  Washington, D.C.

  Detective Darren Fletcher

  Once Loa had admitted the man in the drawing was her husband, the rest of her sad story came out. Fletcher listened in awe, knowing if he pushed her too hard she’d shut down. So he let her tell the story at her own pace, only interrupting when he needed to clarify a detail.

  “At first it was fun. Defying my mom, being out on my own. The first thing we did was ‘marry,’ if you want to call it that, basically handfasting, declaring ourselves. That was legal in the camp, it was how everyone officially married. Because I’ll tell you, he wasn’t about to mess with God’s will by taking me to his bed out of wedlock. And the moment we were official in his eyes, that’s when things got really intense. He was rather single-minded about the whole thing. He discovered he liked sex. A lot. I did, too, in the beginning. But then it became his thing—finish dinner, go to bed, do it three, four times a night, whether I wanted to or not. Then as soon as we woke up, too, and after a couple of weeks he’d come home for lunch and we’d do it again. I wasn’t allowed to say no. He believed in the concept of obeisance quite literally.

  “After about a month, I was a mess. I said no once and he beat me to a pulp. I didn’t bother again. I started realizing I’d made a mistake pretty quickly, wanted to go home, but then I got pregnant. When I told him, he was ecstatic. I’ve never seen anyone so happy. He treated me differently then, reverently. No more forcing me down and having his way whether I resisted or not. He’d ask nicely if I would be willing to lie with him, and if I wasn’t, he’d ask nicely for me to do...other things. It was a bit more bearable, but I would be damned if I was going to have a kid all by myself out in the woods. I asked if we could get a midwife, go to the city for the birth, go to a hospital, but he was adamant that he’d handle it himself.

  “I ran away once, but he caught me. I was about three months then, and he beat me black and blue, careful not to touch my stomach. So I started doing things so I would miscarry, throwing myself against trees, hitting myself in the stomach, anything that would give me freedom. He caught me at it and started handcuffing me. We went to town one day and he handcuffed me to the door handle while he was gone. He didn’t trust me not to say anything to someone. As soon as he was gone, I started working on the handcuffs.”

  Loa wore a thin white oxford shirt over a tank top. With a sigh, she folded back the cuff to reveal an angry scar across the top of her right wrist.

  “Broke my wrist, and slid right out of them. Compound fracture. Hurt like hell. But if I’d known that’s all it would take, I would have done it sooner. Walked to the police station and told them I was a runaway who wanted to go home. No one asked any questions, just got me to the doctor, into surgery, and a cast, and Mom flew out that afternoon. I was back in D.C. the next day. To hot water and television and my pink comforter and dolls. It was like the two years I’d been gone was a really bad nightmare. It didn’t feel real.”

  “And the baby?” he asked quietly.

  She smiled. “I gave her up for adoption. I couldn’t keep her, I mean, my God, the man raped me four or five times a day, and she was the product of that. Not only was I barely sixteen, I had some pretty complicated feelings toward her. I knew in my heart I couldn’t be fair to her, give her a life that wasn’t tainted by his violence. She went to a great family, they told me, and I got back to my life. Mom went on like nothing had happened, but I had myself declared an emancipated minor and got a job doing hair. Got into therapy. Tried to go to school down south, but I didn’t fit in at all, so I came back and finished college at night. I’m a CPA, by the way. You never asked.”

  “And you’ve never heard from him since?”

  She paled a little more, and he saw her shudder.

  “He found me here in D.C. Confronted me on the sidewalk outside my apartment, pushed his way into my place. Demanded I give him the baby. I told him she was stillborn. It was all I could think to do. He was a crazy, mean asshole, and I didn’t want him anywhere near her. Even if I could have told him where she was, I wouldn’t. But it was a closed adoption. I don’t know who she went to or where she is. I did that to protect her.” She shuffled her feet like a little girl. “He didn’t believe me. He made me tell him the truth. That she lived. That I gave her up. He realized pretty quickly that I honestly didn’t know where she was.”

  She was wiping her hand slowly across her cheek, and Fletcher knew exactly how she’d been forced into giving up the information.

  “Will you tell us where he is, Loa? Where Ryan Carter might be now?”

  “Please, don
’t say his name again. Every time it’s spoken aloud it’s like he’s being summoned. Though from what you’re saying, it seems he already has been. I’m not sure I know where he is. I can try to pinpoint it on a map, though. At least give you the right area where we were. But, Detective, remember, this was six years ago. He may have a new camp now.”

  “That’s fine, Loa. Anything you can give us, we can work with.”

  She shuddered a little again. “Then I need a map of Colorado.”

  * * *

  Bianco was back at long last, and she was not in a good mood. Fletcher was watching Loa write up a statement, and Inez was fetching them a map of Colorado. Bianco stuck her head in the conference room and said, “Detective? May I speak with you? In my office, if you please.”

  His balls shrank at her tone. He’d heard it too many times before not to know exactly what was coming. A dressing-down. But for what? He’d done nothing but nail this case to the wall. He had an actual suspect. What did the rest of her team have?

  Loa recognized the tone, too, because she flinched and looked at Fletcher with wide eyes.

  “Loa, excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

  She nodded, and he gathered his notebook and went to join Bianco in her office.

  She was sitting at the desk, emanating fury. Inez was sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk, back stiff like she knew they were in serious trouble. But for what?

  Bianco glared at him and said, “Shut the door.”

  He did as she asked and joined Inez. If he was going to be yelled at, might as well be comfortable.

  All of Bianco’s earlier friendliness and congeniality and “rah-rah team” attitude was long gone.

  “Am I to understand that the two of you went to the State Department and the CIA asking about files on both Congressman Leighton and Dr. Loa Ledbetter?”

  “It was me, ma’am,” Inez said. “I requested the files.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that there might be a reason for chain of command? Did that not seem like something you should let me know about before you trotted off to State?”

  “I was just following a hunch, ma’am.”

  Fletcher wasn’t about to let Inez take the fall for this. “A solid hunch that paid off. We found out Ledbetter and Leighton were in Liberia together. She was definitely working for us, and they had a—”

  “Shut up, Darren. Inez, after you unearthed this information, you discussed it with whom?”

  “With Detective Fletcher, ma’am.”

  “Then would you like to tell me why the Washington Post just called me looking for a quote on the story they’re about to run about Dr. Ledbetter and Congressman Leighton’s time in the CIA and how they both were forced out after having a child together?”

  Both Fletcher and Inez said “What?” at the same time.

  “Don’t play coy with me. Inez, they’re naming you as the source. They said you gave this to them on background, as a well-placed source in the investigation. When they asked if they could use your name you said ‘certainly.’”

  “That is preposterous,” Fletcher said. “We never even discussed this. This is the first I’ve heard of Ledbetter and Leighton having a child. It wasn’t from us, Andi. I can assure you of that.”

  As he said it, his mind went click. Click. Click. Click.

  Loa. Loa was the child.

  Fletcher hurriedly counted back. Twenty-two years ago, Ledbetter and Leighton were in Liberia. Loa didn’t know who her father was. That imperceptible twitch when he asked Gretchen Leighton about it.

  Son of a bitch.

  “What do you have to say for yourself, Inez?”

  The girl had tears in her eyes. “It’s not like it sounds. It had to be the guy at State who leaked it. I requested the files. He asked me to dinner. We chatted a little. That was it. He has beyond top-secret security clearance. I never imagined he’d go to the press.”

  Bianco slammed her hands on the desk. “Do you realize what you’ve done? You’ve besmirched the name of a man who was a patriot, who can’t fight back. You’ve brought into question everything he’s done in his career from the time he was a soldier until now. And Dr. Ledbetter has been outed as a CIA asset. All because you wanted to play patty-cake with some night watchman from a file room.”

  Fletcher’s back went up. That wasn’t fair. “Oh, come now, Andi. You’re being way too hard on the girl. And you were all-fired ready to call Leighton a serial killer twenty-four hours ago. That might have done a bit more damage to his reputation than this will.”

  “I’d rather him be a serial killer than people find out he was an asset. A couple of dead girls is nothing compared to the fact that everything he and Ledbetter did is now compromised. Every single mission will now be trotted out, taken apart. You have no idea what you’ve unleashed. I just got my head handed to me. And the fucking Washington Post has the story!”

  Bianco wasn’t being shy now, she was bellowing at the top of her lungs.

  “Both of you, pack your things and get the hell out of my building.”

  There was a tentative knocking at Bianco’s door.

  “What is it?” she shouted.

  A young man Fletcher didn’t recognize opened the door, practically shaking in his boots.

  “Ma’am? Detective Fletcher? There’s been a bombing in Boulder.”

  Chapter 48

  Dillon, Colorado

  Dr. Samantha Owens

  When they’d arrived at the house, Roth was waiting for them, looking exceptionally uncomfortable.

  “What’s the matter?” Xander asked, batting the dogs away.

  “Glad you’re back, son. Crawford was here, right after you left. Man’s nutty in the head at the best of times, but he went off, yelling that we’d caused some sort of trouble yesterday when we came by. That Will got his gear together and left last night, drove off and hasn’t come back. Stu wasn’t entirely lucid, I tried to calm him down but he was all over the place, ranting and hollering, then he took himself back to hell where he probably came from. Sunshine is terribly upset.”

  Sam gave Xander a pointed look. “Are you absolutely sure Will isn’t the one we’re looking for?”

  “No, I’m not.” He explained their theory to Roth, who shook his head.

  “I don’t know, son. It breaks my heart to think that Will could be involved in this. Something isn’t right with the Crawfords, though.”

  “He had all his gear?”

  “That’s what Stu said.”

  Xander rubbed his chin with his hand. “He’s only got half a day’s head start. We take the dogs, we can probably catch up to him.”

  Sam felt alarm spring up in her chest. “And why would you be the one going after him? Let’s call Fletcher, let him send some JTTF people out after him. It’s too dangerous for you to go hunting him, Xander. We don’t know what he’s capable of.”

  “Sam, honey, I know these woods like the back of my hand. I’m the only one that remotely makes sense to go after him. I’ve got the skills and the training to find him, and find him fast. Will may know how to hunt turkey and elk, but I have some more...unique qualifications.”

  Like how to hunt men.

  “And then what, Xander? What do you plan to do? Shoot him? Sit down and make a pot of tea over the campfire? We don’t even know he’s involved for sure.”

  “He ran. That’s all I need to know. If he was innocent, he wouldn’t be here in the first place, much less off going to ground. He’s in trouble. Either he’s responsible, or he knows who is. There’s a damn good chance he’s going after him, and if we hurry, we might catch him. Or them.”

  “We’d best get a move on, then,” Roth said.

  “You need to stay here with Sunshine.”

  “You need someone to wa
tch your back, son.”

  Xander hesitated, then nodded. “All right. Let’s load up.”

  Roth smiled. “I figured you’d want to go out. I’m three steps ahead of you. Already have most of the gear pulled out. I think we should leave the dogs, they might announce our presence before we’re ready to be known. Sam can stay here and keep Sunshine company.”

  “No.”

  Both men looked at her.

  “I’m going with you.”

  Roth barked out a laugh. “Sam, you have about as much survival training as you can fit in that pretty leather bag you carry. No offense meant, of course, Samantha.”

  Sam glanced at her Birkin bag, and all in all, thought Roth was being rather generous in his assumptions.

  Xander was a bit gentler, but firm. “Sam, Roth’s right. This isn’t going to be easy.”

  She barely kept herself from stamping her foot.

  “I am coming, and we are going to tell Fletcher what we’re doing. We aren’t above the law, Xander. We aren’t the law, either. You need to call McReynolds and tell him what you’re up to, as well.”

  “Sam, we’re losing valuable time here. I don’t want to argue with you about this.”

  “There is no argument, Xander. This is how it’s going to be. I don’t care if you think we’re out here in the wilderness playing with a different set of rules. No way in hell you’re running off half-cocked.”

  Roth was watching her with half a smile quirked on his lips. She thought he was enjoying seeing his son reined in a bit. But damn it, amusement or not, this was dangerous, and she’d be damned if she was going to let them tramp off into the forest after a killer without backup.

  Xander looked like he was going to argue again, but Sam help up her hand. “Non. Negotiable.”

  He sighed.

  “Fine. Let’s get you outfitted and make some calls.”

  * * *

  Sunshine had dressed Sam in several layers of Yellow’s creations, plus a pair of sturdy hiking boots. Thankfully, Sam and Yellow wore the same size shoe and the boots were already broken in, but Sunshine gave her moleskin and Band-Aids anyway.