Page 39 of Dark ’N’ Deadly

“Diesel fuel they could buy anywhere, but they’d probably want to supplement that with nitro-methane for more power. That won’t be so easy to obtain.” He stopped typing, staring at the screen as yet another thought occurred to him.

Pieces of a scary-as-shit puzzle were rapidly falling into place—like a damned good reason why sovereigns would choose rural Hunterdon County as their location to create a bomb. “Anyone can purchase very small amounts of nitro-methane at a hobby shop. It’s used as fuel for model airplanes. Getting your hands on anything greater than sixteen ounces would definitely attract attention from the police or fire department.”

Dayne leaned forward. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking the best place to get the volume they’d want is from a racetrack fuel supplier, and there’s a reason this is all happening in the vicinity of Hunterdon County.”

“Still not seeing the connection,” Dayne said. “We don’t have a racetrack in this area.”

“No, but we used to. It closed about a year ago. They’re still breaking down the grandstand.” He should have picked up on it sooner. Dayne wasn’t from the Flemington area, but Eric lived fifteen minutes away. “The Flemington Speedway. It was a small track, and they didn’t race funny cars that use nitro-methane, but everyone there would have connections in the racing industry.”

Dayne’s eyes widened in understanding. “All it would take is one connection at the track to get them what they need. We could start poking around the racetrack, see if anyone’s been approached.”

“We could do that.” He pulled up a screen of offline theft reports. “But then we run the risk of tipping them off, and they might not show for the delivery tomorrow.”

“Tough call.”

He nodded. It went against his proactive nature not to grill every single employee at the track then run their history for connections to the local sovereign citizen movement. Once word got out that the feds were snooping around, they’d only find another supplier. “I’m inclined to wait until after tomorrow and see how things shake out. I can have the duty agent keep checking for offline reports of stolen fuel.”

“Copy that.”

Refocusing on his search, Eric printed out one of the offline reports. About two weeks ago, a mining company in Montana had reported a small amount of missing Domox, a water-gel explosive, and Trimadet, a non-electric delay detonator. From experience, he knew that occasionally, even highly regulated items such as explosives were miscounted and the mistake usually discovered and corrected shortly thereafter. But the timing was too coincidental, and he couldn’t discount the possibility that it was connected to what was going on in New Jersey. He reached for his desk phone, about to call the local PD for details.

His cell rang and he tugged it from the clip on his belt. It was Tess. She’d texted him earlier with her number, and he’d entered her contact info in his phone. Seeing her name pop up sent a jolt of electricity through him, and he smiled. If she was calling to convince him to try another tofu dish, he’d have to put an end to her culinary delusions. He answered the call, but before he could even say hello, he heard sounds that spiked a warning in his blood—a doctor being paged to the ER and Tess’s soft sobs.

He stiffened, his instincts on high alert. “What’s wrong?”

“Eric.” His name came out on a sob.

Dayne caught his gaze, giving him a questioning look.

“It’s Jesse,” she cried. “He’s in the hospital. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He just collapsed on the sidewalk.”

Her panic screamed through the phone, but so did her emotional pain. He felt it just as surely as if her pain were his, too.

“Are you at Hunterdon County Medical Center?” That was the closest hospital to his house.

“Y-yes.” She sniffled, a sound that ripped straight through his heart. “In the emergency room. Oh god.”

“Honey, stay calm.” He snapped his laptop shut and stuffed it in his gear bag, only vaguely registering that he’d just called her an endearment—honey—that he’d never used on any woman in his entire life. “I’m on my way.”

He ended the call then gathered up his draft ops plan and the lab report, hastily cramming those into his bag next to the laptop.

“What’s going on?” Dayne’s green eyes narrowed.

“Jesse McTavish collapsed. He’s in the ER at Hunterdon.” He zipped up his bag and handed the Montana theft report to Dayne. “Can you follow up on this?”

“Ten-four.” Dayne took the report. “Keep me posted.”

“Will do.” He headed for the door. “Tiger, hier.”

Tiger bolted upright with a snort, his legs scrambling as he got to his feet. A second later, he was trotting out the door ahead of Eric.

Jesse hadn’t been feeling well that morning, but he’d given no indication something was really wrong. As if the kid didn’t have enough to deal with, now this.

After loading Tiger into the Interceptor, he sped out of the parking lot, tires screeching on the pavement. As soon as he merged onto I-80, he cued up his RAC’s number to convey the bad news.

Not only did he truly care what happened to Jesse, but the op for tomorrow might very well have just gone to total shit.