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“New Jersey bomb squads are here; New York is close. They’ll find the ignition point.” Zachery touched both his agents on the shoulder. “I’ve been told what you two did tonight, how you didn’t stop. I met a firefighter named Jimbo who said you were both maniacs and saved his life. I realize you’re both frustrated, exhausted, and angry, but know this—you saved lives otherwise lost if you hadn’t been here, if you hadn’t been who you are.” He paused. “Thank you both. I’m thinking there might be commendations coming to you for this night.” He paused again. “That is, if you catch these scum.”
Nicholas looked down at his hands, covered in soot, the flesh pink and raw, blistered in places, and at Mike, who was staring back into the flames again, also covered in black ash, her blond ponytail gone brunette with small silver streaks. “We’re going to catch them, sir.”
Mike asked, “Has COE claimed responsibility yet?”
“Not yet. But I’m sure they’ll follow the path of the last few bombings—give the media maybe an hour to speculate before their signature letter is splashed all over the Internet and blaring out from newsrooms.” He paused for a moment. “What really concerns me is, unlike the other bombings, people died tonight. At least fifteen, last count, and COE has never killed before. And the bomb itself was more powerful, much more powerful, plus there was a second bomb, lying in the open, almost as if it had been dropped.”
Mike nodded. “Tonight they changed, and I keep wondering why. Why murder people when they never had before? It’s not like they weren’t getting lots of attention. People were getting alarmed, there were politicians beginning to talk about reducing oil imports from the Middle East, the refinery bombings on everyone’s mind.”
Nicholas said, “Maybe there’s something else going on, maybe they now have another, grander plan—”
Zachery nodded. “Yes, or another person is now on board. Another player, perhaps, one with no qualms about killing. Or maybe a separate group entirely, using COE’s MO?”
Nicholas said, “The last bit of chatter in the darknet warned specifically of a California hit, near San Francisco. But now this happens here at Bayway. No, I still think it’s COE. Another player now involved, someone far more violent who’s now calling the shots? That sounds possible.”
Mike shook her head, sprinkling ash down onto her shoulders. “We’re going to have to—”
Zachery interrupted her, his hand on her arm. “Stop. Listen, Agent Caine, both you and Agent Drummond go home, take a shower, get some rest. Nothing will happen until the fire is out, which could take hours. Since you two are our leads on these bombings, JTTF will want to be briefed in the morning. You know they’ll be expecting a full report, so you need to power down and get some sleep.”
Mike had worked for Zachery long enough to know he meant what he said, so she nodded slowly. But she still wasn’t ready to fold her tent.
“Yes, sir.” Mike ran her hands across her face. They came back still streaked black with soot. “I’ve got to hose myself down before I hit the sheets. Maybe get a power wash.”
“We’ll find a place where they can turn a hose on both of us,” Nicholas said, and gave her a wink.
“May I also suggest you put some ice on that shiner?” Zachery said. He patted her shoulder once again, shook Nicholas’s hand, then set off to talk to the firemen at the triage center.
“Get the chemical ice pack out of the first-aid kit in the boot, Mike. It’s quicker than stopping off for a bag
of peas.”
She quickly found the ice pack since all the pool cars had the same equipment. She broke the pack as she climbed into the front seat, pressed it against her face and leaned her head back against the headrest, and felt the blessed freezing begin.
She said, “You don’t have any sleeves. Dare I ask what Nigel will have to say to you?”
He laughed, and it felt good after this nightmare of a night—well, at least for a moment.
He fired up the Crown Vic and headed back for the bridge.
Mike lifted off the ice pack and pulled down the passenger mirror. She really didn’t want to look, but she had to. Oh my, not good. At that moment, she saw her mother staring at her, horror clear on her face. She lightly touched her fingers to her cheek. Bruises galore, and a lovely plus—her skin was lobster-red from the few minutes with the ice pack. She groaned and slapped the visor closed. She looked over at Nicholas. Sure enough, he was smiling, a brow arched. “I shouldn’t have looked. The truth doesn’t always set you free. Sometimes it terrifies.”
He laughed. “You do look like you went rounds with Lord Queensberry himself.”
“Isn’t Queensberry one of your grandfather’s swanky friends?”
“Possibly, though a few generations removed. He’s a famous British boxing enthusiast. You’ve heard of Queensberry Rules?”
“Yeah, yeah, it figures it would be a Brit who decided the proper, most civilized way to go about killing each other.”
He reached over and lightly touched his fingers to her cheek. “Even though you look a bit rough, Agent Caine, all those men you rescued tonight would agree an angel saved them. The ice pack should help.”
She said, “When I’m done with it, you can use it. You’re a bit on the edge yourself.” She paused, then, “And they’d say you’re an angel, too.”
He shot her a grin with a raised eyebrow, his teeth shiny white against his soot-black skin. “Have I ever told you you’re fierce?”
She gave a small laugh. “You want to tell me what you mean by that?”
“Let’s say if you were my mom, I’d know to my core you’d keep me safe.”
