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“It’ll be hard to flush Bakr out when we can’t even contact him.”
He grunted and she glanced up to see a hard scowl clouding his features. “A phone call to the right number should be enough.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I was counting on you having a few key numbers memorized.”
“You’d be right. But Bakr’s texts were coming from a blocked number.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem in the long run.”
She stopped abruptly. “What are you thinking?”
He pushed a hand through his hair and studied the sky before meeting her gaze. “It takes time to set up a sniper’s nest. Who knew you were working at the court house? Who knew we’d be at the range?”
“You said you told Ross about the range.”
“Right.”
“He wouldn’t betray us. No one on the perimeter team knew, did they?”
“Nope. Besides, all of them are friends with either Ross or the sheriff.”
“Well I didn’t post anything on the FBI computers.”
“You’re forgetting the team in the sedan was FBI. We talked about going to the range a couple of times in the den and in the kitchen. They weren’t waiting for us when we left Grandma’s nursery.”
“That’s absurd. The FBI—”
“Wanted kept in the loop, if I recall.”
She shivered at the implications. “You think there’s a leak,” she whispered.
“Come on, let’s get inside,” he said, draping an arm over her shoulders.
“I’m not cold.” Her mind was spitting out conspiracy theories like a popcorn machine. “That would mean Abe’s in danger. We have to tell Ross. Nichols. Someone.”
“We will. But I want you to get a shower and think it through. You’re the analyst, not me.”
She didn’t argue, but she thought he was doing a pretty fine job of analyzing.
As they approached the cabin, she recognized Morris-family craftsmanship in the tidy log building with a wide, low-slung porch that seemed to wrap all the way around. Carson sorted through his key ring and found the right one. He pushed the door open and motioned for her to go on in.
He gave her the grand tour of the front room, the kitchen, and the short hall that ended with a bathroom splitting two bunk rooms.
“Not bad.” The claw-footed bathtub looked like absolute luxury.
“Towels are in the closet there.” He pointed. “You go ahead and clean up and I’ll get a fire going.”
He closed the door behind him and she stripped out of her smelly clothing in record time. Her hair smelled like stale French fries and something she didn’t want to contemplate. Ugh.
It didn’t occur to her until the spray was beating down on her head and the scent of an Irish meadow was swirling around her that she didn’t have a change of clothes.
Her first thought was to use that misfortune to their mutual advantage and jump him. Not bad as plans went and she believed one hundred percent in following intuition. Warming to the idea, she decided what the plan lacked in finesse she could more than make up for in sexual satisfaction.
Turning off the taps, she squeezed the excess water out of her hair and swept the curtain aside.
Chapter 17
