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The ambulance’s taillights disappeared around the corner. “That’s a negative, son. We’re heading for Buttermilk Valley.”
Tai looked from him to Jane’s debris-covered truck and back. “Oooh, somebody’s sweet on the hardware store lady.”
He growled low in his throat and headed for the Jeep. Sweet hardly described it. Concerned? Check. Feeling guilty about this? Check. Scared out of his mind? Double check.
Tai buckled in and clutched the grab bar. “You know the preacher was the likely target, right?”
Bridger reversed out of the lot and shot out onto the highway, sights on the boxy white ambulance a mile up ahead. He gritted his teeth so hard, his jaw ached.
He wanted it to be the preacher, and it made sense. But until he was certain the bomb was intended for the pastor, he’d be in Jane Reilly’s back pocket.
12
The man bitdown on a scream of rage. It took everything he had not to hurl the expensive binoculars to the ground.
The pastor wasn’t supposed to be home when the bomb went off. He should have been at the church, setting up for the Gamblers’ Anonymous meeting that started at nine. Pastor Zack never missed.
He struggled not to vomit as the paramedics loaded the man into the back of the ambulance. No blood showed through the white sheets. That was something, at least. Maybe he wasn’t dead.
He wiped the sweat out of his eyes and readjusted the binoc’s focus. Nope. No blood. At least none that he could see. And the pastor seemed to be conscious.
He lowered the glasses, letting them swing from the neck strap while he wiped his face again.
The sour smell of his own sweat made him want to heave.
He wasn’t cut out for this. The plan sounded so good a few weeks ago. Every time they talked it through, his confidence rose. And his determination. Getting rid of the pastor would earn him the life he’d always wanted.
It was the last step. Dead, Reverend Zack Myles held the key to his future.
Stupid Jane Reilly. Why’d she have to show up? She made the pastor late. Almost too late.
The bomb required delicate timing. And he was hardly an expert. The articles on the web made it seem easy. Building it was, but making it go off…. What a headache.
He needed it to detonate just after the pastor left for the meeting. Close enough that it would seem like a mistake that the guy wasn’t killed.
He wasn’t ready to take Myles out yet. He had more ground to lay—more pieces of evidence to drop to misdirect the police—before he actually killed the man.
For one thing, his alibi for the actual murder wasn’t in place. It was highly doubtful he’d be a suspect, but “doubtful” didn’t mean a hundred percent certain.
No way he’d take the slightest chance of going down for murder. He had someone else in mind to play that part. But the timing had to be right. He had someone with the perfect motive. All he needed to do was set a few more things in motion, and wait.
If Jane Reilly didn’t ruin everything first.
Or wait. He froze, afraid the slightest movement would whisk the brilliant new idea straight out of his mind.
Maybe she could help. He’d never considered that.
The ambulance tore out of the drive so fast gravel spurted out from under the back wheels. He watched the boxy white vehicle trundle down the road toward the highway, new possibilities filling his mind, each scenario better than the last.
He could use this mistake. He could use Jane Reilly.
He grinned, releasing the anger. If she wanted to interfere, he’d let her. She’d add the perfect twist to the case.
Especially when they both died.
13
“How’re you feeling?”
