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She settled her ear over his chest as the sun brightened the sky on the other side of the window. Pulling the comforter over them, Baker tucked her into his side until they breathed as one. She felt her heart rate settle back into comfortable territory, as though every cell in her body had attuned to every cell in his. Funny what surviving two bombings and fighting for each other’s lives did for a relationship.
A relationship.
She hadn’t really considered the words until now. Was that what this was? When the investigation ended and they had this new bomber—whoever he was—in custody, would they still have this? Or had last night been a one-time moment of comfort?
Ever since she’d lost Miles, she’d been running from this exact encounter. But now, relearning how to be close to someone, relearning how to trust and love meant it could all be taken away. By illness, by betrayal and the kind of work she did. But her soul craved that connection, and denying it would only make things worse.
Jocelyn committed right then. To make this moment last as long as possible. To not let the past infiltrate the present. No matter how much it hurt to let go. “What happens now, Baker? After all of this is done. What do you see happening between us?”
“Guess I haven’t given it much thought,” he said. “But I want this to be honest. I like you. More than I thought I could like a mercenary.” He took her elbow to his gut with ease, his laugh filling not just the room but the empty places inside of her. The ones she’d denied existed. “Truth is, I’m not sure I could go back to the way things were. You on one side of the divide. Me on the other. We’re a team. And I want it to stay that way.”
A light that had nothing to do with the sunrise flooded through her. Not forced or created out of a sense of survival. Genuine warmth that could only come from one source. Hope.
“Me, too.” But he wanted this to be honest. Something she wasn’t sure she could reciprocate. Because the moment she admitted her darkest shame to him, she’d have to face it herself. And she wasn’t ready to lose what they had. Not yet.
She ran her fingertips up his forearm, to the measure of warped skin spanning from his elbow to his wrist. She sat up, angling across his lap to get a better look. “What’s this?”
“A burn scar.” His voice scraped along his throat, barely audible. “Got it the day I found Linley in the barn. Most of the structure was still standing by some miracle, but one of the beams failed when I was inside. I tried to protect myself with my arm. Ended up with this piece of art.”
“Marc De Leon had scars like this—burn scars. I remember them from his arrest photo.” She memorized the rise and fall of the pattern burned into his arm as pieces of the puzzle they’d taken on flirted at the edge of her mind. Her instincts pushed her out of the bed and had her reaching for her rob draped across the end. She cinched it as carpet caught on the laceration across the bottom of her heel and threatened to slow her down, but this was important.
“Yeah. I catalogued them after the arrest. Scars, fingerprints and tattoos. It’s standard protocol so we can register him with the National Crime Information Center, but what does that have to do with anything?” The bed creaked under his weight as he sat up.
Jocelyn shuffled through the file she’d put together on the cartel lieutenant. ATF believed Marc De Leon had been recruited as an adult and risen up Sangre por Sangre’s ranks in large part due to his proclivity for brutality and following orders to the letter. But he’d made a mistake. He’d killed an Alpine Valley woman three months ago. Jane Doe. He’d stepped out of line. But what if it hadn’t been a mistake? What if it’d been a pattern?
She pulled a photo of Jane Doe free from the file, noting charred skin, curled limbs and missing teeth. An entire legacy of violence and death. Marc De Leon hadn’t just killed the woman. He’d made her unrecognizable. To everyone but who he’d wanted the message sent to. “When was Linley killed?”
“Two years ago.” Baker slipped free of the bed and reached for the sweats piled on the floor. “Why?”
“Cartels like the misery they cause. They use fear and grief and pain to keep towns like Alpine Valley in line and unwilling to turn on them. That’s why they came after your sister. The soldiers who burned down your barn and murdered Linley knew you weren’t there that day. They wanted you to see what they’d done.” She spread out the photos taken of the scene where Jane Doe had been recovered. A tire had been strung around the victim’s neck—just like Linley’s—but only after a device packed into a Kevlar vest had destroyed her insides. “They wanted you scared and compliant.”
Baker stepped into her, his chest pressed against her arm. The contact was enough to keep her grounded but didn’t diminish the buzz of anticipation for him to see what she saw in the details. “I’m going to need you to get to your point a lot faster, Jocelyn.”
“You thought Linley’s and Jane Doe’s murders were connected, that they were the work of the same bomber.” She handed him the photo of Jane Doe. “With good reason. The Ghost used the same devices, same amount of explosive packed into Kevlar, same brand of tires strung around their necks after the victims were already dead. But I don’t think Jane Doe was the intended target. I think the cartel used her to deliver a message.”
“Linley was a message for me.” He stared down at the photo so hard she thought he might tear through it with his mind. “And Jane Doe was left for Ponderosa’s Chief Trevino to back off. Right before they killed him.”
THEPATTERNWASbecoming clearer by the minute.
All this time he’d been hunting the Ghost—a bomber who’d killed not only his sister but an innocent woman—and the bastard had been right in front of him.
Tremors worked through his hands as Baker rushed to dress into his uniform. This wasn’t how this was supposed to end. He’d wanted to confront the son of a bitch, to show him all the pain and destruction he’d caused. To punish him. But Marc De Leon was dead. “I had him. I should’ve seen it before now. If I hadn’t been so focused on justice for Linley, I could’ve saved Ponderosa’s chief from...this.”
“Marc De Leon didn’t want you to see it, Baker.” Jocelyn moved to reach out to him but seemingly thought better of it halfway. Hell, she was pulling away from him. After everything they’d worked through last night, he had to go and ruin it. “He was good at what he did.”
“Why would someone else blow up my station to destroy evidence against Marc De Leon and claim to be the Ghost?” The question left his mouth more forcibly than he’d meant, and Baker caught himself losing his tight control on his anger. Just as he had after Linley’s death. It wasn’t him. It was the vengeful demon inside of him, and right now, there was a very thin line holding it at bay as his failures came into account. “How does that make sense?”
She didn’t answer for a series of breaths, to the point that Baker sensed she might turn around and walk right out that door. Pinpricks stabbed at the back of his neck. He was on the brink of falling off that edge of reason.
“Tell me how I’m supposed to stay in this investigation when I can’t even send the man I’ve wanted to arrest for two years to jail. What kind of chief of police does that make me?” The tremors were coming less frequent the longer he focused on her. On the way her right shoulder rose slightly higher than her left when she inhaled. The fact that the hair framing her face had a soft streak of lighter color. Baker memorized everything he could about her to keep himself from losing his mind, but he wasn’t strong enough to keep fighting. Maybe he never had been. “Tell me what to do next.”
“We know someone else is using Marc De Leon’s recipe for the bombs. Socorro is trying to track down the sales of the nitroglycerin, but it’s going to take time. There are still a lot of construction and mining operations that use it by the bulk. It would be easy for a few measures to go missing from one of the sites.” She paused for a moment. “And I’ve reached out to a few contacts in ATF. They’ll follow up with any reports of missing ordnance. Though if they haven’t heard of any to this point, it’s likely the bomber covered his tracks.” Jocelyn took a step closer to him, breaking into his personal space. “Which means he’s far more dangerous than we estimated. If we can’t figure out how much nitroglycerin is missing, then we can’t predict the next attack.”
A shiver raced along his spine at the thought. The Ghost—at least, the man he’d believed to be the cartel’s resident bomber—had gone out of his way to ensure Baker had been present at both bombings. First at the station when the son of a bitch had destroyed the evidence linking Marc De Leon to the death of Jane Doe. Then ambushing them at the lieutenant’s compound.
He took a full breath. If Marc De Leon was Sangre por Sangre’s Ghost, why would another bomber blow up proof he was guilty of murder and then take De Leon out? Had the cartel wanted to tie up a loose end that might admit to sixteen other incidents connecting back to the cartel? “Has there been any response from Sangre por Sangre for what happened at the compound?”
“Now that you mention it, we haven’t seen any movement on their part. Cash would’ve let us know.” Jocelyn grabbed for her cell phone, lighting up the screen. “Kind of hard to miss an explosion that almost buried an entire town. It’s all over the news. Surrounding towns are sending in aid and raising funds for the cleanup. Jones has been handling the influx in help so we can focus on finding the bomber, while Cash has been keeping an eye on the cartel. You think they’re keeping their distance for a reason?”
