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Baker filed that away for future reference. Logistics coordinators weren’t just responsible for keeping track of military assets. They procured rare resources in times of panic, stayed on top of maintenance operations and covered transportation of any materials, facilities and personnel. People in her position were essential to strategy and planning in the middle of war zones and conflicts. Without operatives like her, the entire military would grind to a halt.
He noted which pocket she slid her key card into despite the admiration cutting through him. “Deployed overseas?”
“Afghanistan. Two tours. Then a third in Africa.” There was something missing in that statement. It took him longer than it should have to recognize it, but no one else in his life had the ridiculous positivity Jocelyn seemed to emanate with every word out of her mouth. She didn’t like talking about her service in the military. Interesting.
“Wow. Right in the middle of the action.” He’d known a couple of deputies from surrounding towns who’d served in the Middle East over the past decade. None of them had held a candle to Jocelyn’s level of optimism after what they’d seen. Question was: Was it just for show or a genuine part of her personality? Hard to tell.
The doors parted, dropping them off in the middle of the freaking Death Star. Gleaming black walls with matching tile. The artwork nearly blended in with the walls, only distinguished by outline of the frames. Blinding fluorescent lights reflected off the floors like a crazy hall of mirrors as Jocelyn led them through what he thought might be a hallway.
“Everybody’s waiting for us in the conference room,” she said.
He tried to map out a mental route through the maze, but there was just too much to index. Everything looked the same. How the hell did anyone navigate this place? “You have many visitors come through here?”
“No. Just you.” She wrenched open a glass double door and held it open for him. Not an ounce of pain from her wound reflected in her expression. Hell, just thinking about his body slamming into the trailer wall made him want to cry. How did she do that? Jocelyn motioned him inside. “Welcome to the inner circle.”
A wall-to-ceiling window—bulletproof, if he had to guess—stretched along the backside of the conference room. The oversized table led to two Socorro representatives waiting for their arrival. One he recognized. Driscoll. Jones Driscoll. He was the company’s head of combat operations, according to Jocelyn. Someone who could help them with the investigation into the bombing. Made sense he’d be here. But the other... Baker didn’t know her.
“Chief Halsey, thank you for joining us. I’m Ivy Bardot.” The redhead stood from her seat at the head of the table, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her black slacks.
This was the founder of Socorro Security. Jocelyn’s boss. Taller than he’d expected, thin and pale, with a few freckles dotted across the bridge of her nose. He hadn’t been able to gather much intel on her other than a minuscule peek at her federal record. Former FBI. Highest number of cases closed in Bureau history, which meant she had to be damn good at her job. But clearly...unfulfilled. Why else would she have started Socorro and dragged a team out into the middle of the desert? Emerald-green eyes assessed him as easily as he’d assessed her, but Baker wasn’t going to let her get into his head.
Ivy extended her hand. “I’m glad we finally have a chance to meet.”
He took her hand out of social obligation as he tracked Jocelyn around the table before she took her seat down by Driscoll. “Yeah, well. Keep the enemy close and all that.”
“Is that what we are?” Ivy withdrew her hand, careful not to let those perfectly manicured eyebrows move a millimeter. She was good. Maybe as good as he was at keeping other people in the dark. No, probably better.
In truth, he didn’t know what they were at the moment. Not partners, that was for damn sure. Because the minute he trusted these people, they’d leave him and Alpine Valley for dead. They were a temporary solution. One at the mercy of the feds with no real attachment to his town.
“I’ve got a bombing investigation to get back to, so let’s skip the small talk and get this over with,” he said.
“A man after my own heart. Please, sit.” Ivy headed back to her seat at the head of the table—a position of power she obviously cared about. “This is Jones Driscoll, head of our combat unit. He’s our expert in all explosive ordinance and IEDs.”
Baker nodded a greeting at the bearded, tattooed mountain man who looked like he belonged in the middle of a logging site rather than in a sleek conference room. Then took a seat beside Jocelyn. He interlocked his hands together over the surface of the table, right beside hers. “Albuquerque bomb squad got to the scene a couple hours ago. They’re still trying to put the device back together, but from what little I saw of it before the explosion, we’re most likely looking at homemade. Given your experience, I’m not sure why you’d want to attach yourself to a random bombing case.”
“Because I don’t believe this is random, Chief.” Driscoll cut his attention to the company’s founder, who nodded in turn. The combat head pried open a folder Baker hadn’t noticed until then. “I took the liberty of getting in touch with Albuquerque’s squad. They forwarded photos taken of what’s left of the station.”
“You went over my head.” He barely had a second to give in to the annoyance clawing through him.
Driscoll templed his fingers over one of the photos from the stack and spun it around to share with the others. “The device that exploded in your station this morning? I’ve seen it before. In a car bombing outside of Ponderosa three months ago. The truck belonged to the chief of police there. Andrew Trevino.”
Ponderosa. Baker sat a bit straighter under the weight of Jocelyn’s gaze as he tried to come to terms with this new information. None of this made sense. He reached for the photos. “I haven’t heard about any car bombing.”
“You wouldn’t have. Socorro was called to the scene. Ponderosa PD kept as much as they could from the media out of respect for their chief,” Ivy said.
“What the hell does that mean?” He locked his gaze on each of the operators in turn, but none of them were giving him an answer.
“It’s not uncommon for the cartel to target law enforcement officers it believes might intercept their plans or to make an example out of them in front of the towns they want to move in on.” Driscoll tapped his index finger onto the photo positioned between them. “It shows control. Power. Manipulation. Call it your friendly cartel calling card.”
“You’re saying this was a targeted attack.” Baker sifted through the possible scenarios in a matter of seconds. He’d taken this job to keep what had happened to him from happening to anyone else, but most of the cases he’d tackled since being elected to chief hadn’t invited this type of attack. Who the hell would want to kill him? “The bomb was left for me.”
Chapter Three
She could be miserable before she had a cookie and miserable after she had a cookie, but she could never be miserable while she was eating one. Or the dough.
Jocelyn dug out another spoonful from the Tupperware container in which she’d saved the last bit of cranberry-lemon dough. Whoever had said raw cookie dough would make her sick was a liar. Some of the best memories she had were between her and a bowl of homemade dough. Though some kinds whisked away the pain better than others. Gauging the mental list of ingredients she’d need, she calculated how fast she could whip up some chocolate chip dough while Baker was floating every other theory past Jones other than the most obvious.
Someone had planted a bomb in his station. Timed it well enough to ensure Baker would be in the trailer. And then detonated it with him inside. Well, they couldn’t actually be sure of that last theory until the Albuquerque bomb squad recovered all the bits and pieces of the device. But how many other options were there?
