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“I don’t like the sound of that, one bit,” John said.
“We need to keep it in mind and act accordingly,” Catherine said. “If it’s the first, then the victims were collateral and the target is most likely West End Charter or the boating industry as a whole.”
John said, “ATF was all over the place this weekend with bomb dogs. They inspected all of West End, headquarters plus boats, as well as the larger ferry system. They’ve added security to the ferries—we have hundreds of people who go back and forth every day, thousands on the weekends. If someone wants to create full panic, that’s the way they would do it.”
“The FBI has no chatter that there was or is any planned attack in this area, but they’re on alert,” Matt said. “If something changes, we’ll be the first to know.”
“What I should have said,” Catherine clarified, “was that if there’s another attack on West End Charter, it’s likely someone in that stack of papers is responsible.” She gestured to the threat pile John had compiled.
“Ryder,” Matt said, “take one of the deputies with you to Neil’s house to gather his files and computer.”
“Deputy Redfield is available,” the sheriff said.
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Ryder said. “I need a little more time to finish setting up the network, then we’ll go.”
The sheriff turned to Matt, held up his phone. “The Colfax family of West End are expecting us, if you’re ready. They’re pulling together all the information you asked for.”
It seemed everyone was cooperating, which gave Matt hope that they could solve this case before anyone else died.
3
Kara Quinn stared at the business cards she’d received from the FBI printing office before they’d left DC last night. The official FBI logo in one corner, stamped in gold. In tiny print on the bottom right was the DC headquarters address and the mobile number that went directly to Ryder Kim. Centered in the middle was her name and title.
Kara Quinn
Special Consultant
Mobile Response Team
She pocketed the card.
Twelve years of working her ass off to earn the rank of detective in the Los Angeles Police Department, gone. She couldn’t even use her title because the FBI didn’t have detectives, and even though she was still technically employed by LAPD, she couldn’t do her job. The card was proof that it was over. Her identity as a cop, gone.
She’d never be able to go back, not in the capacity that she’d once served. Andfuckif she was going to sit at a desk all day long because she’d been burned.
Kara was depressed and angry. She’d been so proud of her job. She’d worked hard andearnedevery collar, every promotion, every case she’d been assigned. She’dearnedeverything she had. Her small beachfront apartment she had to give up. Her friends—few and far between—but they werehers. No longer. Either dead or unable to associate with her because her LAPD boss thought it would put her in danger, or them.
The only thing she had was her badge. Becausetechnicallyshe was on loan to the FBI.
On loan indefinitely.
Meaning, forever.
Someday, she would destroy the federal agent who had turned her life inside out. Kara would never forget. Forgiveness? Hell no. Not after he got her partner killed.
The one thing she had was time. She didn’t need revenge—justice—today. She could wait for payback.
Deputy Marcy Anderson met her out in front of the sheriff’s department. Kara had appreciated that Matt had kept the briefing short and sweet—she liked having a job to do in the field, and she detested meetings. She and Marcy would be reinterviewing two teenagers who’d witnessed the explosion, then Madelyn Jeffries, the young widow who was supposed to be on the boat but bailed last minute. She’d planned to also interview Cal McKinnon, but he asked if he could come in tomorrow morning to talk because he had family matters. Matt cleared it, so Kara would interview him tomorrow morning at eight.
“Agent Quinn, right?” said Marcy, the local deputy.
“Detective Quinn,” she said. “Long story. Call me Kara.”
“Marcy. My truck’s right over there.” She gestured. “It’s only a couple minutes’ drive to the Fish & Brew. We could walk, but later we’ll need to drive to the Jeffries place, which is up the coastline a few miles.”
Kara walked with her to a Ford Bronco in the lot. Kara was short—barely five foot fourifshe stretched and walked tall and wore shoes. Marcy towered over her. Kara didn’t mind being on the shorter side. She could more easily blend in and take on different roles. Plus, being short helped her look younger, a huge plus when she went undercover in high schools and on college campuses.
When you still worked undercover.
