“Yeah, I’d say so.”

  “I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this lost.”

  “Morgan.” Mel leaned in, pressing a hand to Morgan’s thigh and lifting her chin so they stared into each other’s eyes. “What’s brought this on?”

  Rolling her eyes, Morgan shook her head. “Last December.”

  Mel gave her a curious look. “When you were injured?”

  “Yeah, there’s more to it than that.”

  “What happened? Pax didn’t say anything except that you were hurt.”

  Morgan debated how much to share and what to share. “The suspect I was following out in Seattle found me—by accident—but she attacked me, so yes, I was injured. Remember, I had that nasty cut on my hand?” Morgan put up her palm and wiggled her fingers, then she pointed to her temple. “But it did a lot up here.”

  “Oh honey.”

  Tears threatened to spill over Morgan’s cheeks. This had been what she needed, and it had been why she’d avoided Mel for months. She needed the heart to heart. “Yeah.”

  “Come here.” Mel leaned in and pulled Morgan into an awkward hug.

  Melting into one of her best friends, Morgan found her center again. She blinked tears from her eyes, wrapped her arms around Mel’s middle, and held as tight as she could until Mel pulled away.

  “I don’t think you’re messed up,” Mel answered. “I think anyone who has worked for the FBI as long as you and Pax have seen your fair share of the underside of this world. He tries to protect me from it, you know, but I see when it bothers him. He at least has me to rely on.”

  Morgan snorted. “Yeah, I don’t have anyone.”

  “That’s not true.” Mel leaned in again. “You’ve got me. You’re one of my oldest friends. I’m always here for you.”

  Regarding her carefully, Morgan nodded. “That’s why I called.”

  “I knew something was up. It’s been far too long.”

  Morgan shrugged. “Yeah. Blame it on me, it’s fine. It’s what we do these days.”

  Mel took a sip of her drink. “What do you mean?”

  “Taylor still won’t let me leave the jurisdiction. That’s why Pax is gone and I’m not. I wasn’t allowed to go.”

  “What? That makes no sense.”

  “Thank you!” Morgan put her hands out to the side like a prayer had been answered. “Pax thinks I’m crazy and Taylor just wants me on this case, but I know there’s something else to it.”

  Mel rubbed her lips together before she took another sip. “I don’t think there’s anything else, Mor. You’re just imagining things.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  But the way Mel said it wasn’t convincing. Morgan let it drop. She at least had her moment, now maybe she could get past it. It was on the tip of her tongue to talk about Fiona, about the stupid crush she could not get out of her mind no matter how hard she tried. She’d thought after a year of crushing on the young detective would be enough but everything kept pulling her toward Fiona, no matter how much she tried to push the opposite direction, but she and Mel had never really explicitly talked about her dating life, not beyond the few men Morgan had managed to date.

  “How are the girls?”

  “They’re good. Getting ready for middle school. Miss their auntie.” Mel sent her a smile and a pointed look at the same time that Morgan knew only a mother could accomplish.

  “When’s promotion?”

  “Sometime in May.”

  “Make sure to tell me when and I’ll be there. You know I will.”

  Mel nodded. Morgan didn’t bring up her work or her dating woes again, but even just sitting with one of her longest running best friends calmed her weary soul. She’d been so off since her stint in Seattle and dealing with the serial killer who had attempted to make Morgan her next victim. She’d have to find a way back to normal soon otherwise she would end up in therapy like her sister, Amya, kept telling her to try.

  They ended the night with one more drink, a hug, and cab rides for the both of them. When Morgan got home that night it was the first time she remembered feeling completely relaxed in her own apartment in months. She flopped onto the couch, closed her eyes, and relaxed into the cushions like she didn’t have a care in the world. Except she did. Ray was dead, and she needed to know who was behind all the attacks.

  ###

  When she got to the office the next morning, Morgan felt rejuvenated. Calling Mel had been the exact right choice, and she loved that no matter how much time passed between seeing each other, they were always there and picked up right where they left off. Grabbing herself a cup of coffee, she settled into her desk and searched through her contacts. They needed information on the racist extremist groups in Chicago, and she really couldn’t wait any longer.

  She had absolutely no undercover operatives in the group Ray had been a part of. It wasn’t one that was on their radar as leaning toward violent tendencies, so they hadn’t seen the need to plant someone there yet. Besides, to go undercover like that was hard, and they liked to try and limit it. Still didn’t mean one of their other contacts didn’t know something about them.

  She checked out a few of the ones she knew and sent messages to their handlers to let them know she wanted a chat with the operative. Once that was done, Morgan focused in on exactly what would tilt a hate group from their get tabs list to their watch list. What amped them up enough? She knew she could talk to Adena about it, since she was the intelligence analyst who focused on those things, but after their night together, Morgan wasn’t completely sure she wanted to broach that if she could do the research on her own. That had been why she tried so hard to keep her distance between relationships and work. Adena had been a slip up, an accidental break down in her rules, more than once.

  The deeper Morgan dug into the world of racism in her favorite city to live in thus far, the more she became disgusted. The ability for people to hate so willingly, so voraciously another person weighed heavily on her. It was almost as bad if not worse than the sex trafficking case she had been working.

  She read through report after report, skimming for information that may have pertained to her case. All it really told her was people were mad there were immigrants, that there was special preference given to them—at least in their minds. She sighed. It would be near impossible to figure out who it was making and setting the bombs without some type of tip from somewhere and her last hope of that had gone out the window with Ray. Grabbing her phone, Morgan called Wexford.

  “Hey,” Wexford answered, her breath rushed.

  “Hey, got a minute?”

  “Always for you.”

  The perky attitude was odd come from Fiona, but Morgan ignored it. “Has your crew come up with anything?”

  Fiona sighed. “Not really. Want to meet over lunch to talk about it?”

  “No. Did they find anything else?”

  “There have been rumors of people taking action, but nothing has come of it.”

  Morgan pressed her lips together. She’d found the same. Tapping her fingers against the top of her desk, her mind whirred as she tried to come up with some connection they had missed. “We may need to put out another press release asking for anyone with information to come forward. These cases are hard to break if it’s an individual and not a group because there are far fewer connections to be made.”

  “Yeah, that could work.”

  “I don’t want to create unnecessary panic, though.”

  “Agreed.”

  Morgan narrowed her eyes and stared down at her empty coffee mug. Wexford was being decidedly less than helpful that morning. Morgan was going to have to go talk to Adena, whether she wanted to or not. She needed to pull all the possible reports that had come up that she hadn’t read yet and see if they matched in any way, and she really needed to read over Ray’s initial interview again.

  “Shall we visit Carla this afternoon?” Morgan asked.

  “Probably.”

  Morgan rolled her eyes. Everything Fiona was saying that day was hitting a nerve with her, but she couldn’t quite figure out why.

  “How about one o’clock?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good.” Morgan hung up and shoved the phone onto her desk. She needed coffee, and she needed to step away from her work for a moment. Everything about the case was frustrating her. She hadn’t wanted to work with Wexford, hadn’t wanted to be saddled a new case when she really wanted to be working on the trafficking one, and there she was, stuck doing everything she didn’t want to do.

  Leaving her phone on the desk, she grabbed her empty mug and went to get some coffee, hoping that would rejuvenate her and perhaps even change her attitude. By the time she got back, her phone was buzzing with a call from Pax.

  With the phone pressed between her ear and her shoulder, Morgan answered. “Better have something good for me. I need a pick me up.”

  He snorted. “Bad day?”

  “Bad few weeks. How’s Dimitri?”

  “He’s not halfway bad, actually.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear.” Morgan pulled out the information she had on Ray and searched for the report from the initial interview they had done on him and the one CPD had done. “Did he give up any more information?”

  “Nothing more than what was in those initial interviews shortly after he admitted he’d seen Mr. Jimmy.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  “No. But he is sticking to his story, so I strongly suspect he is telling the truth.”

  Morgan sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She grabbed her reading glasses she always tried to avoid wearing and plopped them onto her face. The headache brewing would no doubt only get worse if she didn’t wear them. “Will you be interviewing him again before heading back?”

  “I’m already back.”

  “Wh-what?” Morgan looked around the office. “Where are you?”

  “Taylor told me to take the rest of the day.”

  “Why didn’t you call to tell me?” Morgan’s stomach twisted.

  “Thought I’d spend some extra time with the girls if I could.”

  Morgan clenched her jaw. It was so unlike Pax not to let her know when he got back. Sure they didn’t work every case together, but they were best friends for the better part of twenty years, and he usually always kept her in the loop. Even the coffee next to her didn’t look very appetizing.

  “You do that. I’m going to try and catch me a bomber.”

  “Any tips come in?”

  “Nothing useful so far. Went to interview Ray, remember him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s dead.”

  “What?” Pax’s gasp at least sent a shiver of pleasure down Morgan’s spine.

  She swallowed. “Heart attack. Went to interview him and found him dead in the lazy boy in the den.”

  “Is this a joke?”

  “No joke, Pax. Wexford and I are going to interview his widow this afternoon, see if she knew anything.”

  “You better get on that.”

  Morgan narrowed her gaze at her computer. “Plan on it. See you Monday?”

  “Yeah. See you then.”

  “Tell the girls hi for me.”

  “Will do.”

  She hung up and headed the one place she wasn’t sure she wanted to go. Traipsing down two floors to Adena’s desk, Morgan once again slid onto the corner of it. “Get any chatter going on?”

  “None.”

  Morgan pouted. “Can you make sure I’m contacted if there is any chatter, no matter what?”

  “Sure.” Adena barely looked up from her computer. It seemed they were back to their standard.

  “Right. Thanks.”

  Morgan went back and prepared her interview questions for Carla. After another couple hours, she drove out to Carla’s, meeting Fiona there. Together they walked up to the front door, hoping they didn’t meet the same fate this time as they did last.

  Knocking on the door and ringing the bell, Morgan held her breath as she waited for Carla to answer. Morgan wasn’t sure what to say to Fiona. They had barely spoken since they got to the door. Morgan was planning on taking lead, again, but she probably should give strategy to Fiona so they were on the same page.

  When the door opened, it was too late. “Mrs. Arnold.”

  Carla cocked her head at them, shaking it as tears threatened. “What are you doing here?”

  “We need to talk to you, may we come in?”

  She shook her head again.

  “Mrs. Arnold, we can do this down at CPD’s office if you’d like, but I’d rather just do it here if you would. We won’t be long.”

  Carla stared at Morgan, flicked her gaze to Wexford, and then opened the storm door wider. Morgan moved in first, Wexford following just like before. They settled into the living room upstairs, Morgan next to Carla and Wexford in a chair across from them.

  “Mrs. Arnold, I’m so sorry to have to talk to you about this, but when we came here to talk to Ray…we still need information.”

  Carla swallowed, her anxiety and fear written all over her.

  “Do you have any idea what we are here about?”

  “No,” Carla answered on a whisper.

  Morgan risked a glance to Wexford who was writing Carla’s answers down. “Was Ray part of any groups? Did he have any friends he hung out with?”

  “Yeah. He was a member of our church. He was a deacon there for years.”

  “I’m talking more groups that might not have been so upstanding.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Morgan wasn’t quite sure how to word her question without pissing Carla off or offending her. She was pretty sure there was no delicate way to ask if her husband was a secret racist asshole. “Was Ray part of any groups that specifically were opposed to immigration or that believed Christianity to be the true religion of this country?”

  “Oh.” Carla sighed. “I don’t know. He definitely thought those things, but…I don’t think he was part of any group.”

  Morgan spun through the questions in her head. “Was there anyone he routinely hung out with? Maybe some of the guys?”

  “There was a group who used to come over every Sunday to watch football in the garage.” Carla pointed at the door where Morgan assumed led to the garage. “They didn’t do anything more than drink beer and watch football games.”

  “All right. Do you think you could give us their names?”

  Carla shook her head. “So, sorry. I didn’t…Ray and I had pretty separate lives. We were married, yes, but that’s about it. We haven’t…we haven’t been a couple for decades.”

  “What do you mean?” Fiona asked.

  Sighing, Carla glanced over at Wexford. “We didn’t want to get divorced. We’re old. We didn’t want to put our adult kids through that, so we stayed married, but we lived separately. I couldn’t…Ray believed a lot of things I didn’t, and I couldn’t condone that anymore.”

  “Things like what?” Morgan asked.

  Carla wrung her hands together. “Things like you were saying.”

  “What specifically?”

  “That we are superior to all other races. That we are better than them. I…I was a school teacher for many years, and I could not put what he said and what I saw on a daily basis together. He was so insulated and never wanted to listen to a different opinion. I moved to the guest room as soon as our daughter moved out and I never went back. After that, we really only spent time together when it involved the kids.”

  Morgan’s heart broke. What a way to live. It probably would have been better if they had just divorced, at least then Carla wouldn’t have had to live such a sad existence. “So he did believe in white supremacy?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you don’t know if he was part of a group that may have also held those beliefs?”

  “I don’t know. He might have been, but I have no way of knowing that. Ray was his own man.”

  “All right. If you were to find anything when you’re going through his things, please do not hesitate to let us know. We don’t want to tarnish his name in any way, I promise you that, but we do need some answers to our questions.”

  Carla barely nodded. As soon as they were back at their cars, Morgan let out a grunt and turned to Wexford. “Well, that was mostly useless.”

  “Kind of, at least we know he was the type of person we are looking for.”

  “Yes, but we have no idea if he’s connected to any of this.”

  “Then we’ll just have to work harder.”

  Morgan agreed, but she wasn’t about to say as much. “See you Monday.”

  “Monday,” Wexford answered with a smile.

  With one last look over at Wexford, Morgan realized why she was in such a piss poor mood. Adena had been a nice distraction, but that was it, a distraction. What she wanted, and most likely what she needed, she couldn’t have. At least not yet.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ian left the news on day and night for the first week, and it wasn’t until seven days passed that his nerves had calmed enough for him to turn it off and get some sleep. He wanted to know if they were coming, if he needed to speed up his plans to make his stand. What they were planning next was going to be huge, and Ian wanted to make sure they were able to accomplish it.

  The bombs he was making were going to be bigger and better than the last ones. He was still sore about the fact one hadn’t gone off, which could lead the authorities right to him if he wasn’t careful, assuming they had even found it. He wasn’t even sure if they had since none of the news channels hadn’t said.

  What he would give to have an inside source on what was being investigated and what wasn’t.

  Ian swallowed down a beer as he concentrated on the bombs he was making. These would be bigger and better. These would be perfect. As soon as they set these ones and watched them go off, he didn’t care if he was caught. These would do exactly what he intended. Surely, he’d prefer it if he could keep fighting back for what was rightfully his, but this time he knew it would make a difference.

  This was the one that would spur others to move with him rather than against him. This would be the time that would allow others to want to join in his cause and realize the faulty ways they had been taught and they had believed for years.