When Tim showed up at his door, Ian was surprised but let him in and led the way down into the basement. Tim didn’t hesitate as he grabbed a beer and popped the lid. When he sat on the couch, he let out a groan. Ian watched him carefully, wondering what had set him in such a mood.

  “Ray’s dead.”

  “What?” Ian’s eyes widened. “What happened?”

  “Don’t know. Saw his obituary this morning in the newspaper. Service was today.”

  Ian plopped next to Tim on the couch. “Poor guy.”

  “Yeah. Never knew a happy day in his life, did he?”

  “Nope.” Ian cocked his head to the side and took a long swig of beer. “You tell Spence?”

  “Yeah. Called him on my way over.”

  “Fuck. Spence is going to be devastated.” Ian knew he would. Ray was very much like a father to Spencer in a lot of ways. Just a young kid lost in what he was supposed to do and how he was supposed to act. Ray had been that steady role for him.

  Tim let out a sigh. “It’s probably a good thing.”

  “Why?”

  “I was worried he was going to rat.”

  Ian turned his head slowly toward Tim. He had suspected the same, which had been why he’d shut his trap when they were making plans all those weeks before in Ray’s garage. He’d pushed the limits of the conversation to see where Ray fell in the line of his thinking, and it had been just what he’d suspected. Ian downed the rest of his beer.

  “We can’t wait then.”

  Tim nodded his agreement. “When?”

  “Next week.”

  “Will we be ready?”

  Ian drew in a deep breath. “We’ll have to be.”

  “Spencer?”

  “We’ll need him. This is going to be it. We may not have another chance after this one.”

  “Right.”

  Ian crushed his beer can and set it on the table. He didn’t go grab another one. Instead he rubbed his hand over his face and the beard he had forgotten to shave in the past few days.

  “Let’s hit three places at once.” Ian’s voice was firm. He’d thought it through already, many times over, and he knew this was how he wanted his last potential stand to be. This was how he wanted it all to end.

  Tim’s wide eyes told him he was surprised, but before Ian could even explain, Tim was nodding his agreement. “Yes. Let’s take the best targets we have figured out so far and run with those. We have to make this one right.”

  Ian nodded. He knew Tim would understand. Tim always did. “The mosque.”

  Tim agreed. “We need to hit the apartment this time, scare them where we know it’ll hurt.”

  “The school?”

  Tim blanched. Ian knew that was going to be a hard one. Schools always were, but they had looked, they had researched where the schools were that took most of those students. Ian let him mull it over in his mind, saying nothing else. They had done surveillance on it. Tim had largely helped since he could more easily drive by the school without suspicion.

  Ian grabbed a blank notebook and drew out a crude map of the mosque. That would be his first target for sure. Tim watched him carefully, eyeing the work but saying nothing. Once Ian had the outside of the building drawn up along with the streets on all the sides, he set it down on the coffee table in front of them.

  “Here, here, and here.” He pointed to spots right by the doors. “We’ll set them for Friday noon. That’ll be the first one.”

  Tim shifted the notebook. “We should add another two here and here if you think you can make them in time.”

  “We’ll have to see how many we want for the rest.”

  Tim took the pen from Ian’s fingers before flipping to an empty page and drawing the apartment complex. “These will need more oomph but if we set them in these four spots, we can take the building down, or at least nearly take it down.”

  “Friday morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “The school?”

  “I don’t know, Ian.” Tim shook his head and sat back in the couch. “You know how I feel about that one.”

  They didn’t really have a backup that would equal the hitting a school full of their children, and the children were the ones who would grow up exactly like the adults. To Ian they were no better. Ian knew he’d have a battle to make with Tim, an argument to win, but he was prepared for it.

  “We need a third place,” Ian started.

  “Yeah, but the school? There are other kids that go there.”

  Ian shrugged. “Conspirators.”

  “No, they don’t have a choice, Ian.”

  Ian clenched her jaw. “Where then?”

  “Another mosque? I don’t know, but not the school, please.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  Tim gave him a wary look, still unconvinced. Ian needed to work through a way to convince him. The festival had been great for a warm up. No doubt the filthy animals were already on edge, but they had to make a bigger impact, and what better way than a school?

  They fell into another silence. They would have to bring Spencer in on the conversation soon enough in order to complete their plans. They would have to know exactly what they needed. Ian debated whether or not to get another beer, but if he was going to be building even more bombs, he would need to be mostly sober.

  “What about the community center?” Tim’s question was soft and gentle.

  Ian contemplated as he got up and grabbed another can of beer. Popping the top, he mulled it over. It could work. It was similar to the mosque, but it would have the same impact if not an even wider impact since more than just the Somalis used it. “That could work.”

  Tim’s eyes lit up as he grabbed for the notebook and mapped it out. They had done some rudimentary surveillance on that building as one of their options, but had largely discounted it because it wasn’t in their specific target group. But it might work. Tim finished his drawing.

  “We’ll need four.”

  “You’re asking a lot.”

  “I told you I can help.”

  “You’ll need to.” Ian sat on the couch again, spinning the notebook so he could see everything. “So that’s how many total?”

  “Thirteen,” Tim answered. “Maybe we shouldn’t do those extra two at the mosque.”

  Ian raised an eyebrow. “You think?”

  Standing, Ian went into his bedroom where he kept all the supplies under lock and key. He sat at the table and got to work making a bomb. Tim joined him after taking a sip of his beer. “You think Ray told anyone?”

  “Hope not,” Ian answered. “If he did, I’d kill him again.”

  “He was so nervous that night.”

  “Which is why he’s not here with us now or with us the last two times. He never would have stuck it through.”

  Tim shifted things around so he could see them better. “We’ve got to get Spence on board.”

  “He’ll be on board. We’ve just got to get the timing. None of this has worked out well since the first time we tried. We can’t have anything going wrong this time.”

  “Yeah.” Tim wrapped the wires together.

  Ian kept glancing at Tim to make sure he was doing everything correctly. He would go back in and triple-check all their work because he didn’t want another bomb to fail like the one at the pier had. They needed this to work.

  “When are we going to set the community center one?”

  “All on Friday.”

  “Yeah, but morning, noon, night? What?”

  Ian shrugged. “We’ll need to do some more research on that one I think to figure out what time would be best.”

  “We can do that this week. You want to aim for this Friday or next?”

  “This one. I don’t want to wait.”

  “Worried they’ll figure us out?”

  Ian nodded. “I know they will. It’s just a matter of time, which is not something we have a whole lot of. We need to make these decisions quick.”

  “Want me to call Spence?”

  “Give him the night.” Ian finished his bomb that he had started earlier that day and moved on to the next one. Tim’s help would be useful, but they would have to make sure that they finished everything. “We should set them Thursday.”

  “That only gives us five days.”

  “We can do this in five days.”

  “You don’t think three targets is too many in that amount of time?”

  Ian shot Tim a look, wondering not for the first time if Tim was backing out. “No. This may be the last chance we get. We need to make it count.”

  “Right.”

  Ian sneered. There was no doubt he was the leader of their little posse, their little rebel riders and fighters, but he had thought many times before that Tim was smarter than he was acting. Perhaps he was too overwhelmed by Ray’s death and that was causing him to pull back. Who knew, but it needed to stop. They needed to pull together to make the best impact they could.

  “Did you watch the news?” Ian asked, changing the topic slightly. “See all the snowflakes interview the dogs?”

  “Yeah.” Tim snorted. “Like they were really scared.”

  “Hmm, some perhaps. Not enough.”

  “No, not enough. I can’t believe they’re still here.”

  Ian pursed his lips. “They just let them walk right through the gates at the airport. There’s no stopping them. That’s why we’re doing this, you know that.”

  “Yeah, I just figured those asswipes we voted for would do something to make a difference for us, but they seem to not care at all.”

  Ian couldn’t have agreed more. He hadn’t voted like Tim because he’d seen the futility in it all, but yes, the government was useless. Everyone was useless, really. No one was fighting back, which was why Ian had to make a stand, had to take all of it into his own hands. Tim and Spencer were just there to help him accomplish what he knew needed to happen.

  They worked late into the night, finishing up two more bombs total. Ian pressed them into the bottom of his closet and locked the door just in case his prying brother decided to come down and see what he as up to. Tim went home, and Ian was cast into silence. He could hear his brother and sister-in-law and their two kids running around upstairs starting the bedtime routine, and he knew what he was doing for them. It was all for them, to give those kids a better life than he had been given, more opportunities, and more freedoms.

  He was tired of having his own freedoms compromised by people who weren’t even born in their country, who didn’t uphold the standards and beliefs his country was built upon. They were nothing more than dirty animals if anyone asked him, which of course no one did because they insisted on political correctness.

  Growing angrier by the minute, Ian grabbed himself another beer and went to bed. He would get up early in the morning and finalize their plans for everything. He’d double check what Tim had told him about placements, do some more surveillance on the community center and determine the best time of day to take action there.

  With his beer done, Ian turned off the lights and closed his eyes. Everything in his chest settled into a feeling of calm and serenity. This may be his last chance, but if it wasn’t, he wasn’t going to change his goals. He would keep going until he was successful, until they all went back where they came from, until he had what he deserved. Restful and calm, Ian fell into a deep sleep for the first time in a week.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sifting through information for hours had become Morgan’s norm. She’d completely abandoned the trafficking case in an attempt to close out the bombing case so she could get back to the one she wanted to be working on—the one that didn’t mean she had to talk to Wexford on the regular.

  She was just about to dive into another report when she heard her name in that sweet, pure voice she had been working so hard to avoid. Morgan’s stomach tightened as she glanced over the edge of her desk to see none other than Detective Fiona Wexford standing near the hallway, her pristine tan suit with matching blazer, the stark white shirt underneath a contrast. It brought out her dark eyes and the light tones in her hair that Morgan wanted to wrap her fingers in over and over again.

  Cursing under her breath, Morgan stood up and regarded Fiona with a very curious look. “What are you doing here?”

  “We need a break.”

  Confusion echoed in Morgan’s chest as she tried to flip her mind from personal thoughts to work thoughts and figure out what Wexford was even talking about. It was too early—Pax wasn’t even there yet—and she did not have enough coffee in her veins to think straight. The escort who had helped Fiona find Morgan’s desk walked away, and Fiona stepped forward.

  “In the case,” Fiona added.

  “Right.” Morgan pressed her fingertips into the edge of her desk, wondering just what the fuck they were doing there. She knew they needed to work on the case, but there seemed to be something in their air that said this was more personal. A phone call and Morgan heading to Wexford would have done that, but to have Wexford come to her was too far out of the ordinary.

  Pax bumbled in through the elevator. He turned his entire body to the side, his broad shoulders taking up a lot of room, as he passed by Wexford who still stood near the entry into the large room where many agents had their desks. He nodded at Wexford and went straight for his desk, dumping his bag on it.

  “You’re late,” Morgan muttered, not taking her gaze from Wexford’s slight form at the door.

  “Traffic.”

  Morgan’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Sure. I’ll be in the conference room with Wexford most of the day if you need me. Get me that report from Dimitri, though. I want to know what he said.”

  “Here.” Pax handed Morgan a thumb drive, and she glanced down at it, finally breaking eye contact with Fiona. “The video recording for your watching pleasure.”

  “Hmmph.” Morgan tucked it into her pocket and grabbed all the paperwork and reports she had just been going through. Dragging it out of the large room, she stepped down the hallway, saying nothing to Wexford and expecting her to follow. She wasn’t disappointed.

  Dumping all the papers onto the table in the small conference room, Morgan settled into a chair. Fiona shut the door and sat next to her, but she didn’t grab a piece of paper to look at it. Morgan slid one of the reports she hadn’t finished reading in front of her and settled in to read. Wexford was right, they did need a break in their case, and she was determined to find on in the sea of paperwork in front of her. All she needed was one little connection.

  “I was thinking we should interview Carla again,” Fiona stated.

  “Why’s that?” Morgan didn’t even bother to look up at Wexford as she continued to read the papers.

  “What if she has more information?”

  “I think we’d gain more information by tearing apart that house and finding the connections ourselves than Carla Arnold giving them to us.”

  Fiona sighed. “Maybe you’re right. Can you imagine being married and having nothing to do with your partner?”

  Morgan slid her gaze up to Wexford eyes and stared at her like she had two heads. Either Wexford didn’t remember her confession about her mother, or she hadn’t listened. It had a lot of weight on the reasons why Morgan had zero desire to be in any type of committed relationship, but it was also her experience with her own marriage. She loved Barbie, as a friend, and beyond that they had nothing to do with each other.

  “Yes,” Morgan stated simply and went back to reading, hoping Fiona would drop the topic.

  “I can’t.”

  Morgan tried oh so hard to hold back the snort, but she couldn’t manage it. When Wexford still didn’t grab a piece of paper, Morgan sighed and looked up at her. “Was there something you wanted to do other than go through these reports?”

  “Don’t you think we should spread these out a bit with the rest of the task force?”

  Morgan cocked an eyebrow at Wexford. “These don’t leave the FBI.”

  Wexford’s lips parted, her mouth hanging agape before she snapped it shut. “Did you have enough coffee this morning?”

  “No, but that’s regardless of the point. These reports are classified, like ninety-percent of my job, and they do not leave the bureau.”

  Fiona drew in a deep breath and held her hands up. “Chill. Just a question.”

  Morgan kept her mouth shut that time. She had no idea why she was being so antagonistic aside from her own feelings she couldn’t figure out how to deal with. When Wexford still didn’t have a report in her hand, Morgan grabbed one and slid it in front of her. “Here, read this. Be useful.”

  “Useful?”

  “Well, you’re just sitting there. Figured you’d want some reading material to use that insane brain of yours on.”

  A blush tinted on Fiona’s cheeks, which surprised Morgan. It had been compliment, but it hadn’t been intentional. Fiona started reading, and Morgan went back to her report. It was from one of the undercover agents in another one of the hate groups. A lot had been redacted, so Morgan knew nothing would be compromising for Fiona to read since she herself wasn’t even allowed to be in the know of who the undercover was, but at least she had the report of what was going on.

  There wasn’t much activity, though their response to the first bombing was interesting. The group had been happy for it, though again, they had not claimed it, no one in the organization had. The undercover suspected there were a couple individuals who could be capable of such a bombing but hadn’t given names. Morgan would have to communicate back for them if she really wanted them—which she did.

  She made a note in her notebook to get those names. None of the other reports seemed to be relevant to her. When she glanced up at Fiona to see what she was doing, she was surprised to find Fiona staring directly at her.

  “All right.” Morgan shifted and put her report down. She turned to face Fiona full on. “What is going on? You are not focused, which is not your norm.”