That was an unexpected surprise. The gas line ran to the dryers right next to where he’d set the bomb. He’d thought they’d be electric like in most apartment buildings he’d lived in, but this would add the perfect fodder for the explosion. Ian reached into his back pocket for a pocket knife and sliced the gas line, just nicking it. He didn’t want to let it leak too much and alert everyone before it was time.

  Walking toward the door, Ian crouched down and set the second bomb he’d carried in next to the stairwell. Destroy that and no one would be able to get out as the fire took hold.

  The plan was perfect.

  Hurrying himself, Ian made for the outside and the car they had stashed blocks away. He was the last to make it back, which wasn’t unexpected. He had more work to do than the others. Tim was driving again and took the most roundabout way back to Ian’s house after dropping Spencer off since he had to go to work. Tim said his goodbyes and slipped into his own vehicle, heading home to his wife and kids.

  ###

  They had been up all night, and Ian sucked down the largest coffee he could manage while he sat in the front seat of his run down car. Tim and Spencer weren’t with him, but all they had to do was wait. He hadn’t been able to resist the urge of going to see if everything was going to work, if this time, he hadn't messed something up.

  The first one to go off was supposed to be the apartment building. He’d wanted to catch them before they left for work in the morning if he could. Ian parked at least six blocks away, waiting for the explosion to rock through the community. The cigarette pack in his front pocket only had two left, and he’d have to get more before he went to wait out the mosque.

  Ian drew in a breath as the clock in his vehicle ticked over the eight in the morning. The ground shook. He couldn’t see much, but he heard the explosion, the effect of what they had set only hours before. It was perfect. Ian staked out his place, watching as emergency personnel came within minutes of the explosion. Everyone came. It was perfect. They would all be so focused there they wouldn’t know where else to go and the mosque and community center would be wide open. It was the perfect distraction.

  Ian smoked his way through the pack of cigarettes and finished his coffee. Then he waited another twenty minutes before slowly pulling away from the curb and driving toward the small convenient store he’d tried to bomb the first time that had failed. It was a good thing he had gotten so much better at making the bombs since then.

  He paid for a new pack of cigarettes and refilled his coffee. Ian filled the tank of his car with gas and got back in, driving toward the mosque. Noon was going to come quickly. He’d changed the timers on the ones for the community center last minute to go off simultaneously with the mosque. He wouldn’t be able to be there for both, and he’d want to go home and watch the news of it all soon enough to see what kind of impact they had made. Surely this was going to be a better and bigger impact than the festival at the pier.

  Ian parked a little closer than he had at the apartment complex. There were cars in the parking lot and along the street to the mosque, but he had no way of telling how many people were actually inside the building. They hadn’t gone in to set the bombs, so most of the damage wasn’t going to be to take the building down but just to make a point. He’d wanted to take down the apartment, to do the most damage to where the animals lived and to their families. That was going to be the best way to get them to leave, and it would open up the most opportunities for him and people like Tim’s kids.

  The bombs went off almost all together. One after the other. The blast rocked into Ian’s chest, and utter glee filled him at seeing his creation explode. With wide eyes he stared as the dust mixed into the air. People around the mosque were running and screaming and crying, but he remained still. He remained fixated on the damage he had done and caused, on the statement they had made.

  That had been the purpose of all of it, make a statement, make a difference, let people know what they thought and believed, be the voice for those who wouldn’t and couldn’t speak. Ian sucked down a cigarette and drove back to his brother’s basement.

  Pulling up outside the house, he parked his car and went inside. His phone buzzed, and he answered on the third ring when he saw Tim’s name. “Hey.”

  “Hey, do you know where Spence is?”

  “Nope. Haven’t seen or heard from him since we dropped him off.” Ian went inside and climbed down into the basement. “Why?”

  “He’s not answering my calls. I called the shop, and they said he was there for an hour before he was arrested.”

  “Arrested?” Ian’s spine straightened. “Arrested for what?”

  “Well, not arrested. Two guys came in and told him they wanted to talk to him, and they all left. His boss had no idea what happened.”

  “Fuck,” Ian muttered.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  The plans Ian had hoped he wouldn’t have to put into place burst into the forefront of his mind. He’d have to finish one more bomb before he left his brother’s house. But if they had Spencer, it wouldn’t be long until they had him. He wanted to make one last impact, one last statement, just so everyone was clear about what he was doing and why he was doing it.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Morgan sat in the middle of an interview room with Wexford off to her side. She had a notebook pressed into the table along with a whole lot of other files, but what she was most interested in was the young man seated across from her—Spencer Garrett. On paper he wasn’t much to look at, which was exactly what Morgan had expected.

  He hadn’t said much of anything, but she had a niggling feeling in the pit of her stomach that young Spencer had a wealth of information she wanted. He’d been brought in an hour before, and for the last twenty minutes, Morgan and Fiona had sat in the tiny room with him trying to get him to talk, but he’d kept his mouth quite shut, much like Ray had.

  Morgan decided on a different tact. “Spencer, did you know a fellow named Ray? Raymond Arnold?”

  Spencer’s eyes lit up, and he stared directly at Morgan before looking back at the table in front of him. She had him there. He at least recognized the name.

  “Did you know Ray died about a week ago?”

  Spencer nodded his head. Morgan smirked and glanced over at Wexford. They were making progress. She just had to keep her patience in check, use a boat load of it and then maybe they would know about what all had been planned.

  “He died of a heart attack, but not before talking to the Chicago Police, which is why Detective Wexford is here.” It wasn’t too much a lie. A stretch of the truth, perhaps, but it would fly if it got them the information they needed.

  Spencer’s jaw clenched.

  “How did you know Ray? He would have probably been closer in age to a father or a grandfather for you.”

  She still didn’t get a response.

  “Did he perhaps play that role for you? I know your own father died when you were very young.” She rifled through some papers she had in front of her. “Did Ray take over that role a bit for you? Teach you some things about being a man.”

  Spencer’s lips pressed hard together, and he nodded.

  “Good, what did he teach you Spencer?”

  The door to the small interview room slammed open. Morgan jumped and turned to see Pax standing with his hand on the doorknob, glaring at Wexford. “We need to talk.”

  “I’m in the middle—”

  “Now.” He didn’t wait as he walked away, leaving the door wide open and no room for discussion.

  Morgan gathered her papers and stepped out of the room, Wexford with her. They shared a look of confusion before following Pax down the small hallway and into the main room where their desks were. On the television screens in the corner of the room was a breaking news story.

  “We don’t know the cause as of yet, but the building housed Somali Muslim immigrants primarily. There was discussion about whether to build a mosque in one of the buildings on the property for the residents.”

  “What kind of explosion?” Morgan turned on Pax.

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “Don’t know yet, but likely a bomb.”

  Morgan dropped all her papers on her desk and stalked straight back to the interview room. Wexford followed, grabbing her arm and spinning her into the wall.

  “You can’t go in there like that, Morgan.”

  “Watch me. I’ve been in there with him over an hour, and he could have prevented this.”

  “Yes, he could have. You…you could not.” Wexford’s lips were mighty close to Morgan.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she let it out slowly and nodded. “You’re right.”

  They both stepped toward the edge of the room, listening in on the plans for the fallout. There were crews already on their way to determine what kind of explosive device was used, if there was one, if there were any leftover that didn’t go off, and see if it was a match for the bombs that had been set on the pier. Morgan waved Pax down, and he came over to them.

  “You update me as soon as something comes in,” she stated.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to finish my interview.”

  Pax held her arm, staring over her at Wexford. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

  “Yes.” Morgan gawked at him. “Why the hell wouldn’t it be? Kid clearly knows something.”

  “He’s not told you anything.”

  “Doesn’t mean he won’t.”

  “Let me do it.”

  Morgan snorted. “Why are you suddenly so interested in my bombing case, the one you have tried to avoid this entire time I’ve had it?”

  Pax moved his gaze from Wexford down to Morgan. “No reason.”

  Tension filled Morgan’s chest as she turned and looked from Pax to Wexford. Cursing, she clenched her jaw. She would deal with that later. “I’m going to finish my interview. Let me know what they say about the bomb.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “No, Pax. No hedging. You do it.” She stuck a pointed finger into his chest to make herself clear. “No more games.”

  “Fine.”

  Morgan stalked straight past Wexford without looking at her. She was done with it all. She had been absolutely right to stop them the night before, especially now. Pax and Fiona—now it made complete sense. How Fiona had known things she shouldn’t have about what was going on with Lollie’s case, how she’d known Morgan had been injured in Seattle. That look they’d shared the morning Morgan and Pax had been down interviewing Ray. Everything clicked into place.

  Disgusted with Fiona and far more than a little angry at Pax, Morgan spun into the interview room, waiting for Wexford to follow her and shut the door. She’d have to turn that energy onto Spencer and get everything out of him that she could until they could prevent another bombing.

  “Spencer, do you know what time is it?”

  He shook his head.

  Morgan glanced at the watch on her right hand as she sat down. “It’s about eight thirty in the morning. You’ve been here that long.”

  “Oh.”

  Snorting, Morgan shifted in the chair and glanced at Wexford. “Detective, what would you say would be the prime time to bomb an apartment building with people who go to work, assuming you are from a white collar community?”

  Wexford smiled. “I’d say between eight and nine. School kids gone, but enough adults home that they’ll be just leaving for work.”

  “Right.” Morgan glanced at Spencer who had lost all the color in his pale cheeks. “But the problem, Spencer, is that the targeted building isn’t full of white collar workers, now is it?”

  He shook his head and froze. Morgan grinned. She had him right where she wanted him. Morgan leaned over the table, keeping her gaze on him.

  “Spencer, here’s what I’m not understanding. If the target was that apartment complex, why would someone think eight to nine was the perfect time for an attack? Hmmm?”

  “T-they wouldn’t.”

  Satisfied to finally get an answer from Spencer, Morgan tried to keep her composure. “Right, so who would? Surely someone who didn’t know better, who wasn’t raised that way, someone who was…perhaps…white.”

  Spencer nodded.

  “Want to tell me what happened?”

  Spencer tensed, flicking his gaze to Morgan then to the table. “He wanted to hit where it hurt.”

  Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”

  “Ian.”

  The name raised the hair on the back of Morgan’s neck. She knew someone was watching the interview, so surely someone would be tracking down Pax to let him know Ian’s name had come up again. Morgan leaned into her chair, trying to exude a sense of calm. “Who is Ian?”

  Spencer shrugged. “Some guy I know.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “Through a group a friends.”

  “Which friends? Through Ray?”

  Spencer shrugged his answer.

  “All right, let’s go back a bit, what do you mean hit where it hurt?”

  Swallowing, Spencer fisted his hand and then relaxed it. “Cassidy works at the community center.”

  “She does.” Morgan tried to keep track of where Spencer was going with the conversation.

  “Sh-she left for work this morning. I tried to convince her to call in sick so we could get drunk and high.” He cringed at the last statement.

  Morgan eyed him carefully. “Why would you not want her to go to work?”

  Spencer’s pink tongue against his lips and the multiple times he swallowed told Morgan he had fear coursing through his veins but that he was on the verge of telling her what was going on. She almost had him.

  “B-because something’s going to happen.”

  “What’s going to happen?” Morgan waited with bated breath. She knew Wexford was on the edge of her seat, waiting for the confession. They were so close.

  Spencer glanced from Morgan to Wexford and back. “B-because we put bombs there.”

  “We?”

  “Ian. Ian put bombs there.”

  Morgan knew there was about to be a flurry of movement outside of the small tiny room they were stuck in, but she wasn’t going to move. She had Spencer right where she needed him, she had him right where he was going to spill everything to her, tell her everything. She reached over and gripped his hand lightly, squeezing.

  “Okay, we’ll get someone down there to get everyone out and make sure they’re safe. Can you tell me when they were set to go off?”

  “Noon.”

  Morgan nodded and let out a breath. “Thank you, Spencer. You just saved a bunch of lives right now. You’re a hero.”

  Wexford shifted in her chair as Morgan relaxed. “How many bombs are there?”

  “Four.”

  “Do you know where Ian put them?”

  Spencer nodded, and Morgan shifted a blank sheet of paper Wexford gave her over with a pen.

  “Mind drawing a picture?”

  While Spencer worked on that, Morgan took a moment to look at Wexford. They had them. Had anyone asked the night before, she never would have suspected they would have gotten their big break in the case that day. She was about to smile at Wexford when she remembered she was mad at her, that she was disgusted with her. Caught between the two emotions, Morgan turned back to Spencer.

  “Thank you, Spencer. I’ll be right back, okay?”

  They stepped outside the room again. Morgan walked directly to Taylor and handed him the piece of paper, explaining what was on it. He handed it off to someone else and came back to her.

  “We’ve got a bomb crew out there already, working with CPD to block off the area of the community center and evacuate it.”

  “Good.” Morgan let out a breath, her hands planted in fists on her hips. “I’m glad we got that from him so far.”

  “He’s being forthcoming now?”

  “Yeah.”

  Taylor looked beyond Morgan and at Wexford. “You two are doing good. Keep it going. See if we can get full names for the other two. We’re having some struggle connecting them all and figuring out who they are exactly.”

  “Pull Spencer’s phone?”

  “Waiting on the provider to get back to us.”

  Morgan nodded. That could take far too long, but since there was an imminent threat, Morgan hoped they could get it sooner rather than later and that someone would be able to look at it immediately. That would be the best way to figure out who this Tim and Ian were, although Morgan strongly suspected Ian was the ring leader of the group.

  Stepping away from Taylor and back to her desk, Morgan rifled through the papers until she came upon the profile she’d written out for their suspect. “Fuck.”

  “What?” Wexford asked.

  “This profile is entirely based on an individual. It still fits, for the most part, but if this person is working with others as Spencer is saying, some things change.”

  “Things like what?”

  “Volatility level, but it also means that unless we get all of them, then we’re not sure if the threat has been completely eliminated and in order to do that, we really need to find this Ian guy.”

  “What about the other one?”

  Morgan glanced up into Wexford’s curious and young eyes. “Pretty sure Ian is the ring leader.”

  “Why?”

  “Feeling. But let’s go find out. Let’s ask Spencer.”

  “Sure. Morgan…” Fiona’s voice quieted to barely above a whisper. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Morgan ground her teeth.

  “You sure.”

  “Yes. Let’s finish this out. I don’t want another bomb to go off in this city today. Let’s make sure it was just the two targets.” Morgan stood up and started toward the interview room.

  “Are we going to tell him about Cassidy?”

  Freezing, Morgan turned on Wexford. “Not any time soon.”

  “Okay. Is there something else?”

  “I’m fine, Fiona. Drop it.”

  Pushing past Wexford, Morgan went back to the interview room. They had to finish out the interview, and Morgan knew they were going to spend the better part of the day in the tiny room, wringing information from Spencer as they went. She grabbed a bottle of water from the mini fridge in the kitchenette, wanting to make Spencer as at ease as she possibly could.