Spencer had been moved the night before to a cell at the jail, but they still had two more to catch and arrest. They had stakeouts going at both men’s houses, which should tell them if either of them moved. Spinning the steering wheel between her fingers, Morgan grabbed the coffee sitting in the cup holder and took a sip.

  “How much of that do you think you drink a day?”

  “What?” Morgan eyed Wexford suspiciously. “What does it matter?”

  “Just curious. I think yesterday was the first time I’ve seen you go without coffee for hours.”

  Morgan snorted. “Must be why I feel like I’m going through withdrawal this morning. I’ll have to make up for it.”

  She pulled up to a light and pressed her brake to stop before taking a right hand turn straight into the neighborhood. SWAT was going to be doing the initial arrest again, which had been Wexford’s idea since they didn’t know how armed and dangerous these men were. Morgan had agreed, because it was a better plan, but she still didn’t like the fact that she wouldn’t be out there doing the arrest herself.

  “Is that…?”

  “Is that what?” Morgan set her coffee down as she made the turn, skimming the old beat up silver sedan in the far turning lane as she drove. Her heart clenched.

  “Is that Ian Ballard?” Wexford muttered.

  Morgan’s gaze shot up. The car was a dead match, but she had missed the plate because of how their vehicles were facing. Wexford leaned forward and then back to get a better view as Morgan steered the SUV.

  “It’s him.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Why is no one tailing him?”

  “Fuck if I know,” Fiona muttered. She was nearly halfway out of her seat as she spun around to keep her gaze on him. “Turn around.”

  “Already on it.” Morgan made it to the end of the block and flipped her car around so she could follow him. “Where the hell is the tail?”

  “Got me, but that was him, I know it.”

  “You’re sure?” Morgan pressed down on the gas to speed up. She wanted a license plate confirmation.

  “Positive.”

  “Call it in.”

  Wexford’s fingers fumbled on the radio that sat next to Morgan’s coffee. “This is Detective Wexford, we have a sighting of our second suspect at the corner of Maple and Underwood. We are following at a distance.”

  “10-4.”

  Morgan’s heart rate ramped up as she stepped on the gas. The small silver beat up sedan vanished. “Where the fuck did it go?”

  “Hold on.” Fiona’s hand came down to Morgan’s arm as Morgan drove along the street, watching carefully for any sign of the vehicle. Her skin burned where Wexford touched it, and she wanted to shake it off, but she couldn’t.

  She had to focus. Ian was nearby, and then she needed to ream someone’s ass about why they weren’t watching Tim and Ian to begin with. If Ian was at Tim’s, they should have known about it before they rolled up. It totally fucked their plans and put all of them in danger.

  “There!” Wexford shouted.

  Morgan turned the car down the alley. Sure enough, Ian’s car sat at the end like it was waiting for them. He spun out onto the street with a good amount of speed, but slowed down to match the rest of the vehicles around them. Morgan held back, tailing him with at least two to three cars between them while Wexford relayed updates as to where they were to other officers and agents in the vicinity.

  Ian wasn’t doing anything, which was odd, but when Morgan finally realized he was spinning circles and staying fairly close to where the community center was, she knew what he was planning. She spoke quickly, “Have them evacuate the community center, now.”

  “I don’t think anyone is there.”

  “Send someone there to be sure. I’m betting he still wants to take that target out, and I’m betting his car is loaded in order to make it happen. He’s being way too careful for someone who has killed dozens of people in the last month.”

  Wexford spoke into the radio, making sure the community center was going to be evacuated. It took thirty minutes, but they got the all-clear that the center was abandoned. Morgan’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm as Ian finally pulled off the main road and drove exactly where Morgan expected him to go.

  When he pulled into the angled parking along the side of the building, facing the wrong direction, Morgan was glad her gut had been right. She shoved her car into park and grabbed her weapon as she pushed her door open. Wexford mimicked every move she made.

  Together, they stood at the doors of the vehicle with their weapons drawn and aimed in the direction of Ian’s vehicle. Cop cruisers pulled up on the far ends of the street, evacuating as much of the area as they could and maintaining their own distance. Since they didn’t know if Ian had any bombs on his car or not, they had to be careful.

  Morgan raised her voice, making sure she could be heard from the distance they were at. “Ian Ballard! Come out of the vehicle with your hands raised.”

  He didn’t move to get out. She could see his head swivel side to side as he no doubt looked around and realized just how caught he was. Morgan feared the worst, that this was his suicide by cop, but more importantly that he was going to be taking out as many of them as possible.

  Sirens blared in the neighborhood as more and more officers showed up. Morgan couldn’t be sure how to count them all, but she heard the radio in her vehicle go off as more arrived on the scene to help.

  Once again, she raised her voice. “Ian Ballard! Come out of the vehicle with your hands in the air.”

  This time he did move. He opened the car door. Morgan held her breath tightly in her chest before she reminded herself to breathe. The car door swung open, the creaking from the older vehicle so loud that even with the rush of her own breath in her ears, she could hear it.

  Ian stepped out. The mother fucker was on the younger end of what she’d suspected, far closer to Spencer’s age than she’d originally thought. He could barely be much over thirty. He looked a mess, though. His eyes were wide, his steps were uncertain as he stumbled to the trunk of his car, holding on to it to keep himself upright.

  “He’s drunk off his ass at least,” Morgan muttered to Wexford.

  “Let’s hope that’s all it is.”

  Snorting, Morgan stepped around the safety of her vehicle when she noticed his hands empty. Ian moved to the trunk of his car and leaned against it before putting his hands out to the sides.

  “Hands up, Ian,” Morgan said, her voice carrying over to him. She crossed in front of her vehicle, her weapon still raised. “On the ground.”

  He shook his head. “Do you know how hard I worked for this?”

  “I don’t.” Not that she really cared either. She thought what he was doing was disgusting and far too the extreme of what any sane person would do—not that she’d tell him that, ever.

  Wexford whispered something behind her, but Morgan ignored her. She had to talk him down so he didn’t blow anything else up. She had to get him on the ground and make sure he didn’t have anything on him, like a bomb.

  “Morgan!”

  She didn’t turn.

  “He’s not been cleared.”

  Morgan knew what Wexford meant, and it had just been what she was thinking, but someone had to go up to him and cuff him. If it was going to be anyone, it would be her. She had nothing to lose—no family, no spouse, nothing tying her there.

  “Ian, do you have any bombs on you?” Morgan asked as she inched closer to Wexford’s side of the vehicle. The only thing between her and Wexford was the door to her SUV, but she knew Wexford had her back.

  He shook his head. “No. I don’t have anything on me.”

  “Good.” Morgan didn’t see any of the normal signs of lies. He didn’t shake his head or tense up at her question. She still didn’t want to trust him, wasn’t sure she could. If he was far more psychopathic than she’d originally thought then it would be easy for him to lie about something like that. “Then I need you to get on the ground, face down.”

  Ian laughed. His blond hair that hung to his shoulders but looked so raggedy flung out around him as he moved. He nearly fell off the end of the car with the force of his laughter.

  “Ian, what’s so funny?”

  “I’m not giving up that easily.”

  He moved far more swiftly than Morgan had thought he could for a man drunk off his ass. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled something out. Morgan’s heart thumped hard as she twisted and turned back to the car door she knew was just behind her. Her feet were sure against the broken asphalt of the parking area as she ran around the edge of the door, grabbing Wexford and covering her body against the back door of the SUV when the explosion hit them.

  All the air rushed from Morgan’s lungs as she was smooshed against the hard metal vehicle. She closed her eyes tight as the pressure in her head increased to a point nearly unbearable. Heat radiated down her neck and the backs of her legs and arms. Morgan couldn’t hear anything.

  When she dared to open her eyes, Fiona stared at her with eyes wide and concern written all over her face. Morgan turned to look out at the car she’d just been standing and facing down. It was gone. The door Wexford had been hiding behind was gone. Pieces of road, building, and glass, rained around them.

  Morgan swallowed and pressed a hand to Wexford’s chest, feeling the thick vest she wore and a sigh of relief. They were fine. They were both fine. She couldn’t hear a damn thing other than the ringing in her ears, but they were both fine. People moved around them, coming from nowhere it seemed. Chicago police officers, FBI agents—people moved in on the car with guns drawn just like they should.

  As soon as they reached her and Wexford, Morgan was pulled away and dragged toward the back of the line of they were holding to protect the rest of the public as much as they could. Morgan’s eyes stung as she glanced around, trying to see where the damage had been done, if Ian had managed to do what he’d set out to accomplish.

  But the community center still stood. The wall looked scorched like it hadn’t before. It’d lost some windows. But it stood. Ian’s car was near obliterated, but when Morgan stepped away from Fiona, she saw Ian’s still alive form on the ground ten feet from them. Guns were drawn on him as he struggled to breathe.

  He must not have had as much explosive material in his car as she’d originally. He’d been flung toward her from the blast, and Morgan was pretty sure the only reason she and Fiona were as un-maimed as they were was because she’d managed to get them behind the door to the SUV.

  “You okay?” she asked Fiona, sure her voice made a sound even though she couldn’t hear it.

  Wexford reached up and brushed her fingers across Morgan’s cheek before dropping her hand and nodding. Morgan nodded herself. Pax was there in an instant, moving Morgan away from the center of the incident. Someone else grabbed Wexford.

  They were taken to waiting ambulances. Someone had the foresight to call them in. She hadn’t. Morgan was seated in the back of one as she watched paramedics wait to be allowed in to the scene to work on Ian. Morgan couldn’t believe the idiot was still breathing, although if they didn’t get to him soon it wasn’t likely to be for long, but they did have to clear the scene and make sure there were no other bombs in the area that he could have planted—though, Morgan doubted there were. This was not as planned as the other attacks. This was done out of desperation.

  Everything sounded like she was in a vacuum, and Morgan wondered when she’d get her hearing back. Her head throbbed. When she glanced down at her hands and her body when the paramedics gave her a break, she saw the dirt, the dust, the blood. Curious, she lifted her hands and checked them, trying to figure out where the blood was coming from, but she couldn’t make it out.

  Her vest had protected what was important, for sure, but where else was she cut. Surely she wouldn’t have made it out of that without getting sliced by some kind of shrapnel, either whatever Ian had put in the bomb like he had with the rest of them or just from the explosion itself.

  When the paramedic came back, Morgan flagged him down and pointed to the blood on her pants, giving him a questioning look. She had to trust her voice worked even if she couldn’t hear it. “Where am I bleeding?”

  He shook his head at her and pointed at the other ambulance she’d seen them shove Wexford into. He pointed to his leg and made the okay symbol. Morgan sighed relief. Wexford had been injured, somehow, but it wasn’t bad. Still, Morgan knew she had cuts of her own to contend with, and her hearing—that was going to be hell if it didn’t catch up soon enough.

  Pax moved into the ambulance with her and handed his phone over. Morgan glanced at it and found he’d typed a message to her. Sighing, she read it and shook her head.

  “Check on Fiona.”

  With wide eyes, Pax turned to look out the back of the ambulance, his shoulders completely tense. How Morgan had missed his affair for the better part of who knew how long, she had no idea, but she was pissed at herself for not seeing it earlier. She put a hand on his arm.

  “Check on Fiona. For me. You and I can talk about her later. Not today.”

  Pax gritted his teeth and left the ambulance. It was finally out in the open. He knew that she knew and vice versa. It was going to be a long few months, and she could only hope Mel was strong enough to do exactly what she needed. Hell, Morgan hoped she was strong enough to do the same.

  Pax came and went twice more before the ambulance took her to the local hospital. Fiona’s ride left well before hers, but Morgan supposed that was because she was the less injured of the two. Pax gave her updates every now and then, including the one about Ian still being alive and heading straight for surgery so they could try to save his life. Tim had been arrested easily. He’d given himself up at the house.

  Morgan laid on the stretcher and closed her eyes. It had been a week from hell, not only on her body and her work, but on her emotions. She’d gone from thinking maybe Fiona could be someone who could take a relationship to the next level, someone where Morgan didn’t want to stop after a month to realizing she’d never get on that boat.

  As the doctors came in and out of the room, Morgan wished she could hear what they were saying. She refused to let them call any of her family, but she also knew her phone was going off the hook already. She texted Amya, knowing she would at least call the rest of them and update them on what she could. She left out the fact she was in the hospital, knowing she’d be out soon enough.

  With a sigh, Morgan relaxed. She’d solved her case. They’d closed it. She was supposed to feel good about that, about getting three extremists off the streets, saving lives even though she’d failed so many more. So why did she feel so empty?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  One week to the day from the bombing, Morgan found herself knocking on Fiona’s apartment door. She leaned against the door frame with her forearm and listened for any noise. She knew Fiona was home. They’d arranged the time to meet. It had been a whole week since they’d seen each other, and it felt like months since the last time they’d dined together at the pizzeria and worked Frankie into a tizzy.

  She relaxed as the locks clicked and the doorknob turned. Morgan didn’t bother to straighten up. She wasn’t there for a formal talk about work and what had happened She was there to talk about the catastrophe that was whatever relationship they’d attempted and to put an end to whatever relationship might be between them. She couldn’t fathom why Fiona would think that she’d understand.

  “Hey,” Fiona said, her voice almost a whisper.

  Morgan looked over her arm inside Fiona’s apartment. She’d been there only once before and it was briefly when she picked Fiona up for a lunch they’d done. Swallowing, Morgan stared nervously into those dark eyes that drew her in every time. No matter what she did, she couldn’t quell that lust she felt every time she saw this woman.

  “Coming in?” Fiona asked, the words rough as they left her lips.

  “Uh…yeah.” Morgan straightened and followed Fiona inside.

  Fiona immediately locked up the door again, leaning against it with her hands behind her back. Biting her lip, Fiona’s gaze raked up and down Morgan’s body with a heated look to her eyes. Morgan shuddered. She knew Fiona likely thought she was there for an entirely different reason.

  “How are you?” Morgan asked, breaking the silence and trying to figure out what to do with her hands. She put them on her hips, then crossed her arms, then shoved them into her pockets as she stood awkwardly.

  “I’m good. Back to duty the end of next week.”

  Morgan nodded. “Good, good.”

  Turning on her toes, Morgan looked around to the couch and nodded her head toward it.

  “Mind if we sit?”

  “By all means.” Fiona moved her hand out in front of her to show Morgan to lead the way.

  Morgan nervously walked from the door to the couch and sat on the edge of it, nerves ricocheting through every part of her body, and they would not calm down. Fiona sat next to her, their thighs brushing and heat coiled deep inside Morgan’s stomach. She was going to have to watch herself.

  “How are you?” Fiona asked, her fingers snaking onto Morgan’s thigh and squeezing.

  Morgan nodded and reached for Fiona’s hand with the intention of removing it. Instead, she gripped it, entwining their fingers.

  “I’m good. Sore as hell, but good.” She grinned at the last part of the comment. Morgan sighed. “I think we need to talk.”

  “Perhaps. We’re not working together any longer.”

  Morgan tensed. “We’re not. We’ll still see each other in court for this, I’m sure, but that’s neither here nor there.”

  Fiona’s tongue dashed out against her lips, and Morgan wanted desperately to lean forward and taste. Clearing her throat, Morgan shifted to put some space between them, but she still couldn’t make her hand give up Fiona’s fingers.