She’d checked in on Dimitri’s progress weekly, making sure he was doing well in school, but also that his therapy was going well and effective. She wasn’t truly sure the impact of what Dimitri had been subjected to would come full force until he was much older, but she would likely check in on him even after their case was finished—if it was ever finished.

  Pax interrupted her thoughts. “It looks to me like an individual from this group has decided to go rogue. Since Ray felt uncomfortable with confessing what he suspects is going on, I think he’s not in on it at all.”

  Morgan turned to him with a smirk. “You sound more like the profiler now. You been holding out on me?”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Nope, just been around you long enough to figure some things out.”

  “Yeah, sure, whatever. You are right, though. Ray does not fit the profile as someone who would take extreme measures from what I saw of him, although I didn’t see much of him or hear from him.”

  “Did Adena say if she thought it was a credible threat?”

  Morgan shook her head. “No, because she hasn’t looked at our reports yet, but previous to this, they were not deemed a threat. I like your individual idea though, may be worth it to look into the group and see who sticks out as capable, maybe if there’s more than one.”

  “Anyone is capable of violence if pushed.”

  Morgan gave him an odd and watchful look before slowly turning back to her computer. “Want to do dinner soon? It’s been awhile since I was around to just hang out with you, Mel, and the girls.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Sounds good. Text Mel.”

  Snorting, Morgan focused on the hate group she’d been researching. Finding an individual who was heading toward violence was going to be far harder than finding a group heading toward it. Unless someone spoke up, like Ray, they most likely wouldn’t find them until it was far too late especially since these groups rarely had membership rosters easily accessed. If only they could crack Ray. One of their counterparts who had a bit more time was headed to CPD to try again. Morgan was eager to see the report.

  She was so tired of the racism, of the negativity, but really of hate. The further Morgan dove into the hate groups in Chicago, the more the ache in her chest grew to the point she found herself nearly constantly rubbing between her breasts to try and ease it. There was no logical sense to anything she was seeing. Although, to be fair, nothing was logical about hate.

  When the call had come in that the second round of agents had gotten nowhere with Ray, Morgan finished her report and submitted it. Then she sent an email to Adena to see if she was interested or could find anything Morgan had missed. It didn’t take Morgan long to go back to the case that was supposed to have the majority of her attention, although in a lot of ways it felt they were no closer to catching Mr. Jimmy than they’d been last Christmas.

  She pulled up another interview with Dimitri, one that had been archived from three weeks ago, and put headphones over her ears. Sipping her coffee, she hit play and closed her eyes, listening only to the different tones in his voice.

  “I…I don’t know who he is.” Fear. He felt fear. Dimitri knew something.

  “That’s okay, Dimtri,” the female interviewer comforted. “It’s okay if you don’t know who he is. We’ll figure that out. What did Mr. Jimmy have you do for him?”

  Dimitri huffed. “I’ve told you all before. I’m a runner.”

  The interviewer drew in a slow breath through her nose. “What did you run for him?”

  “Anything he wanted. Mostly money, sometimes, or notes from his pimps.” Defensive.

  Morgan took another sip of her coffee, keeping her eyes off the screen. She’d watch the next time around when she went through the interview again.

  “Do you have a pimp?”

  “No! I’m not that kind of runner.”

  Morgan’s heart jumped. She reached up and backed up the video, listening again to Dimitri’s voice.

  “No! I’m not that kind of runner.”

  “No! I’m not that kind of runner.”

  Morgan sighed and let out a sharp breath. “I’ve never met a runner who also didn’t put out on the side, albeit, probably not willingly.”

  They’d have to go down that line of questioning again. He’d already admitted to them Mr. Jimmy liked boys, younger boys, of which he was one, and Morgan—along with just about every other interviewer involved in the case—was pretty sure Dimitri had been victim to Mr. Jimmy. Getting him to admit that would be a difficult task. Sighing, she focused back on the interview.

  “Okay, Dimitri. Do you know any of the other runners who work for Mr. Jimmy?”

  “No.” Obstinate. The interviewer had forced Dimitri to put up walls, and now she was stuck tearing them down. Morgan wished she’d been in that room with him, but she couldn’t be in two places at once.

  “Did you ever see anyone who works for Mr. Jimmy?”

  “Y-yes.” There was a pause before he continued. “I was a runner, so I saw lots of people.”

  “Do you remember some of their names?”

  Dimitri let out a huge sigh. “I told you that already.”

  “I know.” The interviewer’s voice softened to make Dimitri more comfortable. “And like I said before, we’re going to have to go through this information many times just to make sure we have everything so we can catch Mr. Jimmy.”

  “You won’t catch him,” Dimitri muttered.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

  This time, Dimitri near shouted it. “You won’t catch him. He’s untouchable.”

  Morgan’s stomach twisted, and she popped her eyes open, pausing the video. “He’s untouchable.”

  Mulling that over, Morgan grabbed her notebook and wrote it down. If Mr. Jimmy thought he was himself untouchable, then that added to his profile. However, she couldn’t tell if it was Dimitri saying that because he believed it or if Mr. Jimmy had told him as much. Morgan glanced at Pax, who was elbow deep in some kind of work before bending closer and backing up the video a bit to watch the next part.

  “You won’t catch him. He’s untouchable.”

  “Untouchable?”

  Dimitri nodded.

  “What does that mean?”

  Morgan could have kissed the woman for asking the very question she’d wanted asked. With her pen between her fingers, she prepared to write exactly what Dimitri said.

  He shrugged but said nothing.

  “What does it mean he’s untouchable?”

  Dimitri’s lips thinned, his gaze did not move up from the table. “You can’t touch him.”

  The interviewer put her hand on the table in front of Dimitri to garner his attention. When he moved his gaze in her direction, but not looking her directly in the eye, she spoke. “Dimitri, you know this is a safe place, okay. You can tell me whatever you want here. I’m here to make sure you are safe and that Mr. Jimmy doesn’t find you, but I can’t do that until you tell me everything you know.”

  He nodded. “He doesn’t like to be touched.”

  Morgan’s stomach dropped.

  “He only likes to touch.”

  “Touch you?”

  Dimitri nodded.

  “Where does he touch you?”

  Dimitri didn’t move. “Everywhere.”

  “Okay,” the interviewer drew in a deep breath. “Okay, where does this happen? In his office? In a bedroom?”

  “It’s always at the hotel. I only ever see him at the hotel.”

  “Okay, and this hotel, it’s the same one you told us about before?”

  Nodding, Dimitri’s shoulders drew in as he closed himself off. Morgan closed her eyes, wishing he’d open up a little more, but she could understand why he didn’t. He’d been employed by Mr. Jimmy since he was born. Born into the life with no hope of ever getting out. He never knew any different to want it.

  “Did Mr. Jimmy ever say anything to you about his personal life?”

  Dimitri sat in the quiet for a little before he finally whispered, “One time, he told me I was around the same age as his son, year or two older maybe. But he didn’t really talk about anything.”

  Morgan froze. She played that part of the video again before she tapped Pax’s arm and handed him the headphone so he could listen in. Pax told her to replay it with a motion of his hand and then pulled the headphones off.

  “I’ll be damned.”

  “The only one on our shortlist who has a son around Dimitri’s age is Jonathon Lockland.” The excitement in every word she spoke was not well concealed. Morgan practically bounced in her chair.

  Pax nodded his agreement. “Tell the boss.”

  Jumping up from her seat, Morgan went to work. By the end of the day, they had surveillance permanently affixed to Jonathon Lockland and Lockland Holdings. Not to mention, Taylor had magically approved an undercover or two to start in on surveying him. Morgan had been sure it was him from near the beginning, but finally everything was coming into place to prove it. Jonathon Lockland fit her profile perfectly.

  Chapter Seven

  Ian sat in his basement bedroom, bent over the makeshift plastic table he had borrowed from Ray. His back ached, but he had to perfect the bomb. He had to make it work this time, unlike last time. He’d spent hours in research, working through where he had gone wrong, what he’d done incorrect, and he was pretty sure he’d figured out the problem.

  With the final piece in place, Ian sat back and stared at the bomb. It was perfect. He’d only managed to get enough supplies for one because delivery had been messed up. He’d thrown a minor fit when that had happened but was back to focusing on the task at hand. They needed to do something about the leach problem in their neighborhood. It had become irrefutably clear over the past three years that no one was going to do anything about it.

  No one had done anything yet, and their population had continued to grow. They had continued to take jobs that were meant for good American-born people. Ian shook his head at that insanity of it all. He was born there. He deserved to have a job, to be able to go into an interview and not be turned away because he didn’t meet diversity requirements.

  Ian knew he was right. He had waited to make a move, to do something, and he was done waiting. If he didn’t take matters into his own hands, no one would. He taped everything down on the bomb so there would be no loose wires. Then he carefully placed it in the backpack he had bought the day before and settled it into the corner of the room.

  Cleaning up after himself, Ian made sure to take care with everything. The last thing he wanted was his snowflake of a brother to come down to the basement for whatever reason and ruin his plans. Pausing, Ian put his hands on his hips and surveyed the room. He was ready to do whatever it took in order to make a difference for someone else. If that meant he was a martyr or made one example of, so be it. It would be an example he was proud of.

  He had one hour before Spencer and Tim came over. One hour to make sure he had his head on straight and knew what they were going to do. They were going to make a difference for sure, but exactly how they were going to do that was a different answer. An impact. Ian sneered, his upper lip pulling until he laughed. Yes, they were going to make an impact for sure.

  Ian put the final touches in his basement, then he went out to grab some beers. If he had his way, which he most likely would. They’d be starting tomorrow with their newest plan. Tim was already doing a lot of the surveillance and checking the place out, counting how many people went in each morning, when they came out for lunch, when they left for home. He’d even put it all on paper in a grid so they’d be able to see.

  Two hours later, they sat around in the basement, Ian with a beer can in his hand as he sucked down his third one of the hour. He was going to slow down soon. He needed his wits about him. Ian made sure to observe both Tim and Spencer carefully. Tim he didn’t have too many worries over, but Spencer. He was a wild card, and his girlfriend was even wilder. He could never tell with them what each would do to piss off the other.

  When they were sufficiently relaxed, Ian leaned forward as he sat on his couch, his elbows on his knees, beer dangling in his fingers. “So what are we going to do next?”

  “What?” Spencer asked, his eyes wide.

  Tim smirked and took a swig of his own beer.

  Ian cocked his head to the side and directly stared at Spencer. “The last time we fucked up. I’ve worked on the kinks. It’ll work this time. So what’s next?”

  Spencer shook his head. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

  “You want in or not? You have to be willing to make the sacrifice so others can live. Think about Tim’s kids. Don’t they deserve the right to work, to have healthcare available to them, to be able to find places to live, places that aren’t taken up by them.”

  It took him a minute, but Spencer eventually nodded. “Yeah. They do.”

  “So…what’s next?”

  Tim set his beer on the table. “I think we should do the factory next. It’s where most of them work. If we destroy where they work, maybe they’ll go home since they won’t have any source of income.”

  “Or if they don’t go home, maybe they’ll just leave here,” Ian added. At Tim’s nod, he continued, “I think it’s a good idea.”

  “Which factory is this?”

  “The food processing place over in Bensonville, or there’s the shipping container place, which is closer to here.”

  Ian rolled his shoulders as he debated. “I think we should stick closer to home. Easier to make a difference for those we care about if we stay around here.”

  “Agreed.”

  Spencer was oddly quiet. Ian ignored him.

  “Did you look at both?”

  “Yes.” Tim grabbed an envelope and a pen from the coffee table and started sketching.

  Ian turned his head to the side to get a better view of what Tim was drawing, and he realized far enough in, that it was the factory itself. When Tim finished, he turned it around so Spencer and Ian could better see.

  “Here is where everyone goes in and out. They have to swipe an identification card to get in and out. Here is where they all take their breaks. It’s behind a fence.”

  “How do we get behind there?” Spencer asked.

  Tim shook his head. “We don’t. How much of a radius do you think this bomb has?”

  “Maybe twenty or thirty feet,” Ian answered, already knowing where this was going. “It’ll hit the door from the fence.”

  “Right, so we just have to get it to the fence. There are cameras here and here, so we will have to wear something to cover ourselves because there is no way to avoid it.”

  “Spencer, you’ll do this one.”

  “What?” Spencer went rigid. “You sure?”

  “Yes.” Ian grabbed his beer. “When is shift change?”

  “Six in the morning.”

  “We’ll set it at three.”

  ###

  This time they drove together in one vehicle to try and avoid being seen. Parking down the road, Ian gritted his teeth as he grabbed the backpack and set the timer on it for three hours. A bubbly feeling in his gut roiled to life as the excitement and anticipation of everything worked its way into reality.

  It would work this time. Silently, without speaking, he handed the bag to Spencer, who shook his head with wide eyes like he hadn’t slept a wink since their first attempt at making a difference. Ian knew that at least he himself would sleep soundly for the first time in months if their plan actually worked.

  “You do it,” Spencer whispered. “I’ll do the next one.”

  “I’ll need you the next time, and if you back out on me again, I’ll know where your loyalties lie.” Ian clenched his molars. “I’m half-tempted to say I know where they lie right now.”

  “They don’t, Ian. Really. I’m with you on this, all the way, one-hundred percent.”

  “Then do it.”

  “I don’t want to mess it up. I don’t want to do something and make it not work this time around.”

  Ian gave him a hard stare, mulling it over in his head. It wouldn’t be impossible for them to switch it up this time, but the next time, they would need all three of them to be on their toes. “Fine.”

  Nodding his head at Tim, Ian pulled the hood of his black jacket over his head. He donned leather gloves and covered as much of his face as he could with a bandana. He was going to make this worth it.

  Tim and Spencer stayed in the car, Tim driving and Spencer in the back next to where Ian had been sitting. Ian stepped out into the chilled middle-of-the-night air and let out a huff of breath. This was the right decision. It was the only decision. His heart ramped up its pace. The anticipation for the next three hours might be enough to do him in, but he couldn’t wait to see what sort of an impact they made this time around.

  His rubber boot splashed into a puddle underneath him. He hadn’t counted on the rain, but it shouldn’t affect too much. The bomb would be protected in the backpack, ready to go off now that the timer was set.

  He had to walk the three blocks by himself, but he knew Tim was driving around the other way to pick him up right where they had designated the meet. He wanted to make sure they were as safe as could be for the next time they did something, which depending on how this one was received would determine their timeline.

  Ian adjusted his mask, his steps firm and sure as he moved. He got to the front of the factory. Next time, they’d have to find a better way to get inside and to make the job more worth their effort. Ian knew, without a doubt, that there would be a next time. This was not the last people had heard from him. It would take more than one simple incident to scare off the dogs from their part of the town. He should have done something sooner, way sooner, if he’d wanted to protect what was rightfully his.

  As soon as he made it to the fence and the gate where people would enter, he saw his target. The trashcan. Smirking under his mask and disguise, Ian stepped forward and slipped the backpack into the metal trashcan then stepped away from it like he’d done nothing wrong. He shoved his hands into his pockets, hunched his shoulders, and moved on the way he’d originally been heading. If anyone saw him on cameras, it would just look like he had dropped something in the trash like a good citizen. They wouldn’t know anything different until it went off.