Miguel smiled. “Thank you. Please excuse me while I step aside to call ahead and let him know we’re coming.”

  He waited a beat for any feedback, then headed out, leaving Maisy sitting with the team. She normally wasn’t comfortable about strangers, a side effect of having virtually been in hiding for the past fifteen years. Not to mention the fear still roiling her gut about seeing her father once again. But the team had made her feel comfortable and she knew they were working hard at keeping her and others safe from the Seattle Crusader.

  “I want to thank you for all that you’re doing,” Maisy said, her comment heartfelt.

  Madeline nodded and offered her a brilliant smile. “We couldn’t do anything else.”

  A few minutes later, Miguel walked back in and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Ready?”

  “Yes, thanks,” she said, rose and walked beside Miguel down the hall to the elevator lobby. While they waited, Miguel glanced at her, eyes narrowed, a worried look on his features.

  “Are you really ready?”

  Maisy didn’t know if she’d ever be “really ready” for what might happen tomorrow. She hadn’t ever contemplated seeing her father again. If anything, she’d hoped she’d never have to see him again, but the Seattle Crusader had made that impossible. Regardless, she was strong enough to handle this, especially with Miguel and his team at her side.

  “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

  With a slow nod, he said, “I know you will be.”

  The ding of the elevator shattered the moment.

  Together they boarded the elevator and as they’d done earlier, traveled through the lobby and down the few blocks to the hotel where Miguel’s dad was living. As he’d done earlier, he wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her close, the action one of comfort and protection. But as had happened before, it was impossible to ignore that he was a vital and attractive man.

  Every now and then she’d peer up at him, take in the strong line of his jaw, slightly shaded with the start of an evening beard. Full lips, more relaxed now than in the office.

  He did a quick glance down at her and their gazes locked, his brown eyes sharp, but warm as he perused her features. He smiled and a dimple emerged at the right side of his mouth, making him look more boyish. Less formidable.

  But then suddenly Miguel was searching the area, back in FBI mode. She tracked his gaze, looking around, but saw nothing.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Just thought I saw something, but I must have imagined it,” he said, gently squeezed her waist, and they continued their walk in peace.

  * * *

  THE SEATTLE CRUSADER CURSED and clung to the trunk of the tree he’d hidden behind. Counting to ten, he sucked in a deep breath and peeked past the trunk.

  Seeing Angel Eyes and the FBI agent walking away, he blew out a relieved exhale and did another count of ten before following them again.

  If it was up to him, he’d be back home in the tent he’d set up in the homeless encampment under the highway and smoking some weed. But he had his instructions and if he was going to help his brothers, not to mention himself, he had to do as he was told.

  That meant finding out where the two witnesses were being held, as well as the location of the BAU office. The latter was easy enough. He’d only had to search the web to get the address of the building.

  But learning where the witnesses were had been harder. It had forced him to surveil the FBI offices since yesterday in addition to planting the two bombs last night.

  He laughed as he thought of how well those bombings had gone off and the attention that his tweets had gotten. It was going just as planned, which reminded him that he had another tweet to share tonight.

  Yanking out the burner phone he’d been provided, he stopped and tweeted.

  Time for criminal reform. No bail. Shorter jail terms. Fairer parole policies. It’s time to decriminalize before it’s too late.

  His phone made a little whoosh sound as he touched Send and the tweet hit the outside world.

  But as he looked up, he realized that he had lost sight of Angel Eyes and the FBI agent.

  Luckily, he knew they’d be returning to the FBI offices at some point.

  Unluckily for them, he’d be waiting for them and would be ready to act.

  Smiling, he reached into his pocket and took out the cash he’d been paid. More than enough for a nice dinner tonight. And once he finished his tasks, he’d have enough for daily meals and a place to stay. A place big enough for him and his brothers once they were released, as he’d been promised.

  With a whistle, he shoved the money back into his pocket, turned and headed for his favorite pub, dreaming of the biggest burger they made.

  The first of many, he thought. Just a few more tweets and bombs, and he’d be set for life.

  Chapter Twelve

  This is what a family should be like, Maisy thought as she sat at the small hotel table with Miguel and his dad.

  They’d been chatting amiably about Maisy’s blog, but also about her suggestion that his father, Robert, help other budding bloggers and journalists with the knowledge he’d gleaned over the years as a professor. Sadly, the discussion soon turned to the investigation and how Maisy was supposed to speak to her father in the morning as well as trying to glean what they could about what Robert remembered from the day of the bombing. Unfortunately his father remembered very little.

  “It’s okay, Dad,” Miguel said, but his general frustration about the investigation was painfully obvious.

  “I know I’m missing something, Dad. And I know that if Mami was alive she’d see what I’m missing,” Miguel said.

  Robert reached out and laid his hand on Miguel’s shoulder. “Trust in yourself. You are your mother’s son, but more importantly, you are brilliant in your own special way.”

  A half smile relieved Miguel’s too serious features, making him look younger. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “I agree, Robert. Miguel and his team are making progress. I have no doubt they’ll catch the Seattle Crusader in no time.”

  Much like Robert had done before, he reached out and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. Funny thing, she had thought Miguel’s touchiness had come from his Cuban mother, but Robert was also as demonstrative.

  “I understand you have to face your own challenge, Maisy. Am I right?”

  With a sideways glance at Miguel, Maisy said, “I have to see my father tomorrow.”

  A little hum escaped Robert before he said, “And how does that make you feel?”

  She inhaled a breath, trapped it inside her. Slowly she let it escape and said, “Scared—no, make that terrified. What he did and after, it terrorized my mom and me for so long. I never wanted to see him again and now...” Her voice trailed off, her throat choked with emotion. Tears were once again threatening, making her sniffle as she battled them.

  “It’s okay to be scared. Terrified,” Miguel said and covered her hand with his.

  Comfort filled her as it did so often with his touch. Peace, something which had been sorely lacking in her life during the past fifteen years.

  “But you’ll be there, right? To help me?” she said, not sure she could face her father without his support.

  “I’ll be there. Always,” he said and as her gaze locked with his, it was too easy to imagine an always with him.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  The chirp of Miguel’s phone shattered the moment. “Please excuse me,” he said, rose from the table and walked a few feet away to take the call in more privacy. Still, the room was small, making it impossible not to eavesdrop.

  “Okay. 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. Sea Tac. We’ll meet you in the lobby at eight fifteen.”

  He ended the call and from across the short distance, his gaze met hers as if seeking her confirmation.

  With a nod, she said, “I’ll be ready.”

  * * *

  SHE SAYS IT, but is she really ready? Miguel wondered. He didn’t know if he would be, recalling how he’d suffered after his mother’s murder and how it still affected him at times. How it hung over him, keeping him from moving on, he realized with surprise.

  Much like Maisy had been a prisoner of her past, so had he and maybe it was time to change that.

  “We should get going. We have an early morning.”

  He walked back to the table. Maisy and his father had risen, and he took a moment to hug his father. Hard. “Goodnight, Dad.”

  Maisy drifted over to likewise embrace his father. “Thank you for everything, Robert. Miguel is so very lucky to have you.”

  “And now you have me too. I’m here for you.”

  Maisy smiled, an enchanting smile. Her gaze glittered joyfully, devoid of the pain that had clouded her beautiful blue eyes earlier.

  The sight of her, so much happier, lightened the pain and anxiety in his heart, prompting him to take her into his arms. “You’re not alone anymore.”

  She hugged him, her head tucked against his chest. Her slender arms wrapped around him. “I know.”

  They ended the embrace, and his father offered his routine but heartfelt send-off. “¡Cuídate!”

  Miguel smiled and said, “Love you.”

  After his father opened the door so they could leave, he kept his arm around Maisy’s waist as they walked out of the hotel room, bid goodnight to the FBI agent stationed at the door and strolled the few short blocks back to the BAU offices.

  Back to my home, only it isn’t much of a home, is it? he thought.

  But as Maisy and he stepped into his apartment, it felt different. It felt not as...lonely.

  He stopped and faced her. Cradled her cheek and applied gentle pressure to tilt her face upward. “It’s my turn to thank you,” he said.

  She narrowed her gaze and skipped it over his features, puzzled. “Why?”

  “Because you’ve helped me more than you can imagine,” he said and stroked his thumb across the creamy skin of her cheek.

  Her lips quirked up in a smile and she shook her head. “That’s hard to believe.”

  “Believe it. Your strength in dealing with your past... It’s made me think about my past. My mom. That pain I still carry with me every day.”

  She smoothed a hand across his chest and then laid it over his heart. “But we have to find a way to put it away, don’t we? It’s the only way we can build a future.”

  A future? he thought. Suddenly he wasn’t as closed off to a future that was about more than just work. A future that includes this amazing woman, he thought and bent his head, covered her half smile with his lips.

  Her lips were warm against his. So soft and mobile as she returned his kiss, rising on tiptoes to meet him more fully. Pressing her lush body to his, her curves flattening against him, rousing passion.

  He tightened his hold on her, relishing the feel of her. The way the warmth of her body seeped into his, kindling heat within him. But not just the heat of passion. Kindling fire and life in his heart.

  As the kiss deepened, so did the need to touch her. He inched his hand between them to cup her breast, and her nipple beaded beneath his palm. She moaned and he hesitated, but then she covered his hand with hers, urging him on.

  He tugged at the hard nub, dragging another moan from her. The moan ripped through the haze of passion, jerking him back to the reality of their situation.

  It must have done the same for her as in unison, they uneasily eased apart, gazes locked. Arms still wrapped around one another.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, but took no other motion to break apart from her.

  “Don’t apologize. I’m as responsible,” she replied and reached up to wipe her thumb across his lips. The touch sent another zing of need through him, but she offered him a wry smile and said, “Lip gloss.”

  He chuckled and nodded. “Not quite what the other agents expect me to be wearing.”

  “No, but it looks good on you,” she said and as her gaze settled on his face again, it was hot. Possessive.

  “But it looks way better on you.” He couldn’t resist slipping his thumb across her mouth, the touch possibly more intimate than their kiss.

  His phone chirped and he reached between their bodies to pull it out, glance at the face of it and swipe to take the call. “Dashiell. Do you have something new?”

  “Another tweet from the Crusader. This one calls for no bail and shorter prison terms for drug possession. Another threat that a bomb is on its way unless we do as he asks.”

  “I’ll check it out. In the meantime, ask Madeline to see if anyone on that list or a relative has been jailed.”

  “On it. We’ll keep you posted if anything else hits tonight.”

  Dashiell ended the call and Miguel finally took the step back from Maisy. He had to refocus his attention on the case to keep her and others safe.

  “I need to review the new information,” he said, and Maisy nodded.

  Maisy gestured toward the bathroom. “I think I’ll take a shower and get ready for bed.”

  “Great. I’m going to see what we have so far and shower in the morning,” he said.

  “Great,” she parroted, obviously growing uneasier by the second despite their earlier closeness.

  “Great,” he said and wanted to kick himself for how stupid it sounded. Luckily, she bolted to her bag to grab some clothes and then to the shower.

  He blew out a harsh breath and dragged a hand through his hair in frustration. He was used to cases not going the way he wanted, but this case was getting way too complicated.

  First there was the bomber himself and their inability to stop him. He seemed to have no interest in harming anyone yet, but for how long? Eventually he would escalate the situation and possibly hurt someone.

  The sound of flowing water in the shower intruded and reminded him that it was best he get ready for bed before Maisy emerged from the bathroom, shower fresh. Skin flushed from the hot water.

  He muttered a curse as passion rose again and he leaped into action.

  Quickly changing into sweats and a T-shirt, which would let him rush up to the office in case he needed to, he tugged down the Murphy bed and settled there with his laptop.

  He pulled up his notes and, in his brain, worked through the bomber’s assorted requests, which were starting to add to his profile of the typical serial bomber.

  White male. In it for either revenge or justification. The demands were continuing to be unrealistic, but he ran through them anyway.

  A higher minimum wage. Maybe someone stuck in assorted low-paying jobs?

  The homeless encampment in the Japanese Gardens. Possibly someone who has experienced homelessness?

  The demand for bail and prison reform added a dimension that actually narrowed the list of possible suspects to someone directly touched by that system. It was why he’d asked his people to see if anyone on their list had relatives in prison.

  Which directed his thoughts toward Maisy’s father. He had tossed around the idea in his brain of the Forest Conservation Bomber being involved with the bombings, but the motivations were too disparate. Protecting the environment versus the assorted social issues raised by the Crusader.

  The methods of the bombings were also too different. Fertilizer-based bombs versus ones made with dynamite.

  Finally, Maisy’s dad had intended to do harm. Had done harm and so far, the Crusader’s targets were clearly in areas where no one would be hurt, especially since the detonator on the collar bomb had not been connected.

  “So far” being the operative words, which propelled him to continue working, trying to get closer to the persons behind the bombings. He was sure of that one thing: the bomber wasn’t acting alone. There was language in the demands that pointed to that and his gut told him the bomber was a puppet and someone else was pulling the strings.

  Maybe even Rothwell. There was something about the politician and his too-convenient appearance whenever something happened that bothered him. And it had nothing to do with the politician’s insults.

  He’d been insulted before and by better than Richard Rothwell.

  Armed with that thought, he pushed on, determined to have more to the Crusader’s profile by the time they met with Maisy’s dad in the morning.

  * * *

  MAISY LINGERED IN the shower even though she knew that no matter how long she took, Miguel would be awake and working hard on catching the bomber.

  A bomber just like my dad, she thought as she shut off the water and toweled down.

  A bomber who she feared would one day hurt or kill someone just like her father had done.

  No, not my father, she reminded herself. As she’d told Miguel, her father had died the day that the Forest Conservation Bomber had been born.

  She had died that day as well. Elizabeth Green, the young girl who had dreamed of traveling and writing, had disappeared and been replaced by Maisy Oliver, a woman who had been afraid and in hiding for the past fifteen years.

  But she’d made her mother and herself a promise as she’d watched her mother slowly die from cancer: that she’d start to live again. That she’d dream again, the dreams she’d had as a child.

  She was not going to let this bomber, or her dad, defeat her.

  Slipping into her pajamas, she tiptoed from the bathroom to not distract Miguel, but as she caught sight of him, she suspected his attention was totally focused on his work.

  Until he spotted her, and slowly lifted his gaze. “Good night, Maisy.”

  “Good night, Miguel.”

  Even though it had grown late what with their visiting his dad, the dinner they’d picked up and shared after that visit, and a pleasantly long hot shower, she was too wired to sleep.