She made up the couch with the sheets, comforter and pillow, and settled in, making sure that she was nestled deep in the comfortable cushions and unable to see Miguel because he was way too distracting.

  She grabbed her tablet, plugged in earphones and went to a streaming service to try to catch up on a series that she had been watching about unique buildings. It wasn’t just the architecture that captured her interest, but the equally fascinating settings for many of the structures.

  She had pictured herself visiting such different locales and writing about them. It was why she’d worked so hard after her mom had died to find a better-paying job. A job she had unfortunately had to put on hold with this investigation. Luckily, her new boss understood why she was absent, but she was eager to go back to work. Back to her normal life and her dreams.

  And nothing, not her father, this bomber or even Miguel, was going to keep her from that.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Forest Conservation bomber was being held at the federal detention center, a multipurpose prison that held various types of detainees. It wasn’t far from the airport so the ride to get there wasn’t that long. Unbeknownst to Maisy and her mother, their flight from their Woodinville hometown to escape her father’s crimes had actually put them closer to where he was being imprisoned.

  And although the ride wasn’t long, it was silent and tense.

  Miguel sat beside Maisy in the back seat while Nicholas drove, with Madeline in the passenger seat.

  Maisy was pale and as Miguel laid his hand on hers, her skin was ice-cold even with the heat in the car.

  “It’ll be fine,” Miguel urged, trying to calm her.

  She nodded and forced a smile, but her distress was plain to see. Her amazing blue eyes were dead, almost cold. Every muscle in her body tense except for a nervous tic at her jaw.

  He twined his fingers with hers, trying to offer what comfort he could through the rest of the drive and the process for being cleared for entry into the detention center.

  As this was a special visit, the warden met them as soon as they went through security and walked them to a room normally used for visits by attorneys. “I hope you get what you want from Green. He’s a tough nut,” the warden said.

  “Has he given you problems?” Miguel asked the older man.

  With a shrug, the warden said, “He’s not violent despite his criminal record. Just a know-it-all, trying to challenge every rule or regulation. He thinks he’s smarter than everyone.”

  Which just confirms part of our profile, Miguel thought. Serial bombers, much like serial killers, thought they were more intelligent than everyone around them.

  “We appreciate that heads-up as well as allowing this visit on such short notice,” Miguel said and shook the other man’s hand.

  “Not a problem, SSA Peters. We understand the urgency of the situation. Whenever you’re ready,” the older man said and gestured toward the door to the visiting room.

  Miguel peered at Maisy. “Are you ready?”

  * * *

  HER THROAT WAS so tight, her heart pounding hard enough to split her chest open, that Maisy couldn’t speak. She could only nod and brace herself for her first look at her father in fifteen years.

  As she walked in, she thought, He’s aged.

  His once caramel brown hair had gone gray and the lines around his mouth and eyes had deepened. Despite that, his skin was tanned and his body whipcord lean, as if he’d been exercising. It almost wasn’t fair that he looked that good when she thought about how her mother had suffered and deteriorated thanks to the cancer that had claimed her life.

  “Elizabeth. Or should I call you Maisy now?” Richard Green said and before she could reply, he added, “You’ve grown into such a lovely young woman. You look so much like your mother.”

  “Mr. Green. Supervisory Special Agent Peters,” Miguel said and then gestured to his team members. “Special Agent Striker and Special Agent James are also attending this interview.”

  At his words, her father almost seemed to preen, as if having that many FBI agents was testament to his importance. “Thank you for coming, especially you, Maisy. I hope you understand that I never meant to hurt you and your mother. And I never meant to hurt anyone. I was just trying to defend something that couldn’t defend itself.”

  Which was what he’d said throughout his trial although the investigators had provided numerous proofs of his intent to maim and kill loggers and other people the Forest Conservation League had seen as enemies. Clearly her father still didn’t believe he deserved to be in jail for what he’d done.

  “But you did hurt and kill,” she shot back, not buying his apology.

  Her father’s face hardened, growing tense. “I had hoped you could forgive me. That’s why I’ve been trying to reach you. The calls and letters were my way of trying to make peace with you because even though I’m in prison, I’m still your father. And I love you, Maisy. You have to believe that.”

  Miguel laid a hand on her shoulder and applied gentle pressure, urging her to sit across from her father.

  She hated to do it, almost felt like it was accepting his apology, something she wasn’t prepared to do. But she knew she had to keep the lines of communication open to hopefully get some useful information for the Seattle Crusader investigation. But there was something she needed to know first.

  “How did you find out my new name and address?” she asked.

  Her father smiled, but it held no warmth or happiness. “I have my ways, Maisy. Friends who still appreciate what I did and help me.”

  It made her wonder if those friends were behind what was happening, and Miguel must have felt the same way.

  “I guess that means you may have insights for us,” Miguel said.

  Her father nodded and skipped his gaze over the stern faces of the three FBI agents. “I do. This bomber is a novice. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, almost like he’s shooting off big M-80s to get attention.”

  “Why do you say that?” Maisy asked, taking the lead.

  “If I had made the bomb, it would have taken out more of the buildings and the old man in the station. This bomber doesn’t really know how to use dynamite to its full potential.”

  “You mean how to hurt someone, don’t you? Like the people you hurt. Like you hurt Mom and me. Do you even care that you did that?” she shot back, unable to stay silent.

  Her father reached for her hand, but she pulled it back, dreading his touch.

  With a shake of his head and a harsh laugh, he said, “You’re so cold, just like your mother. But despite that, I did care for her and you. I still care. That’s why I asked you to visit. I want to help.”

  “If you want to help, tell us what else you know,” Nicholas said, jumping into the conversation.

  “Like I said, he’s a novice, not like me. He doesn’t understand the power he has and how to use it. If he did, he would make reasonable demands,” her father said.

  “Like asking for money like you did?” Maisy countered.

  Her father glared at her. “Money that I intended to use to buy wilderness areas in danger of being destroyed.”

  “Do you think he’s working alone?” Miguel asked.

  Her father’s answer was immediate. “No, I don’t. Someone is directing him because he’s a novice. Stupid almost. Someone much more intelligent is pulling the puppet’s strings,” he said and mimicked someone playing a marionette.

  “Someone like you?” Madeline asked, arching a dark brow in emphasis.

  “Me? You think I’m involved?” her father said, clearly incredulous at the question.

  “Do you even care that he’s targeting me, Dad? Angel Eyes? Does that matter to you?” Maisy pressed.

  “Of course it does. Why do you think you’re here?” he said, his gaze almost pleading as it traveled across her face and then over the FBI agents.

  Miguel answered, “I think we’re here to satisfy your ego. Your need to be better than the Crusader. To prove how much smarter you are than him and us. That’s why I think we’re here because so far, you haven’t told us a thing we don’t know.”

  “I am better than the Crusader. And to tell you something you don’t know, he’s going to strike again and this time, he’s going to hurt someone,” her father parried.

  Maisy risked a glance at Miguel, and it was obvious that he was done, especially considering that nothing her father had said, not even his last outburst, had provided any useful information.

  Pushing to her feet, she said, “I’d like to go, but before I do.” She faced her father. “Do not contact me again, Richard. You’re not my father. The father I had was kind and gentle and not a monster like you.”

  * * *

  WHEN RICHARD GREEN lunged at Maisy, Miguel blocked his arm and pushed him back into his seat. “You heard the lady. I’m going to make sure the warden knows of your harassment and blocks your mail and phone access.”

  “You can’t do that!” Richard shouted, but Maisy was already in motion, rushing toward the door, flanked by Madeline and Nicholas. Miguel followed, tuning out the Forest Conservation Bomber’s shouts that chased them as they exited.

  When his team members shifted to walk in front of Maisy for protection, Miguel slipped to her side and wrapped an arm around her waist. She was trembling, but her head was held high. “You are amazing,” he whispered in her ear.

  “I’m my mother’s daughter,” she replied, meeting his eyes, her cerulean gaze direct and blazing with anger and determination.

  “She must have been an incredible woman,” he said and hugged her close, but that action drew raised eyebrows from both Madeline and Nicholas.

  Despite that, he didn’t pull away from Maisy, walking with his arm around her until they were out of the detention center and at their car. Once they were settled in the back seat, he said, “I appreciate you doing this. I know how hard it must have been for you to see your father.”

  Maisy shook her head. “Like I told him, he’s not my father. My father is dead.”

  Miguel nodded. “I understand. I just wish that we would have gotten some useful information, given the pain you suffered by coming here.”

  Madeline twisted slightly in the passenger seat to look back at them. “In a way we did. Green confirmed much of our profile.”

  “You’re right about that, Madeline. He has confirmed our profile, but that also has me worrying about when the Crusader will strike again and who he might harm,” Nicholas said with a quick glance at them as he drove.

  “Which means we need to keep on pushing to get more info. Hopefully Dash’s team has more info on the list of licensed blasters as well as the DNA profile.” Miguel whipped out his smartphone to call the team back at the BAU offices.

  Dashiell answered, an upbeat tone in his voice. “Good morning.”

  “From the sound of your voice I guess it is a good morning,” Miguel said and fixed his gaze on Maisy’s face while he listened to Dash’s report. Her eyes locked with his, expectant.

  “We have a list of blasters and we’ve been able to limit it to those who have access to the type of dynamite used.”

  “How many blasters do we have to chase down?” he asked.

  “Six, and at least two of them are working at sites owned by guess who,” Dash said, excitement filtering into his tone.

  “Let me guess. Rothwell,” Miguel responded, pleased that his gut instinct was possibly not too far off.

  “Bingo. Rothwell. Plus, we’ve also refined the list we gave Madeline to focus on anyone with family members who might have criminal backgrounds. Unfortunately, that list is still fairly long,” Dash said, some of the enthusiasm leaving his voice.

  “That’s still progress. What about the DNA profile?” he pressed.

  A heavy sigh filtered across the line. “No match in CODIS. Whoever he is, he’s managed not to be in trouble with the law.”

  “A novice much like our profile said,” Miguel said and shifted his gaze to meet Madeline’s and Nicholas’s for the barest moment.

  “I’m just the tech guy, but if I had to guess, the Crusader hasn’t been at this long and is probably being directed by someone else,” Dash said, and in the background, someone called out to him, clearly needing his attention.

  “I have to go.”

  Miguel peered out the window to see where they were. “We’ll be there in about five minutes.”

  Five minutes to jump back into the investigation, but that also meant they might be running off to speak to the blasters and the most promising leads on their list of suspects identified by their facial recognition software. Which would leave Maisy sitting by herself in either their offices or his apartment for long hours.

  “We may need to leave you alone to continue with the investigation,” he said.

  “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. Maybe I could even go visit your father,” she said and patted his hand.

  But he did worry about her, cared about her, maybe more than he should. And even though it would be nice for her to visit his father, and his father would likely appreciate the company, it was an iffy thing. “I may not be able to protect you if you go to visit him.”

  “I understand you have other responsibilities, and I don’t want to be a bother,” she said, but he could see she was a little disappointed. A visit to his dad would let her work on her travel blog and it would do his father good as well.

  Despite his better judgment, he found himself saying, “I could have another agent take you over and back if that’s okay with you.”

  Her smile was the only answer he needed.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Maisy loved spending time with Miguel’s dad. He was so kind and caring and in love with sharing his knowledge. But she also loved sharing what she knew, and they spent the better part of the afternoon making a website for Robert so that he could post articles about writing and journalism. They also set up a way for people to contact him in case they wished for him to do a speaking engagement.

  “Thank you so much for helping me with that,” Robert said and sat back, a broad smile on his face.

  “It was my pleasure. You’ve given me so much useful information,” Maisy said and hit a button to save the contact page on the site.

  “Together we are formidable pair,” Robert declared with a laugh, but his mood dimmed quickly, and Maisy understood why.

  “We will stay in touch. I promise,” she said.

  “I know, my dear. It’s just that...you’d be so good for Miguel. He needs someone like you in his life,” Robert said, but then busied himself with gathering the papers where he’d been jotting down notes on using the website and ideas for articles and workshops.

  “Your son and me... It’s complicated,” she said, snapped her laptop shut and slipped it into her knapsack.

  “I may be old, but I understand what that means. It was complicated for my Gloria and me, but we found a way to be together. To have a happy life until... It was worth the pain,” Robert said and sniffled as he pulled off his glasses, closed his eyes and pressed his fingers at the bridge of his nose to hold back his tears.

  Maisy rose from her chair and embraced Robert, held him tight until he sucked in a rough breath and said, “I’m fine, my dear. Just fine.”

  Maisy was sure he would be because he had people in his life who cared about him—his son for starters. She’d seen how Miguel treated his dad, no matter how exasperated his father made him.

  Robert was a lucky man to have people who cared.

  She had no one.

  You have Miguel, the little voice in her head said, but Maisy wagged her head to shake loose that thought.

  A knock came at the door and at Robert’s “Come in,” the FBI agent who had escorted her over walked into the room.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but we should be heading back,” the agent suggested.

  “Not a problem. We just finished,” Maisy said, slipped on her jacket and grabbed her knapsack.

  She returned to Robert’s side, hugged him hard and said, “I’ll come back again soon.”

  Robert returned the embrace and said, “Take care.”

  She smiled and nodded. “I will.”

  The agent and she exited Robert’s hotel room and made the return trip to the BAU offices, the agent alert to what was happening around them. He constantly scanned the area and stayed close to her, making her feel both safe and worried at the same time. Despite the Seattle Crusader’s threat to harm someone and his mention of her, Maisy didn’t think he’d actually go through with it.

  But as they reached the building housing the BAU offices, a blur of black and gray snagged her attention and also that of the agent. He shoved her behind him and turned in the direction of the motion and as she peered past his arm, she saw the man with the ski mask standing less than twenty feet away. He wore the same hoodie and jeans as the Seattle Crusader.

  The FBI agent held his hand up, whipped out his pistol, and said, “FBI. Put your hands up!”

  At that the man turned and started to run. The agent was about to give chase when the world exploded beside them. The force of the blast knocked them down and bits and pieces of glass and concrete rained down on them. After the noise of the explosion faded, the blare of car alarms from nearby automobiles sounded, triggered by the force of the blast.

  Maisy’s ears were ringing, and her elbow ached from where she had been thrown to the ground by the force of the blast. She examined her injury and noticed that her jacket was torn, her elbow skinned and bleeding.

  She started to stand, but the FBI agent with her laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and said, “Hold on, miss. Let’s get that bleeding stopped.”

  She wanted to say it was just a skinned elbow, but then she tracked his gaze to her other arm. A sharp tear ran across her jacket and blood flowed freely from beneath it. The agent helped her ease the jacket sleeve off to reveal the gash across her upper arm. Then he quickly whipped off his tie and wrapped it around the wound, making it tight enough to stop the bleeding.