He took out his phone and dialed Caitlyn. “Sorry for leaving you to the wolves.”

  “No, I deserve that. You were right about the location,” the young woman said again.

  “And as I said, no problem. But I need something from you and your connections,” he said.

  A resigned sigh came over the line before Caitlyn said, “Anything. What can I do?”

  “Anything and everything you can get me on Rothwell. The man. His businesses. Who’s feeding him information.” He kept to himself that he felt that Rothwell always seemed to be one step ahead of them, but maybe that was because Rothwell knew more about what was happening than he let on. That maybe he was somehow involved with the bombings.

  “You got it, Miguel. I’ll try to round up what I can by later tonight and will send it to you,” Caitlyn said and hung up.

  “You think Rothwell is part of this, don’t you?” Maisy asked.

  “I have no proof, but I think it’s worth exploring. How about you?” he asked and stared at her, trying to gauge her reaction.

  She wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips—full lips he had trouble ignoring—and said, “I agree. He just rubs me the wrong way. And how come he’s always there like a Johnny-on-the-spot.”

  “And stinks like one, too,” he teased, prompting a smile from her.

  “For sure. What do we do now?” she said.

  He liked that she said “we” because it was a team effort, including her. “We go back to work.”

  * * *

  MAISY SAT AND listened as the BAU team reviewed what they had gathered in the short time they were gone to do the press conference. Unfortunately, it appeared that they had hit a dead end at getting any information about who had opened up the Twitter account.

  “The email used to open the account is fake and was created just an hour before at a computer at the local library. No CCTV inside the library and we’ve had Seattle PD dust for fingerprints, but the computer was used by multiple people since then. Liam is searching for any CCTV feeds in the area of the library,” Dashiell noted.

  “And there was no sign-up for the computers. They could be used by anyone at any time. No one remembers anything out of the ordinary. We’ve sent agents to the homes of the librarians on that floor, as well as the security guard, with the initial photo that Dash and his team created. Still waiting to hear from them,” Madeline indicated.

  “Good. Hopefully, it might trigger a memory. Do we have anything else from ABS on the explosives or other evidence?” Miguel asked.

  “Dynamite again. Looks like the same batch that was used at the station. The blue wires again. TEDAC is analyzing the bomb materials and in the meantime, David is working on getting a list of any licensed blasters in the area who might have access to that kind of explosive as well as the wire,” Nicholas offered.

  “And the DNA casework unit is analyzing the touch DNA samples taken from the briefcase handle and collar bomb. They should have something by tomorrow and run those results against CODIS,” Dashiell added to the team’s report.

  It seemed as if they were covering all the bases so far, but what did she know? She was only a civilian drawn into this investigation. The crime was too painfully similar to what her father had done so many years earlier. Which made her wonder if there were other bombers like her father who were no longer imprisoned. Or maybe protesters who had used explosives. To her surprise Miguel, who had been mostly leaning back in his chair, listening to his team report, must have been thinking the same thing.

  “I’d like to make a list of any possible unsubs who fit this profile. White. Above-average intelligence, but usually underachievers. Socially inept. Let’s start with any known bombers or people on our terrorist watch list. Add to that any protesters arrested for using fireworks or other explosives. As for the DNA, when we get the results, let’s check them against whatever genealogy databases we can access.”

  Madeline peered around the table at the team members and said, “We’ll tackle that ASAP.”

  “I will as well,” Miguel said and shot a quick glance in her direction. “In the meantime, I think we all could use a break. Go get something to eat. Take a walk. Clear your minds. I’m going to take Maisy for dinner and then head home to work. If anything pops up in the meantime, call.”

  “Got it, Miguel. I am ready for some food and a walk to clear my brain. Anyone want to join me?” Nicholas said and rose from the table.

  “I’m game,” Madeline said and likewise stood and stretched.

  Dashiell glanced over his shoulder at where Liam and David were at their desks, still at work. “We have just a few things to finish up and then we’ll meet you.”

  Miguel slowly unfolded from the chair, clearly favoring his one leg, reminding her that he was still recovering from an earlier wound. He winced as he took a step away from the table, but then schooled his features and forced a smile in her direction. Holding out his hand, he said, “Ready?”

  “Yes,” she said and slipped her hand into his. He squeezed her hand gently, offering comfort with his touch. Comfort that filled her and said that she could count on him, and his team, to end this threat to her and to the city of Seattle.

  Together they walked out of the BAU offices and to the elevator, but once inside, he said, “There’s a good fish place a block or so away if you’d like.”

  “Are you good to do the walk?” she asked, well aware of how gingerly he’d been moving.

  “A walk will do me good. My leg stiffened up from sitting for so long, but it’s almost healed,” he admitted and pressed the elevator button for the lobby.

  She wanted to ask how he’d been hurt but worried it would go down a road like that which his father had taken. That it was time for him to change his career, but Miguel intrigued her, and she needed to know what made him tick.

  As the elevator moved toward the lobby, she said, “How were you hurt? If you can tell me, that is.”

  With a slight shrug, he said, “I can if you really want to know.”

  “I do. Before you my interactions with the FBI were...let’s say not as pleasant,” she said, recalling what had happened in the days and weeks after her father had been identified as the Forest Conservation Bomber.

  “Apologies for that, but I hope you understand that we have a job to do to protect people,” he said.

  The elevator doors slid open noiselessly, spilling them into the pristine lobby of the building. Still hand in hand they stepped out and across the lobby filled with workers leaving for either dinner or the night after a long day. Outside the weather was unseasonably warm for an October night, making for a pleasant walk to the restaurant just a couple of blocks from the skyscraper where Miguel worked and lived.

  After they were seated, she returned to their earlier conversation, which they’d set aside to enjoy the beauty of the fall night.

  “Do you mind sharing how you were hurt? What the case was about?”

  She needed to know what made him give up any kind of personal life to protect people like her. Maybe by knowing that, she could battle her growing attraction to the handsome FBI agent. Sitting back in her chair, she waited for him to answer.

  Chapter Nine

  Miguel delayed, unsure of where the discussion would go if he told her. Hopefully not to where such discussions usually went with his father.

  “We had identified the unsub...” He stopped at the puzzled look that slipped across her face at his use of the term.

  “I’ve heard that used, but what does it really mean?” she asked.

  “Unknown subject. It’s the person or persons who are unidentified and the focus of our investigations. Just easier to say unsub,” he replied with a smile and shot a quick glance at the menu. Well familiar with it since the restaurant was a favorite, he immediately knew what he would order.

  “Totally easier. So you had identified the unsub,” she prompted and also took a look at the menu.

  He nodded. “We had cornered him when he opened fire. I was shot during the confrontation, but we were able to capture him. My team and I got the job done.”

  “That’s important to you, isn’t it? That it’s the team that accomplished it,” she said, acutely in tune with him, which pleased him.

  “It’s a team effort. Everyone on the team contributes to the end result. If one person is off, it could impact the efficiency of the team.”

  “Which is why you’re worried about Lorelai and Liam,” she said just as the waitress came over to take their orders.

  “The salmon, please,” Maisy said.

  “The same and a bottle of the sauvignon blanc,” Miguel said and immediately returned to the conversation. “It worries me because of the effect on the team, but also because I think they’d be very happy together.”

  “I can’t argue with you. They seem to still care for one another despite the obvious tension,” Maisy said and added, “Tell me about the rest of the team.”

  Miguel didn’t hesitate to offer up his observations of the other team members and each of their respective specialties.

  Several minutes later, the waitress returned with a bottle of wine to uncork and pour it for them. When she stepped away, Maisy held up the glass and said, “To your team.”

  “To the team,” he replied and sipped the wine. The taste was crisp in his mouth, fresh with overtones of grass and a slight fruitiness.

  “You care about your team being happy,” Maisy said as she peered at him over the rim of the wineglass.

  With a slight shrug, he said, “I do. In the last several months, many of the team members have found their significant others. It worried me at first since it happened during our investigations, but I see how much more centered they are and that’s a good thing.”

  “But not you.”

  And there they were at that spot he hadn’t wanted to reach like he did with his dad. “Not me. Not ever. When my mother and her partner were killed, I saw the pain that was left behind. My father. Her partner’s wife and baby. A baby who will never know its father.”

  It had been painful for him as well to deal with those deaths. With the loss of his mother at the hands of a terrorist and its aftermath. It had only intensified his desire to follow in his mother’s footsteps.

  “That makes for a lonely life.”

  It was impossible to miss how she avoided his gaze by fixing it on the wineglass. It was likewise impossible to miss that the comment was also about her. About her life, and it made him sad.

  “It was tough for you. You were so young, and people were cruel. And in a different way, you lost the father you knew and gained a monster. One who is tormenting you again,” he said, but at that moment the waitress and another server came over with their meals. With almost artistic efficiency, the cedar-plank-cooked salmon was plated before them, along with an assortment of grilled vegetables.

  Once they’d left, Maisy said, “I won’t let him stop me from living. You shouldn’t let your mother’s death stop you either.”

  “It hasn’t,” he said, jabbed at a piece of salmon and shoved it into his mouth. Emotion made it tasteless since he hated to admit that Maisy might have a point.

  * * *

  MAISY COULDN’T MISS Miguel’s upset, but she also couldn’t say what was on her mind. For too long she’d held back because of the need to stay hidden to avoid the press and her father. Watching her mother slowly die before her eyes had only confirmed that it was time for her to reach for her dreams. To live. But happily, and to avoid any more unhappiness during the meal, she changed the topic.

  “What was it like to grow up in Miami? It’s probably very different from here.”

  He stopped shoveling food and met her gaze. The tension fled before her eyes, and a small smile quirked one side of his mouth. “Very. Tropical for starters. More diverse since there are so many different Latinos and other cultures.”

  “But your mom was Cuban?” she asked and forked up some asparagus from her plate.

  He nodded. “She was born in Cuba and her family escaped Castro’s regime in the early ’60s. She loved this country. I think that’s what made her join the FBI. She’d do anything to protect this nation.”

  “She sounds amazing,” Maisy said with a sigh and sipped the last of her wine.

  Miguel immediately refilled her glass. “Your mom must have been amazing as well to deal with everything that happened.”

  Maisy smiled. “She was. As difficult as it might have been, she tried so hard to give us a good life. It wasn’t easy, but we had some happy times despite everything.”

  Nodding, Miguel finished the last bite of his salmon. “Once we’re done with this investigation, you’ll be able to go on with your life.”

  She didn’t know why, but the prospect of that didn’t make her as happy as she’d been only yesterday, when she’d set foot on the bus to start the rest of her life. Maybe because of Miguel. He had so many layers and so much pain, and something inside of her responded to that. Maybe too much.

  When the waitress came by to ask about coffee and dessert, she demurred, aware that Miguel needed to get to work. Aware that she needed a little distance from him to deal with what she was unexpectedly feeling about him.

  After they finished the bottle of wine and chatted some more about Miami, Miguel paid and they strolled back to the BAU office and his apartment, but even though it was a leisurely pace, she sensed that Miguel was on high alert. He swiveled his head slowly around to keep an eye out, making her wonder if he was taking the Seattle Crusader’s threats toward her seriously.

  “Do you think he’ll come after me? Attack others?” she asked as they neared the door to his building.

  “I won’t let him hurt you. Or others,” he said, laid a hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed.

  To her surprise, she felt herself drifting toward him, stepping against him. He eased his arm around her shoulders to keep her there. Dropped the barest hint of a kiss on her temple.

  She slipped an arm around him beneath his jacket, but as she did so, she brushed against the holster tucked beneath his suit. It jolted her, that reminder that they weren’t ordinary people. That fate had thrown them together unexpectedly and would tear them apart much the same.

  Because of that, she stepped back. “I guess it’s time for you to get to work.”

  * * *

  AS HARD AS Miguel tried, his full attention kept on drifting away from his laptop to Maisy as she huddled beneath the covers on her makeshift bed.

  It had been tense when they’d first gotten back from the restaurant, and he’d changed while Maisy showered. After, in silence, they’d slipped into their respective beds. Maisy had pulled out her tablet and slipped on headphones to watch something in deference to his need to work. Not that she’d needed to do that since he was used to working in utter bedlam and could usually focus without fail.

  But not tonight. The more time he spent around her, the harder she was to ignore. And the harder it was not to imagine having her in his life more regularly. If she would have it, that was. She had her own plans for life, and he was sure they didn’t include a relationship.

  Like mine doesn’t include one, he thought and returned to reviewing the initial list of terrorist suspects his team had identified. Satisfied with their choices, he went through those they hadn’t chosen, but didn’t find any to add at the moment. Except for one—Richard Rothwell.

  Some might say it was his hubris driving him to dislike the politician, but he’d long ago learned to not let pride interfere with an investigation. He’d also learned to follow his gut and his gut was telling him that there was something off with Rothwell.

  Because of that, he turned his attention to learning what he could about the politician and his background. And as he read, more and more pieces fell into place, convincing him that he wasn’t barking up the wrong tree. The Seattle Crusader was parroting many of Rothwell’s political stands, although taken to an extreme. That only made Rothwell’s less progressive positions more palatable.

  And Rothwell was heavily into real estate and construction. That meant someone at one of his active builds might have access to dynamite and wire. But so far, they only had shell companies owning the two bombing sites. His team was going to have to bust through those shells and see if they led to the blowhard politician.

  He shut his laptop and sank down beneath his comforter, but as he did, a sharp cry of alarm drew his attention to Maisy.

  She was restless, kicking away her blanket and sheets. The muscles in her arms twitched a second before one arm flailed out, as if pushing someone away.

  Nicholas’s comments about Maisy and her mother suffering from some kind of PTSD flashed through his brain. PTSD and nightmares like the one Maisy was clearly having.

  He eased from his bed and approached her slowly, not wanting to scare her. As she swept her arm out again, almost tumbling herself from the sofa, she blasted awake and screamed at the sight of him. But as she realized it was him, she calmed, sat up and wrapped her arms around herself.

  Her teeth were chattering as she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  He sat across from her and cradled her cheek. “I wasn’t sleeping. Are you okay?”

  * * *

  AM I OKAY? Maisy asked herself and shook her head.

  “It was a dream, but it was so real. My father...he was there, and bombs were exploding everywhere. My mom was with me and I was trying to protect her, but...” She couldn’t finish because the vision in her mind was too extreme. Too scary.

  Too alone, which made her lean toward Miguel, seeking his comfort.

  Comfort he didn’t fail to give.

  He wrapped his arms around her and drew her into his lap. Held her against him as he murmured, “Your dad can’t hurt you anymore. I’ll make sure of that.”