“Will do.” Finn closed the door and went back to Ryleigh, who was still reading the paper.

  “Did you notice that Vick’s a ranger? He works at the Oregon Caves.” She looked up. “Could explain the marble dust found at the bomb site.”

  “We need to pay him a visit,” Finn said, finally glad to have something to act on but with Avery asleep, he couldn’t go until the morning.

  “Let’s give Russ a call.” Ryleigh picked up her phone and put Russ on speaker. She succinctly updated him on the newspaper and visit from Tobias.

  “We need to raid Vick’s place,” Finn said.

  “Agreed, but it’ll be law enforcement only, and you won’t be in on the action,” Russ said.

  Not in on the action.

  His gut cramped. Not good. He thought he’d dealt with that kind of response. Guess not.

  But not in on the action was his life motto from now on, and he had to learn to fully deal with it. At least if he wanted to live a quality life that God wanted for all of His children.

  An hour later, Ryleigh exited Russ’s patrol car out front of Barney Vick’s ranch home. The sixties house had a red brick exterior, black shutters, and older wooden windows and sat on an oversized lot at the edge of town. The windows looked like they needed replacing but otherwise the home seemed to be in good repair.

  She marched straight to the door. Russ joined her, warrant in hand. The place was dark and buttoned up, but Vick could be sleeping. She knocked and stood back to wait. She rested a hand on her sidearm as did Russ. Vick didn’t have a record of any sort—not even a traffic ticket—but if he was their bomber, he didn’t care if people got hurt. That could include law enforcement officers who came to question him.

  Her pulse tripping, she tapped her foot, but Vick didn’t answer her knock.

  Russ pressed him thumb on the doorbell a few times and pounded harder. No answer.

  “He’s not home,” the neighbor lady yelled from her front porch. Ryleigh spun to look at her. “He went camping for the weekend and is going straight from there to work tomorrow.”

  “Hey, Lucy,” Russ called out. “Thanks. You wouldn’t happen to have a key, would you?”

  “I do, but what for?” The older woman wore a flowery housecoat, and she eyed them from under pin curls held in place with bobby pins in an X shape.

  “We just need to take a look around.”

  Russ’s vague reply got a raise of the woman’s eyebrows, moving the pin curls. “I know you’re the law and all, but I’m not sure Barney would appreciate me giving you a key.”

  “He’d like it a whole lot better than me busting down his door.” Ah, yes. Appeal to her practicality.

  “I suppose.”

  Russ held up the warrant. “The judge approved this visit if that helps.”

  “Does indeed. Be right back.” She spun, her housecoat flapping in the breeze.

  “I didn’t want to mention the warrant,” Russ said. “Now it’ll be all over town within an hour and people will be speculating.”

  Not good. “Let’s hope Vick is really camping and doesn’t get wind of it.”

  Lucy’s screen door came open again, but didn’t snap closed behind her as a guy, likely her husband, peeked his balding head out.

  “Evening, George,” Russ called out. “Nice night.”

  Ah, yes, small-town policing, Ryleigh had never really understood what it involved until now. They were here to search the home of a potential bomber, and Russ was making small talk with the neighbor. He had to. As sheriff for a small county, Russ had personal relationships with many of the county residents. The FBI never had this dichotomy to deal with. If they had a warrant to serve and the occupant wasn’t home, they would simply bust down the door and enter.

  Lucy marched across the lawn, her backless slippers snapping under her feet. “What’s he done?”

  “I’m not at liberty to share anything at this time,” Russ said. “But it could be nothing.”

  She raised a painted-on eyebrow. “He finally go off half-cocked on one of his conspiracy theories and hurt someone?”

  “Conspiracy theories?” Russ asked.

  “Seems like every week it’s something new. Last time we talked he said he thought the war in Ukraine was fake. That Democrats were using it to make them seem like heroes as they saved us from Russia.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Do you know where Barney went camping?” Ryleigh asked to change the subject.

  “He said, but I don’t remember.” Lucy faced her porch. “George, you know where Barney went camping?”

  “You’re the one who gets all the neighborhood gossip details, so I didn’t bother to ask.” His booming laugh traveled on the breeze.

  “Thanks for the key.” Russ smiled at Lucy. “But you best go on home now, just in case we encounter any danger.”

  “From Barney? Hah! I’ve always compared him to the big purple dinosaur who shares the same name. No danger there.” She walked off laughing.

  Russ inserted the key in the lock.

  “She could be right,” Ryleigh said. “Our evidence is sketchy at best at this point.”

  “Then let’s find something that isn’t sketchy.” Russ pushed open the door and announced himself.

  No reply, just as expected.

  Hand on the butt of his weapon, Russ stepped inside. Ryleigh followed him into an entryway boasting a flowery floor tile in orange and yellow sixties colors. That led to a step-down family room with a brick fireplace and older furnishings.

  “Police,” Russ yelled again. “If you’re here, Barney, come out.”

  Russ waited a moment and then headed down a hallway toward the bedrooms. Stained carpet emitted a musty odor with each step. Ryleigh refrained from holding her nose as she followed.

  Vick had set up the first room as an office. A newer-model computer sat on a vintage wooden desk painted an olive green. One wall covered with brown wood paneling held photos and internet articles about various conspiracies with red yarn lines anchored to colored pushpins and connecting items together.

  She stepped to the board and paused by a top article written in Canada about a link to loggers and prostate cancer. She put on gloves and tapped it. “Check this out.”

  Russ came to stand beside her and study the page. “Loggers have a higher incidence of prostate cancer.”

  “Never expected to see that,” she said. “They think the vibrations from chain saws may be the cause or emissions from the engines.”

  “See this?” He tapped the last part of the title that said loggers and cops were among higher-risk occupations for prostate cancer. Twice as likely to get it. “They see it in truck and bus drivers too. Not liking my job at this moment.”

  “That’s an interesting side fact.” She looked at him.

  “Vick might have some justification for blaming the job.”

  “But blaming Tobias is pretty far-fetched. Vick’s dad chose to be a logger. Tobias didn’t force him to do the job.” She tapped the date noted at the top of the paper. “This article was recently printed. Vick might’ve just located this info, and it could be what set him off after all these years.”

  “Makes sense.” Russ pursed his lips and stared ahead. “We need more information.”

  She turned to the desk and sifted through papers on the corner. Her mouth dropped open. “No way. Look at this. Bomb schematics using a photoelectric cell. Right out in plain sight. He must not have thought we’d ever connect the bomb to him.”

  “Guess we have the evidence we came for.” Russ frowned when she expected him to smile. “I knew about his conspiracy theory garbage but never thought the guy was more than odd. At least not odd enough to blow something up.”

  Ryleigh stared at the wall. This was the work of someone not in their right mind. Totally not in their right mind. And someone willing to risk the lives of others to make his point.

  That made him dangerous and unpredictable. And he was out in the Oregon wilderness doing who knows what.

  What was he capable of doing? Had he set another bomb? If so, where?

  A chill rolled over her body. “Looks like he went off the deep end.”

  Russ grimaced. “Yeah, but what does all of this tell us? Carla’s statement and her emails prove Sovereign Earth sent the threats.”

  “Or at least Keenan did, whether he was representing the group or not,” she said, trying to ignore the danger this man presented and focus.

  “The threats were big gossip in town, so what if Vick heard it and decided to piggyback off them? Set a bomb and place the blame on the group?”

  She let that thought settle in. “Sounds like a good possibility.”

  “And that could also help explain why he decided to do it now. He thought he had a way to exact his revenge and not get caught.” Russ got out his phone and snapped pictures of the wall. “Go through the desk. I’ll check out the rest of the bedrooms. Maybe we’ll find out where he’s camping.”

  Russ strode off, and she sat in the old wooden chair on wheels.

  She couldn’t bear the thought of a half-crazed bomber being out there somewhere, not knowing where, and they couldn’t stop him. She had to find something. Anything. Just a hint. That was all they needed to propel them forward.

  She ripped through the drawers. Snatching up papers. Reading. Discarding.

  Nothing. Nothing at all. Including no mention of his campground location.

  Okay fine. She needed help. The campground could be on Vick’s computer which she couldn’t touch until they had an image made of the hard drive.

  She texted Nick, who was a night owl and was sure to still be up.

  Urgent. Top suspect identified. Can you come get his computer to image it?

  Despite the time of night, his answer came right away. Send me the address and I’ll be there ASAP.

  She fired off a thank you along with Vick’s address.

  Russ came back and stood in the doorway. “Only things I found were several pairs of boots. They all have lug soles.”

  “We can try to match them to the prints lifted at the bomb scene,” she said, though that wouldn’t help them find Vick. Just prove he’d been at the scene.

  “If you’re done, we can do the living room, garage, and kitchen.”

  “I’m done, but I texted Nick to pick up this computer.” She stood, took one last look at the creepy board, and followed Russ down the hall.

  He took the living room and garage, and she searched through the kitchen with white flat front cabinets and orange tile countertops. A typical kitchen. Neat and tidy with a stack of mail on the corner of the counter. She flipped through the pile. Bills. Ads. Nothing of interest to move the investigation forward.

  “Living room’s a bust. Garage too. Only gym equipment.” Russ pointed through the patio door. “I want to get a look at that shed.”

  He slid the door open, the vinyl sticking on the track, emitting an awful noise that the neighbors had to hear. Under the stars and a swift wind, they crossed a cracked concrete patio holding a rusty kettle grill to the solid-looking shed with a heavy-duty padlock.

  “We need to get inside here, but not without it being checked out first.”

  She nodded. No way she would discover the bomber’s ID only to fall victim to one of his bombs.

  Thankfully, Grady was more than glad to come out with the robobugs and search the shed for booby traps. The roach did his job in minutes, and Grady declared the shed safe. And as a bonus he’d brought bolt cutters to remove the lock. He applied it to the lock and it dropped open.

  Flashlight in hand, Russ stepped inside and pulled the string on a lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. The space flooded with dim light, revealing yard tools hanging in a row on one wall and a workbench on the opposite wall.

  “Bingo!” He shot up a hand and flashed her a grin over his shoulder.

  She stepped into the space that reeked of motor oil and spotted the reason for his enthusiasm. Several tubes of explosives matching the ones in Shadow Lake Logging’s explosives’ depot and various parts for constructing a bomb were laid out neatly on a worn workbench. Her gaze landed on a photoelectric cell.

  Adrenaline cut a straight path through her body.

  She moved closer, easing past Grady, her heart racing now. “Dates are written on the tubes just like the ones Tobias’s company uses.”

  “Yeah,” he said, sounding way too calm for this important discovery. “But how did Vick get into the shed? Or get past the cameras for that matter?”

  “So maybe these aren’t the missing explosives,” she said.

  “Explain,” Grady said.

  She glanced between the men. “If Vick knows the brand of explosives Shadow Lake Logging uses and how they handle inventory, he could’ve put a date on the tubes to make it look like these came from there.”

  “Then where are the missing ones?” Russ asked.

  “Keenan took them and stashed them somewhere but never got to use them.”

  Russ nodded. “You could be right.”

  “Either way.” She took several breaths and looked at Russ. “We could really have our bomber.”

  “Looks like it, but we need concrete proof.” How he kept his tone so controlled, she would never know when her heart threatened to leap out of her chest.

  Grady stepped closer. “These are the same materials used in our bombs. Or at least the same brand and the dates are similar.”

  “Then he could really be our bomber.” Russ dug out his phone. “And we need this place secured as a crime scene then torn apart for leads.”

  “I’ll get Sierra out here.” Grady went to the door.

  The men made their phone calls. Adrenaline flowing, Ryleigh couldn’t stand around. She had to move. To do. But what? Maybe there were other buildings in the large yard. Other discoveries that could provide even more proof that Vick was their bomber.

  “I’ll take a look around outside.” She fairly bolted from the shed and turned on her phone’s flashlight. She shone the beam into the tall grass, weeds, and shrubs as she walked the perimeter filled with shadows. She took her time, making sure she didn’t succumb to a trap set by Vick. With the plans out in plain sight and the shed clear, she didn’t really expect one, but better to be safe than sorry.

  The neighbor’s dog barked on the other side of the fence, the little yips breaking the quiet night.

  She took a long breath and continued down the fence line, found nothing. But what did she expect to see? They’d already hit the motherlode of evidence. Not only bomb schematics, but the materials to make them.

  She reached her starting point. Flicked the light over the back of the shed. A shovel perched against the fence behind the small building caught her attention. Vick had neatly hung his other tools. Why would this one be outside?

  She eased between the fence and the shed and came up short.

  Oh no. No. No. He didn’t.

  “Russ!” she screamed. “You’ll want to see this.”

  She held her flashlight in place, her hands growing clammy. Her breath shallow. The beam of her light still focused ahead. Illuminating the mounded soil. A rectangle about six feet long by three feet wide.

  Russ came up behind her. “A grave? You found a grave?”

  “Yeah,” she said, her mind filled with implications. “Could be I just found Uri Gates.”

  Nearing two a.m., Ryleigh watched Dr. Pierre Meadows, the medical examiner, clear away the soil behind Vick’s shed. Russ had connections in the state ME’s office and was able to get someone onsite right away due to a bomber on the loose.

  Her adrenaline had fled long ago, swamping her with fatigue. The grave and lack of leads as to Vick’s whereabouts had doused it. Nick imaged the computer, but Vick hadn’t searched for campgrounds or made an online reservation with that device. He could’ve used his phone, but he would have that with him.

  And it was too late to get anyone in the state’s IT department to look up a reservation under his name. She ought to know. She and Russ had both tried to find someone to help them, but were told to wait until morning. Fine. They would have to do that and would have to arrest Vick at his work.

  “We have a body,” Dr. Meadows called out. “Hasn’t been here long. Come take a look to see if he’s your guy.”

  Russ marched toward the grave, no hesitation in his steps. Ryleigh got her feet heading in the right direction, but she wanted to run the other way. This part of the job had always been hard, and she was glad to have left it behind. Thankfully, she’d only had to work two murder investigations in her career. No doubt Russ had seen a whole lot more victims.

  They reached the open grave. The young ME with thick blond hair, dressed in the usual white Tyvek suit, stood back, his lips pursed in a narrow face with a pointed chin. He’d erected bright lights giving them a clear view of the dirt he’d mounded alongside the body. He’d also uncovered and brushed off the victim’s face. It was bloated and discolored, but no question in her mind. The deceased was Uri Gates.

  “It’s him,” Russ said. “No doubt.”

  “Yeah,” Ryleigh added. “That’s Uri Gates.”

  “Okay, then.” Dr. Meadows clapped his gloved hands. “We’ll finish the recovery and get him back to the morgue for the autopsy. I’ll let you know when I have any information to share.”

  Russ eyed the man whose dark circles and bags under his eyes left him looking tired. “I know you don’t usually work overnight, but any way we could get results by eight?”

  Dr. Meadows frowned. “You’re right. I don’t work overnight.”

  Russ stepped closer as if he hoped his intimidating presence helped sway the ME. “It’s just that I’d like to get the autopsy in before the feds take over and claim jurisdiction.”

  “Feds are coming?” Dr. Meadows perked up. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Yeah. You’ll have my findings by then.”

  Not wanting to linger on the death, Ryleigh stepped away and took a few deep breaths of the cool evening air to think.

  “Looks like we beat my self-imposed time clock on the investigation,” Russ said. “Should help with the feds taking me to task for not calling earlier. And since we aren’t dealing with terrorism, I hope they’ll just walk away.”