If I Should Die (36 page)

“You both can stay as long as you want.”

“I’m so sorry for everything. I should have told you at the beginning. I didn’t know everything, just bits and pieces. Right now I have to stop Jon. It’s my fault—I didn’t realize that he was waiting for my call to start blowing things up. But right after I called and told him Emily and I had gotten away, I heard the first explosion.”

“It’s not your fault, Henry,” Adam said. “I think Jon would have blown up the warehouses either way. You didn’t do any of this.”

“But I remained silent. For far too long. Jon’s going to die. I’m the only one who can talk him out of this madness.”

Tim rubbed his face. “I would go, but with my leg—and someone needs to stay with Emily. I’ll make sure she’s cared for.”

“Thank you, Tim. You’re a good man.” Henry looked from Tim to Adam. “Your father would be proud of both of you.”

Adam nodded. “For him, we need to end this peacefully. No one else has to die. Do you know where Jon is?”

“I don’t know for certain. But I overheard Carl Browne talking to one of his people that the meeting was still on at dawn in the church. If Jon knows about that, and he has more explosives, then I think he’ll go there.”

Adam caught Tim’s eye. Jon definitely had plenty of explosives to blow up anything he wanted.

Noah and Omar were hidden by bushes on the edge of the Callahan property, their breath visible. There was just one vehicle in sight, identified by Omar as the rental that Ian Galbraith, Bobbie Swain’s right-hand man, had been driving. There was no sign of movement in the house, and the only noise was from emergency vehicles headed to the fire on the far northeast side of Spruce Lake.

Noah assessed the house. The brush and grass had been cleared for a hundred feet surrounding the house, but they had the advantage of darkness.

“You’re sure the alarm is only on the house?” Noah asked.

“I’m sure.”

On Noah’s signal they moved in, circling the perimeter until they were in the rear of the house. Still no movement visible inside. Lights shined in a rear bedroom.

Gun drawn, Noah peered around the corner, looking for shadows or movement. All he saw was scraps of duct tape and ropes on the floor next to the bed.

The sliding glass door was cracked open, just a fraction. Noah motioned to Omar who silently pushed open the door.

Silence. No alarm, no voices.

A whiff of gunpowder hung in the air.

And the scent of blood.

The primary reason Noah hadn’t wanted Lucy with him was because of the very real possibility that Sean was dead.

Omar looked as grim as Noah felt. He motioned to the ATF agent to open the door on the far side of the room. Noah put his back against the wall while Omar opened it and went out low. Noah aimed high.

Still no sounds.

They went down the wide hall side by side, Omar checking the doors to the right, Noah to the left, until they reached the end, which branched off—the left to the living room, the right to the backside of the kitchen. A quick look in the kitchen showed no one was there.

In the living room, they found the body. Noah breathed a sigh of relief.

“She killed Ian?” Omar was shocked. “They were bed buddies. Screwed like rabbits. Rumor was they got off killing together. He worshipped her.”

“Seems she felt differently,” Noah said. He looked around the room while Omar continued searching the house.

“All clear,” Omar said when he returned.

Noah stared at an overturned dining chair and two broken lamps. “Sean, where the hell are you?”

Ricky huddled in his jacket outside the mine. The night was frigid, but still.

“How do you know Bobbie’s going to show up here?” Ricky asked Jon.

“She wants her stuff.”

Ricky almost didn’t ask, but he was curious. “What stuff?”

“Do you know what C-4 goes for on the black market?”

“That was hers?”

“It was the down payment from the gunrunner she was supposed to meet with in the morning. That and a hundred thousand, which she’d already spent. The C-4 is worth more than that, but harder to move. She sold some and hid the cash until she could find a way to launder it properly.” Jon laughed.

“She thinks she can play God and get away with it because she has for so many years,” he said, sobering. “It ends tonight. Are you with me, Ricky?”

“Yes.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“There’s one more warehouse. You do the honors.” He held the remote detonator out for Ricky.

Ricky hesitated, but only for a moment. Drugs had driven his father, even if he hadn’t done them himself. Drugs had destroyed his family, putting his father in prison and leaving his mother at the mercy of a monster. Drugs had fueled Bobbie’s greed and revenge, and he didn’t care if it was meth or pot—as long as there was a drug business in Spruce Lake, the town would never be free.

He flipped the switch and pressed the button. Nothing happened for two seconds.

Then the last explosion was twice as powerful as the first.

THIRTY-NINE

The blast from the latest explosion knocked Lucy and Patrick to the ground, and it was just good luck that they weren’t any closer to the warehouse. Inside the structure the marijuana burned. They ran back to the truck, and Patrick sped away.

Lucy had barely caught her breath. “Jon’s not here. No one is here.”

“He’s remotely detonating the warehouses.”

“How far can he be?”

“Bombs aren’t my specialty, but depending on the device he could be miles away.”

“What will he target next?”

“He’s already taken out the four warehouses. That’s it.”

“He has a bigger plan,” Lucy said. She looked out the window, the horizon now ablaze. She was thankful it was spring and the ground was still moist from winter; the explosions could have started a severe forest fire. Even now, the firefighters had their work cut out for them. They had to wear special equipment or risk being drugged from the burning marijuana. Toxins in the air put everyone at risk. She hadn’t heard of anyone dying just by being stoned, but she knew many cases of impaired drug-users doing stupid things and getting themselves killed.

Patrick’s phone rang. “Get it—it’s Adam.”

Lucy answered. “This is Lucy. Adam?”

“I’m with Henry Callahan. We’re at the church—Jon’s not here. No one is.”

“Does Henry have any idea about where else Jon might go?”

Lucy wanted to call Noah, but knew he’d contact her as soon as he had word about Sean. Not knowing was eating her up.

“None. He could still show up here. This is where they’re supposed to meet the gun guy tomorrow.”

“He’s not going to show, not with all this police and fire activity. Which is,” Lucy said, “probably exactly what Jon wants. To ruin Bobbie.”

“Not kill her?”

Lucy considered whether Jon’s revenge was more fatal-minded. She put herself in Jon’s shoes. If Sean died—her heart skipped a beat, and she forced herself to think like a professional. If Sean died, how would she feel? What would be her raw reaction?

She’d want revenge. Tonight. And she would probably take it. But after four months? On a specific day, to also thwart the gun deal? She wouldn’t. It was cold and methodical. Her revenge would be out of pain and anguish, not a calculated plot of murder.

“Why don’t you stay there,” she said to Adam. “In case Jon shows up. Let me know.”

She hung up.

“That look on your face,” Patrick said. “You’re concentrating.”

“There’s no look on my face.”

“There is. Think. Where would Callahan go? If he’s dead set on getting revenge?”

“Wherever Bobbie is.”

“The Callahan house.”

“Noah would have told us. Unless something happened.”

“I’ll head that way.” He sped up.

She sent Noah a text message. When they were only five minutes from the Callahan turnoff, Noah called her.

“Is Sean okay?” She didn’t want to sound desperate, but she felt desperate.

“He’s not here. Swain’s bodyguard is dead. We think Bobbie took Sean with her. Any idea where?”

Her stomach twisted painfully. “Why would she take Sean with her?”

Noah didn’t answer. Of course Lucy knew why: a hostage. She said, “If she encounters roadblocks she needs a ticket out.”

“I have Ricky’s number,” Patrick said. “Call him.”

“Noah, I’m going to try and reach Ricky. I’ll let you know what I learn.”

She hung up and dialed Ricky. He didn’t answer. She sent him a text message.

Bobbie kidnapped Sean. We think she’s going to either leave town or find Jon. Where are you? Are you still with Jon Callahan?

“Jon is the one with the control right now,” Lucy said. “He’s the one who wants revenge. As soon as I found Victoria Sheffield’s body, Bobbie would have to know she’d be ID’d and the FBI would sweep in. Yet she stayed. Why?”

“Because she was playing the odds that Sheffield wouldn’t be ID’d until later?”

“Perhaps. A narcissist, maybe? No one is as smart as she is? Not even the cops. That’s why she had the body moved. If they don’t have a body, they can’t ID her.”

“She didn’t realize you’re smarter.”

“And Jon was in love with her.” Lucy tried to put herself in Jon’s shoes. For him, the real crime was Bobbie’s killing Victoria.

She texted Ricky again.

Are you at the mine? Please tell me if Bobbie is there with Sean. He’s in grave danger
.

“Tim and Adam said the C-4 was stored at the mine, right?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“And that’s where Bobbie dumped Victoria’s body. Vengeance. Jon wants her in the mine. For him, it’s closure. Doing what he should have done months ago.”

Ricky responded.

She’s coming
.

“We have to get to the mine. Ricky just confirmed Bobbie’s on her way!”

As she sent Noah the information, she prayed they weren’t too late.

*    *    *

Sean kept quiet during the drive from the Callahan house to the mine. Carl drove and Bobbie sat in the passenger seat, playing with her gun in her lap. Handcuffed in the backseat, he listened to their conversation as he considered his options.

Sean gathered that the explosives came from Sampson Lowell. He’d used Bobbie’s operation to transport three cases to a domestic terrorism group. Sean tried to figure out who and where the group was, but Bobbie wasn’t specific, nor did she seem to care. The group didn’t have the funds for the entire shipment, so Bobbie had kept the remainder, which Lowell agreed to let her have as a sign of good faith in their gun distribution agreement.

As best he could figure, Lowell wanted to use Bobbie’s pot warehouses to store the extensive collection of guns he sold—to anyone from foreign governments to revolutionaries to street gangs. Lowell didn’t have a secure storage facility in the Northeast and while Spruce Lake was remote, it had the advantage of a nearby private airstrip, privacy, and an established and protected distribution network.

When the Hendricksons announced they were opening their resort, Bobbie feared tourists would come across her pot farms, and Lowell was nervous about the added influx of people. Bobbie wanted to delay the resort opening, at least until her operation with Lowell was up and running. Carl came up with the sabotage plan, thinking the Hendricksons wouldn’t be able to open on time. When it became clear they still planned to open over Memorial Day weekend, Carl instructed Ricky to burn down the main lodge.

Bobbie had sold the remaining C-4 she’d gotten from Lowell and was supposed to deliver it to the buyer next week. That Jon used some of it to blow up her warehouses meant she couldn’t fulfill her obligation. That put her name and trustworthiness at risk—not good for business. Worse, though, was that she’d just lost her entire inventory of weed, meaning she wouldn’t be able to fill orders for months. Nor were her secure warehouses even standing. They would not be stowing Lowell’s guns anytime soon.

Jon Callahan had effectively destroyed her entire operations in one explosive night.

Carl said, “Shoot him on sight.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Bobbie retorted.

Sean couldn’t see anything through the dark windows of the moving car. He calculated it would take only ten minutes to reach the mine.
Think, Rogan
.

“Arguing with Jon will only delay our departure.”

“I want my money and the rest of the C-4.”

If Sean were in her shoes, so would he. She needed the money to stay free, and alive.

“There are only a few places he could have put it. It’s either with him or at the bar,” Carl said. “He didn’t have more than a few hours to hide it.”

“Then we won’t just drive up where he expects us. Pull over here.”

Carl turned off the highway and onto an unpaved road. Sean had no idea where they were.

“We’ll go in on foot,” she said.

“It’s thirty degrees out there!” the reverend objected.

“Come on, old man, you have a coat.”

Carl didn’t look happy, and Sean had no idea how far they had to walk.

“What about him?” Carl glanced back to where Sean was handcuffed in the backseat.

“We might still need a hostage when we leave. We’ll kill him once we get into Canada. Make sure he’s secure,” Bobbie ordered.

Carl reached over the seat to check Sean’s cuffs. He then wrapped duct tape around his ankles and a strip across his mouth. “Not that anyone’s around to hear you. You just irritate me.”

With the car heater off, the temperature plummeted. They hadn’t given him back his jacket at the house, and Sean had on only jeans and a T-shirt.

As they sat in the car, Sean heard a truck on the highway pass them, then slow down.

“Who the hell was that?” Bobbie said. “It just turned down the road to the mine. White truck. Who has a white truck? It’s not Jon’s.”

“Let’s just leave,” Carl said. “I don’t like the feeling of this.”

“We’re not leaving without my money, or we might as well just turn ourselves in to the fucking police.”

Carl sighed, resigned, and opened the car door.

Bobbie turned in her seat to look at Sean. She double checked the handcuffs and duct tape. “Stay put, sugar.” Then she followed Carl into the woods.