The Trigger (18 page)

“I’m glad you’re here,” Lisa’s voice was a whisper. “Spencer will need a new wife soon.”

Startled, Dallas struggled for the right response. “I barely know him. I just came here to be part of the community.”

“But you and Spencer have a connection. I feel it.”

What the hell was she supposed to say?
“I feel it too. I think fate brought me here.”

Lisa’s tone changed, but it was subtle, because her voice was so weak. “As one of the survivors, you’ll need to bear children. Can you?”

Dallas wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “What do you mean by survivors?”

“After the apocalypse, whatever it turns out to be. Destiny members must repopulate.”

They’d brought her in as a breeder. Nice.
“I’ll do my part.”

“Good. Spencer always wanted children.” After struggling to get the words out, Lisa closed her eyes.

“Are you okay?”
Dumb question
.

The gaunt woman didn’t respond, but she was still breathing, a shallow ragged sound.

“It was nice to meet you.” Dallas fled the room, desperate to escape the most uncomfortable conversation she’d ever had.

She met Spencer in the hall and was afraid to even comment. “Lisa’s asleep. I’ll head back to my apartment.”

“No. Stay for lunch. I want to get to know you.”

“I need to wrap things up with a client, but I can be back here in half an hour.” She wanted to update her team and reapply the pheromones. If she couldn’t find the bunker tonight, she would need to get closer to Spencer and probe him for information. He was attractive, but not rough enough around the edges to generate real sexual chemistry for her. But she could fake her way through anything.

* * *

While Sonja was gone, Spencer grilled chicken and made a salad with lettuce from the greenhouse. Marissa had dropped off the vegetables the day before, as she did weekly. When lunch was ready, he left the front door open for Sonja, set a table outside on the patio, and checked on Lisa. She was sleeping peacefully. Her earlier conversation had been such a surprise. He woke each day now, wondering if he would find her gone.

As he walked back up the hall, Sonja breezed in, wearing a white tank top and a pair of shorts that looked like a skirt. She could have been a model for tennis clothing, but it was her face that held his attention. Wide cheekbones, brilliant blue eyes, and the most kissable lips he’d ever stared at. How could a man get this lucky twice in a lifetime?

“Let’s go out to the patio. I made salad and grilled chicken. Will that work for you?” He stepped outside and Sonja followed.

“It’s perfect. But honestly, I’ll eat almost anything that’s healthy.”

“People with variable diets live longer.” Without realizing he was going to, Spencer kissed her cheek.

Sonja smiled. “This is so lovely here. I’ll never get tired of seeing that gorgeous mountain.”

“It really gives us a sense of place.” Spencer joined her at the table.

“And the snow runoff produces the creek, which provides water and electricity. You’ve chosen an ideal location.”

“We did our homework and looked for somewhere safe from storms, but we also got lucky. My late father knew the land owner.”

They dug into the meal, and moments later, Sonja asked, “How is the generator coming? Grace seemed worried about it.”

His gut tightened
. Why was she asking?
He took a moment to finish chewing. “The generator will be fine. Did you get my email this morning?”

“No. About what?”

“I must have forgotten to add you to my group list.” He paused. “Grace had a family emergency and had to leave for a while. So we’re looking for another engineer to join us.” He tried to keep his voice light, but grief and guilt welled up. “You don’t happen to know anyone with those skills who might be persuaded, do you?”

“Sorry, my friends are more the artistic type. I’m sure you’ll find someone.” She took a sip of wine. “There’s no real rush, right?”

He wanted to tell her everything! Sonja had a magnetic pull that overwhelmed him at times. “With everything that’s happening now, especially the European banks, the collapse could be imminent.”

“But won’t it be a slow process? Months or even years until the economy falls into a permanent recession?”

Spencer shook his head. Why didn’t people realize this? “Once U.S. banks start to fail, people will panic and pull their money, and within days, the whole system will be crippled.”

“That’s faster than I imagined. But still, it’s why I keep a portion of my estate in gold bars.”

“You’re smart. Even smarter to be here, where we’ll be insulated from the worst effects.”

She leaned toward him, and he wanted to press his mouth to hers. How could he crave her so badly with his dying wife thirty feet away?

“What do you think it will be like after? I mean for most people.” Her eyes were troubled, and her compassion for others made him want her more.

“For the first few years, most people will manage to get by, even without heat or electricity. But food will become scarce, and whole regions will begin to starve. Resource wars will wipe out other large segments of the population.” The food in his stomach seemed to congeal. Spencer put down his fork. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this. It’s too depressing.”

“But large pockets of civilization will survive,” she countered. “They’ll form collectives like this one and become self-sustaining.”

“You’re right. The upside is that the collapse will reduce carbon emissions down to nearly nothing. Without factories, coal burners, or cars, we have a chance of keeping the earth’s temperature inhabitable.”

The sound of a motor caught their attention, and they both looked over at the road. Randall was taking the cart out. Spencer assumed he was going out to see Emma and the baby. “He’s probably checking on the generator. More wine?” He wanted Sonja to stop watching his brother.

“No, thanks. It’s too early.”

“What do you have planned for the day?”

“I thought I’d do some hiking. Explore the property.”

He couldn’t let her do that yet. “I have a better idea. Let’s do some target practice.”

Friday, May 10, 7:30 a.m.

McCullen woke with a sense of urgency, something he didn’t experience often. Not only was Emma missing—and likely held captive—he had a bizarre homicide to solve. Even though the victim had been dead for weeks, the burglary tools and gun she’d carried made him think something big might still be going down.

He rushed through a shower, then took McGoo out for a walk while coffee brewed. The black lab had come into his life as a rescue dog soon after Emma left him for Randall. The timing had been serendipitous, and the sweet animal had kept him from thinking dark thoughts on lonely nights. But now he wondered if bonding with McGoo had kept him from reaching out to people—or even dating. It was time. Jamie Dallas had stirred up feelings he hadn’t experienced in years. Unluckily for him, she was only here for a short while, and he couldn’t even have direct contact with her.

He stopped to let the dog pee on his favorite tree, then turned back. McGoo sensed his mood and started to run. McCullen laughed and jogged to keep up.

In the bureau, he checked his email messages, surprised to see one from Dallas. It had arrived just after midnight, and it had no message, just an attached report. McCullen read through it quickly, letting out a low whistle. The Claytons had secretly buried one of their members. Had her death really been an accident? Dallas seemed to think so.

He heard Gibson’s heavy footsteps and looked up. His boss said, “You read the UC’s report?”

“It’s pretty weird. What did you advise her?”

“To ignore the illegal burial and find Emma Clayton if she can. I’m pulling her out in forty-eight hours either way.”

“Why? That’s not enough time.”

“First a missing woman, then a dead woman. I think it’s too dangerous for her to be there.”

McCullen worried too, especially since his boss had leaked the intel to Mr. Caldwell. But he suspected Gibson had old-school ideas. “Are you pulling her because she’s a woman? I mean, if it were me out at Destiny, wouldn’t you leave me to finish the assignment?”

Gibson bristled, but took a moment to chew on it. “Maybe, but it’s not just gender. You’ve got more experience.”

“Dallas has more undercover experience that most agents ever get.” McCullen had read reports. “On her last assignment, she infiltrated a group of eco-terrorists in Oregon and helped resolve a hostage/bomb situation.”

“We’ll see how it goes.” Gibson shoved his hands in his pockets. “How’s the homicide investigation?”

“Nothing new, but the victim’s photo ran in the papers this morning, and I expect to get some calls.”

“Let me know as soon as you have an ID.”

“I will.”

Gibson turned to leave.

McCullen wanted more. “What is Dallas doing today? Have you heard from her?”

“She’s spending time with Spencer, then going back out tonight to search for the bunker.”

That seemed like such an overwhelming task. “I wonder if we could requisition a heat-seeking drone to fly over the property.”

Gibson barely controlled his impatience. “It’s fifty acres, and we’re not exactly looking for terrorists.”

McCullen tried not to feel stupid.

His boss continued, “Dallas sent an update this morning. Late last night, she cozied up to a Destiny member named Greg Rafferty. She found out he’s a hacker who was hired to do a job, and he admitted something about a
financial test
. He was drunk at the time, and I can’t find him in the database, so I don’t have any intel I can act on.”

“Why would a group of preppers need a hacker?” The idea disturbed him. So did the thought of Dallas drinking and making out with another man.

“I’ve been mulling that over. Maybe they need money and are planning a cyber theft.”

“I wish we could get a search warrant for their computers, but we’d need real evidence to take to a judge.”

“I know. Dallas is working on it.”

His desk phone rang. “Agent McCullen here.” Gibson walked away as he answered it.

“That picture in the paper this morning? I think I saw her a couple weeks ago.” The caller was male and sounded middle-aged and rushed.

“What’s your name, sir?” McCullen opened a digital note file.

“It doesn’t matter. You wanted information and I’m giving it to you.”

What did this guy have to hide?
“Do you know who she is?”

“No. I just remember seeing her in the parking lot of the Cascade Bank on Shasta View. She was in a Dodge Avenger, I think.”

“What day and what time?”

“A Sunday night about three weeks ago. She was there when I stopped next door for a beer around nine, and I noticed the car was still there when I left a couple hours later. That’s why I remember her.”

Casing the bank to rob it?
McCullen keyed in quick notes as he listened. “Where exactly was she parked?”

“On the north side near the back.”

He knew the area, but he still needed the man’s help. “Will you meet me there and show me where she was parked? I need to figure out what she was doing.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t.” The witness hung up.

McCullen looked up the bank and street number to find the exact address, then left the building.

The quick drive across town reminded him of why he both loved and hated Redding. The air was crisp, trees were abundant, and the traffic was minimal. But the two cases he was working now made him painfully aware that his career and life in this quiet little town was normally so routine it depressed him.

As he approached the bank, he realized it was a new branch, retrofitted into what used to be a video store. Next to it on the right was The Highland, a restaurant and bar owned by the Clayton brothers. Emma had been the manager when they’d bought it, only months after he’d started dating her. After she dumped him, McCullen had avoided the place for years, then eventually started eating occasional dinners there.

As he parked and climbed out of his car, the pungent smell of fried onions drifted over, causing an avalanche of memories. Late dinners and flirting with Emma, rounds of beer in the tavern with Carson, a friend who’d been killed in a hunting accident—and the night Emma had told him she was seeing someone else.

After a moment, he realized he was staring at the place, its cedar-shingled exterior dark and uninviting. He shook it off. That was the past. Right now he had a homicide to solve. He pivoted and walked into the small bank next door. One teller was behind a tall curved counter, and another woman occupied a corner desk. He headed for the corner. “I’m Agent McCullen with the FBI. Do you have a moment?”

“Sandy Warsaw. I’m the branch manager.” She stood and shook his hand. “How can I help you?” The redhead seemed too young to be a bank manager, but this wasn’t much of a bank.

McCullen showed her Charlotte’s driver license photo. “Have you seen this woman?”

The manager gave it some thought. “No. Why?”

“She was spotted outside the bank about three weeks ago. I’d like to see your security video for the 21st and 22nd of April.”

“What is this about?”

“She’s a homicide victim, and I’m trying to identify her.” He also needed to ask some specific questions. “Can we talk in private?”

Ms. Warsaw led him into a back room about the size of a walk-in closet. They sat at a small table that smelled like sweaty dollar bills.

“We have reason to believe this woman may have been planning, or involved in, a robbery.”

“This bank?” The manager’s voice tightened into a squeak.

“Possibly. A witness says he saw her parked in your lot on the evening of April 21st or 22nd. We want to know if she came into the bank, or if she had an account here.”

Warsaw shook her head. “I’m sure she’s not a customer, but you can ask our teller if she saw her come in.”

“Have you had anything unusual happen in the bank in the last month?”

She let out a little snort. “We’re as boring as a cornfield in Kansas.”

He suppressed a smile. “Any suspicious characters hanging around?”