An hour later, she'd found little beyond what Wes had discovered in two minutes. Max Malone was thirty-four years old, a little over six feet tall, with dark-brown hair and green eyes. He'd been born in Chicago and had gone to college at Northwestern, where he'd played on the baseball team and graduated with a degree in journalism. His first job had been with the Associated Press. And then there was nothing until last year.
His company was also shrouded in secrecy. No official website. No employees. No known clients. He had a business bank account, a post office box, and a phone number that had gone to voicemail when she called. It wasn't much to go on, and she couldn't afford to spend all her time on someone who might not even be important, so she put him aside and turned to Samantha Barkley.
Samantha Barkley's job as a federal prosecutor could certainly have made her enemies. And Kara couldn't help wondering if Max Malone fell into that category. The timing of his entrance and exit was certainly suspicious, and raised the question: Had he been looking for Samantha when he'd come into the café the first time, or when he'd come back?
Chapter Two
An hour later, Kara and Tyler headed to the DA's office to talk to Samantha's boss and coworkers. The DA, Clayton Montgomery, a smooth political operative in his fifties, described Samantha as fearless and ruthless, someone who wasn't afraid of anything or anyone. The bigger the challenge, the more she loved it. She'd received threatening messages off and on for years, but that had never made her shy away from a case.
Montgomery encouraged them to speak to Melanie Daniels, Samantha's legal admin, who told them Samantha was currently working on a financial fraud case, but it was in early discovery, and not all the players had been identified.
As they talked to Melanie, Kara couldn't help noticing that Tyler had a way with women. While the DA had focused on her, Melanie couldn't stop staring at the rugged man beside her, and Tyler leaned into her attention with a smile so charming, he convinced Melanie to show them Samantha's emails from the last twenty-four hours. Unfortunately, there was nothing noteworthy in that time period, and without knowing if Samantha was the actual target of the bomb or an innocent bystander, they couldn't dig too deep into her life without more evidence. Unless, of course, Samantha was able to give them permission.
With that thought in mind, they headed to the hospital, only to discover that Samantha's condition was critical. She'd made it through surgery, but she had suffered burns across her body as well as serious lung damage. She'd been placed in a medical coma, and the doctor was somber in his remarks about her long-term prognosis. He also told them he'd spoken to Samantha's sister, who was flying in later tonight. Julia had given him permission to discuss her sister's case with the FBI, but they might want to speak to her directly once she arrived.
As they made their way out to the parking lot, she said, "The doctor didn't seem optimistic."
"Even if she survives this critical stage, she's looking at a long recovery," Tyler said. "I don't know that her life will ever be the same."
"It definitely won't be." She shivered, thinking about how she could be in the same position as Samantha. If her drink had come a second later, if she'd gone into the restroom, if she'd been standing closer to the wall…so many ifs. But she couldn't focus on what hadn't happened. She needed to find out who had put Samantha into the hospital bed before they struck again.
"It's almost five," Tyler said as he drove out of the lot. "Do you want to go back to the office? Or I can drop you somewhere."
"The office is fine. I need to get my car. My uncle is a battalion chief with the fire department. He was on the scene this morning. Maybe he can tell me something we don't already know."
"So, you were a cop before you became an agent, and your uncle is a firefighter. Sounds like you come from a family of first responders."
"I do, and I know the best cop and firefighter bars in the city," she said lightly.
"Which group has the better bar?" he asked.
"I'll have to take you to a couple, and then you can decide."
"I'm in," he said with a smile. "Did you grow up in New York?"
"In Queens. How about you?"
"Small town in Iowa."
"Really? I wouldn't have guessed that."
"I enlisted in the Army when I was nineteen. The recruiter told me I could see the world. Of course, he didn't tell me what else I would see." His tone turned dark, then he cleared his throat. "That was fifteen years ago."
"Do you still have family in Iowa?"
"I do, but I don't go back very often."
"I heard you were recently in the Chicago office?"
"Yes. I liked the Windy City, but I was excited to come to New York and work with Jason. We spent a year together in LA, and he is very good at the job." As Tyler finished speaking, he turned into the garage under their building. He parked, then said goodnight and headed to his Ford Bronco, while she got into her small KIA SUV.
She'd asked her uncle to meet her back at the café. It felt a little eerie to return to the scene, but she needed to see it again without all the chaos of the morning. She parked at the end of the block and got out, her steps slowing as she walked down the street, each step taking her closer to the destruction.
What had been a bustling morning coffee shop was now a gutted shell. The large front windows were completely blown out, jagged shards of glass still clinging to the frames. Black scorch marks spread across the cream-colored brick facade in a starburst pattern, darkest near what had been the entrance. The cheerful red awning that had stretched across the storefront hung in tatters, one side completely torn away and the other dangling.
The buildings on either side were dark, their windows boarded up—collateral damage from the blast. The entire block felt abandoned. But as she drew closer, her uncle got out of a pickup truck he'd left in a loading zone and met her on the sidewalk. He was off duty now, wearing jeans and a jacket, his messy pepper-gray hair and weary eyes suggesting a long shift.
"Thanks for meeting me, Uncle Danny."
