“I bet you’re thinking about it—all the time.” Hope stretched out her arms, and Faith leaned down to give her a hug. “Go home. Sleep. And tomorrow, find out what’s going on in his heart. I think you’ll be able to handle it, whatever it is.”
Faith went home and texted Luke as she’d promised. He replied immediately, almost as if he’d been waiting on her, and they texted for a few minutes before she went to sleep.
What would her life be like when the case was over and she wasn’t texting Luke Powell every night?
To her surprise, Faith slept hard. A deep, dreamless sleep. She woke with a sense of renewed purpose.
Hope’s insistence that Luke was “the” man for her was freaking her out. Hope had a discerning spirit and an unrivaled intuition. Faith hadn’t always trusted Hope’s gut. If she had, it would have saved her a lot of heartache with guys back in college. But she’d learned her lesson. In recent years, on the rare occasions she’d had an opportunity to go out with someone, she’d always run it past Hope, who had always given her sound advice.
But this was the first time, ever, that Hope had openly championed a man. It would be a lot easier for Faith to dismiss it if shecould stop thinking about Luke, which was impossible given that he was an integral part of this case.
Faith pulled a Cherry Coke from her fridge. Down to two. She needed to go to the store on the way home tonight.
Her drive into the office was uneventful, and the building was mostly deserted. A stack of reports sat on her desk that weren’t there yesterday. Quite a few agents had been hard at work last night, and this was the result of their labors.
She picked up the first one. ATF believed the bomb that blew up Thad Baker’s car had some indications of a professional design and some signs that made them think an amateur had done it. The bottom line was that they didn’t know what they were dealing with.
But this was interesting. The explosive at the heart of the bomb that destroyed Jared Smith’s home was the same as the bomb in the Thad Baker case. It would be another week or so before they had the chemical composition to know if it was the exact same, but the ATF report indicated the explosive wasn’t a common variety ... so what if it was the same?
She tucked that thought aside and picked up the next file. The Stevskys had gone quiet since their patriarch had died in prison—unless you count killing Thad, although there was no evidence to prove they had done that. Multiple agents had interviewed them this week. All the Stevskys denied any dealings in the death of Thad Baker or the more recent events. Were they truly not behind this? The conclusion drawn by the agents who had written this report was that there was a real possibility the Stevskys were innocent. Well, not innocent, but not guilty of this particular string of crimes.
It would be so nice if there was a way to prove they weren’t involved. But how? Faith added that to the swirl of questions her subconscious was mulling over.
The next file contained the fire marshal’s report on Zane’s house. Arson. Not a shocker. The fire marshal had already given her his thoughts over the phone, and the report didn’t offer any new insights.
Then the ballistics on Gil. This was interesting, although not surprising. The same gun that had been used to shoot Zane and Luke had been used to shoot Gil. Which meant their bad guy was a marksman. The agents had located the spot where the shot that hit Gil had come from. It confirmed Faith’s theory that the shooter was intentional. Not scattered and random. Not willing to kill anyone who happened to get in his way.
A killer with morals?
What did that even mean?
21
LUKE HAD GONE TO WORKearly after a long night during which he woke up more than once in a panic. He’d had to stop himself from texting Faith at 3:00 a.m. to see if she was okay. Spring thunderstorms had rocked the night, and the dreary day matched his mood.
He was back to his search for information on Park Mi Cha when his phone rang with a distinctive ringtone.
Bill. Not his favorite CI, but not someone he wanted to ignore either.
Luke snatched the phone. “Hello.”
“Got a minute?” Bill’s voice was rough, too rough for someone who’d just turned twenty-two.
“That depends. Got something for me?”
“I might.”
“I’m listening.”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree.” Bill spoke with unusual urgency.
“Which tree would that be?”
“The Stevsky tree.”
“The Stevskys claimed they were the wrong tree for severalyears. Turned out they were the right one. Why would this time be any different?”
“They didn’t do it.” A tinge of desperation filtered through Bill’s voice. “And it isn’t any of their competitors either.”
