Raquelle left the car and walked onto a covered porch. Unlocking the front door, she went inside and stood on Brazilian cherry hardwood flooring. She took a moment to admire the downstairs layout that included coffered ceilings, a spacious great room, separate dining room, gourmet kitchen with a two-level island and stainless-steel appliances, and lots of picture windows with drapery. The furnishings were a mixture of traditional andNative American. A security system was in place to safeguard the property, inside and out.
Raquelle glanced at the circular stairs leading to the second floor. There were four bedrooms up there, two en suites, a recreation room, and it was all similarly furnished in an attractive style. This was supposed to be their dream home two years after she and Landon tied the knot. Instead, she wound up living there alone once the divorce was finalized after he’d insisted that she keep the house rather than put it up for sale and split the proceeds.
Now Raquelle wondered how different things might have been had they stayed together. Could they have already begun the process of filling the home with children for them to dote over and spoil rotten? Or would they have continued to be at odds over the timing? How would a family have played into their professional and social lives?
Raquelle stepped further inside the great room to a corner where there was a black handcrafted upright piano and padded bench. She sat on it. Having learned to play at an early age, Raquelle had carried this into adulthood, mainly as a stress reducer. Admittedly, she had enjoyed playing more when she could do so for Landon. Or with him, when he played his guitar. Had the thrill waned with him too over the years?
She played a few notes thoughtfully before heading for the kitchen to take out some leftovers for dinner.
* * *
LANDON HAD WAITEDpatiently for more than two hours at the marina as boats had been temporarily evacuated by authorities while explosives-detection canines searched for other possible bomb threats. Bomb technicians from several jurisdictions pored over the charred boat belongingto Eddie. At least it had before being totally ruined and he went missing. On that note, it would only go one of two ways. Either he had been killed and maybe buried in an unmarked grave or out in the lake or Raquelle’s brother had fled for his life and was now lying low, panicked, trying to figure out where to go from here.
With the possibility that Eddie had jumped—or been thrown—into the water, before or after the explosion, the South Carolina Department of Natural Resources Division of Law Enforcement had dispatched a dive team to search Lake Owenne for his body. Landon feared what they might find, given the boat’s destruction and no sign of Eddie.
No matter how bad things seem, I’d hate for Raquelle to get her hopes up, Landon told himself, even while feeling the same way. Only for her to be let down in a big way if this went south as far as Eddie’s existence. For his part, Landon needed him to be alive. Both because of the knowledge that Eddie possessed pertaining to the investigation and, maybe more importantly, he didn’t want his former brother-in-law’s misfortunes to taint whatever chance Landon had for making things right again with Raquelle.
Or was that an impossible task at this point?
His musings were disrupted when ATF Explosives Enforcement Officer Chelsea Furillo walked up to him. Thirtysomething and slender in her uniform with blond hair pulled back into a topknot and green eyes, she said evenly, “Agent Briscoe, I have info on the boat explosion…”
“Okay. What do you have for me?” He prodded heralong, having already briefed her on the specifics of the art-theft investigation.
“It was caused by an IED.”
Landon lifted a brow in considering the acronym, which was short forimprovised explosive device. “Planted inside the boat?” he asked, as opposed to outside or beneath it.
“Yes,” Chelsea confirmed. “We believe that someone snuck on board and placed the IED beneath the engine. The bomb was almost certainly triggered remotely, though likely within reasonably close proximity to the boat.”
Landon thought about the man in a hoodie that Raquelle saw close to the scene. “I’m guessing that it was timed to go off with the owner, Eddie Jernigan, on board.”
“Makes sense,” she said, “unless the bomber intended to blow up certain contents on the boat.”
“Could be the unsub was looking to achieve both objectives,” Landon argued contemplatively. “If so, the bomber may have only succeeded halfway—with Jernigan’s current whereabouts unknown.”
Chelsea rubbed her nose. “If he’s still out there somewhere, maybe you can get to him before the perp can finish the job.”
Landon responded, in thinking about Raquelle, “That would be preferable.”
“In the meantime, we’ll see what else, if anything, we can dig up as clues about the unsub,” she told him. “Though it won’t be easy, given that the IED was powerful enough to ignite the gas—all but destroying critical evidence.”
He nodded. “Give it your best shot.”
“Will do.” She walked away.
Landon understood that they would need to rely on a combination of forensic evidence, surveillance videos, witnesses, and any other means to solve this and bring the culprit to justice.
Not to mention track down Eddie. Even though there was the real possibility that he was no longer in a position to cooperate in the case.
Landon watched as one of the DNR divers emerged from the water. Officer Julian Uchida, thirtysomething, tall and muscular, was in full gear as he approached.
“Find anything?” Landon asked hesitantly, not sure what to expect.
Julian shook his head. “Just some debris. No sign of a body submerged in the water.”
That’s good, he thought. Or at least it kept hope alive, considering the alternative. “Eddie must have gotten out of the boat in time—and in one piece,” he surmised.
“We’ll search a while longer, to be sure,” Julian told him.
