Deep Extraction Page 9

  “Cole, I don’t believe Sally is capable of murder.”

  “Me either. But we have a bombing that needs to be investigated.”

  Tori pointed to an intersection. “Here, then turn left at the light. Second street on the left, fourth house on the right.”

  After parking in the driveway, they approached the front door together. The night air refreshed Cole, shoving clarity into his blood. A single lamp shone through a thin curtain of the agent’s home as though he was expecting them.

  Tori knocked on the door. “Max, it’s Tori. Can we talk?”

  “Why?” His gruff voice ended any pleasantries of the peaceful evening.

  “I have Deputy Marshal Cole Jeffers with me.”

  “Can’t it wait until morning?” He sounded weak too.

  “We have an update on the case. Information you’ll want to hear and process.”

  “Good call,” Cole said, barely above a whisper. “He needs a reason to fight.”

  “I have cancer, Jeffers. I’m not deaf or stupid. And don’t think your relationship with the ASAC impresses me.”

  Cole laughed. “If you’ll let us in, I’ll apologize for this morning.”

  “Which means we’re best friends? Hell will freeze over first.”

  “I have an ice pick.”

  The door clicked from the inside. “It’s open, smart mouth.”

  Tori stepped in with Cole behind her. What he could see of the home resembled Lance’s room. Except the house reeked of cigarette smoke, stale beer, and the pungent stench of vomit. Max must have hit bottom and decided to hibernate, and his pasty skin made him look like warmed-over death.

  “No need to sit. Y’all won’t be staying.” He lifted a can of Bud to his lips.

  “Think I will.” Cole shoved newspapers onto the floor. “Whether you like it or not, we’re working together. Now do you want to know what Tori and I learned tonight, or are you going to sit here and drink yourself into a stupor?”

  Tori inhaled sharply. Obviously she preferred the kid glove treatment.

  “I’m better than you on your worst day.”

  “Prove it to me.”

  Max coughed. Sad in far too many ways to count.

  “We acquired sensitive information about Nathan from his oldest son, Lance,” Tori said. “He hacked into his dad’s computer.”

  Max lifted a brow.

  She continued to tell him about the photos and their interview with Anita Krantz.

  Max rubbed his whiskered jaw. “A jealous lover is one thing, but it doesn’t explain bombing the oil rig unless she was trying to prove a point.”

  “We’re tracking the same path with her,” Cole said. “She was playing a role tonight, hiding her and Nathan’s affair until we nailed the truth. I’m trying to figure her out.”

  Max sneered. “Let me know how using your brain works for you.”

  Tori shot Max a hint of disgust. “We want to protect Sally and Jack from the truth.”

  “They’ll find out soon enough. Why not give them the pretty story now?”

  “We chose not to,” she said. “No point in dumping more dirt into their lives.”

  “And you think they’ll handle it any easier later?” Max took another long drink. “Anything else?”

  “Yes,” Cole said, questioning the logic of this late-night visit. “Are we going to work together as a team?”

  “Gonna tell on me if I’m a bad boy? One of you already complained to the ASAC.”

  “It wasn’t me,” Cole said. “I believe in confronting problems head-on.”

  “I didn’t either,” Tori added. “Sally Moore placed the complaint. She told you it would happen.”

  “She’s weak and afraid of what I’ll learn. ’Specially about her and ol’ Jeffers.”

  Cole considered Max’s testy nature, as though the man were a child craving boundaries. “Max, I’m not your whipping boy. You can take your self-pity and pride and stay right here and drink yourself to death. I don’t care.” He stood. “Or you can sober up and do the one thing you know best. A real man would want to leave a heroic legacy for his family, not a bill for housekeeping and extermination services.” He glanced around at the filth. “I’ll be at the FBI office at 7:45 in the morning.” He left the house.

  Ten minutes later, Tori climbed into the passenger side of the truck and slammed the door. “You were harsh. Totally uncalled for. He’s dying of cancer and all alone.”

  “Didn’t you tell me the latter was his own fault?”

  “Your comments aren’t what he needs right now.”

  “And a six-pack is?”

  “Sympathetic understanding that coaxes him out of his mood works best. I should know after six years with him.”

  “Then go right back inside and hand him a blanket and a pacifier. See if numbing his brain lengthens his life.” He started the engine, and neither spoke on the drive back to the FBI office. Running interference for Special Agent Max Dublin on an FBI task force wasn’t in the job description.

  A call came into Cole’s phone. Lance. The kid should be asleep. He snatched it. “Hey, what’s going on?”

  “Someone threw a rock and broke the living room window. No one’s hurt, but it had a note tied to it. Said, ‘I know the truth.’”

  “Where’s your mom?” He pressed Speaker.

  “She’s talking to the cops. Didn’t want to call you ’cause she said you and Tori needed your rest.”

  “We’re on our way.” He dropped his phone into the console. “The temperature just got hotter.”

  Cole and Tori found the Moore home swarming with HPD officers. Flashing lights again brought attention to the family. Inside, Lance, Jack, Kit, and Wes gathered in the kitchen. Sally was speaking with Detective Hernandez. The man had been there about twenty-four hours ago, and now a return trip. The detective’s hardened features from the previous encounter had been replaced with a gentler tone.

  “Mrs. Moore, I’m sorry for the chaos invading your home,” Detective Hernandez said.

  “It’s okay. I understand.” Sally lifted her gaze to Cole and Tori. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

  “Our job is here,” Cole said and greeted Detective Hernandez. “I neglected to mention my former role as a US Marshal when we spoke previously. Since this morning, I’ve been reinstated and am now working with the FBI regarding Mr. Moore’s death.”

  “I . . . I see. Then you’ll be receiving our report on what happened here this evening.”

  “Yes, sir. One of Mrs. Moore’s sons contacted me about the rock and note.”

  With latex gloves, Detective Hernandez handed him a piece of paper. It read as Lance indicated. Cole returned it. “I’ll call tomorrow for the fingerprint check and handwriting analysis.”

  “Okay. Looks like we’re finished here.” Detective Hernandez excused himself.

  Once the officers left, Cole studied Sally. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, sure.”

  Tori gave her a hug.

  “I have a question, Cole,” Wes said, making his way across the kitchen. He frowned, his normal look. “I have a concern about this whole crime and murder situation. It looks to me like Kit’s and my lives could be in peril. What’s your take?”

  Peril? What about his daughter and grandsons? “Your daughter has bodyguards, just as Nathan requested prior to his death.”

  “I’m concerned about Kit,” Wes said. “She’s frail.”

  A flicker of anger sparked in Sally’s eyes. “Dad, you don’t need to stay. For that matter, I can handle the funeral on my own.”

  Lance huffed. “Let me get this straight, Grandpa.” Sarcasm whipped around the room. “So your wife is more important than your daughter?”

  “It’s complicated, son,” Wes said.

  Lance shook his head. “I’m not your son. You made yourself real clear.”

  Everyone in the room was bone tired, and Cole had no problem being a mediator. “Sally is working with law enforcement to e
nsure the protection of everyone in this house.”

  “Beginning immediately, I’ll have the boys tutored at home until this is settled.”

  “Mom,” Lance said, wrapping his arm around her waist, “I’m going to help you and Jack through this. You don’t need an old man who’s afraid of his own shadow.”

  Cole sucked in his irritation. “How about everyone head to bed? Tori and I will stay a little longer to check the house’s windows and other points of entry.” He glanced at Tori, who agreed.

  Another long night.

  TORI’S DOCTOR’S APPOINTMENT came too early Wednesday morning for her weary body and overstimulated mind. Three hours’ sleep and two cups of coffee should have perked her up. Now, sitting on the doctor’s examining table, she craved four more hours and an IV of caffeine. To stay awake, she concentrated on each known detail of Nathan’s death.

  Murdered by someone who’d hacked his pacemaker.

  Shared with his attorney concern for himself and his family’s safety.

  Claimed he wanted out of his marriage and family.

  Involved with Anita Krantz.

  Logic said the crimes had to link back to the oil rig bombing and winning the EPA case. And whoever hated him wasn’t finished yet. Why toss a rock through Sally’s window except to shake her up—a tactic that worked.

  The doctor entered the room and took her hand. “Tori, how’s my favorite FBI agent?”

  She offered a smile, although frowning best suited her. “Good. Busy. Always chasing bad guys.”

  He grinned. “Rather you than me. How can I help you this morning, other than suggest more sleep?”

  “I have a mole on my left wrist that’s darker and growing.”

  He inspected her wrist. “Tori, there’s nothing to be alarmed about. It’s a freckle.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “A second opinion is always your choice.”

  How many times had they shared the same conversation? She glanced at the blood pressure cuff, a tissue box, the glass jar of cotton balls, and back to her doctor. “I’m embarrassed . . . as usual.” Contempt for herself made the situation worse.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “There’s no need to feel uncomfortable. I want to help you through this.”

  What he didn’t say was it began after Kevin’s death. “It’s part of the grieving process. I can handle it on my own.”

  “I disagree, Tori. This is about fear, not grief. I see what it’s doing to you.”

  “I’m not a hypochondriac.”

  “And I’m not diagnosing you with it. What I’m saying is your dread of cancer has you preoccupied.”

  “The last time we spoke about the problem, I saw a psychologist.” Tori hadn’t wanted it on her record, so she didn’t use a recommendation from the FBI. “She suggested I talk to you about an antidepressant. But I’m not depressed, and I haven’t gone back.”

  He uncrossed his arms. “Okay. But you’re here this morning, you were here two weeks ago, and two weeks before that.” Compassion oozed from his eyes, and she grew hot with humiliation. “All stemming from the same fear. Family health history has a tendency to paralyze you.”

  She drew in a breath and held it. He was blunt and right.

  “Would you like the name of another psychologist?”

  “Not yet.”

  He wrote on a prescription pad. “If you change your mind, here’s the name of a friend. Goes to my church. He’s a listener.”

  Not another one of those believer types. He’d want to pray with her, make sure her soul had bound for heaven stamped on it.

  Her doctor left her alone in the silence, so quiet her ears throbbed. She’d get past the worry of cancer invading her life. The big C had taken her brother, but Mom was nearing the six-year mark free from breast cancer. Family stats were a nightmare, but Tori should never have allowed it to turn her into a pathetic woman preoccupied with freckles, nonexistent lumps, and headaches resulting from stress—not malignant tumors. She was made of stronger stuff, and she despised those who were all wrapped up in themselves. Reaching deep inside, she vowed no more doctor visits. No more sleepless nights. If she contracted cancer, she’d develop a big C of her own—courage.

  Within the hour, she and Cole were in the FBI’s break room, waiting for Max. Cole had nailed him hard last night, hitting him in the pride zone. With the mood he’d exhibited lately, he might have requested to be taken off the case. Planned to drink away his remaining days.

  She refused to shove Max away when he was struggling with too many issues. Friendships were like marriage vows—for better or worse, in sickness and in health. With his family out of the picture, he had no one but her to see him through to the end.

  “Max won’t be here.” Tossing a dagger at Cole crossed her mind. “You destroyed what little incentive he had left.”

  “We’ll see.” Cole threw a paper cup into the trash. “Is he normally on time?”

  Unlike most of her colleagues, Cole added cream to his coffee. Wimp. She swallowed her inconsiderate thoughts. Taking her sour mood out on a man’s coffee preference was just plain wrong. “No, he’s punctual. If anything, early. My point.”

  Cole sat back, way too confident. “Tori, how long are you going to disapprove of my method of getting him out of his funk?”

  “Glad I’m so transparent.”

  “Like glass. If I’m right, he’ll march through that door ready to bring our bad guy to his knees.”

  She gave him a sideways glare. “You’re wrong. You belittled him. Besides, I’ve worked with Max for a long time.”

  “Wanna bet lunch?”

  “You’re on, and—”

  Max burst through the door like an angry bull. “Traffic is one huge bottleneck coming into town.” He swore. “What’s first? Running down Moore’s files? Squeezing Anita Krantz into a confession? Contacting HPD about the fingerprints on that rock and fingerprint analysis? Taking a drive to the oil rig, seeing if any of those guys have a clue about who killed their boss?”

  Cole covered a grin. “Steak and shrimp.”

  “In your dreams,” she said.

  “What?” Max’s voice thundered.

  “Nothing,” Cole said. “Glad you’re here. Let’s do all of it.”

  Max shook his fist at him. “For the record, if you ever mention self-pity or pride again, I’ll blow a hole through your face.”

  Tori offered a broad smile with “I told you so” emanating from her eyes.

  “Good. I won’t unless you show up with breath that would kill a horse.”

  It pained her to recognize Cole had taken the right approach with Max, but she’d not admit it. Lunch would be on the run, burger and fries—if they were lucky.

  “Let’s take the yardman’s fancy, extended-cab truck, make calls on the way to the Texas City area. Depending on what we learn, head over to the offices of Moore Oil & Gas, snoop around, and see who our victim was doing business with.” Max held up a finger. “Tori, bring a copy of the court transcripts from the EPA suit and the initial bombing report. I want to take another look at the backgrounds on those involved and bring you two up to snuff about the bombing. I also want a list of all the Moores’ friends, including their sons’.”

  “I’ve been involved with the boys’ school and sports activities,” Cole said. “Investigating their angle works for me.”

  Max shook his head. “Tori and I have this. You can drive unless we find a yard to mow.”

  “As a member of the task force, the lone Deputy US Marshal has skills to contribute and expedite the case,” Tori said. “My vote’s Moore Oil & Gas first on our agenda.”

  “Experience trumps every time.”

  Cole let him finish. “Anita Krantz probably didn’t sleep last night with the knowledge she’s a person of interest, and we’ve asked for a search warrant to image her personal devices. Seeing us first thing could crack her plaster.”

  Tori listened while the two shoved their egos into the conversat
ion.

  Cole won.

  TORI FASTENED HER seat belt in the rear seat of Cole’s truck. Before the truck pulled onto Highway 290, she’d posed her question to Max. “So you were consulted on the bombing case because of your past work in that division. What went on in the meeting and afterward?”

  “I accompanied the team to the drill site to find the source of the IED. While the men there were questioned, I went over every inch of the place with two other agents. Nothing found at the crime scene indicated who or motivation. The bomb’s components could have been purchased at Lowe’s or Home Depot.”

  “Backgrounds on the Moore employees indicate the majority of infractions are drunk and disorderly,” Tori said.

  “Right, but one man did time for armed robbery. He was on duty the night of the bombing and received second-degree burns, was treated and sent home. Although it possibly eliminates him as a likely suspect, I’d like to find out how the victim got along with the rest of the crew.”

  Max’s agent mode lightened Tori’s tension, at least temporarily. “Any bombs in the system with the same signature?”

  “No. Nothing conclusive. I sent the full report to both of you earlier this morning.”

  “Interesting the pipe bomb detonated in the wee hours of the morning in an area that caused only a few injuries,” Cole said, passing an SUV. “An obvious threat to Nathan for him to do something. It’s all muddy until we receive more info.”

  “Isn’t muddy to me.” Max stifled a cough. “Sally Moore or Anita Krantz thought they’d planned the perfect crime.”

  “Still have to prove it,” Cole said. “Rethinking Nathan’s threats. Was there a note or a recording of what was said to him? Or are the cell phone records all we have to go on?”

  Max scrolled through his phone. “According to Moore’s attorney, Nathan received a text stating he deserved to be killed for what he’d done. It came right after he won the EPA suit, and he assumed someone there was upset with him. Then another text arrived earlier the day he was killed stating the best way to get a man’s attention was to destroy his family. Either woman could have easily sent the texts. Both came from the same burner phone and prompted him to hire more bodyguards. Again, you two have the reports. I’m convinced the second text was worded to toss off any guilt from the killer.”