The deacons wouldn’t utter a peep after the pastor laid down the law. Rubbed me the wrong way to be dismissed, but he had promised to fill me in as soon as he finished talking to his men. Swallowing my irritation, I retreated back to the cabin. Poked my head into Mac’s room, where Sahdev sat by her bedside. He shook his head. Her condition was unchanged. Nicole offered me a bowl of soup. I wasn’t hungry, but food was a necessary fuel, and I’d learned a long time ago to eat when the opportunity presented itself. I downed the soup while we waited for the pastor to return.
After about ten minutes, Pastor Bill and Deacon Morris filed solemnly into the cabin.
“We have a situation, and you’re just the man to save the day,” the pastor said.
My brows shot up. Whatever happened, I’d gone from no-good criminal to potential hero in the space of a few minutes. Wasn’t exactly motivated to help the pastor with anything, but I’d hear him out. I shrugged, “What you got in mind?”
“I’m responsible for the physical and spiritual well-being of my congregants. Nearly thirty souls depend upon me for both guidance and sustenance.”
“Uh-huh.” When was he going to stop congratulating himself and get to the point?
“I’ve been sending men out to hunt deer, so we can smoke and salt cure venison for the upcoming winter. A team of hunters ran into trouble on the western side of Mt. Hood.”
Sahdev stepped into the front room, quietly shutting the door to Mac’s room behind him.
“I’m glad you’re here, doctor,” Pastor Bill said. “We’ll need your skills on this mission.”
“Has someone fallen ill or been injured?” Sahdev frowned.
“Pastor Bill is filling us in on a situation,” I said.
“Two of my men spotted smoke coming from the chimney of an isolated cabin. They approached the cabin and knocked on the door to introduce themselves. No one answered. They looked through a window and saw suspicious items spread across the kitchen table: wires, timers, bricks of what looked to them like explosives. Now, they’re no experts, but they believe they saw bomb-making materials.”
“That could be the man who blew up the dam,” Kyle exclaimed.
Pastor Bill nodded. “You saw the dam break apart, the water rise. We can’t know how many survivors were in the path of that flood—on the freeway, in the towns—but we can be certain that innocent people died because of the bomber.”
“What did your men do when they saw the bomb-making materials?” I asked.
“They decided to hurry back home to report on their findings, when one of them—Vince—stepped into a trap that had been set near the cabin. Jerry was able to free Vince’s leg, but he was too injured to hike back out. Jerry bandaged Vince’s leg as best he could, set him up in a hiding place, and rushed back. The incident happened this morning. I have an injured man who needs rescuing and a possible bombmaker hiding at the cabin.”
“I’ll pack supplies,” Sahdev said, heading back into Mac’s room.
I held up a hand. “What are you asking us to do?”
“We’re ill equipped to deal with a dangerous criminal. My men have guns, but they’re hunters, not soldiers.” He pointed at the tattoo on my forearm, a skull and dagger surrounded by the words Death before Dishonor. “You were an Army Ranger. And I assume you developed some additional offensive skills during your time with the Janissaries.” He paused, smirking, a gesture totally at odds with the situation and one that raised my hackles. Offensive skills. The words carried a host of meaning. The fucker was too clever by half. “I’d like you to rescue Vince and then check out the man who lives in the cabin. As Kyle suggested, he could be the bomber.”
“Where’s Jerry now?” I asked.
“I just sent my deacon to tell Jerry to ready additional supplies, food, and gear for four men. He’ll be ready to leave soon.” He hesitated, eyes wide and a puzzled expression crossing his face. “I assumed you’d want to help capture a man who set bombs that killed so many innocent people.”
Of course, I wanted to capture the person responsible for destroying the dam, but something about this situation felt off. Too damned convenient. I blew out a breath. Shit. I was probably just being paranoid, letting my dislike for the man color my judgment. I didn’t like the idea of leaving Mac alone, but what’s the chance that he set this whole thing in motion simply to get me away from Mac? That he arranged for Jerry to come pounding on the door with some bullshit story about an accident and a bombmaker? And when exactly could Pastor Bill have set this up? We met the man yesterday. What would be his endgame? If the story proved bogus, he had to know that—man of God or not—I’d come for him. And Pastor Bill didn’t strike me as a man stupid or brave enough to risk pissing off a man like me.
“All right,” I said slowly. I caught Kyle’s eye and tilted my head toward Mac’s room. “We need to talk.” Kyle followed me into the bedroom. I shut the door and leaned against it. “You’re staying here with Mac.”
“No. I’m not.” Kyle crossed his arms over his chest. “No way I’m staying behind if you’re going after the bomber.”
“Somebody should stick around to keep an eye on her,” I said.
“Why?” Kyle demanded. “Sahdev said there’s nothing we can do except watch and wait. Nicole will keep an eye on her while we’re gone. Won’t make a bit of difference to Kenzie if I’m sitting at her bedside or if I’m helping you capture the bomber. And with any luck, we’ll be back within twenty-four hours. Kenz will probably sleep through the whole thing.”
“A week ago you were flat on your back with the flu,” I reminded him, trying another tack. “You think you have the endurance to hike miles through the woods? To confront a bombmaker?”
Kyle’s jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. “You think I’ll slow you down?”
“It’s nothing personal,” I said. “Not an insult. Takes time for anybody to get their strength and stamina back after the flu.”
“Is that right?” Kyle asked. “Some people might say that it takes time to get your strength and stamina back after crashing a motorcycle and somersaulting up the road. We’re in the same boat, buddy. Neither one of us is functioning at one hundred percent, but it doesn’t matter. We’ll both do what needs to be done, the way we did with the arsonist back in Portland. We’re a good team, Ripper, and you’re not going to leave me behind.”
Intuition urged me to argue, but I couldn’t think of a single rational reason to keep insisting that Kyle stay behind. Nicole might have found religion after her family’s deaths—done a 180 in her attitude—but there was no reason to believe that I couldn’t trust her to watch out for Mac. And bringing Kyle along might speed up the rescue.
My cynicism runs deep, but even I couldn’t realistically believe that Pastor Bill had managed to set up such an elaborate scheme in just twenty-four hours, that he positioned all the pieces on the chessboard and set everything in motion. Did I think the man was an evil genius? Fuck no. I didn’t wanna give the asshole more credit than he was due.
“While we were racing away from the dam, I saw a woman’s car flip over in the water,” Kyle said, interrupting my ruminations. “We couldn’t stop to help. I know she drowned. The bomber killed her. Lot of other people, too. I need to be there when you catch him.”