Authors: Kelly Gendron
Mesmerized by the dates, the times, the numbers, and the images before her, she couldn’t stop herself from obsessing over them. She flipped back and forth between the pages, creating a timeline in her head, trying to find a loophole.
There had to be something other than the clear evidence before her, some motive, reason or plausible explanation. But for all her searching, she couldn't find it. She turned the pages over. Blank sheets lay before her, but the numbers persisted in her head. She slammed her palms over the pages and closed her eyes.
She needed a distraction, because the pages seemed to burn beneath her hands. Her heart didn’t want to believe it, and her intuition fought against it, but it was there, the clear evidence, and nothing she did would make it go away. The baneful truth, the heart-wrenching awareness stabbed her in the chest, dulling the pain beneath her palms. She had to accept it. She had known all along that it might come to this, and it was time to acknowledge the reality of what was before her.
Tantum was there.
A rush of turmoil rippled through her, and she flicked her eyes open.
He was leaning against the wide doorframe with his arms crossed, expressionless. She wondered how long he’d been standing there, watching her discover his dirty little secrets. His lips curled into a cunning grin, and anger overran her confusion. He'd seen the file, so for the life of her she couldn’t figure out why the hell he’d be smiling.
“What do you find so amusing?” she snapped as she shot up from the chair, her fists balled at her sides. She pointed to the file. “This just proves what I've been saying all along.” She thrust her finger at him. “You're a killer.”
A dangerous gleam sparked in his dull eyes. “Sit down,” he calmly said, and when she didn’t adhere to his instruction, he demanded, “NOW!”
Her ass found the chair real quick. The unbreakable, dominant Tantum had taken over, and she didn’t want to mess with him. Marcus Richards? Sure, she'd push his buttons and test him, but not the cold-blooded killer she now knew Tantum to be. He frightened her. With him, she never knew how long the flint was, when he'd go off, or the fatality of his explosion.
When he uncrossed his arms, she noticed he was holding another folder. He took the few steps to get to her and tossed it on top of the papers already spread over the table. Hope crawled up her spine. “What's this? Were you holding something back from me?” She grabbed the folder. Her optimistic eyes flashed up at him. Deep down, she hoped whatever was in the file would clear him and explain why it looked like he was responsible for the killings.
But the vacant gaze he cast upon her began to eat away at that hope. “No,” he said, glancing down to the paper in her fingers. The prospect of his innocence continued to dwindle.
“Then what is this?” she asked, but from the look on his face, she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.
His gaze moved languidly up from her paper-holding hand to her awaiting gawk. “That's your file,” he evenly informed her.
“Mine? What are you talking about?” She started to rummage through the papers. “Wait.” She stopped and met his blank stare. “Did NESA give you a file on me?”
“No, and before you go convicting me, you need to read what I've discovered about you, Nala Dekker.” He turned to leave the room, halted at the doorway, and glanced over his shoulder. “Let me know when you're done reading it, and then we can talk about who the real killer is here.”
Before she could react, he left the room.
She sifted through the information. There were pages and pages of logs with PIC numbers and requests, some for information on names of people, some for tracking phone numbers, others for site locations, bank statements, and the usual stuff an agent would call into NESA for. Out of the numerous PIC numbers, hers had been highlighted in bright yellow. A few of the requests she remembered. James Denton, one of the senator’s daughter's boyfriends she'd looked into. The disposable phones and the new Bluetooth. And Peter Wellington. She recalled when she had asked for Wellington’s previous cases. He was a lawyer she was assigned to for fraud, stealing money from the elderly through a life insurance scam.
A request under her PIC number on May 10, 2009 caught her eye. It was for the floor plans at Hotel Monaco in Baltimore, and it, too, was highlighted in yellow. Her eyes read it two, three times. Her PIC number was before it as though she'd requested floor plans, but she knew she hadn’t. She was sure it was a mistake. She snatched a pen from the table and circled it before continuing through the logs.
According to the logs in the file, on May 13, 2009, floor plans were requested for the safe house in Scranton, by someone with her PIC number. “What's going on here?” she mumbled. Frustrated, she circled that mistake too. When she finally circled the last floor plan supposedly requested by her under her PIC number in Niagara Falls, New York, she sat back in the chair.
Someone was trying to set her up. She picked up the paper and found credit card receipts for a VISA card under her name, Nala Dekker. There were car rentals from Baltimore to Scranton, and another from Washington D.C. to Niagara Falls. Nala didn’t even own a VISA card. She only had a debit card, and it boasted the MasterCard logo. The whole thing made no sense, even to her well-trained eye.
According to the credit card statement, she'd made a purchase at Stan's Hobby Shop for a rocket engine, as well as an Internet purchase of potassium chlorate, one of the components used in the bombs that were discovered. The order was placed May 3, 2009, approximately one week before she and Gabe were put on the case, just prior to the bombs being found.
She jumped up from the chair and ran into the living room.
Tantum, the killer, sat with one arm casually across the top of the sofa. The smug look on his face provoked her irritation further. His expression was filled with his confirmed expectation, as though he had been waiting for this moment, as though he had anticipated her coming to him perplexed and anxious, ready to kill.
He cocked his eyebrow and intentionally goaded her. “Confused?”
“Yeah, I'm confused. Someone is trying to set me up!”
With that laidback confidence of his, he said, “Why don’t you calm down and have a seat?”
She paced the floor. “How am I supposed to calm down? That… that…” She stopped and faced him.
He waited, the smug grin lingering on his face.
“Don't look at me like that. I didn’t request those floor plans. I didn’t buy that shit. Hell, I don’t even own a fucking VISA credit card!”
“I wouldn’t have believed you—until I saw my own file.”
She met those sea-blue eyes. “Someone’s set both of us up.” The world seemed to spin. Every solid thing she’d thought she knew, everything she counted on, came apart and whirled out of control. Her throat tightened with panic. “That can only mean—”
Tantum nodded. “Someone high up in NESA.”
“Then, the photos of you planting the bomb are doctored? You weren’t at Niagara Falls?”
His eyes darkened to jade green, a sign of anger, she’d learned. “I’m not denying I was there.” He stood, his taut muscles radiating fury. “I was there when Daniel and Jennifer Sherman, a couple passing through town on their ten-year anniversary, were killed. I was there when Lillian Whiting, a twenty-five-year-old mother, was taking her one-year-old daughter Isabella for a walk. I was fucking there, I saw the explosion that annihilated their lives.” His voice remained controlled, but his nostrils flared. “I ran to the overturned stroller, but the baby was lifeless in my arms.”
She could hardly get the whisper out, but she had to know the whole truth. “Why were you there?”
He shoved a hand through his dark hair, as if he hoped it would wipe away the anguish. “I was on assignment.”
Then it hit her. The fifth person killed that day, the one he hadn’t mentioned. “It had to do with Gregory Rowan?”
Tantum stalked to the table where the papers were piled, pulled out a chair and sat looking down at the bits of truth and lies sprawled out before him. Nala sat next to him where she could see the papers too.
With a visible effort he pulled himself together. “Dr. Gregory Rowan, a scientist specializing in the study of the ionosphere. He was employed by HAARP. You know of it?”
“It’s where Hark Sullivan works.” The man she’d been assigned to introduce herself to at the Gallor convention.
“Yeah. He's their lead security agent. He’s an asshole, but I did a background check on him, and he has a clean record.”
“HAARP is headquartered in Alaska,” Nala returned. “They’re affiliated with the Air Force and the Navy, testing nuclear weapons, something about high frequencies. There’s a rumor those tests were responsible for earthquakes and the tidal wave that hit the Philippines.”
“I didn’t ask. That’s the kind of damaging information that can get a man killed. If I'm going to die, I don’t want my own government ordering the hit.”
“Is that what happened to Rowan?”
“Not sure. My assignment for HAARP was to safely transport Rowan from Alaska to the Niagara Falls base. He was to meet a general and bring him information.”
“What information? A link between the tests and the tidal waves?”
“Like I said, I don't know. The data was on a USB drive in a sealed box, but a few days before we were to leave Alaska, it was stolen from HAARP. Our investigations came up with nothing, but HAARP sent Rowan to provide a verbal statement. He had a lot of the data in his head. We boarded the jet, but were ordered to land in Baltimore. A tip about a bomb on the aircraft. Supposedly, if the plane’s fuel level went below a quarter full, the detonator would go off. But it was a bluff. The plane was clean.”
“Who do you think it was? HAARP? The government?”
“I’m still not sure, but I decided to travel by car and keep a low profile. Rowan, eccentric that he was, refused to stay in a cheap motel. He whined about bedbugs and mold in the bathroom. I hate to put a dead guy down, but he was a royal pain in the ass. I caved, and we booked the Hotel Monaco.”
“That's why you requested the floor plans? You needed to scope it out?”
“I didn’t know what to expect. We had to be ready. The security there was impressive. I think that's where NESA got the picture of me with the bomb. I inspected the place when we arrived, and found it. I defused the bomb, reported it to NESA, and we drove on toward Niagara Falls. The more I thought about it, the less I trusted anyone at all.”
“That’s when NESA assigned me and my partner to the case,” Nala told him. “When the bomb at the Monaco was reported. We investigated, but couldn’t find any leads.”
“Do you think the bombing had anything to do with the USB?”
“Maybe, but that wasn’t the first bombing.” He straightened his back and rested an elbow on the table, cupping his chin with his palm. “All I know is that the USB is still missing and NESA still wants it.”
She preoccupied herself by picking up the scattered papers as she sorted through her thoughts. Everything that had fallen apart was starting to come together into a new picture.
Then, why'd Gabe say Tantum was the one who had shot him?
“Go on,” she said. “What happened in Niagara Falls?”
He propped a foot on the base of her chair. “The motel room didn’t meet Rowan's ridiculous standards. He went crazy. I wasted too much energy calming him down. I should have knocked his crazy ass out. We had three hours until we were to meet the general. I was exhausted and frustrated, and that bastard had my nerves on edge. I left the motel to go get the fucking Lysol he demanded. I left, and I hadn’t checked the place carefully enough.”
She touched his thigh and felt the muscle beneath the comforting gesture contract. She looked into his eyes, catching, if for a millisecond, his wounded guilt. “Tantum, it wasn’t your fault,” she said.
“Don’t tell me that,” he snarled, his eye twitching with resentment. “It was my fault. I let my frustration get to me. Those people died because I didn’t do my job.” He glanced down at her hand as though her touch pained him. “I was returning with the Lysol, pulling into the parking lot, when the explosion happened.” He pushed her hand off him and stood. “It was my fault, damn it!”
“But Tantum….” she whispered. She wanted to soothe him, desperately needed to hold him.
He stared at her for a long, hard minute. “Don’t look at me like that. And don't touch me like that, Nala. I told you before, I don’t respond well to tenderness.” He turned to leave the room.
“Why's that?” she called after him. “Tell me, does it go along with ‘no one should care about you’?”
He came at her in long, fast strides and grabbed her roughly by the arms. She felt her ass hit the table as he gave her a short shake. “What do you want from me. Just moments ago you thought I was a killer.”