The Trigger (20 page)

“Typically on Monday.”

“So Sunday night, after a busy weekend, would be a good time to rob the place?”

She nodded. “We do a lot of cash business, but no one knows the combination except the owners.”

Did Charlotte know about the safe? Is that why she’d chosen The Highland? “Who opens the safe for the Monday deposit?”

“Usually Randall Clayton. But Emma used to make the deposits when she was managing.”

“When did she give up the position?”

“About six months into her pregnancy, but she was planning to come back.” The manager’s eyes clouded. “You haven’t found Emma, have you?”

“No.” Frustrated, McCullen kept digging. “Do you recall anything unusual that might have happened about three weeks ago?”

She didn’t even pretend to think about it. “No.”

“What about Sunday, April 21st?”

This time, the manager glanced at the wall calendar above the desk. “Not really. But I think that was the last time I saw Emma. She stopped in that night to talk about coming back to work and how the transition would go.”

A strange thought hit him. “She was taking her job back from you?”

The manager’s mouth tightened. “Yes, but I knew from the beginning her leave of absence was temporary.”

“Did you resent giving up your responsibilities?”

“No.” She shook her head, defiant now. “We planned to share the manager position, and I was going to pick up some server shifts. I looked forward to making tips again.”

McCullen let it go. It seemed unlikely this woman had killed Emma and her baby over a high-stress, low-paying restaurant job. He wasn’t technically investigating her disappearance anyway. But his instincts told him Charlotte probably knew the Claytons and might have a reason to target them. Which meant Randall—with his short fuse—could be guilty of both crimes.

Friday, May 10, 7:30 p.m.

After hours in the data center pulling together batches with thousands of email addresses, Spencer needed a break. He’d stayed up late the night before tweaking the phony fraud alert and he thought it was time for Raff to see it. He turned to the hacker. “I’m sending a test of the fraud alert to your proxy email account. Tell me if you think it’s ready.”

He sent one to himself at a remote address and studied the communication. It looked perfect to him.

“The logo isn’t quite right.” Raff tapped his own monitor. “The blue is a little dark, and I think they’ve updated it recently. But I’m not sure what is different.”

“Shit.” Spencer cursed himself for not checking. He opened the FDIC’s site and studied the logo. He didn’t see the difference between their logo and his.

Raff lumbered to his feet and came over. After a moment, he yawned and said, “It’s the space between the symbol and the inside of the letter C.”

Spencer stared and quickly spotted the discrepancy. “I don’t know if I can fix it.”

“Don’t worry. No one but an expert will know.” Raff shrugged and went back to his computer.

Deciding the hacker was right, Spencer continued setting up email batches. He’d written code to facilitate the process, but it still took time. Sending out too many at once would cause them to land in spam folders, and it might alert one of the various email providers.

“I just moved a shitload of money out of Standford Oil’s account,” Raff said casually. “So technically, we’ve launched our first strike.”

An electrical charge coupled with an unexpected wave of worry washed over him. Everything would get really bad before life on earth got better. It might even take ten or twenty years for things to improve. “When will we see the effect?”

“By Tuesday, we should see news reports that gas prices are skyrocketing. By the end of the week, we’ll hear that a refinery is scheduled to close.”

It was the beginning of a new carbon era. Spencer wanted to celebrate, to raise a drink in toast. But he wanted to share that moment with his brother, who hadn’t been around much lately. He assumed he was spending time with Emma and Tate. “Let’s grab some sandwiches and a beer from the kitchen.”

“Now you’re talking.”

Halfway through his meal, Spencer’s cell phone buzzed. A text from Randall.
Tate’s fever is worse & he’s vomiting. Emma is freaking out. I think we have to take him to the ER.

No!
Spencer texted back.
Bring him to me. If you take him, you’ll be arrested.
He had no intention of taking the baby to the hospital unless it became necessary. He would put little Tate on a saline/amoxicillin IV, and the boy would be fine.

Raff asked, “Everything okay?” They stood at the bar counter, eating off paper towels.

“Mostly.” Spencer took a long pull of beer. The trigger was already set and things were in motion. They had to get through the transition. It was just a matter of stalling long enough for the chaos to begin and law enforcement to be too distracted with looting and shooting to focus on a missing woman and her baby.

He wrapped his sandwich and put it in the fridge. He wanted Raff to go back to the data center so he could prep for the baby. Eventually, he might need Marissa, their nurse, to come over and help monitor Tate, but he hoped that wouldn’t be necessary. “Let’s go back to work.”

“Five minutes won’t make a lick of difference in this grand scheme, but you’re the boss.” Raff, talking with his mouth full, grabbed his beer and headed for the computers.

Spencer followed, sat at his station for five minutes, then excused himself. He didn’t owe Raff any explanations, and he hoped the hacker would leave the compound as soon as his job was done.

While he grabbed an IV stand out of the medical closet, he wondered about bringing Tate’s crib over from Randall’s home. But he didn’t want any Destiny members to witness it, so for the moment, he moved a small daybed for Tate into Lisa’s room. Marissa would be over in the morning to help with Lisa, and he’d have to either hide the baby for a while or tell the nurse something about Tate’s presence. But he didn’t want to think about that yet.

Lisa woke and questioned what he was doing, then drifted off while he tried to explain. He moved an end table near the IV stand, injected antibiotics into a saline bag, and located liquid anti-nausea medicine. He could do this. In the post meltdown world, they would have to take care of themselves anyway. Access to a lab for blood work would have been helpful though.

The front door banged open, and moments later Randall rushed into the room, carrying the baby. Spencer held up his hand to remind his brother that Lisa was resting.

“What is this?” Randall gestured at the daybed and IV, his voice a harsh whisper. “I thought you were taking him to the ER.”

“Not yet.” Spencer took the cranky baby from his arms and laid him down. “Only as a last resort.”

“We can’t let my son die. Emma will never forgive me.”

“He’ll be fine. I’ll do everything they would at the hospital.”

Randall grabbed his shoulder, his eyes wild. “You’re not a doctor.”

Spencer hated to be reminded of that. “I’m not a kidnapper either, but that’s the position we’re in!” His voice was too loud, and he glanced over at his wife. She mumbled something but didn’t wake up. He turned back to his brother. “If we take Tate to the ER, we’ll have to make up a name and a story about whose kid he is. Otherwise, they’ll call the FBI. This is a small town and everyone knows Emma and Tate disappeared.”

“We can tell them he’s the baby of a new member. Maybe Sonja’s. She seems bonded to you. She’ll go along.”

Spencer considered it, but didn’t want Sonja involved. “Let’s give this a chance.” He rubbed Tate’s hand with antiseptic and inserted the IV. The baby wailed. Randall hovered, but kept quiet. Spencer took the boy’s temperature: 103. “I’ll cool him off with cold compresses. While I’m doing that, you need to go into town for blueberries, so I can make a fever elixir.” Sometimes, herbal remedies were the most effective.

Friday, May 10, 9:35 p.m.

Randall stopped at Safeway, picked up the fresh berries, and felt nervous about checking out. Would the clerk know who he was? He hadn’t come into town much since they’d confined Emma, because he didn’t want people looking at him with suspicion.
Fuck ’em
, he thought. Once he’d left politics, he’d sworn to never concern himself with other people’s opinions. He strode to the counter, made brief small talk with the clerk, and decided he was done hiding.

Back on the road, he headed for The Highland. They’d bought the business as a source of income, and it had done well. Once they’d started talking about causing a meltdown someday, they’d put the bar on the market. It had taken months, but a buyer had finally come forward. The deal was in progress, and they hoped to sign papers next week and get their money out before the collapse. Afterward, restaurants would probably struggle and close. He might as well pick up the day’s cash and have one last drink in the place.

The crowded parking lot was always a good sign. Randall entered through the back door of the kitchen, knowing it was good to keep the employees on their toes with unexpected visits. The galley was bustling with energy but running smoothly, and he couldn’t find anything to correct. He pulled the big bills from the safe and hustled into the bar where the pace and lighting were more low-key. He didn’t understand why Emma wanted to go back to managing the restaurant. He’d tried to convince her Tate needed her at home. But all that would be a pointless argument soon.

He stood at the end of the bar, happy to see Sadie was working. His friend glanced over and smiled. “Hey, Randy.”

“Hey, Sadie. What’s new?”

She brought him a Coors Light without asking. “Mom’s getting married again, but I’m not going to the wedding, so, not much.” She took out an order pad. “Are you eating?”

“No, just the beer. I was in town and thought I would say hello.”

Her expression changed to concern. “Have you heard anything about Emma and Tate?

He worked up some disgust. “No, and I don’t think the FBI is doing much to find them.”

“Emma’s father was in here last night.”

Something in her tone caught his attention. “What did he have to say?”

“He said the feds have someone working the case from the inside.”

Randall’s heart skipped a beat. “What does that mean?” He was pretty sure he knew.

“I asked him and he jumped up and left. He was shitfaced, so I’m not sure you can take anything he said seriously.”

“He’s a jackass.” Icy tendrils of panic crawled through his veins, but Randall didn’t let it show. He would sit here, drink his beer, and think it through. His first thought, of course, was Sonja. She’d come out of nowhere and charmed his brother into shortcutting the screening process.
Crap
. But having an undercover agent inside the community wasn’t even the worst-case scenario.
Working it from the inside
could mean the feds had surveillance on their phones and email accounts, which could land them in prison.

Sadie leaned toward him and whispered, “What do you think happened, Randy? Was Emma abducted by some psycho or did she run off? Women do that sometimes, you know.”

The question annoyed him. “I hate thinking about it.”

Sadie squeezed his hand. “It must be hell not knowing.”

“It is.” Randall took another long drink, then pushed the half-full bottle back at her. “I have to get going. Say hi to your mom for me.”

“Yeah, like that’ll happen.” Sadie laughed.

Randall left her a tip and hurried outside to his truck. He had to warn Spencer. He started to send a text, then changed his mind. What if the feds had surveillance on him? They needed new phones ASAP. But shit, he couldn’t buy one tonight. Their email could be at risk too. He’d been cautious about contacting his associates only through online chats, but they would have to create new personal accounts now. Fortunately, Spencer had several secure email addresses he could use to send the financial triggers. The FBI couldn’t possibly know about them all.

But they may have sent Sonja
. Fuck!
He hadn’t trusted her from the start.

Would Spencer take him seriously this time or call him paranoid again? Maybe he would dig a little deeper into Sonja’s background or search her apartment again before telling his brother they couldn’t trust her.

Randall climbed in his truck. His headache was merciless now, and his chest itched to the point of a burn. He unbuttoned his shirt and spotted two red welts. Hives. He’d have to start taking antihistamine and wished he’d finished his beer. He wanted desperately to speed up the trigger, but Spencer’s digital attack could take days. The physical assault had to wait for the right moment. He hoped his body wouldn’t betray him in the meantime.

Once he hit the main road out of town, he pressed the gas, tension mounting. Halfway home to Destiny, a dark thought possessed him. What would he do if he discovered Sonja was a federal agent? That would depend on how much she knew.
She couldn’t have learned much yet,
Randall told himself. She’d only been in the community for a few days. He remembered the noises they’d heard when they buried Grace. If that had been Sonja spying, she had probably reported it.

Maybe it was time to make Sonja disappear too.

Friday, May 10, 11:15 p.m.

Dallas checked the time in the corner of her screen. Was it still too early? Dressed and ready for another attempt at finding the bunker, she was too hyper to stare at the computer any longer. She’d planned to wait until after she heard Raff come up the stairs and settle in, but he was obviously working late. She’d also considered sleeping for a few hours, then going out in the middle of the night, but the thought had made her laugh. Sleep? Hah! She wanted to find Emma ASAP—if she was still alive—and call in her team to search the place. These freaks were up to something besides kidnapping, and instinct told her it was going down soon.

She plugged her computer into the TV, found a Zumba workout, and peeled off her shirt. The upbeat salsa music was just what she needed. When she hit the point where she would need a shower, Dallas shut it down and texted her team:
Going out to locate the bunker. I should be back in 4–5 hours.