Chapter 24

Once Cassidy was safe with Sawyer, Mason took off for the explosion with Kellan keeping pace beside him. Car alarms were sounding from vehicles near the one currently blackened beyond recognition. Two people were down. He checked on the woman who looked to have been closest to the blast. No pulse. He glanced at Kellan, who shook his head. A low moan had him lurching to his feet. A pair of boots protruded from beneath what looked like a car door. He reached for it and jerked his hands back from the scorching hot metal. He called for Kellan and together they lifted the chunk of debris off the man Mason recognized as Stan Cornwell, the lighting technician. He was conscious but groaning in pain.

“Stan, it’s Mason Rossi. Can you tell me where you hurt?” The heat from the fire was intense, but he didn’t want to risk moving Stan in case he’d suffered a spinal injury.

“Leg, mostly, though I feel like a Mack truck plowed into me. Mason glanced down to see a piece of jagged metal protruding from his thigh. Damn, that had to hurt, but the metal was plugging the wound. If he removed it, Stan might bleed out.

The on-site ambulance screeched to a stop, with three security guards close behind. “Help’s on the way, Stan. Hang in there.”

Mason recognized the two paramedics from when they helped Cassidy after she fainted. They dropped beside Stan. He’d passed out, hopefully from the pain of the metal embedded in his leg and not something worse, like a head injury. They carefully slid a backboard beneath him and lifted him to the stretcher.

“Mason.”

He looked over to where Kellan was crouched down on the ground and headed over.

“Take a look at this.”

He bent down to discover what Kellan found. It was a brown nylon wallet lying open with the driver’s license clearly visible. Barry Nelson.

“Son of a bitch.” Mason stood and surveyed the area. Spectators had flocked to the sound of the explosion and the guards were keeping them back until police arrived with crime scene tape. He catalogued each face but didn’t see anyone resembling the pictures he’d studied of Nelson. Sometimes perps liked to stick around and watch their handiwork.

Sirens wailed closer and a police car arrived, followed by two fire trucks. The firemen whipped out hoses and made quick work of the flames. He snapped pictures of the wallet with his phone before it was bagged and tagged.

“My car!” Russell Ingram came running over before the cops could stop him. “What happened?”

“Looks like someone planted a bomb. Killed two, injured one.”

Russell was holding on to his head as if it would explode like his car if he didn’t. “The bastard is targeting me now? This has got to stop.”

“Have a look.” Mason handed him his iPhone with the picture of Nelson’s wallet on the screen.

Russell slid on a pair of reading glasses and peered at the image. His jaw tightened. “It is him.” He ripped the glasses off and stuffed them in his shirt pocket. “How does he keep getting in? That’s it. I want security cameras covering every single inch of this lot.”

Great idea, one Mason had suggested before but was told they weren’t necessary.

The cops came over to talk to them and Detective Parsa arrived, looking even more haggard than the other day. Mason showed him the wallet.

“Looks like he dropped it in his haste to get away from the bomb.”

That was what it looked like, but Mason wondered how someone so methodical and crafty had made such a stupid error.

Russell ordered everyone back inside to begin rehearsals. Blankets had been draped over the deceased. The male had worked for the catering company that provided food to the set. The female was one of the makeup assistants.

Frustration ate at Mason. Nelson, or whoever was responsible had already cost too many lives. How many more would die before he was caught?