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THE NEXT MORNING, ALAN Vidro from the fire department gave the okay to visit the cabin. “Be careful.”
“Understood.” Nash went in search of Danika to tell her the news.
“Let’s go to the cabin, then to Grinch’s and see if we can make headway on the searches. Bring your notes.”
Danika grabbed her files, laced her sneakers and shrugged into the heavyweight hooded sweatshirt she’d bought. Nash pointed the Outback through Deer Ridge and toward T-Bone’s cabin, or what was left of it.
“Would the firefighters or bomb squad leave personal stuff alone, or would they have taken any survivors into custody?” Danika asked.
“No clue. My guess is they don’t remove anything. Whatever might have survived the fire or the aftermath of the firefighters’ efforts to put it out, is going to be in bad shape. Between the smoke and the water, I’d be prepared for a mess.”
“Messes can be cleaned.”
“Aren’t you the positive one this morning?”
“I’ve been going under the assumption everything was destroyed, so either my expectations will be confirmed, or I might get a pleasant surprise.”
Nash slowed at the top of T-Bone’s driveway. The woodlands surrounding the cabin—or its remains—seemed fine, no doubt due to the quick response of the firefighters.
“At least it didn’t turn into a wildfire,” Danika said, echoing his thoughts. “The plants around the cabin will grow back. They die off—at least the above ground parts—every winter anyway.”
The cabin wasn’t visible from this vantage point, so Nash continued down the drive and parked by what used to be the front porch.
“I expected nothing but a foundation and plumbing,” Danika said. “That’s what pictures of major structure fires usually look like. The roof’s intact. Maybe there’ll be things to salvage after all.”
Nash hoped so, for T-Bone’s sake.
“Let’s do a walkaround,” Nash said. He thought about his first circuit of the cabin, where he’d been inventorying things needing repairs. Amend the list to say almost everything. Siding was scorched, to the point of being charcoal in places. He pulled out his phone and snapped pictures.
He braced himself for what he’d see when they reached the back door where the box had been deposited.
Nothing like what he’d seen in the army, he told himself. This was one cabin, not a war zone.
The back door was gone, along with most of the adjacent walls.
“You ready?” he asked Danika.
She stepped inside, into the remains of the kitchen, and stood, hands on hips, doing a slow turn. Her expression lacked any sign of emotion. Nash reminded himself this wasn’t her cabin, nor did she have any ties to its owner. Her goal, and rightly so, was to see if any of her possessions were usable.
Ashes covered the floor. The ceiling proper was scorched or missing, exposing the insulation and dangling wires. The appliances were covered in soot.
Nash opened the fridge. No light, no hum. “They’d have turned the power off. Not sure anything can be salvaged. We should have brought trash bags.”
Danika moved to the laundry area, its doors charred and lying on the floor. She lifted the lid of the washer and peered inside.
“Score.” She raised a dripping garment. “Still wet. Feels soapy. The power must have been turned off mid wash cycle. We can rewash them at the house.”
Although Nash didn’t give a damn about the few articles of clothing he’d added to the machine, he was glad Danika had her possessions back.
She squeezed water from the rest of the clothes and laid them on top of the machine. “The canned goods should be fine once we wash off the ashes.”
“We can get them another time,” Nash said. “This is more of a recon mission than a salvage operation.”
Danika tilted her head. “Don’t you sound all military. I’m going to check—recon—the bedroom and bathroom.”
Nash wandered, taking pictures. From what he could tell, the fire had blazed hot and furious—maybe an accelerant in the bomb—but hadn’t made it through the entire cabin. Good work on the part of the firefighters. The water and smoke damage were another ballgame. If this was his place, he’d tear it to the foundation and start over.
Would T-Bone even bother?
Nash wished there was a way to reach T-Bone, ask if there was anything important he’d sequestered away, but he didn’t think T-Bone kept any of his life here. The cabin was a retreat.
Not Nash’s concern. He continued documenting what he was seeing. He’d send the images to T-Bone’s personal email for his partner to deal with when he got home. The last thing anyone needed on an op was distractions.
One thing was certain. No way was this livable.
Danika appeared, her backpack sodden and smoky, dangling from her fingers. “A survivor. Good thing it was in the bathroom.”
She set her pack on the charred coffee table and unzipped it. “My laptop was in here. Do you think it’ll work after getting wet?”
“Won’t know until we try,” he said.
She tugged out the device. “Doesn’t feel too wet. Guess I’ll wait and see. I think my phone’s ruined, though.” She shook it, sending droplets of water to the floor. “Unless the rice trick works after a couple days of being soaked.” She wrinkled her nose. “Did we buy rice?”
“Actually, air drying works as well or better. The rice trick is more a myth than effective.”
“Aren’t you a veritable font of information. Let me guess. You’ve already had the wet cell phone issue.”
He shrugged.
Next, she extracted a large, water-stained manila envelope and gave a quick fist pump. “Yes.”
“What’s that?” Nash asked.
“My threatening letters. They’re in plastic sleeves, so they might be legible. Given what’s happened, maybe I should go to the cops after all.”
“We can look at them later. There’s nothing else we can do here.”
Danika took her laptop, wallet, a zippered toiletries pouch, and the envelope out of her pack. “The laundry will fit.”
“Then let’s get going.”
Danika tossed her things into the Outback. As they drove, she tapped her chin. “Things at the cabin were bad, but not really bad, if you know what I mean. If someone was trying to destroy the cabin, don’t you think they’d have used a more powerful bomb?”
She’d hit what had been bothering Nash since they’d shown up. Was it the speedy arrival of the firefighters? Was the bomb poorly made? Or was the intention merely to get Danika out? With her car undriveable and no place to live, she’d be exposed and vulnerable.
*****
DANIKA WATCHED NASH’S lips flatten, his eyes dart between the rearview and side mirrors. “What’s bothering you?” she asked. “Are you worried about your friend? The insurance should cover the damage, shouldn’t it? Or are bombs excluded?”
“Nothing’s bothering me. And I have no idea what kind of coverage T-Bone has.”
“I’ll buy the second answer, but not the first. I haven’t lost all my reporter instincts, not that it takes many to read you. Your shoulders are hugging your ears, your knuckles are white on the wheel.” She checked her side mirror, swiveled in her seat. “There’s no one else on the road.”
“There could be,” he muttered. “Safe driving means knowing your surroundings.”
“I hereby present you with the safe driver of the year award,” she said. Nash had entered clamshell mode, and Danika folded her arms across her chest. But she watched her mirror.
At Elizabeth’s house, Danika grabbed her laptop and the notes she’d brought, and they headed for the porch. Nash rang the bell first, waiting before using his key. Nobody responded. They passed muster with the dogs, and Nash settled himself behind Grinch’s computer.
Danika hurried to the kitchen table and opened her laptop. No water droplets. She wiped the device down with paper towels, then held her breath and pushed the power button. The screen came to life.
Yes! Takes a licking.
Fingers tapping, she waited for her login prompt. Thrilled when it popped onto the screen, Danika typed her password. Her wallpaper appeared. She tested one of her icons. It opened. She rushed into Grinch’s den. “My laptop works.”
Okay, she sounded like a kid discovering Santa had pulled out all the stops on Christmas morning, but she felt as if a part of her had been reattached.
Nash looked up, frowned and pointed to his ear, where he held his phone.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
She retreated to the kitchen again, feeling more like she’d found nothing but coal in her stocking. Who was he talking to, why was he frowning, and why had he virtually banished her from the room?
Because he was doing secret guy stuff. She first assumed it was related to finding out more about the bombing and threatening letters, but what if it was about his father? Had something happened? Would Nash have to leave? Resisting the urge to eavesdrop, she stared at her screen. Without an internet connection, there wasn’t much she could do.
Not much wasn’t the same as nothing. She opened her word processor and started copying her list of names. Maybe seeing them on the screen would help.
Nope. Just names.
Maybe writing would shake things up in her brain. Free association. Basketball, ethnic diversity, and scams, oh my. Quick brown foxes jumping over lazy dogs.
None of her usual triggers were working. Time for a total change.
She picked up the envelope of letters, dumped them onto the kitchen table. Spread them out. Five letters, five envelopes. All postmarked in Denver. Should she have gone to Denver when she ran instead of taking to the mountains? That might have lured whoever had it in for her.
Then what would you do? Let him attack you, kill you, so you had proof? And hope the homicide cops will solve your murder?
A tight-lipped Nash entered the kitchen several minutes later.
“Your father?” she asked.
“Haven’t checked yet,” he said. “If things get bad, they’ll call me. No, I was checking with the arson squad. They were being evasive, so I went to my company to ask if they’d untangle the red tape.”
“Did they?”
“They’re working on it.” He leaned his palms on the table. “These are the letters?”
“Yes.” Keeping them in their plastic sleeves, she arranged them in the order she’d received them.
GET OUT OF TOWN IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU!
STOP PRETENDING YOU’RE A REPORTER. FIND A MORE SUITABLE JOB. LIKE CLEANING BATHROOMS.
YOU COULDN’T FIND A STORY IF IT BIT YOU IN THE ASS.
THERE’S NOTHING LEFT FOR YOU HERE, BITCH. LEAVE!
YOU’RE A WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT. YOU’LL NEVER WORK IN THIS TOWN AGAIN.
“Nasty, but they’re not death threats,” Nash said.
“Which is why I didn’t go to the cops. I looked up the law. They’re not demanding money or threatening bodily harm.” She gathered them and put them into the envelope. “Back to what you were doing. You didn’t find out anything? We’re waiting?”
He nodded, but Danika caught the way his eyes darted away from hers. A split-second. He was hiding something. “What else?” she asked.
Nash wandered to the counter. “Do you think they’d mind if we brewed coffee?”
“If you pay them back and clean up, I don’t see why, but you’re dodging my questions.”
Nash searched cabinets for coffee.
“I think the cannister labeled Coffee on the counter would be a better place to start,” Danika said.
No smile, not even a lip twitch. What was bothering him?
He opened the cannister. “Okay, smartass, where are the filters?”
Danika got up and crossed behind the counter, closing her eyes and putting her fingers to her temples. “Oh, blessed goddess of coffee, where are thy filters?” She swayed back and forth, then marched to a cabinet, opened it, and plucked a box of filters from a shelf.
And was rewarded with a chuckle.
“Very good, Swami,” Nash said.
“Oh, I have all sorts of powers you’ve never imagined.”
Nash took a filter from the box and set it into the coffeemaker. “One of which happens to be scoping out the kitchen while I was otherwise occupied?”
“Or having Elizabeth point it out yesterday. She’s the consummate hostess.”
“That works.” Nash started the coffee brewing.
“If you’re not going to talk to me, how about giving me the Wi-Fi password now that I have a functioning laptop.”
Nash fished in his pocket and handed her a folded sticky note. She found the network, then logged on.
“Can I check my email without giving away my location?” she asked.
“Should be fine,” he said.
“Right. Secret guy stuff. I’m sure your computers, phones, and what-have-yous are all encrypted up the yin yang.” Without watching for a reaction, she opened her email program.
Twenty-seven messages had made it through her spam filter. She scanned the subject lines, eliminating those her filter hadn’t caught.
Updates—out of date by now—from social media groups she followed. She supposed she ought to log on to those accounts directly, but after being away from cyberspace for over a week, she’d be so far behind it wouldn’t matter.
Nash set a cup of coffee beside her, sipping at his own mug. “You’re going to be mad, but please understand I needed to cover everything.”
Danika looked up to see Nash, his expression one she’d never seen before. Apologetic. Contrite.
She gripped her mug. “Then get it over with.”
“I asked my company to do a deeper background search on your boss.”
“Jorge?”
“He would have had access to your files, and he has the expertise to rig a bomb.”
She was about to protest, but what would be the point? What was done was done, and in her job, she’d researched people her sources had sworn would have nothing to add to her stories. Once in a while, she uncovered blatant lies, or hidden gems, so she understood Nash would want to verify everything.
“He wasn’t here. I’m sure you would have mentioned it if the guy you saw at the cabin had been in a wheelchair.”
Nash lifted a palm. “Can’t eliminate him hiring someone to do the work.”
“Fine,” she said. “I’m sure when your people finish digging into Jorge’s past, he’ll be off your suspect list, and they can move on to someone else. Speaking of your people, who are they? You’ve pointedly avoided the name of this company you and your buddies work for.”
Nash tugged on his hair. “Blackthorne, Incorporated. Out of San Francisco, but they have offices all over the country.”
Danika held his gaze for a moment, then typed “Blackthorne, Inc.” into a search engine. “I’m sure you won’t mind if I see for myself.”
Maybe now she’d get some answers.