NASH STOOD UNDER THE shower spray. Even with the water temperature set to scalding, he couldn’t get warm. Dammit, what now? A fever? Did that mean something inside had gotten infected? His leg? His kidney?
Or was he lucky, and it was the flu? He felt like crap, so maybe that was it. He was up to date on all his shots, but a flu shot didn’t mean you couldn’t get the flu, only—he hoped—that if you got it, it might be a milder case. No nausea. He swallowed. No throat issues. Took a deep breath. Was his chest tight? No. Just a general sense of malaise. He’d already taken the Tylenol, which should help with his leg and a fever.
The water grew cool, so he turned it off and reached for the towel.
“Nash?” A rap on the bathroom door. “Phone.”
He swung the towel around his waist. “A minute.”
“It’s Deputy Cochran.”
Nash made sure the towel was secure and stepped out of the shower. He pulled the door open. Danika stood in the hallway, her hand outstretched, phone extended. He took it from her and headed for his bedroom.
What the hell. He put the phone to his ear. “This is Nash. Can I put you on speaker? Danika Payton is here.”
When Cochran gave the okay, Nash switched the call to speaker and chinned for Danika to follow. He went in, sat on the bed, gesturing for Danika to sit beside him.
“Our investigators looked at the car,” Cochran said. “The tracker had been wiped clean, other than a few unusable partials along the edge.”
“Likely mine,” Nash said.
“If you want a thorough forensic examination of the vehicle, we’ll have to tow it down to the Springs and it could take weeks—or longer—to get to it since we can’t officially tie it to the bombing of the cabin. Vandalism of a vehicle isn’t going to be top priority.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Danika said. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Did you leave the tracker?” Nash asked Cochran.
“Based on what you said when we spoke, yes I did.”
Nash slid a couple inches closer to Danika. “Thanks. Any word on the bomb?”
“The arson squad got prints from the bomb debris.”
“Have you run them through IAFIS?” Nash asked. Danika’s expression didn’t shift, so he assumed she knew it was a fingerprint database.
“That’s outside your need to know at this point,” Cochran said.
Which meant they’d gotten a hit. Nash didn’t bother playing the Blackthorne connection. He’d check on his own later. “What about a signature for the IED?”
“Same answer,” Cochran said. “That’s all I can give you.”
“Thanks for keeping us informed.” Nash ended the call.
“I guess that was helpful,” Danika said. “What about the threatening letters?”
“If Cochran had found anything, he’d have told us.”
“Yeah, I didn’t expect much. They were pretty generic. I thought of something else.”
Nash shivered. “Can it wait until I’m dressed?”
Danika popped up from the bed. “Of course. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” She darted from the room.
You were half naked and sitting on the bed with Danika. Talk about not being up to par.
Before Nash dressed, he touched his scars. The nephrectomy incision was relatively numb. The doctors had said the amount of feeling he’d regain was unpredictable. The fact it wasn’t any different from yesterday was a good thing. The damaged hamstring didn’t feel hot to the touch, so no infection there, either.
He grabbed a pair of sweatpants, added a tee, a turtleneck, and a sweatshirt, although he didn’t feel much warmer.
He found Danika at the kitchen table. “How about the living room?” He poured a fresh mug of coffee and headed that way, stopping to flip on the fireplace.
She followed suit, giving him a look of approval when he elevated his leg.
“The letters,” she said.
“Go on.”
“The first one came the day I was fired.” She went on, explaining her theories on how it could have been done. “Do you think the person who sent the letters was trying to scare me away, and they had nothing to do with me being fired?”
“I hate coincidences,” he said.
“They do happen.”
Nash frowned. “Doesn’t mean I like them. Is there any way to find out the real reason you were fired? Or maybe it was what the head guy at the Gazette said after all.”
“Mr. Gerard.”
“Gerard. Right. If it was downsizing, you shouldn’t have been the only one let go.”
“Am I still supposed to be invisible to anyone at the paper? Jorge should know, and he might have answers. Or I could call someone in another department, get them to ask around.”
“Better to stay off the grid awhile longer.”
“Aren’t there ways to do that? People can spoof phone numbers and even caller ID readouts. Robocallers do it all the time. Heck, I got a call from myself once, trying to get me to take advantage of a fantastic deal on a vacation time share.”
Nash picked up his tablet. Another chill coursed through him, and his fingers trembled. He avoided Danika’s eyes. “We can go over to Grinch’s later, use his computer. Faster and more efficient than this tablet.”
“What if I called the paper from Grinch’s house?” she asked. “Even if they traced the call, it wouldn’t come back to me.”
Nash’s thoughts seemed to be struggling to reach his brain. “Whoever we’re looking for knew you were at T-Bone’s cabin. We’re not far away, so there’s a chance they might make the connection.”
“Assuming the threat is connected to the paper.”
“That’s what T-Bone said. I’d rather avoid even the slimmest of chances of someone finding you until I hear what Blackthorne’s found out.”
Danika fisted her hands. “What if I’m willing to take the risk? It’s not exactly like you have a dog in this fight, is it?”
She was right. Partly. He met her gaze. “On a professional level. Personally, it’s a whole different game.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t need you doing this for me, Nash. You have other obligations, to yourself and your family. I’ve already told you, you’re not responsible for my safekeeping.”
He took a breath. Bands were forming around his chest. He struggled to suppress a cough. “I’ve already told you, it doesn’t work that way. Not for me.”
She curled her hands into fists. “You need to rethink that. Blackthorne can make sure the bomb wasn’t meant for T-Bone. Let me fight my own battles.”
Was this her way of breaking things off? Things? What things? A few hugs. Kisses. One brief interlude that hung on the fringes of his memory.
If Danika wanted to leave, he had no control over her. But he sure as hell hoped she’d stick around long enough to add a not-so-brief interlude to his mental hard drive.
And that they’d find whoever was after her.
*****
DANIKA STUDIED NASH. His eyes were bright, his face pale—paler than the first time she’d seen him. His voice was off, too.
What did she know about taking care of sick people? She thought back to her childhood, to her nannies. Soup. Toast. Telling her to sleep.
Would Nash listen to her?
Probably not.
If he got really sick, could she leave him?
Probably not.
If she had to stay another couple of days, she’d manage. She’d bring him soup, toast, and insist he sleep. No more getting attached, though. At least not getting more attached.
Nash started to speak, but a coughing fit took over.
She inhaled, blew it out. “Bed or couch?”
“Huh?”
“Where are you going to get the rest you need? Bed or couch?”
“Who said I needed—” the words came out in a hoarse croak, followed by another fit of coughing.
“You did,” she said. “Bed or couch?”
He glared at her, but obviously felt bad enough to follow instructions, and headed for the living room. Danika went to his bedroom and collected a pillow and blanket.
He was lying on the couch when she got back. She propped the pillow under his head and covered him with the blanket.
“I don’t ... need a ... nursemaid,” he croaked.
“Good, because you’re not getting one. Rest.” She handed him the television remote.
When he took it from her, his hands trembled. His body shook beneath the blanket. Danika went to the third bedroom and yanked the blanket off the bed, adding it atop the first. She brought a bottle of water, set it on the end table.
“That’s all I’m doing. If you want anything else, you’ll have to ask.”
Nash might not need a nursemaid, but he needed someone with common sense, since apparently, he’d missed that trait while they were handing out brains.
She tromped to the kitchen to make soup.
Nash had surfed the channels for about five minutes before he set the remote down, curled onto his side, and burrowed under the blankets.
Danika checked to make sure the security system was set, although she shut off the sirens. The cloud cover would make the flashing lights obvious enough. Next, she organized her notes into spreadsheets for each of her pending stories, along with one for the endangered species article. She couldn’t control how fast or how deeply Blackthorne was looking into things. If she wanted answers, she’d have to take a more active role.
The people she’d interviewed wouldn’t know she’d been fired, and she could call them, saying she needed more information. If one of them was behind it, they couldn’t trace her disposable phone, assuming they had the clout to request it.
She scanned the list of names for the endangered species article, trying to channel any feelings she’d gotten when she’d interviewed them. One man had struck her as being on the radical side of activism. Wouldn’t that mean he’d be on her side? Or did he think her article would take the opposite stand? That people were making too much of a fuss about mere animals. No, she’d been clear about her position and what the article would stress.
Maybe the scammer article was a better bet.
Nash’s breathing—somewhere between snoring and wheezing—carried from the living room. It didn’t sound like he was laboring to draw a breath. At least he was asleep.
She found the number for Gloria Jager and made the call.
“Oh, yes, I certainly remember you. I’ve been watching the paper, but haven’t seen the article yet. I have more news.”
Danika didn’t mention the article had been killed. She grabbed a pen and flipped over a page from her printouts. “What’s that, Mrs. Jager?”
“I was so furious at being fooled, and almost giving in to that evil person’s demands that I decided to take action.”
Danika’s pulse tripped. “What did you do?”
Please, not something stupid.
“I pretended I believed his crazy accusations. I wrote back asking him about how I was supposed to pay. He gave me instructions and wanted me to follow his links, but I knew better, thanks to you. I said I would do it, but before I did, I wanted him to tell me one of the websites he’d said I frequented.”
Danika’s heart sank. Had Mrs. Jager left herself vulnerable to actual hacking instead of mere idle threats? “What did he say?”
“He said, not until I paid. I suggested a partial payment to show good faith. He was still evasive, so I told him I would tell a reporter from the Gazette all about his scam.”
Was this her link? First, Danika had to make sure Mrs. Jager was okay. “You changed your passwords, didn’t you?”
“Oh yes. I signed up for one of those services that encrypts all your passwords. And I had a young fellow from the computer store come and make sure my computer wasn’t infested with bugs. He said it was clean. So the man had been making idle threats all along. I can’t tell you how grateful I was that you explained everything to me. I have to get more computer savvy now that it’s just me.”
“I’m glad you solved everything,” Danika said.
“And it cost me a lot less than what that man wanted me to pay.”
“One last question, Mrs. Jager. When you were communicating with the scammer, did you mention me by name?”
“Yes, I did. After all, once the article runs in the paper, he’d be able to see it.”
One more link in the chain. “That’s true. Do you have the emails?”
“If I didn’t empty my trash folder, they might be there.”
“If they are, will you forward them to me, please?” Danika gave the woman her personal email.
“I’ll do it right away. You’ll let me know when the article’s going to run, won’t you?” Mrs. Jager said.
Danika had to tell the woman the truth. “If it runs. Remember, I said I was doing research. The editor has final say on what’s printed and what isn’t. You can help by spreading the word to your friends and family so they’re not taken in.”
“I’ll do that,” Mrs. Jager said.
Danika hung up. Was there a way to trace the scammer from the emails? Was he the one who’d orchestrated her problems?