FRIDAY, 6:37 P.M.
CIRCLE S RANCH
Harper hardly cared that the man who had tried to kill her was still alive. Heath claimed she could still be in danger, but Uncle Jerry had framed someone else to take the blame as soon as he learned Harper was his niece. With the shooter identified, Uncle Jerry would have no need to take Harper out. Case closed. Harper believed that to her core. Her dad’s murder, however, happened under a different set of circumstances, and she suspected her uncle was responsible for that as well. Regardless, she was but one person in danger of losing their life at his hands.
Dazed and wrapped in a western-styled quilt, Harper nestled on the sofa and curled her hands around a hot mug of chamomile tea, compliments of Lori.
“I know you can’t wait to get home and feel safe. Put this nasty business behind you.” Lori offered her a concerned, genuine smile.
When Harper didn’t reply, Lori continued. “Do you need anything else, hon?”
“I’m good.” Harper didn’t want or need the pampering, but Lori was a nurturer and needed to give Harper attention.
“Okay, then. I’ll give you some time and space. I’ll be close if you need me.”
Harper held the pain at bay, enough so that she could offer Lori a soft, reassuring smile to ensure that the woman would, in fact, give her time and space. Lori walked away, leaving Harper in peace and quiet. In grief and shock.
A contingent of law enforcement—state and federal—had taken over the home where she grew up. They had also seized her camera to be returned at a later date. Or never. The FBI had arrived in full force to evaluate the explosion in Grayback and at Heath’s ranch too. This domestic terrorist—the Firebomber—had eluded them years ago by planting fake clues, like he’d done when he left Pete’s initials behind. The feds would not be denied this unexpected chance to finally capture him. And this time was different—they had a name.
Because she was his niece, Harper had been interviewed in a way that had the earmarks of an interrogation. Would they eventually interrogate Emily too?
But Harper had a few questions of her own about her uncle. How had he become this person? She couldn’t fathom her mother’s brother doing any of it, but now she completely understood their estrangement. Uncle Jerry was some kind of crazy, but there was much more to it, she’d been told. Psychologists, profilers, authorities—the experts hadn’t discovered the reasons why someone would turn to violence in this way. Domestic terrorists—as Uncle Jerry had been labeled—came from all kinds of backgrounds. They were college graduates, military servicemen, rich, poor. It didn’t matter.
The FBI investigator had told her that her uncle had been an economics professor at the University of Colorado.
Names had been given as examples. Timothy McVeigh. Ted Kaczynski, otherwise known as the Unabomber. Uncle Jerry, known to the world as the Firebomber, had historically been included in a list of notorious domestic terrorists. He’d also been a member of a terrorist group who called themselves Freedom Force, but the members were either dead or incarcerated, all except for her uncle, who liked to call himself “the judge.” Now he operated as a lone wolf, but he connected with like minds on the internet, where his radical ideology was fueled.
Her head throbbed. The rest of her had grown numb.
Looking out the panoramic window, Harper stared at the woods and mountains beyond, but her mind was far from the serene, picturesque view. She was glad they hadn’t moved from Lori’s to Emerald M yet, or they would be moving right back to Lori’s, since the bombed cabin at Heath’s ranch was once again in the limelight as the FBI worked to connect that bombing to the one in Grayback. Connect them both to Uncle Jerry.
I should go home now. Go back to Missouri.
Before the bomb in Grayback, she’d been considering staying and working for Sheriff Taggart, if he ever made an official offer, and exploring a relationship with Heath. The thought of actually letting Heath into her heart, risking love, had felt right.
But her intended words to him had been obliterated. She never got to speak them, and now she wasn’t sure if she ever would.
Everything . . . everything had changed now.
She had answers to questions she hadn’t even asked, and those answers left her gutted. Broken again.
Authorities were holding the news close for now, because they didn’t want their fugitive to escape them again. Harper suspected it wouldn’t be long before someone leaked the discovery to the news stations and national news would be all over it.
The Firebomber, now identified as Gerald Henry Johnson, brother to Leslie Johnson Larrabee, a.k.a. Leslie Reynolds, had been living for two decades in Jackson Hole. Unfortunately, he had eluded capture again and was many steps ahead of them. Uncle Jerry had been making plans for another big bomb. Authorities were hoping to thwart his plans, except they didn’t know what structure he would target next. They had determined that his next bomb would definitely be his last because he was reportedly in the end stages of lung cancer.
Uncle Jerry probably thought of it as a last big hurrah, and he might even prefer going out with the bomb instead of from cancer.
Harper sipped the chamomile tea, now tepid instead of hot. Tears had dried on her cheeks. She hadn’t bothered wiping them away. She hoped and prayed, once the news was made public, that her and Emily’s names weren’t released as being connected to the man in any way. They didn’t share his last name, but a curious reporter could easily make the connection. Would that information harm Emily’s career as a mystery writer, even though she used a pen name? The future seemed muddied at best.
Harper better understood her mother’s actions now—why she quickly moved them and changed their names. Mom hadn’t lost a friend in a bomb. She’d lost her brother to a crazed, domestic-terrorist mind-set. Harper didn’t get why her mother hadn’t turned Uncle Jerry in to the authorities back then. After all, he’d murdered her husband. Perhaps he’d threatened their lives too? She could have feared reprisal from the other members of Freedom Force, and that was the reason she fled. That would make the most sense.
Now it was time for Harper to get her act together.
Her hands shook as she gripped the cell phone and stared at Emily’s image. She needed to call her sister.
Tomorrow was Emily’s big night. Her book was being featured. She was giving a speech.
Harper hesitated. The news that their uncle was the worst kind of criminal would be devastating and could ruin the gala for Emily. Affect her ability to speak to the crowd.
But if Harper didn’t tell her, and Emily heard from someone else—such as a news station that had gotten the story early—that could be more devastating.
Releasing a sigh, she set the cell aside.
Lord, I don’t know what to do. Do I tell her or do I keep it to myself for now?
Even if she called Emily, she didn’t have the words. How did she tell her what had happened?
Harper sensed the moment someone entered the room. Though he crept forward as if trying to surprise her, his cologne let her know it was Heath approaching. His reflection appeared in the window when he stood behind her.
“Trying to sneak up on me?”
He came around the large sofa to sit next to her, his bright blue eyes turning dark with concern. His expression remained warm, gentle even, despite the lines etched in his forehead. “I was never good at sneaking up on you. Or surprising you. But no. I was checking on you and didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Have you heard something else?” She wasn’t sure how much more she could take.
“Nothing related to the Firebomber. I don’t think the feds are going to share anything with us. It’s out of the hands of local law enforcement, in spite of Sheriff Taggart’s efforts to stay in the loop.”
She wasn’t sure she could take his intensity at the moment. “I’m sorry.” What else could she say?
Heath’s smile turned tenuous. “He’s still out there, Harper. The man who tried to kill you. I know it’s more than that now, but you’re in danger—you personally are a target—until this is over. I was again tasked with keeping you safe. Taggart suggested I take you away, if I thought it was a good idea. Well, I do think it’s a good idea. Taggart doesn’t need me.” Heath scooted closer and took her hand. “But you do.”
She didn’t want to need him. She’d tried, really tried, to let herself be free to explore a relationship with this man. But even those words she would have spoken to him about staying had been stolen from her with the blast. As he squeezed her hand, his touch nearly took her breath away. She felt the strength there, the calluses from his work at the ranch, and his complete devotion, the effort he took in caring for the task to which he’d committed himself—or in this case, the person. Harper.
She wanted to ignore the warm thrumming sensations he stirred in her. Because, right now, pain was all around her—the bombing and the house where she’d grown up, still full of death.
An empathetic person, she needed to feel the pain crashing down on her and process through it. She freed her hand from Heath’s and hugged herself.
“I’m not going to watch you do this to yourself. Harper”—he turned her to face him—“after what you’ve just been through, you should know that life’s a gift. It shouldn’t be wasted or spent on purgatory, or some sort of mental anguish you think is necessary. I won’t let you do this to yourself.” His eyes crinkled around the edges. He hung his head as if to work up his nerve, then lifted his face again and said, “I have a surprise for you, so maybe I can surprise you, after all.” A nervous chuckle.
From his pocket he pulled out a printout of two airline tickets.
Sitting forward, she stared at them. “What’s going on?” Harper glanced up at him, eyes locking with his. “I don’t understand.”
“Would you like to attend the Metcalfe Honors and Benefit Gala with me? You can be there with Emily when she is honored and gives her speech.”
Her words caught in her throat. Heath—this man—he’d been listening.
He winked, his eyes pleading with her to put this behind them. At least for the gala.
Only Heath could make her smile, albeit a tenuous smile, during this crisis in her life. She hadn’t thought of him as a romantic, but this might change her mind. His thoughtfulness could undo her.
Except, well, if only the timing wasn’t all wrong.
A wry grin twisted his lips. “I can see huge wind turbines spinning in your head. Look, I know this isn’t exactly the perfect time. But there’s never going to be a perfect time. You need this for a thousand reasons, and it would mean a lot to your sister too. So, let’s get away together. Let’s go somewhere safe.”