He wasn’t even sure he believed it himself, but hell. He had no choice but to trust an impulse strong enough to make him practically blow chunks all over the spit-shined Endicott Falls shopping district.
He scanned the Toyota’s engine for bomb designs he was familiar with, but there were infinite variations, endless new strategies, and he’d never tinkered with the guts of an aging Toyota. He wouldn’t recognize a wire out of place if it bit him in the ass. He stared at it, stomach churning. He dropped to the ground, shimmied under the pickup on his back. Switched on the penlight on his keychain. Peered around.
A thrill of confirmation jolted his nerves. A wire wrapped around the drive train. Old classic. Easy to spot if you were looking for it, but why look? He poked around delicately. There it was. A wad of plastic explosives, molded between the gas tank and the truck body. If Madden had driven a few inches, the turning driveshaft would’ve pulled the trip, and ka-boom. He let out a jerky sigh. Tension drained out of him.
The smell of sunbaked asphalt tickled his nose. Scratches on his back began to sting. He stared at the destruction clinging to the belly of the truck, like a malignant growth. So close.
He wiggled out from under the Toyota. It took some eye-rubbing to recognize Officer Tom Roarke. The man had put on weight in fifteen years, but the hostility in his face was immutable.
Sean hardly blamed him. Punching an officer of the law in the face and restraining him with his own cuffs was a very undesirable course of action. Even in his wilder days, Sean had known that.
And all for nothing, in the end. He’d been too late to save Kev.
“Mr. McCloud, would you like to explain to me what you’re doing vandalizing Ms. Endicott’s car?” Roarke’s voice was as harsh as gravel.
“Verifying the presence of unexploded ordnance,” Sean replied.
Roarke’s face went blank. “Huh?”
Sean sat up. “Take a look,” he offered. “There’s plastic explosives around the gas tank. A wire around the driveshaft. Could be a decoy, though. Somebody could be watching with a remote detonater.”
“You’re kidding.” Roarke’s face went an odd, purplish shade.
“I wish I were. I suggest you evacuate this block right now.”
Roarke yanked his walkie talkie out of his belt. Sean turned, and found Liv standing in the street, way too close to her car. Miles, too, was wandering closer than he should, goggle-eyed and slack-jawed.
“Detonator?” she echoed faintly. “You mean…a bomb? In my pickup? But I drove it this morning. I parked it here at five A.M. It’s been right out here in public, all morning. How on earth—”
“Get the fuck away from the car, Liv. You, too, Miles. Move!” Weird, to hear his father’s drill sergeant voice coming out of his own mouth. It had no discernible effect on Liv, though. She didn’t bat an eye. Sean spun her around, and shoved.
“Get your hands off her.” It was Madden, his voice shaky and high. His face was wet with sweat. He grabbed Sean’s arm.
Sean just towed the guy along with them. “Let’s have this pissing contest out of blast range,” he growled.
“I’d like to know how you knew about that bomb, McCloud.”
Sean’s gut clenched. A lot of people were going to be unpleasantly curious about that. I had a funny feeling didn’t get you far when people were casting around for a scapegoat, and he made a kick-ass scapegoat.
He braced himself. “I had a hunch.”
“I see,” Madden’s voice heavy with scorn. “A hunch. How convenient and timely. You’re so obviously an expert, I’m surprised you’re not defusing this so-called bomb all by yourself, on the spot.”
“I probably could, but I won’t.” Sean kept his voice even. “Not without equipment, and backup. I’d do it off the cuff if somebody’s life depended on it, but given the choice, I’d rather call the EOD techs.”
Patrol cars began to pull up. People were trickling out of nearby buildings, scurrying away. Miles was hunched over his phone, ratting him out to his brothers. Then he saw Roarke and two other officers, marching towards him with grim purpose in their synchronized step, and an unmistakable look in their eyes. Oh, great. This rocked.
So he was ending up behind bars today, after all.
August the fucking eighteenth. It never failed.
“Will it hurt?”
Dr. Osterman threw a reassuring arm around the shoulders of the girl he was steering into his private examining room. He flipped on the lights, enabled the video cameras. “Not at all. X-Cog 10 will just enhance your neural activity, and the electrical stimulation will augment blood circulation to selected portions of your brain,” he lied smoothly.
Caitlin’s eyes widened, intrigued. “Cool.”
Osterman gave her a smile brimming with charm. “Basically, we’re trying to use more of your already remarkable brain potential.”
Caitlin gave him a world-weary smile. “There are lots of drugs that help you use more of your brain,” she said. “I’ve tried a bunch already.”
He chuckled. “No doubt, but my approach is more systematic. I hope to develop ways to treat learning problems, enhance academic performance, and ultimately, contribute to human evolution.”
“Wow,” she whispered, her eyes big.
Osterman experienced a flash of doubt as to whether this was worth the risk. Caitlin’s test results were only borderline. Off the charts compared to a normal teenager, and extremely talented artistically, but she was more or less mediocre by his own standards. On the plus side, her family profile was perfect. She was a product of the foster system. Behavioral problems, drug problems, no nosy parents to ask awkward questions when she disappeared. And he’d been waiting so long for a suitable test subject. Helix Group needed results, if he was to keep getting this lavish funding. Demonstrable, profitable results.
Osterman tilted her face up, noting the lovely bone structure. She had big, startled brown eyes. Her lips were shiny with flavored lip gloss.
“You’re special, Caitlin,” he said gently. “This project is important. I can’t trust the others the way I trust you. Do you understand?”
She blinked in the bright light. “Uh, OK.”
He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “You’re lovely,” he said.
Her eyes widened, startled. Osterman drew his hand slowly away. “I’m sorry, Cait,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have said that to you.”
Caitlin’s eyes glittered with tears. “It’s OK. I, uh, don’t mind.”
Ah. Working with girls was so gratifying. It was difficult to find extremely gifted girls who fit his exacting social profile, but the ease of management canceled out that disadvantage. Just tell them they were beautiful and special, and the deal was done. It didn’t matter how smart they were. Girls were so vulnerable, so desperate for love and validation.
And he had discovered, by laborious trial and error, that his precious secret baby, the X-Cog neural interface, was easiest to establish and maintain with highly intelligent female subjects.
She batted her eyes at him. “You’ve got a good body,” she coyly said. “For an older guy.” The invitation in her fluttering glance was clear.
Osterman considered it, briefly. These girls were destined for use and discard, so he never had to worry about repercussions. Being married to his work, he preferred to keep his sex life extremely simple.
But all that bucking and heaving took on a tedious sameness after a while. And coming in contact with bodily fluids was unsanitary.