Jacob paid her father nicely for her services, and her needy datt turned a blind eye to what Jacob really wanted.
Her stomach soured, recalling when Jacob had lured her to the barn. She’d fought him off and narrowly escaped. Knowing her father would never believe her own innocence, she had run away from Jacob, her father and her Amish roots.
Two years later, her sister’s phone call forced Becca to return home, but she arrived too late to save Katie or her datt.
With a heavy heart, Becca turned from the window, hoping to distance herself from the niggling concern that too often hovered close at hand.
Jacob was dead.
The case was closed.
But if that were true, then why did some inner voice keep warning her that Jacob Yoder was still alive?
* * *
Acrid smoke hung in the air around Becca’s BOQ as Colby parked his green Chevy near her Honda and waited as she slipped on her shoes and shrugged off his suggestion to stay in the car. Worried though he was about her well-being, he admired her determination to get to the bottom of what had caused the explosion.
Together they crossed the street to where Sergeant Flanders stood next to his squad car.
“What’s the latest?” Colby asked, raising his voice over the drone of the fire engines.
“We haven’t been able to get close to the building, sir, but we’ve done a preliminary search of the surrounding wooded area and plan to retrace our steps after daylight. The post maintenance company has been called as well as the fire marshal, staff duty officer and post engineer. General Cameron was notified.”
Becca stared over her shoulder at a second residence still under construction on the next street. “Has anyone searched the other building?”
“Not yet, ma’am.”
She nodded to Colby. “Let’s check it out.”
Stopping at his car, Colby grabbed a Maglite from the trunk and handed a spare to Becca. “We might need these.”
Flashlights in hand, they hustled across a narrow strip of green space and cautiously rounded the front of the structure. A utility van sat at the far end of the parking lot. The side panel decal read Peachtree Construction.
“Why would someone leave their truck in an isolated parking lot overnight?” Becca gave voice to what Colby was thinking.
“Time to have a look-see.” He shone his flashlight through the windshield. A ladder and tools were visible in the rear. An insulated coffee mug sat upfront in the console cup holder.
The doors were locked.
Becca raised her cell and relayed the Fulton County tag number to CID Headquarters. “Run the plates. Find out who the truck belongs to and get me an after-duty hours contact number for the company.”
After disconnecting, she and Colby entered the second building through an open doorway. Their flashlights illuminated inner walls that were framed but lacked drywall.
Colby pointed to his left. “You go that way. I’ll head right.” Neither of them spoke as they made their way through the maze of two-by-fours. The only sounds within the building were their muffled footfalls on the concrete-slab floor and the wind that blew through the open doorway.
They met up at the far end of the structure. A rustle caused them to turn their lights on a rodent scurrying for shelter.
“That’s one culprit we don’t need to follow.” Colby chuckled and then flexed his shoulders, hoping to ease the growing tension in his neck.
“I keep thinking that abandoned maintenance van might be important,” Becca said as they exited the building and retraced their steps to the fire scene.
Sergeant Flanders looked up as they neared. “Find anything?”
“One of the construction vans,” she said. “We’re running the plates and getting a phone number for the company. Probably an Atlanta-based firm that landed the building contract.”
“Any sign of the driver?” he asked.
Colby shook his head. “We searched the building. It’s clean.”
“Maybe the guy caught a ride home with a buddy.”
The fire chief hustled toward them. He was tall with serious eyes that stared at them from under his helmet. “The fire’s contained. I’ll have some of my guys keep watch throughout the night. We don’t want any hot embers to rekindle. One of my men is checking out something he saw in the unoccupied apartment on the bottom floor.”
The chief’s tone caused Colby’s gut to tighten. He sensed the entire investigation was about to change.
A younger man in full turnout gear approached the chief. “There’s a problem, sir. We found a body in the rubble.”
Colby turned to look at Becca. This time she didn’t avert her gaze. Instead she stared back at him.
“Was it Jacob?” she had whispered earlier.
Did the dead victim have anything to do with Becca?
* * *
“Hurry up and wait” was a standing joke in the army, although there was nothing funny about waiting for the medical examiner to arrive on site. After inspecting the body, he scheduled an autopsy for the following afternoon.
Crime-scene tape surrounded Becca’s quarters. A name tag found on the victim identified him as the project manager for Peachtree Construction Company.
At this point, foul play couldn’t be ruled out, but the most likely explanation was an accidental gas leak. Either the project manager had entered the unoccupied apartment suspecting a problem or had caused a malfunction once he was inside.
Becca kept thinking of what could have happened had she not awakened. Dark thoughts she had no reason to mention. Certainly not to Special Agent Voss, who hadn’t left her side since the explosion.
His presence played havoc with her internal calm. She needed space and a few moments to compose her tired and confused mind. The reoccurring dream of running from Jacob Yoder continued to haunt her. She sighed in an attempt to distance herself from the memory.
“Something wrong?” Colby asked.
Becca shook her head.
“You need some rest.”
“I’m fine.” A statement she had uttered too many times tonight. She wasn’t used to having someone underfoot, although she did appreciate his concern.
“The chief reserved a room for you at the Lodge, Becca. It’s time you headed there.”
Special Agent in Charge Craig Wilson had arrived onsite shortly after Arnold’s body had been uncovered. The CID commander now stood talking to the post provost marshal and Special Agents Jamison Steele and Brody Goodman.
Wilson was a tall African-American with broad shoulders and an innate ability to hone in on pertinent information that often solved a case. The high regard with which he was held in the entire CID was one of the reasons Becca had accepted the Georgia assignment. She could learn much under his direction.
Tonight she feared her credibility had been compromised. Wilson kept telling her to get out of the cold, yet he hadn’t mentioned the temperature to Colby nor to the other CID personnel on scene.
Maybe it was the oversize coat she wore and the baggy sweatpants that made her seem needy. Something she never wanted to be.
Wilson slapped the provost marshal’s back and nodded to Jamison and Brody before he walked purposefully toward where Becca stood.
“I’ve