When the newlyweds moved to a suburb north of Bear Claw City to be close to her parents, Mariah had leaned on her father to find a job for her engineeringtrained husband within the American Mall Group, where her father had been an upper-level manager. It wasnt until after the attacks and subsequent arrests, when the story had started coming together, that it became clear Lee had manipulated Mariah into getting him the job, just as hed manipulated her into serving as his alibi through the first few rounds of the investigation.
Or so she had claimed. Gray hadnt fully bought her protestations of innocence two years earlier during the original investigation, and he sure as hell hadnt believed them more recently, when her husband had escaped. There were only so many times he could hear I dont know anything before it started to wear thin, especially when the suspects actions said otherwise.
Mariah Chisholm, who had gone back to using her maiden name of Shore after the divorce, knew more than she was admitting. Gray was positive of ithe just couldnt convince his jackass, rules-are-God boss, Special Agent in Charge Johnson, to lean on her harder.
Then again, SAC Johnson was in this investigation to make his career and avoid stepping on any political toes. Gray was in it for justice.
The horrific terror attacks two and a half years earlier, dubbed the Santa Bombings, had targeted the start of the holiday season, when families with young children had gathered at each of the American Malls to welcome the mall Santas. The bombs had been concealed in building stress points near the elaborate thrones where the Santas had sat for whispered consultations with hundreds of hopeful, holiday-crazed kids. The explosives had all gone off simultaneously, in six malls across the state. Hundreds had been killedfamilies destroyed in a flashduring the most joyous of seasons.
It had been an inhuman attack, directed solely at the most innocent of innocents. Terrorism in the truest sense of the word.
In the investigation immediately afterwards, a couple of sales receipts and a glitchy security camera had led the FBI agents to Lee Chisholmwho called himself Mawadi among his real family within the terror networkalong with his co-conspirator, Muhammad Feyd, and the mastermind himself, al-Jihad. The evidence had been enough to convict the menbarelyand get them sentenced to life-plus at the ARX Supermax. The clues hadnt seemed to point to the involvement of Mawadis wife, who at the time had been dealing with bad press, a quickie divorce and her fathers forced retirement and subsequent near-fatal heart attack. In the end, Mariah Chisholm, née Shore, had been cleared of suspicion as far as the higher-ups were concerned.
As far as Gray was concerned, though, theyd missed something.
Hed been part of the initial interviews of Mariah and her father, and hed memorized all the reportsboth the official file and the assembled news stories. The reports from two years earlier, during the time when Lee Mawadi had been arrested, tried and convicted, had described Mariah as shocked, devastated and grief-stricken. One Shakespeare of a journalist had even called her a doe-eyed innocent played false by the man she thought she knew.
The pictures and film clips had backed up those descriptions, showing a lovely, sad-eyed woman with curly, dark-brown hair and full lips that had trembled at all the right moments. For the most part shed tried to avoid the cameras. On the few occasions shed spoken publicly, shed read prepared statements in which she had apologized for not having seen her husband of six months for what hed beena monsterand had urged swift justice for Mawadi, Feyd and al-Jihad. Even Gray, an admitted cynic, had bought the routine, all but forgetting about her once Mawadi and the others were behind bars. Hed shifted his attention away from them and focused on tracking down more of al-Jihads terror cells.
All that had changed the previous fall, though, when Mawadi, Feyd and al-Jihad had escaped from the ARX Supermax with the help of fellow prisoner Jonah Fairfax. Fairfax had proven to be a deep undercover Fed whod been charged with flushing out al-Jihads contacts within U.S. law enforcement, and had planned to do so by facilitating the escape and then netting all the conspirators when they made their move. But the setup had backfired badly when it turned out that Fairfaxs superior, who had progressively isolated him over the previous two years, had turned, becoming one of al-Jihads assets.
In the end, Fairfax had helped al-Jihad escape, and the only conspirator hed flushed out was his own boss, code-named Jane Doe, who had vanished in the aftermath of a foiled attack on a local stadium. The Feds and local cops had managed to recapture Muhammad Feyd, but so far he had refused to talk, which left the authorities pretty much chasing their own tails.
Worse, in the immediate aftermath of the thwarted stadium attack, Gray himself had wound up as a suspect in the conspiracy. Which was just plain stupid.
Yes, hed failed to pass along a potentially crucial message, but that wasnt because hed been working for al-Jihad. Hed made the decision in a split second of distraction, a moment when his version of justice and the law had clashed and hed gotten caught up in his own head, stuck in memories. And yeah, maybe thered been other factors, too, but they were nothing he couldnt handle. He couldand wouldbring the bastards down. No way he was letting the Santa Bombers go free. Not now, not ever. Not after what theyd done.
The thought brought a flash of memory, of concussion and screams, and the rapid flutter of a dying childs chest in the sterile confines of an ICU.
Shaking off the image, Gray forced his mind to focus on the task at hand. Moving silently he worked his way through the thick forest, headed for Mariah Shores cabin. He had no orders, no official sanction. Hell, he was on probation. He was supposed to be riding a desk, monitoring transcribed chatter and helping with the tip lines.
Im just out for a hike, he murmured, keeping his voice very low, even though he hadnt seen or heard anything to indicate that he had company. Is it my fault I just happened to wander out of the state park and stumble on her cabin?
It wasnt much as plausible deniability went, but he was done with waiting around for a break that wasnt coming. Hed helped jail Lee Mawadi, Muhammad Feyd and al-Jihad in the first place, using slightly less than orthodox methods in his zeal to gain some measure of justice for the victims of the Santa Bombings. Hed do the same thing again, even if it meant the end of his career.
Well, well. Will you look at that? he said, whistling quietly under his breath as the ex-wifes isolated cabin came into view. He stopped amid the cover of a thick stand of trees and scrubby underbrush, and peered through, scoping out the scene.
It looked like Mariah had been doing some landscaping.
Originally, the cabin had been tucked into the woods, with trees very near the structure, shielding it even from satellite view. Now there was a clear-cut swath a good fifty feet in all directions, with raw stumps giving mute testimony to where trees had once stood. In one corner of the lot, a huge pile of cut and split logs sat beside a gas-powered wood splitter. A thin wisp of smoke rose from the cabins central chimney, indicating that someone was home, as did the vehicles parked in the side yard. One was the banged-up Jeep Mariah had registered in her name. The other was unfamiliar, a nondescript, dark-blue four-by-four SUV.
Two cars. Two people, maybe more? Gray thought, tensing further as a quiver of instinct ran through him.
When hed asked Mariah Shore point-blank why shed bought the forest-locked cabin no more than thirty miles from the ARX Supermax Prison, shed claimed it was a sort of penance. Shed said she wanted to be able to see the prison on one side of her, the city of Bear Claw on the other, that she wanted to be reminded of how many lives had been destroyed because she hadnt recognized her husband for what he was.
And maybe that explanation wouldve worked for him if shed come off as the grief-stricken victim shed played two years earlier. But the newer reportssome of which Gray had written himselfdescribed her as closed off, detached, unfriendly, and nervouswhich werent the kind of words he typically associated with innocence. They were more in line with the behavior of a woman who had something to hide.
Unfortunatelyas far as Gray was concerned, anywaya detailed check of her activities since Mawadis incarceration hadnt turned up any indication that she was in contact with her ex. Heck, shed kept almost entirely to herself, not even visiting her parents when her father had been hospitalized again a few months ago for his recurring heart problems.
In the absence of evidence to the contrary, and with all the available information suggesting that Mawadi, al-Jihad and Jane Doe had fled the country, SAC Johnson had ended all surveillance of Mariah Shore, despite Grays protests that she was one of their few remaining local links to the terrorists.
In retrospect, Gray knew he probably shouldve kept his mouth shut. Rather than making his boss take a second look at the decision, his opinion had only made Johnson dig in harder, to the point that hed ordered Gray to stay the hell away from Mawadis ex-wife. But Johnson hadnt known that she had clear-cut the area around her cabin and strung up what looked to be some serious motion-activated lights and alarms, along with a low electric fence that was no doubt intended to keep deer and other critters out of the monitored zone, lest they trigger the alarms.
Shed turned the place into a fortress.
Question was, why?
And wont Johnson be glad I just happened to be hiking this way? Gray murmured, having taken up the dubious habit of talking to himself over the last few years, ever since he and Stacy had split up.
Refusing to think of his ex-wife, or how things had gone so wrong so fast after their so-called trial separation just before the bombings, Gray moved out of the concealing brush and eased closer to the cabin, his senses on the highest alert.
He hadnt gone more than two paces before the door swung open, and Lee Mawadi himself stepped out onto the rustic porch. Gray froze, adrenaline shooting through him alongside a surge of vindication and the hard, hot jolt of knowing hed been right all along.
Mariah Shore was in this conspiracy right up to her pretty little neck.
Chapter Two
Gray stayed very still. He was wearing camouflage and stood hidden behind a screening layer of trees and underbrush; as long as he didnt move, Mawadi shouldnt be able to see him. Gray wasnt totally motionless, though: his blood raced through his veins and his heart pumped furiously, beating in his ears on a rhythm that said he was right, the ex-wife was part of it, after all.
And Lee Mawadi had very definitely not fled the country, as all the reports had indicated.
The bastard stood thereblond and Nordic, looselimbed and relaxed, cradling a Remington shotgun in the crook of one arm as he scanned the forest. Then he headed for the corner of the porch, shouldered the shotgun, unzipped and urinated, all the while scanning the forest. He seemed to be looking for something, but what? Had he seen Gray skulking in the trees? Was he expecting company?
Mawadi finished and rezipped, then turned toward the still-open door, calling, You said theyd be here at five, right?
Gray didnt hear the answer, couldnt tell if the responding voice belonged to a man or a woman. His brain raced, trying to parse the tiny nugget of information. It was just past four oclock, which meant the meeting was an hour away. And if he could figure out who was coming for the meeting, it could be a huge break in the case, allowing them to identify more of the terrorists, maybe even the traitors they suspected might be working within the Bear Claw Police Department, and maybe even the FBI itself. For half a second, excitement zinged through him at the thought of al-Jihad himself showing up. Gray would give anything to be the one to subdue all of them, the terrorists and the ex-wife, and put them where they belongedin the ARX Supermax or a grave, either way was fine with him.
Then Gray cursed, realizing that if the newcomers were driving up the mountain, he could be in serious trouble. The only way up the ridgeline to the cabin was the narrow track hed come up, or the fire-access road that merged with the track just below where hed parked. His four-by-four was off the road and somewhat hidden, but the concealment was far from foolproof. A driver coming up the lane might see the vehicle, even in the gathering dusk.
Which meant he had two choices. One, he could retrace his path, pronto, in hopes of making it down the ridge and hiding the truck before the other vehicle turned up the road. Then he could boogie down the mountain, get into cell range and call for backup. Or two, he could stay put and hope his four-by-four escaped detection while he cobbled together some sort of a plan to subdue Mawadi and whoever else was in the cabin, then capture the others when they arrived.
Gray wasnt a glory seeker by a long shot, but for both personal and professional reasons, he liked the image of dragging in the murdering bastards himself. Not to mention that there was a good chance that even if he made it to cell range, SAC Johnson and the others would give him a less than enthusiastic response. Gray had cried wolf before and it had come to nothing, and then hed dropped the ball on that damn message during the festival, with the result that al-Jihad and the others had very nearly succeeded in their aim of destroying a stadium filled with tens of thousands of city residents awaiting a benefit concert. Which meant that Gray wasnt exactly the go-to guy for anything these days. For all he knew, Johnson would ignore his report and put him back on administrative leave for going near the cabin in the first place.
All of which is one big, fat rationalization, Gray admitted inwardly, staying quiet because Mawadi was still on the porch. But spoken aloud or not, it was the truth. He was making up excuses for doing what he fully intended to do, whether or not it was reasonable. He was going in now and alone, not just because he didnt trust Johnson and the other special agents in the Denver office, but because he didnt trust the system itself. Not anymore.
The system hadnt stopped pampered rich-boy Lee Chisholm from taking his love of violence and his knee-jerk hatred of his fathers politics and turning it into terrorism. The system hadnt been able to pin any one of a half-dozen other crimes on al-Jihad in the years between the 9/11 terror attacks and the Santa Bombings. The system had let down all the men, women and children whod died in the attacks; it had failed them and their families twice overonce by not preventing the bombings and again by not keeping the terrorists behind bars. All of which meant the system couldnt be trusted this time, either.