identity to go undercover but I can snoop around. I just need a cover for a few weeks.”
Barbara came out with their meal and refilled their coffee, pretending she hadn’t noticed all the coughing drama. But she shot Brianne a knowing smile. “Looks like rain,” she said, glancing at the billowing gray clouds. “Better eat up.”
Stella and Tommy sniffed the air. Bacon?
She felt their pain. Brianne watched Barbara go back inside and then grabbed a slice of crisp bacon. “I think I’m gonna need this.”
“I’ve been following a lead,” he explained between bites of fluffy pancakes and the best bacon in New York.
Or at least it tasted that way to Brianne each time she swiped a strip. Stress eating was her thing, after all. She’d have to run the bacon off later. And she’d have to run off the strange currents circulating through her system, too. Why, oh why had she been paired with this man?
Work. Focus on work. “What kind of lead?”
“A few months ago, we established that a person noted as a master bomb-maker might be back in New York and that he could possibly be the one who set off the boiler explosion that caused part of the apartment building you mentioned to wind up in pieces. One person killed and three hospitalized. Tommy and I were the first to arrive on the scene because I had dinner with a friend at a nearby restaurant. Tommy alerted and we found fragments of what looked like the makings of a bomb. Pieced things together but the FBI and Homeland Security took over the case.”
“The explosion in Williamsburg?” she asked, gaining interest. “An older apartment building. They couldn’t figure out what had caused the boiler to explode but this report says possible tampering. They never found a suspect.”
“We never found a suspect. Tommy and I gave it our best shot and we found evidence of an incendiary device but no trace of the person who might have done it.” He shrugged and shook his head. “I had to let it go.”
“Maybe the department will get a lead soon.”
“They won’t, and for several reasons,” he said. “First, we only have a written report from the other agencies and I had to ask special permission for that. Plus, this possible bomber is like a ghost, but my confidential informant—we call him Beanpole because he’s so skinny—told me he’s heard things about that explosion being deliberate. Someone wanted that building destroyed. He thinks he’s seen the man who did it and he described him to me. If it’s who I think it is, he’s known as the Tick—a double meaning. His bombs don’t always tick but he grips his target and won’t let go until the job is done. I’m talking taunting, stalking, harassing and then...boom.”
“Like a tick on skin?”
“Yes. Hard to find and even harder to shake.”
She almost shuddered but lifted her shoulder instead. “Not a good image.”
“No. This man is dangerous. He’s not considered a terrorist and he’s not connected to any sleeper cells as far as we can tell. But someone could be hiring him to sabotage or damage buildings so they can be condemned. That forces people out so they can buy the property at rock-bottom prices and rebuild on it, making a fortune. That makes him a domestic terrorist in my book, him and whoever is paying him to do this.”
He stopped, waiting for her to bolt. But Brianne sat with her eyes on him, giving him her complete attention.
“After that explosion, I did some research and found a pattern that seems to match his MO. I found one report from a building in Chicago—a gas explosion. Blasted but no foul play found. Six months later, the property had switched hands and a fancy new condominium building went up. And another in Atlanta, same pattern. A fire in the basement that got out of hand, ruled as an electrical fire. A few months later, the place had been razed to build a new high-rise condo building.”
“So you see a pattern developing?”
“Yes. Those incidents have all the markings of the Tick. He disguises his bombs to make them look like something else—a gas leak, a boiler blowing up, an accidental construction fire. Once that’s over and done, the buildings change hands pretty quickly. The previous owners might get an insurance settlement but an offer to buy them out would sure add to that. And I think they’re being persuaded in other ways, too.”
“Intimidation?” She shook her head. “Violet’s mentioned Lou being harassed lately. Something about gentrification.”
“Yes, that kind of thing. The threat of another explosion, rumors that scare tenants away.”
“So...you’ve been researching this because...?”
He took a swig of coffee and checked the clouds coming in. “I didn’t like leaving the case unsolved, and I need something to prove I’m not just out to get promoted. I really care about this case. I’m ambitious, true. But...this is dangerous stuff. The Williamsburg explosion turned out to be more powerful—enough to take down a small building and kill a woman. Tommy alerted and our partners are rarely wrong on these things. But...we didn’t find enough proof.”
“So how is he getting away with this?”
“I think someone higher up is hiring him to scare property owners. He’s meticulous in hiding his tracks but now he’s getting bolder. Bombers like notoriety, but they don’t want to get caught so they prefer to leave little signatures but not much evidence.”
“So these real estate agents are trying to scare vulnerable people out of their apartments and homes so they can raze them and build?”
“Yes. They want the property, but not the buildings.” He sat silently, as if weighing his next words. “They make people back off on contracts or force owners to sell quietly and quickly. They’ve got a system of intimidation and bullying tactics and the bomber is just the tip of the iceberg. No one can prove anything so the owners cave and wash their hands of the entire mess.”
“So it’s not just about the bomber? You want these corrupt real estate agents to end their bullying ways.”
“I do, for so many reasons.” Looking out over the street, he let out a sigh. “The woman who died in that explosion worked with my grandmother at a nearby hospital. I knew her, Bree. Helen Proctor. She lived in Williamsburg all of her life and most of that time in the apartment she shared with her husband before he died. She was good to me when my grandmother got sick and...after she passed away.” Twisting his napkin, he added, “I knew she lived there but...but I couldn’t believe it when they brought her out in a body bag.”
And right after that, Jordan Jameson had died and Gavin had been put through the wringer as a possible suspect. No wonder he seemed to have a big chip on his shoulder.
More like the weight of the world.
“I’m sorry, Gavin. So sorry.” Brianne’s heart burned with understanding. She’d heard Gavin’s grandmother had raised him after his mother left him as an infant. She didn’t bring up any of that, though. “So this is personal for you?”
“Very,” he admitted. “At the time, Jordan knew about my connection to Helen, so I asked if I could investigate the alleged bombing on the side, on my own time if needed.”
“And he agreed to that?”
“He
