Eagle's Last Stand. Aimee Thurlo

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going down.”

      “No doubt about it,” Rick said. He looked over to where Kim stood watching the paramedics work. “I’m going to follow her to the hospital. I’d like to talk to her uncle as soon as he’s conscious.”

      “Better wait for Preston. He’s the only one of us who still carries a badge, and this is his turf, not ours,” Daniel warned. “You know how he is about going by the book.”

      Rick gave his brother a mirthless smile. “Good for him. I started out that way, but undercover—”

      “I know, but there are rules here,” Daniel reminded him. “You’re home now.”

      Daniel was right; he had to stand back. It wasn’t his case.

      Seeing Kim arguing with the paramedics, who wouldn’t let her ride in the ambulance, he jogged over. “Come on, Kim, I’ll take you to the hospital.”

      “Thanks, my car’s at home.”

      As they strode to his rental SUV, Preston intercepted them. “Gene’s going to take the women over to Level One Security, just in case it’s a family threat. The kids will be brought over by the babysitters, too. Until we get a better handle on things, Daniel’s office is like a fortress.”

      “What about Kim and the other two members of the tavern staff?” Rick asked.

      “The servers have been told to stick around until I have the chance to ask them a few questions. Kim, you’ll need to come back here after you check on your uncle’s status,” Preston said, looking directly at her. “Or you can meet me later tonight at the station. Your choice.”

      “I’ll be sticking around at the hospital. If you need to speak to me before tomorrow, it’ll have to be there.”

      “Fair enough. Under the circumstances, I don’t blame you for wanting to stay close to your family, but it might be late before I make it to the hospital,” Preston advised.

      “As for you, Rick,” Preston continued, “I’d like you to stick around. In your work I’m sure you’ve grown familiar with makeshift bombs, and I’d like you to go inside the building with me to help search for evidence.”

      Rick turned to Kim and held out his keys. “Take my SUV. It’s the dark blue one toward the end of the block.”

      “Don’t worry about it. I know Uncle Frank keeps a spare set of car keys. They’re in a magnetic holder by the right front tire. It’s okay if I take his car, isn’t it?” she asked Preston.

      “Yes. It’ll have to be moved anyway once heavy equipment is brought in to clear the rubble off the street,” Preston answered.

      “Good,” Kim said. “I’ll be at the hospital, probably all night, if anyone else needs me.”

      “I’ll catch up to you later,” Rick said, watching her hurry down the sidewalk to a parked car. Kim was great-looking, and had guts. He’d only just met her but he sure liked what he’d seen.

      * * *

      AS RICK STRODE toward what was left of the building, he saw it was now illuminated by floodlights placed strategically along the street and inside the dining room. Going into agent mode, he stilled his thoughts and allowed a familiar coldness to envelop him.

      He stopped by the front door and studied it without touching anything. “What kept this from opening?” he asked Preston, who’d jogged over to meet him after speaking to the Hartley Fire Department station chief.

      “A pipe was wedged into the wrought-iron security grillwork on both sides of the door, barring it from the outside. I bagged and tagged it before anyone else besides Erin touched it. It’ll need to be processed for prints.”

      “The chains on the outside kitchen doors...those being processed, too?” Rick asked.

      “Yes, including the lock and the metal door hardware. It’s all been tagged for the lab.”

      “All right, then, let’s go into the kitchen. I only got a quick glance before we got out, so I’m still not sure what actually set off the explosion—an open flame, some kind of timer, or something else.”

      Preston led the way through the front entrance where a metal door dangled by the upper hinge. Broken chairs, table lamps, dishes, utensils and other items were scattered all around them.

      As they started to pick their way across the interior, a tall man carrying a camera and wearing an H.F.D. jacket stepped out of the shadows.

      “Stop. The kitchen area is off-limits to everyone except fire department personnel right now.” He identified himself to Rick as the fire marshal. “There’s no surveillance footage here, so it’ll probably take me until tomorrow to compile my report on what caused the explosion. For now, you guys have to get out of here.” Without another word, he strode into the kitchen.

      “That’s Arnie Medina,” Preston said. “He has jurisdiction here at the scene, so let’s leave the kitchen to him and we’ll concentrate on evidence that might help us determine who the suspect was, or how long he was inside the building. That would give us a time line when tracking people who were in the area.”

      Rick glanced around at the wreckage. Over the past four years, deep undercover, he’d worked alongside people who would have slit his throat just for practice. He’d looked forward to coming home and no longer having to sleep with his weapon at arm’s reach.

      Now his much needed R & R would have to wait. His family was in the line of fire. The first attempt had failed, but experience taught him that killers seldom gave up until they succeeded—or were put down.

      As they entered an employee area adjacent to the kitchen, Rick noticed a canvas tote next to the wall and lifted it out from behind a fallen roof tile. He looked inside and saw several textbooks. There was also a small purse along with a set of keys. He held up the purse so his brother could see. “Still dry. Somebody got lucky.”

      Preston took the wallet and located the driver’s license. “It’s Kim’s. I hope she doesn’t get stopped. I’ll make sure to take it with me when I go to the hospital later tonight.”

      Rick nodded absently, then taking a closer look at the books, realized that one of the volumes was a textbook on police procedures, another on criminal law and a third one on evidence collection. “What’s this all about?” he asked, surprised.

      “Kim’s working on an associate’s degree in criminology. Her dad was one of ours, and she wants to follow in his footsteps. Jimmy Nelson was a good man.”

      “‘Was’?”

      “He was killed in the line of duty,” Preston said, noticing a crime scene investigator waving him over. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

      Rick hung the bag from a wall bracket that was still intact, minus a shelf, and continued to search. It was becoming increasingly difficult to stay alert this time of night. He’d spent most of the day on the road and was physically beat. He was running on pure adrenaline.

      Preston motioned him outside. “I think you should consider staying with everyone else at Daniel’s tonight. I’ve got a late night ahead of me.”

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