“But I can’t.” The nurse sounded horrified. They all said that, too.

“Let’s see…” The file on the nurse was thorough. Bobby’s cop on the inside of Atlanta PD had done well, as usual. “You live with your sister. Your son lives with his father, because you lost custody. You let your husband have your son if he wouldn’t expose your little problem. How considerate of him. You can’t watch them all the time, dear.”

“I’ll… I’ll go to the police,” the nurse said, desperation pushing the horror aside.

“And tell them what? That you were caught with drugs you stole from your hospital with intent to both use and sell, but my cop let you go and now some evil villain is blackmailing you? How long do you think you’ll keep your job when the truth comes out? The day my cop let you go with a warning, you belonged to me. You’ll kill the girl tonight or by this time tomorrow one person in your family will be dead. For every day you delay, another person in your family will die. Now go do what you’re told.”

Bobby hung up, then placed another call. “Paul, it’s me.”

There was a beat of silence, then a low whistle. “Hell of a mess you got there.”

“Really?” Bobby drawled, annoyed. “I had no idea. Look, I need you. Usual pay, usual way.” Paul was a useful man-a no-nonsense cop with a wide, reliable information network and absolutely no moral compass other than unwavering loyalty to the highest bidder. “I want to know who in GBI is working the Granville case by midnight, down to the lowest admin assistant.”

“Or the guy emptying the trash. Yeah, I got it.”

“Good. I want to know which local departments are supporting them and if any of the locals are deep enough to be an ear. I want to know their steps-”

“Before they take them,” Paul finished. “Got that, too. Is that all?”

Bobby studied the photo Charles had left that afternoon in an oh-so-clever parting jab. In it a stone-faced Susannah Vartanian stood next to her brother at their parents’ funeral. Dealing with Susannah would have to wait for now, thanks to Rocky’s blunder. But when all the threats to the business were neutralized, it would be Susannah’s turn.

“For now, but stay ready. I’ll be waiting for your call. Don’t be late.”

“Have I ever been?” And not waiting for an answer, Paul was gone.

“Rocky! Come here.”

Rocky’s footsteps thundered down the stairs. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything. I have some extra duty for you. It’s time to start fixing your mess.”

Dutton, Friday, February 2, 8:20 p.m.

Luke bolted from his car to where Agent Pete Haywood stood grimly watching Dr. Toby Granville’s house-and every speck of evidence inside it-burn. The girls could be anywhere and any links to Granville’s partner were going up in smoke.

“What the goddamn hell happened here?” Luke demanded, but Pete didn’t respond. He didn’t move at all, just kept watching the flames as if hypnotized. “Pete.” Luke grabbed his arm and had to leap back when Pete whirled, fists clenched at his sides.

Luke backed up a step, hands out. “Whoa, Pete. It’s just me.” But it was then Luke saw the devastation in Pete’s dark eyes and the bandage that ran from Pete’s temple halfway around his shiny, bald, ebony head. “What the hell happened?”

Pete shook his head. “I can’t hear you,” he bellowed. “My ears are still ringing. It was a bomb, Luke. Tossed three of us ten feet like we were made of balsa wood.”

Pete Haywood was six-four, 250 pounds. Luke couldn’t imagine the sheer force it had taken to toss a man his size. Blood was already soaking through Pete’s bandage. “You need some stitches,” Luke yelled.

“The medics got others to fix first. A shard of flying metal hit Zach Granger.” Pete swallowed. “Might have lost his eye. Chopper’s on its way to take him to the hospital.”

It just kept getting worse. “Where’s the fire investigator?” Luke shouted.

“Not here yet. The local fire chief is standing over there by the truck.”

Luke’s brows shot up when he saw the man standing next to the fire chief. “Corchran’s here, too?”

“Got here about fifteen minutes after our call went out.”

Luke led Pete to his car, away from prying ears. “Sit down and tell me what happened, and you don’t need to yell. I can hear you just fine.”

Wearily, Pete sank sideways onto the passenger seat. “We were waiting for Chloe’s call that the warrant was signed. Nobody had gone in or out since we arrived. Chloe called at 7:45 and we went in. I opened the door and all hell broke loose. Literally.”

Luke frowned. “What about Mansfield ’s house?”

“Nancy Dykstra’s waiting with her team at Mansfield ’s. I called her as soon as I picked myself off the ground, told her not to go in. They’re waiting for the bomb squad to make sure our little pyro didn’t rig both houses to blow.”

“Good thinking. Have you seen Granville’s wife?”

“If she was in the house, she wouldn’t come out when we instructed her to. Zach and the rest of the team got here at 5:15 and had all the exits covered.”

“Okay. So whoever planted the bomb did so between 1:38 and 5:15.”

Pete frowned. “Why 1:38?”

“That’s when Granville placed a call to the person we think was his partner. The news that Granville was dead hadn’t hit the media by 5:15. Only Granville’s partner would have known he didn’t leave the bunker with the rest of them.”

“And the partner would be afraid Granville would talk if he got caught or that he’d left incriminating evidence in the house. So he blew it up. What now?”

“Now you get that hard head of yours stitched up. Let me take it from here. We’re meeting at Chase’s at ten. If you can, join us. If not, try to call in.” With a reassuring squeeze to Pete’s shoulder, Luke started walking toward Corchran and the fire chief.

The two men met him halfway. “I came as soon as I heard the first calls for fire and rescue over the radio,” Corchran said.

“Thanks,” Luke said to Corchran. “I appreciate it.” He turned to the fire chief. “I’m Agent Papadopoulos, GBI.”

“Chief Trumbell. We’re fighting this from the outside. Given the explosions, I haven’t sent my men inside. I didn’t want them stumbling across any other wires.”

“So that’s how this bomb was triggered?” Luke asked. “Wires?”

“Your arson guys will need to confirm it, but I saw wire tied to the front door’s inside doorknob, about six or seven inches left hanging. Looks like a real simple setup. Open the door, wire yanks, bomb detonates. This fire was well in progress by the time we arrived. I’d bet your investigator finds the house doused with some kind of accelerant.”

“Got it. Look, Granville has a wife. We don’t think she was in the house.”

“That’s what Haywood said.” Trumbell looked over his shoulder at the blaze. “If she’s in there… I can’t risk sending anybody in after her.”

As if to punctuate his words, there was a giant crash and everyone instinctively ducked except Trumbell, who ran toward the house, radio in hand, yelling orders for his men to back away.

“I’d say one of the ceilings collapsed,” Corchran said.

And any links to Granville’s partner with it. “Goddammit,” Luke said quietly.

Corchran pointed down the street. “The vultures caught the scent.”

Two TV news vans were pulling up. “The cherry on top,” Luke muttered. “Hey, thanks for coming out tonight. I know Dutton is not your responsibility.”

Corchran looked uncomfortable. “No it’s not, but their police force is in… disarray.”

“Their sheriff and lead deputy are dead, so I’d say that’s an understatement.”

“If you need support, call, but I don’t want to be stepping on any jurisdictional toes.”

“Thanks. I expect the governor is appointing a new sheriff as we speak, so hopefully we’ll get some order restored in Dutton. Now I need to set the crime scene boundary.”