Conard County Revenge. Rachel Lee

area where the firemen worked. When the opportunity arrived, she included Jackson Castor in a couple of shots.

      Perps often showed a great deal of interest in the crime scene. She knew of numerous cases where a bomber had returned to watch the investigation while admiring his handiwork. Before she said anything about it, however, she was going to find out more about this Castor person.

      She suspected Alex knew what had crossed her mind but she’d already sensed how protective he was of his students. A broody mother hen, she thought with amusement, but still one who had been an FBI agent and therefore probably knew how often the perpetrators showed up at the crime scene. Nope, better not to say a word. Maybe let him think the young man’s presence had just slid right by her because of her focus on the ground.

      The grasses were beginning to green with the spring, which didn’t make her search any easier. What was the likelihood there’d been any metal in that bomb? Nobody had mentioned a pipe bomb or nails, so they surely hadn’t discovered any nails and not enough debris to know the type of bomb.

      Then she spied something odd. A green blade of grass had a hole in it. Squatting, she looked more closely. The edge of the hole was blackened. Something awfully hot had passed through it.

      She set her tablet beside her, and pulled on a pair of gloves so she could comb through the grass. Something had to be here unless it was nothing but a cinder. She couldn’t take that chance.

      She sensed Alex squat beside her, but he didn’t say anything. Gently she moved blades of grass, drawing a line in her mind. The blast had come from over there. Anything flying from it would have come from the same general direction. That told her where to concentrate her efforts.

      Then she spied it: a three-inch piece of slender wire. A little melted at one end, but otherwise surprisingly unaffected. It might be nothing, or it might be a part of the triggering device. Certainly not to be left behind. She took a photo of it and the blade of grass.

      Then she tugged out an evidence bag, used a pen from her pocket to write on it, then carefully sealed the wire in the bag. Looking up, she tried to decide if it would be safe to leave it here or if she should mark the spot and take it.

      Take it, she decided. This area hadn’t been cordoned off. “I need some evidence markers from the back of my truck, or from the fire department.”

      Alex straightened. “I’ll get you some from them. Might as well keep the numbering the same.”

      “Thanks.” She quickly scrawled the GPS coordinates on her pad and waited for Alex to return with the plastic tent-style markers. When he did, she placed the numbered yellow piece and took another photo before adding the number to her description on the pad.

      Painstaking work. Every bit of it.

      “Any thoughts on what it could be?” Alex asked. He didn’t sound as if he expected an answer.

      “Too soon,” she said anyway. All she knew for certain was that it had been blown out here by the explosion.

      She straightened up and looked around. “I need to change into some decent work clothes. And ask Charity to widen her cordon considerably. How’s the motel?”

      “It’s clean but it’s old,” he said. “Wish we had something better to offer.”

      “Clean is good enough. How do I find it?”

      * * *

      Alex watched her talk to Charity, who agreed to bring the cordon out another thirty or forty feet. He wondered if she ever softened or if she was always so businesslike.

      Then he saw her walking toward Jack Castor. Immediately he jogged over. He knew Jack well and was absolutely certain he wasn’t capable of doing something like this. Yeah, he understood why Darcy was probably looking askance at the youth, but...

      He caught himself. He’d learned a long time ago not to make those assumptions about anyone. Your own mother could be the murderer. Living with that kind of knowledge, borne out in his work, had driven him to a more peaceful life. Reality could be ugly. Oddly, he found himself recalling a quip he heard from reporters: if your mother says she loves you, check it out.

      Darcy was doing her job. Ugliness had penetrated his new life, and he needed to squash urges that could hinder this investigation. Whoever had done this might move to larger bombs, bombs that could take a life. No time to be overprotective.

      He reached Darcy and Jack in time to hear her say pleasantly, “Alex says you’re in his cabinetry class. So this bombing interests you?”

      Jack grinned. “A whole lot. I never told anybody because I’m just a ranch kid and might not be able to go to college, but I always wanted to work for ATF.”

      “Yeah?” Darcy smiled. “It’s fascinating work. What draws you to it?”

      Jack’s smile faded. “I have a friend... Well, his grandfather was killed in the Oklahoma City bombing. He wasn’t even born yet, but his mom talked about it a lot for years and I heard about it, and every time she did I just wanted to do something useful about it. I know that’s over and done with, but it wasn’t the last bomb.”

      “No, it wasn’t.” She turned and indicated the school. “You have any ideas about this?”

      “Who’d do this, you mean?”

      Darcy simply waited.

      “No.” Jack looked almost crestfallen. “I wish I did. I mean, I can listen around and see if I hear anything, but I haven’t yet.” He looked down, then back at Darcy. “That’s the weird part.”

      “What is?”

      “You’d think someone would brag about it.”

      “Why do you think that?”

      “Well...” Jack shifted from one foot to the other. “If it was some kid at the school...he’d tell someone. Most of us can’t keep a secret that exciting.”

      Alex was surprised when Darcy laughed. “You make a good point, Jack.”

      Jack’s smile returned. “Anyway, whoever did it would probably want to tell at least one person, someone he trusted, right? But that person would probably spill the beans to someone else...” He shrugged. “Or not. I guess some people must be really good at keeping secrets.”

      “Some are,” Darcy agreed. “But your thinking is good. Keep it up. You’re going to have to move back soon. We’re extending the perimeter.”

      “Can I help with anything?” Jack asked eagerly.

      Darcy shook her head. “Officials only.”

      “Okay, I’ll stay out of the way.”

      “You do that.”

      Then she continued toward her truck. Alex followed, still concerned. “What are you thinking?” he asked as she opened her truck door.

      “You mean about Jack?”

      “Of course about Jack.”

      “Nothing yet,” she said with a shrug. “Keep your pants on, Alex. It’s early days.”

      He watched her drive away and half wished he could shake her out of her detachment. Then he remembered what had happened when he’d lost his. Divorce. Nightmares. End of career.

      Aw, screw it, he thought and headed for the undamaged part of the school to check on those tarps. Let the agent do her job. He’d stay as far away as he could because he didn’t want the nightmares to come back. And he sure as hell didn’t need any new ones.

      * * *

      At the motel, which was clean albeit seriously outdated, Darcy showered away the travel grime, then changed into her gray working overalls and black boots. On her way back out to the site, she stopped long enough to grab another latte to stave off the fatigue from the long drive and added more tall cups of black coffee for the firefighters working