Reluctant Witness. Kathleen Long

STOOD BACK, arms crossed, and watched the tendrils of gray and white smoke wind their way up into the air. Emotions battled deep inside his gut. Anger. Disbelief. Denial.

      The red lights of the emergency vehicles flashed like strobes, but the sirens had stopped now, the paramedics and police escort having left over twenty minutes earlier.

      The township inspector had been in bad shape. Unconscious, burned and barely responsive. The poor guy had come to do a routine framing and electrical inspection, and instead he’d left fighting for his life.

      Guilt spiraled in the pit of Wade’s stomach. Had one of his guys installed the gas line incorrectly? Had a blowtorch been left on? What?

      Pine Ridge Estates had been the culmination of a dream for him. He’d worked for years to build his company into one with a reputation home buyers would seek out. Sure, he’d almost lost it all after the Flamingo accident, but once the investigation had cleared him of any liability, he’d moved forward, rebuilding his reputation project by project. Until now.

      Wood splintered and voices cried out as part of a framed ceiling gave way and crashed into the burned-out shell below. He winced, muttering a string of expletives.

      Only one of the six houses remained untouched. Intact. The fire investigator, Charlie Forbes, emerged from the partially constructed building and walked toward where Wade stood. Wade moved to close the gap between them, anxious to hear the man’s take on what had happened.

      Was it possible the township inspector had done something to cause the series of explosions? Wade drew in a deep breath, then sighed. Not likely. What had happened here today was no accident. He’d been targeted. Wade knew it in his gut, as much as he wanted to deny it.

      Once they were within earshot of each other, Forbes spoke. “The sixth incendiary device didn’t blow.”

      Incendiary device. Sonofa—

      “Signature’s consistent with Project Liberation,” the investigator continued. “I’ve called in the Feds.”

      Project Liberation.

      Ecoterrorism.

      Wade’s stomach did a slow sideways pitch. He’d known developing this community on the fringe of the South Jersey Pinelands might affront certain ecologically minded types, but he’d gone through the proper channels, including community meetings and hearings. His plan had been approved with flying colors, to the liking of everyone he’d met.

      Obviously, not to the liking of the powers within the Project Liberation organization.

      “Are you sure?” he asked.

      The investigator nodded, then gestured for Wade to follow him. They made their way around the houses until they stood close to where the third shell smoldered.

      Forbes pointed at a portion of the home’s back wall.

      Two words had been spray painted in black. No Sprawl.

      “I’ve read about this.” Wade uttered the words on the heels of a frustrated breath. “I didn’t know they’d developed an interest in the Pine Barrens.”

      “Apparently, they have,” Forbes answered.

      “Can I go inside?” Wade jerked a thumb toward the only unscathed home.

      Forbes shook his head. “Can’t do that. We need to keep the specifics quiet. Chain of evidence. That sort of thing.”

      Wade frowned. “Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with this?”

      The other man shrugged. “Don’t take this personally, but one of the first things we look at is possible insurance fraud.”

      Wade pointed to the spray-painted graffiti. “Even with this?”

      “Anyone can buy a can of spray paint.”

      Forbes’s attention was pulled away as a dark sedan eased to a stop behind a ladder truck, its tires sinking into the now thick mud. “Task force is here,” he said as he walked away from Wade, making it clear their discussion was over.

      “Wade. Long time no see.” The driver of the car raised his hand in greeting. “Forbes.”

      “McCann.” Wade and Forbes spoke simultaneously.

      Detective Adam McCann was one of Wade’s oldest friends. He was also the newly appointed head of the county task force on Homeland Security.

      “What have we got?” McCann asked as he stopped next to Wade, momentarily clasping a hand on his shoulder. “You doing all right?”

      Wade nodded and Forbes jerked a thumb toward the smoldering houses behind them. “Clean evidence in the sixth house. Matches the devices in the other five.”

      “Liberation?” McCann asked.

      “Signature’s there.” Forbes nodded.

      “Any word on the inspector?” Wade asked.

      McCann pursed his lips and gave a quick shake of his head. “Not yet. I called in on the way over here. Doesn’t look good, though.”

      “Damn.” Wade dropped his gaze to the ground.

      “We’ll get them.” McCann stepped toward one of the burned-out shells. “Let’s take a look before the Feds get here and screw everything up.”

      “Follow me,” Forbes answered. He stopped in his tracks when Wade moved to follow. “This won’t take long.”

      Wade stood silently as he watched the two disappear into the skeleton of a five-thousand-square-foot estate home. He moved toward McCann’s car and rested one hip on the fender.

      Project Liberation.

      Chances were if he rebuilt, they’d strike again. But maybe McCann and his task force could take them down. He didn’t know much about the ecoterrorism group, but he knew they were very careful, and very clean. They left their signature, but nothing else. Nothing that would point to any one individual.

      Their organization prided itself on the lack of any sort of paper trail. One suspected bomber had been arrested out in Montana, but Wade couldn’t remember hearing anything else.

      A sudden movement in the woods beyond the homes captured his attention, sending all thoughts of Project Liberation far from his mind.

      The flash of long, auburn hair was unmistakable. Even after all these years, he knew the owner’s identity immediately. He’d been admiring that particular head of hair since high school.

      Kerri Nelson.

      She and her son lived just on the other side of the dense foliage. But why would she show up at the crime scene? Morbid curiosity? Not her style.

      Even more importantly, why had she run? The familiar old guilt twisted at his insides. She’d obviously seen him and wanted to get as far away as she could, as quickly as possible.

      Adam McCann emerged from the house alone, and Wade pulled his focus out of the past and into the present.

      “Hop in. We’ll talk,” Adam said as he pulled open the car’s front door.

      When they’d both settled into their seats, Adam handed an unopened cup of coffee to Wade, then took a sip from a second one.

      “Anything you want to tell me?”

      Wade shot his friend a sharp glare. “I had nothing to do with this.”

      “Good,” McCann answered. “I still have to question you.”

      “When?” Wade drew in a deep breath and took a hit of the bitter coffee.

      “Later’s good. Now’s better.”

      “I can follow you to the station.” Wade met his friend’s visual scrutiny head-on. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

      “Hell of a thing.” McCann turned