Eagle's Last Stand

AS THEY RODE to the station, she remained quiet. Although she never looked directly at him, Kim was aware of the way his strong hands gripped the wheel and how he seemed to completely focus on whatever he was doing at the time. She wondered what he would be like in bed—all that intensity, all that drive.... Everything about him spoke of endurance and masculinity.

She shifted in her seat. This was not the time for thoughts such as these. Still watching him out of the corner of her eye, she saw him rub the bottom tip of the scar near his cheek.

“Does it ever ache?”

“What?” he asked, focusing on her.

“The scar.”

“Not generally. The skin around it feels tight sometimes, but that’s about it.” He glanced at her, then back at the road. “When we first met, you never looked directly at it. Most people stare when they see me for the first time, then try to pretend they weren’t.”

“Your eyes drew me more,” she said.

“My...what?”

“You have a way of looking through people, not at them.”

“I observe. It’s how I stay alive.”

“Is the scar one of the reasons you left the Bureau?”

“Yeah, it ruined me for undercover work. I became too easily identifiable.”

“You could have still been involved in routine investigative work,” she said. “Why leave?”

“I preferred undercover assignments.” He shook his head. “No, it was more than that. I knew it was time for me to come home and try to reconnect.”

“With your brothers?”

“With myself.”

* * *

THEY ARRIVED AT the police station a short while later and Rick led her down the hall to his brother’s office. Preston waved them inside.

“Anything new?” Rick asked.

“No, but it’s too soon. The lab’s backlogged.”

“I’d like clearance to search the crime scene,” Rick said. “I know the arson investigator and your crime scene team has already been through there, but maybe Kim and I will see something that’ll trigger a memory. It can’t hurt.”

“You’re right. In fact, I’ve already asked my captain about getting you officially involved. He’s agreed.”

Preston reached into the drawer and brought out a shield. “I’m deputizing you. Raise your right hand.” Preston swore him in with a short phrase.

“At the end of this case, if you want to join the force officially, your application will go to the top of the pile.”

“Thanks.”

Preston looked over at Kim. “Stay with Rick and follow his orders to the letter. You are not a police officer, you’re just an observer.”

“Understood,” she said.

“All right.” Preston looked at his brother. “Remember to wear gloves,” he added, handing him and Kim a pair each.

After they left the station, Rick asked, “What were the names of the servers last night?”

“Bobby Crawford and Kate Masters.”

“How do we find them?”

“Kate’s probably in class right now. She carries a heavier load than I do and is just a few credit hours away from her business degree. She probably won’t be much help. Kate’s a hard worker, but her mind’s always on some test or paper. She rarely even goes into the kitchen.”

“What about Crawford?”

“Bobby comes in on time and does his job, but never has much to say. We don’t talk about anything other than job-related things.”

As they neared what remained of the Brickhouse, Rick slowed down to study the heavily damaged structure before parking across the street.

“Look down the alley. The back wall was pretty much blown out last night, but it looks even worse this morning. More bricks and roof beams must have come down since then. The loading dock and half the alley are blocked.”

“At least all that flying debris didn’t penetrate the side wall of the furniture store. These old downtown buildings were built to last,” Kim noted.

“Well, whoever cut the gas line and blocked the door counted on the initial blast and resulting fire to do their work,” he said. “If we hadn’t escaped and lived to tell the real story, it might have been written off as an accident caused by faulty connections.”

Kim peered ahead at a young man ducking beneath the tape and walking into the alley. “I think that’s Bobby Crawford. See him over there? He’s wearing jeans, a gray sweatshirt and ball cap,” she said, pointing.

Rick caught a glimpse of the man just as he climbed over a pile of rubble and headed toward the loading dock. “Come on. Let’s go talk to him.”

By the time they’d crossed the street and reached the crime scene barrier, Bobby was nowhere in sight. Rick slipped beneath the crime scene tape and climbed up the rubble-filled stairs of the loading dock to look inside.

“Stay here,” Rick said, then slipped though the gaping hole where the blown-out kitchen doors had once stood.

Rick moved slowly and carefully, picking his way through the mess. Only a few wall studs and pieces of wallboard remained between the kitchen and the dining room. The left wall of the kitchen facing the street had also lost most of its roof structure. From where he stood, Rick could see blue sky and part of the parapet. As he turned to look back out into the alley, Rick noticed that the remaining outside brick wall on both sides of the gap was bowed, ready to crumble.

At the far end of the dining area was a set of brick-littered stairs leading down into the basement. Except for a few inches of water, it was probably the least damaged room in the tavern.

He stood still for a moment, listening. Someone was going through the rubble in the north end of the dining area, the side farthest from the street and hidden by the remaining walls. He turned toward the sound. Despite his size, Rick could move silently when he hunted man or beast. He had a tattoo over his heart with the word chaha’oh. It meant shadow.

“Federal agent. Don’t move.” As he stepped through what remained of the doorway, he realized he’d spoken out of habit. He was now working with the Hartley Police. “Turn around slowly.”

“Just don’t shoot, okay? I work here,” he said. “Remember me from last night? I’m Bobby. Bobby Crawford.”

Hearing footsteps behind him, Rick turned his head for a second and saw Kim. She’d come in the same way he had, through the door cavity, and was wearing a white hard hat and holding another.

“Dude, just chill, okay?” Bobby said, his hands up. “In the rush to get out last night, I lost something important. I was hoping to find it before they brought in the bulldozers. It was a gift from my mom.”

Rick sized Bobby up in a glance. He was around eighteen or nineteen, stood five foot six and had dark hair and brown eyes.