Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
I perked up. “Really? Will you be able to find anything?”
“It’s possible. I’ve got a few metal fragments and some microscopic particulates. There’s enough that they might isolate nitrogenous residues or breakdown products, figure out where it came from.”
That was fascinating to me. “You said the sticks looked old.”
“They did.” His mouth flattened. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the dynamite came out of an abandoned mine. We find this kind of thing once in a while outside Silverville.”
“I’ve heard that,” I murmured. “So your working theory right now is that somebody stole the boxes from Nana’s store and set off the dynamite to cover the theft?”
He glared at a truck coming at us on the other side of I-90 with its bright lights on. “Right.”
I cocked my head. “If they thought they were going to blow up the entire shop and destroy any evidence of the theft, they probably weren’t that careful when they were inside.”
“I’m well aware,” he murmured. “I have the Spokane forensic unit handling your grandmother’s shop, looking for any trace evidence.”
I blinked. “You went with Washington State instead of Idaho?”
“Well, yeah. Boise’s a lot farther away than Spokane. We often work with Spokane locally.”
Oh. I didn’t actually know that. I tried to picture strangers moving through Nana’s cozy shop, handling everything she cared about. “So then what?”
“They’ll process any prints and DNA,” he said, his tone businesslike, “but any explosive fragments or chemical signatures will go to our lab in Maryland.”
I slumped back against the seat. This was so out of my experience. “Where do you think they got the dynamite?”
“I don’t know. I’m hoping we can find some kind of signature, but I’m not counting on it.”
I sighed. “Do you think we’ll be able to find the nugget boxes?”
“I don’t know, angel,” he said softly. “I have Sheriff Franco going through all the CCTV footage in the area tomorrow. We should know more soon. I’m bringing my team in, and I promise we’ll do our best.”
I held my hands out to the blissful heat. “But your focus is on the explosives.”
“Of course,” he murmured. “But if we find who planted the explosives, we’ll discover who took your Nana’s nugget boxes.”
He wasn’t wrong. “We have to find them. How do you think they got in?”
“I have no idea,” he admitted. “I couldn’t find a broken window or any sign of forced entry. I talked to Rory, and the alarm system was top-of-the-line. It doesn’t make sense unless she left the door open or let someone in.”
“She didn’t.”
His gaze flicked toward me, then back to the road. “I know that, and you know that. But there’s going to be an insurance claim, and an adjuster’s going to want answers. Right now, we don’t have any.”
He turned off I-90 and drove through Timber City, the streets shining under the rain. The wipers clicked slower now as the lights of town faded behind us. “I’m glad you’re back home. Is your case concluded?”
“Not even close.”
Terrific. “Can you talk about any of it?”
“Yeah. It’s a dirty little crossover that’ll involve several agencies,” he said. “Basically, someone stored a bunch off-the-shelf health supplements in a warehouse that burned down in Portland last week. Lab folks found volatile residue on the packaging, nothing I can sell in court, but enough to make the fire behave like it had a tailwind. That kind of language pulls ATF into origin-and-cause work, so now I’m running manifests, subpoenas, and keeping an eye on a few PO boxes that trace back to small retailers. It’s a joint task force with the FDA, TTB, FBI, and right now the local PD in Portland. Too many people.” He shrugged and gave a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Welcome to my Tuesday.”
I frowned. “Health supplements?”
“Yeah, and most aren’t regulated. There’s a huge pipeline of iffy shit being sold as health supplements, in everything from vitamins to micro-dosed mushrooms.”
When we reached his cabin—well, our cabin now—he parked and got out first. Before I could grab my bag, he opened my door, reached in, and hauled me out with strength and his sweet gentleness. The rain hit hard, cold and sudden, and I tucked myself against his chest as he ducked his head over mine and jogged up to the porch.
I sighed. “Oh, I forgot. Brickhouse isn’t here.”
“I didn’t,” Aiden said, voice low.
He’d given me the adorable two-year-old protection dog for Valentine’s Day, and right now Brickhouse was having a playdate with my cousin Knox’s dog. The house felt too quiet without him. Though, with Aiden this close, I couldn’t exactly call it empty.
He opened the door and pushed it wide. Aiden walked inside. I was carried. He kicked the door shut behind us, rain dripping from his hair, and his arm tightened briefly around me.
“I forgot to ask,” he murmured. “Do we know what kind of lotion was in the pie?”