Native Cowboy (18 page)

“See any movement?” he asked.

She shook her head no. “No Jeep, either.”

“He may already be gone.”

“Only one way to find out.”

He nodded, then gritted his teeth as they slid the rest of the way down the hill. He used the bushes to hide as they approached, then snuck up to the window and peered inside. The cabin looked rustic and deserted, the interior sparsely furnished. Birds had made a nest on the porch, and it looked as if squirrels had chewed a hole in the roof edge.

He motioned for the agent to check the front while he made his way around back. He checked the side window and spotted a bed in one room and a small dingy bathroom beside it. No one was inside.

He hesitated, then listened for sounds, but the place was eerily quiet.

Frustration knotted his belly as he crept around to the back, then jiggled the door. It swung open, a stench hitting him.

Praying it wasn’t a body, he wielded his gun and inched inside. The kitchen was overflowing with discarded fast food wrappers and rotting food, the source of the smell. Rat droppings littered the floor in front of the sink. An old Formica table was covered in stuff, but he didn’t take time to examine it. He had to make sure the house was clear.

He inched into the room, taking cover behind the doorway as he checked the living room, but it was empty. So were the bedrooms.

He opened the front door and waved Agent Whitehead in. “No one here.”

She muttered a sound of frustration.

“Look for anything that might tell us where he went.”

She nodded and searched the den while he strode back to the kitchen. His gut clenched at the sight of the items on the table.

Steel piping. Electrical tape. And chemicals. Black powder to be exact.

All the materials needed to make a pipe bomb.

Dear God. What did he plan to do with it?

The floor creaked, and Mason froze, jerking his head around to make sure Morningside hadn’t been hiding out.

But Agent Whitehead stood at the doorway, her expression disturbed. “The sheriff just called.”

Mason braced himself. “What happened?”

“A bomb just exploded at the Winchester Clinic.”

Mason’s lung squeezed for air. God, no...

“Were there injuries?” he asked in a choked voice.

“No, the fire department is there now.”

“I have to go.”

“What about this evidence?” Agent Whitehead asked.

He was so scared his vision blurred. “I’ll send someone back for it. I have to get to the clinic.”

Agent Whitehead frowned, but he ignored her and headed for the door.

“The sheriff is there,” Agent Whitehead said. “We have to process the house.”

Mason glared at her. “You stay. I’ll send someone back for you.”

“I don’t understand—”

He didn’t care if she understood or not. Cara and his baby could have died.

He had to see them for himself to make sure they were all right.

* * *

S
IRENS RENT THE AIR
, and another ambulance careened to a stop. Cara peeled herself from the ground, her ears ringing, and swayed as she headed toward Sherese.

The fire engine roared up, firemen jumping down, unrolling hoses at lightning speed as they began to douse the flames.

Sherese caught her. “Cara, God, are you all right?”

She nodded, although she felt dizzy. “The patients...”

“They’re all okay,” Sherese said. “But I’m not so sure about you. You look pale, and you’re bleeding.”

A female paramedic rushed toward them. “Come on, my name is Billy Jo, sit down.”

“This is Dr. Winchester,” Sherese told the young woman.

Billy Jo smiled, her expression calm as she led Cara to a second ambulance that had arrived. A male medic had opened up the back, and they helped Cara sit on the edge.

“I’m fine,” Cara insisted. “I just want to make sure my patients are okay.”

“The first ambulance took Ann and her little girl to the hospital,” Sherese assured her. “And the others are safe.”

“Now let’s make sure your baby didn’t suffer.” Billy Jo cleaned the blood off Cara’s cheek. “Looks like a cut from a piece of glass. But it’s not deep so you shouldn’t need stitches. Were you hit anywhere else?”

Cara shook her head. “No, the impact threw me to the ground, but I’m fine.”

Sherese squeezed her hand. “Cara, if this were one of your patients, you’d insist they be examined, so stop being so stubborn.”

Cara jerked her head toward her friend, for the first time since she’d seen that pipe bomb, aware how terrifying it had been for Sherese. Yet Sherese had calmly helped the patients to safety.

“I’m sorry,” she said, giving Sherese an apologetic smile.

Sherese nodded. “I know, you’re used to being the boss, but this time I am.”

Cara laughed, the tension dissipating, then allowed the medic to examine her.

“Your blood pressure’s slightly elevated,” Billy Jo said.

“Understandable considering the circumstances,” Cara said, unconcerned.

Billy Jo listened to the baby’s heartbeat. “Sounds strong,” the medic said. “Do you have pain anywhere?”

“My ears were ringing a little, but it’s subsiding,” Cara said.

“You’re dizzy?”

“Just shaken,” Cara said. “But I’m feeling better now.”

“Do you want to go in for observation?” Billy Jo asked.

Cara shook her head. “I know the signs. If I have pain or go into labor, I’ll call 911 myself.”

Suddenly a news van pulled up, and the reporter who’d interviewed Agent Whitehead, Dayna Lipton, slid from the car and headed toward her, mic in hand, a cameraman on her heels.

“Dr. Winchester,” she called as she approached. “Can you tell us what happened here?”

Cara hated news coverage, but she couldn’t avoid it. A crowd was forming around the building already, other storeowners and citizens running to see the fire. “Someone threw a pipe bomb into the clinic. Thankfully all of our patients and staff escaped unharmed.”

“Do you think the man the FBI is looking for, the Navel Fetish killer, is responsible?”

Cara hadn’t had time to think about it, but it was possible. “I don’t know,” she said honestly.

“The police are searching for a man named Lapu Morningside as a person of interest. Can you comment on that?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss the investigation,” she said.

Still, she was tired of hiding and feeling guilty for the crimes this maniac was committing. So she made a snap decision.

She turned back to the camera, a challenge in her eyes. “I’d like to speak to the man who did this directly. It’s obvious you have a vendetta against me. So leave my patients alone. If you want me, then come after me. There’s no reason to hurt anyone else.”

When she glanced up, she spotted Mason. He must have driven up and come through the crowd. And he’d obviously heard her. Rage burned in his eyes as he stalked toward her and pushed away the camera. “Get out of here now,” he snapped at Dayna. “Let the officers and firefighters do their jobs.”

Dayna smiled at him, though, as if she’d gotten what she wanted, then she and the cameraman began interviewing bystanders.

Mason gripped her arm. “What the hell are you doing, Cara?”

“I’m trying to end this.” She gestured toward the clinic. The fire department had managed to save half of it, but the other half of the women’s pavilion lay in ruins, the ashes smoldering, smoke still swirling in the air.

“For God’s sake, Mason, he could have hurt dozens of innocent people today. And not just women, but children, and Sherese.” She heaved a breath. “If we have to set a trap to catch him, then let’s do it. I can’t live with any more deaths on my conscience.”

* * *

H
E STOOD ON THE EDGE
of the crowd, smiling as he watched the good doctor lose her cool. She had a temper, that one did.

Oh, it would make it so much more fun when he finally trapped her.

But this fire, the bomb...they were fools if they thought it was his style. Idiots.

Blackpaw moved closer to the doctor, and he watched as the detective put a protective arm around her.

Laughter bubbled in his throat and threatened to erupt, but he stifled it. He couldn’t draw attention to himself.

Not yet.

But, oh, he liked watching them sweat and chase their tails.

And what sweet pleasure to know that Blackpaw would suffer as well as his lover when Dr. Winchester finally got what was coming to her.

Chapter Seventeen

Mason clenched his teeth to control his anger. “My God, what are you doing? You can’t invite this maniac to come after you.”

“He’s going to sooner or later,” Cara said, a dozen emotions sizzling in her eyes. “We might as well take charge. Then maybe we can stop him from hurting anyone else.”

“But what about you?” His voice cracked as he glanced down at her belly. “What about our son? You don’t mind putting him at risk?”

Cara pinned him with an angry look. “Of course I mind, but I don’t have a choice. I’m already a target, so let’s just skip the extra victims and force him to come after the person he really wants.”

For a tense heartbeat, they stared at each other, the uncertainty, anger and fear palpable. On some level, Mason was aware that the sheriff had approached, that that damn reporter was still around.

Hell, Morningside might even be in the crowd watching.

He muttered a string of expletives.

Then he released his hold on Cara and swung around. He’d been such a fool, reacting on emotions and terror for Cara and his baby, that he had neglected the obvious.

Of course, Morningside was somewhere nearby watching.

It was typical of a criminal, especially one who made a public statement like a bombing. He took pleasure in watching the police and emergency workers scurry around.

Reveled in the fear and chaos he’d caused.

And
he
had played into the madman’s hands.

Instead of approaching the scene like a cop, he’d been too damn out of his mind with worry over Cara and the baby to do his job.

He’d also tipped his hand. Given away the fact that this case was personal to him.

A rookie mistake.

And one that could not only get him killed, but endanger Cara and his child even more.

He visually swept the crowd, scanning the street. A group of teens, two elderly women, a couple with their baby in a stroller, three truck drivers he recognized from the diner, and a group of onlookers standing with Reverend Parch.

A movement caught his eye, and he swung to the left and noticed a figure huddled in a hoodie walking briskly the other way.

“Stay here, Cara,” Mason said. “I’ll be back.”

Then he took off through the crowd. Suddenly the figure pivoted and looked straight at him.

Mason’s heart raced as he looked into the vacant eyes of Morningside.

For God’s sake. He had been there. Had set that bomb and was walking away as if nothing had happened.

Mason pulled his gun, maneuvered through the group of churchgoers, increasing his pace as Morningside veered into the alley.

Mason broke into a jog, then turned down the alley, but the man had disappeared. Adrenaline kicked in. He couldn’t have gotten too far.

He glanced left then right, then thought he detected movement down the street. More run-down buildings stood like festering sores in the deserted alley, another reminder that Cara’s clinic wasn’t in the best part of town. But he bypassed them, then thought he spotted Morningside ahead.

Running now, he crossed the intersection, racing down the street. The man disappeared around the corner, then Mason chased him through a low-income housing project. Clothes flapped on a clothesline, and he shoved sheets aside as he sprinted through the yard. A dog barked nearby, another one running into the alley.

“Whoa, guys,” he said, holding up his hand to calm them.

The larger one, a Doberman, bared his teeth and growled and the other, a shepherd mix, lunged at him. “Hey, guys, I’m not going to hurt you,” Mason murmured.

A chuffy guy with baggy clothes and eyes that looked glassy from drugs stepped into the yard.

“I’m a detective,” Mason said. “Call off your dogs.”

“Huh?”

Frustration made Mason curse. “Call them off or I’ll raid your place and throw you in jail.”

The guy threw up his hand in submission, then whistled, and the dogs trotted to him and plopped down at his feet.

Mason took off running, but by the time he made it past the housing development, Morningside had disappeared.

He leaned over with his hands on his knees and heaved a breath. Dammit to hell.

The man had escaped.

And after Cara’s challenge, he would come after her. The only question was when and where he would strike?

* * *

C
ARA MADE SURE
her patients were calm enough to drive home, then warned them that the attack was personal against her, to be on guard until the Navel Fetish killer was caught.

“Call me if you start having contractions or any problems,” she said. Both women had two months before they were due, so hopefully their pregnancies hadn’t been jeopardized by the day’s trauma.

Mason looked stark and fierce against the fading sunset as he appeared from the alley and headed toward her. His face was set in stone, sweat beading on his brow. He’d obviously been chasing Morningside, but his bleak expression indicated that he’d lost him.

He was still furious at her, as well.

But she didn’t intend to back down. She wanted this craziness to end so she and her patients could be safe again.

Cara turned to Sherese. “Thanks for all your help, now go home, sweetie.”

Sherese shook her head. “I have to get those files so I can finish making those phone calls tonight.”

Sherese had already done so much that Cara was tempted to relieve her of the task, but in light of the bombing, the women had to be warned.

“I’ll email you the list from my home computer,” Cara said. “It’ll be a while before it’s safe to go back inside.”

“What about our patients?” Sherese asked.

“For now, cancel your appointments,” Mason cut in as he came to an abrupt stop in front of her.