her eagerness to get away.
“Is your grandpa out there where he can watch you?”
Jewel nodded. “He’s working in the barn.”
“You keep a good eye on that young’un, you hear?” Dale stood with her fists on her wide hips, narrowed eyes blazing. “Anything happens to that child, I’ll skin you alive and tack your hide next to that Navajo blanket on the lobby wall.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And Jewel?” her grandmother added, her features melting into a loving smile that belied the fierceness of her earlier words. “Take care of yourself while you’re at it, girl.”
Jewel nodded, grabbed Molly by the hand, whirled on her heel, and the two disappeared before Dale could say another word.
“Young’uns.” Dale refilled Kyle’s coffee cup. “They’re a blessing and a worry.”
Kyle watched the two girls cross the yard toward the barn, Molly scuffling her feet in the fine gravel of the driveway. Although Molly’s welfare was always foremost in his thoughts, he had no worries about leaving her with Jewel McMurty. The twelve-year-old was a dynamo of energy and gabbiness packed in her less than five-foot frame, but she was also levelheaded and dependable. Molly was in good hands.
He glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes until he met with the others in the secret room below the main house that served as headquarters for Montana Confidential. He sipped Dale’s hot coffee and attempted to review his notes, but a single image kept intruding on his thoughts.
Laura Quinlan standing in the misting rain at her father’s funeral.
She hadn’t known Kyle was there, hadn’t known he was watching. Three days after the bombing, security had been tight at the cemetery. Governor Haskel, still wearing bandages on his injuries, had attended, and since the terrorists had apparently tried to kill him once, the worry was that they might strike again.
Kyle and Court had watched the funeral from a surveillance van with darkened windows, parked a dozen yards from the gravesite. Using a special telephoto lens, Kyle had snapped shot after shot of every person who’d attended, but his attention had been riveted on Laura.
Tragically beautiful, she had stood straight and tall by her father’s flower-draped casket. Elegant in a trim black coat, black stockings and shoes, she listened to the priest’s every word without shedding a tear. But Kyle could tell from the close-up the lens gave him that she was all cried out, that she had already shed more tears than any person should have to in a lifetime. Her dark blue eyes glistened with grief, and her generous mouth was firmly set, as if she’d vowed no more sobs would pass her lips.
The cold, misting rain had etched her cheeks with color, but her flawless face was otherwise pale and drawn. Frank and C.J. stood on either side of her, and several couples, later identified as scientists from the lab and their spouses, gathered around her, but Kyle couldn’t help remembering her claim in the hospital that she was all alone.
Numerous times since then, he’d wanted to drive to the Quinlan laboratory and call on her, to let her know she had a friend, but he hadn’t allowed himself that pleasure. He’d been too busy with the investigation of the Black Order, and even if he hadn’t, he had to be careful where he was seen and how, in the event he had to assume an undercover role in the case.
But he couldn’t get his mind off Laura Quinlan and the bravery she’d shown in helping to save those children. An extraordinary woman—
He blinked in surprise at where his thoughts had taken him. Ever since Alicia had deserted him and Molly over a year ago for her wealthy Hollywood producer, he’d found his trust in women shattered and his interest in them gone. Even the most gorgeous, as C.J. definitely was, had held no attraction for him. But Laura was different. When the Black Order terrorists were captured and placed behind bars, he definitely wanted to get to know Laura Quinlan better.
“Kyle?” Whitney MacNair’s melodic voice shattered his daydreams.
He glanced up to find Daniel’s executive assistant, clipboard in hand, standing in the doorway that led to the hall. Unlike everyone else on the ranch who wore jeans as their standard uniform, Whitney definitely dressed to a different drummer. This morning she wore a long, camel-colored wool skirt and an ecru silk blouse, topped by a dark chocolate velvet vest embroidered in a colorful paisley design. Instead of cowboy boots, she sported calf-hugging high-heeled boots of soft Italian leather. On anyone else, the outfit would have looked out of place, but it complemented Whitney’s red-gold hair, gray eyes and peaches-and-cream complexion.
“Morning, Whitney. What’s up?”
“Daniel’s ready to start the meeting.”
Had Kyle really spent the entire fifteen minutes thinking of Laura Quinlan? Flustered, he grabbed his notes and followed in the wake of Whitney’s expensive perfume to the secret room below Daniel’s study.
The rest of the team was waiting, gathered around the sturdy oak conference table in the middle of their operations center. Kyle took a chair opposite Daniel at the other end of the table, and Whitney slid into an empty seat beside her boss, ready to take notes.
Daniel motioned to Kyle. “Since you’re our bomb expert and the one with the chemistry degrees, how about bringing us up to speed?”
Kyle nodded. “Our investigation is two-pronged. Let’s deal with the capitol bombing first. ATF analysis of the bomb shows it’s definitely Black Order. Its specific signature is identical to bombs the Order claimed credit for in London and Athens two years ago.”
Court shook his head. “Joshua Neely failed, but obviously the Black Order had a backup plan.”
Tension crackled around the table. All remembered Court’s undercover mission with the Sons and Daughters of Montana militia group. The agents had had Neely, the militia leader, under surveillance. Maybe if they’d been able to track down Neely’s men who’d blown Court’s cover and stolen the explosives, they would have led the agents to the Black Order and its disastrous plot.
“So now we definitely know who,” Frank said, “the Black Order, but do we know why?”
Kyle shook his head. “The bombing was possibly a diversion from the Quinlan lab robbery, but the two sites are so far apart, that motive seems a bit of a stretch. From the placement of the bomb and the deliberate attempt to keep the governor in his office, we can assume Harry Haskel was the target.”
“Not Josiah Quinlan?” Daniel asked.
Kyle shook his head. “If Quinlan had been the target, he’d have been easier to take out at the Institute. From what the governor told me, Quinlan’s appointment was scheduled at the last minute. The terrorists couldn’t have known Quinlan would be in the capitol.”
“Now we’re back to why again,” Court said.
Whitney cleared her throat and looked to Daniel for permission to speak.
“If you can shed any light on this mess,” he said, “be my guest.”
“A few months before the bombing,” Whitney said, “I set up a dinner party for Senator Ross Weston when he and Haskel had just returned from a trip to the Emirate of Agar. Hasn’t that Middle Eastern country been identified as the home base for the Black Order?”
Kyle smiled. Months ago, Whitney, who had worked for Senator Weston, had been the subject of a scandal after the press got hold of reports that Ross had been plying his beautiful and flirtatious assistant with gifts. Horrified, the MacNairs, her very proper, very upper-class and highly influential parents, had temporarily banished Whitney to Daniel’s care at the isolated ranch until the press brouhaha blew over. Whitney, however, had managed to keep informed on Washington events.
“You’re right, Whitney,” Kyle said. “Agar is their base. But are you suggesting Haskel is in collusion with the terrorists?”
Court shook his head. “Doesn’t make sense.