True Fiction (Ian Ludlow Thrillers #1)(49)

“Do we have to listen to this?” Sarah said, stirring something in a mixing bowl. “I want to see upbeat, happy things before the grandchildren visit. We don’t want that negativity in our minds or in the house.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry, dear.”

Cross picked up the remote and switched to HGTV. Property Brothers was on. It was a show about twin brothers who renovated houses.

Sarah brightened immediately. She loved those renovation shows. Since she started watching HGTV, she’d remodeled their kitchen four times. He suspected she did it just so she could feel like she was participating in the action. She’d be able to do it a fifth time, and hire those freakish twins to do the work, with the money he’d be getting soon.

His cell phone rang. He got up and stepped into the backyard before answering it. Sarah didn’t like it when he talked “business” in the house.

“Yes?” he said.

“There was an explosion this morning at our Las Vegas office,” Seth said. “No one was hurt but the damage is extensive.”

He didn’t believe in coincidences. Yesterday, they’d killed Ludlow, French, and whomever they went to see in Nevada. Today there was an explosion in their Las Vegas office. Cross knew the blast had to be related in some way to that incident. But how? Had Ludlow somehow figured out that it was Blackthorn that was pursuing him? Was there something on the assassin in Seattle that tipped him off? Did Ludlow get word out to someone before he was killed? How much did this unknown person know?

“What was the cause of the blast?” Cross asked.

“The fire department hasn’t determined that yet,” Seth replied. “They’re still fighting the flames. I’m hacking into surveillance cameras in the area to see what they can tell us.”

Ludlow was dead but the problem still wasn’t contained. There was another Rogue Element in play. Stomach acid rose quickly in his throat and he swallowed it down before he gagged. Stress aggravated his acid reflux, especially after a big meal. He didn’t need this.

“Where’s the team that we sent out to Long Valley?”

“Agents Edwin Pessel and Stuart Bowers,” Seth said. “According to our security logs, they were the last people to enter and leave the building, minutes before the blast.”

“What do they have to say for themselves?”

“We haven’t been able to reach them but we’ve located their car. It’s in the parking lot of a strip club downtown.”

Something was very wrong with this picture. Cross swallowed back more acid.

“Send some agents to the club and drag those two out. I want to talk to them. In the meantime, get our drone back over the strike zone. I want another look at it. I’ll be right in.”

He ended the call and went back inside to look for some Tums. He had a bad feeling he’d need handfuls of them today.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Primm, Nevada. July 21. 5:30 a.m. Pacific Standard Time.

There were three casino/hotels off the I-15 on the Nevada side of the border with California: Whiskey Pete’s, Buffalo Bill’s, and the Primm Valley Resort. Depending on which direction you were traveling, Primm was either your first or last chance to gamble before crossing the state line.

Margo drove. She hadn’t said much since she’d picked up Ronnie and Ian. She’d come down from her adrenaline high about twenty miles outside of Las Vegas. Ronnie was asleep in the back seat, snoring loudly and wearing his aluminum foil helmet again.

Margo stole a glance into the rearview mirror at Ronnie, then a sideways look at Ian in the passenger seat, before returning her attention to the road. Ian could tell that she had something on her mind.

“I have a question for you,” she said. “When Ronnie left LA for Nevada, why did you go after him and try to talk him into coming back?”

“I thought he was mentally ill and needed help.”

“Now what do you think?”

“He might be the sanest man I know.”

“That’s scary,” she said.

“After everything we’ve been through, that’s what scares you?”

“Yeah. Because I’m beginning to think you’re right.” She gave him a quick, worried glance. “What does that say about us?”

“This is a crazy world, Margo. Maybe you need to be a little crazy to see it.”

“I wish I couldn’t see it. Then nobody would be shooting missiles at me.” She smiled and then shook her head, as if in disagreement with herself. “That sounds crazy, too.”

“Not given our situation,” Ian said.

“You’re right. I bet there’s nothing either one of us could say right now that wouldn’t come off sounding insane.”

“We’re going to Los Angeles,” Ian said.

“That’s a perfect example,” she said. “In any other context, that simple statement about the direction we’re driving wouldn’t sound like the ranting of a drooling, bug-eyed lunatic.”

“I’m serious. That’s where we’re going.”

Margo gave him a hard look that somehow captured her anger, her dismay, and her fatigue. It was quite a look. “That’s the worst possible place for us to go.”

She didn’t end her statement with you moron but it was heavily implied in her patronizing tone of voice.