Hearts Divided (Cedar Cove #5.5)(44)
Jake’s cell phone rang.
“Yeah?” He was silent, glancing at Chloe. “Thanks, Gray.” He switched off the phone and slipped it into his jacket pocket. “Gray thinks the man in the blue car was following us, but he lost him. Whoever was driving the car abandoned it three blocks from here and disappeared. He probably had another car parked near the site and was gone before Gray got there. Gray wasn’t close enough to get a visual of the driver.”
Chloe’s heart sank. “So we still don’t have any information about him.”
“Don’t give up hope. Gray ran the plate numbers on the car and they belong to a pickup truck in Bellevue. I’m guessing both the plates and the car were stolen earlier tonight in separate thefts. Our stalker’s careful and he’s smart. I’m going to help Gray go over the car.” Jake wrapped his arms around Chloe. “Are you okay staying here by yourself?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“Good.” Jake dropped a hard kiss on her lips and released her, pulling open the door. “Lock this after me.”
“I will.” Chloe waited until he’d stepped onto the porch and shut the door, then she slid the dead bolt home and twisted the lock. Peering through a gap in the curtains, she watched him back the Porsche out of her drive, taillights winking red as he disappeared down the block.
Unable to settle down, she poured a giant mug of milk, added three tablespoons of chocolate syrup and popped it into the microwave. While she waited for it to heat, Chloe leaned on the counter, gazing out the window over her sink into the backyard. A full moon rode high in the sky, turning the familiar shapes of lilac tree, rhododendrons, wisteria, apple tree and tall blue spruce into shadowy, mysterious forms.
This was her world, and for the first time, she felt a niggle of fear as she contemplated what might be in her moon-dappled garden besides flowers and trees.
Five
Stealing the stick of dy***ite and blasting cap from Morrissey Demolition hadn’t been difficult at all.
Morrissey’s work site in Black Diamond, southeast of Seattle, had an equipment shack in a large area enclosed within chain-link fencing. The locked-off area held parked bulldozers, backhoes, massive concrete-and-metal culverts and other equipment owned by Warren Construction, the Washington State contractor responsible for building a twenty-mile section of road. The contractor had a security service that patrolled the area once every hour to protect the expensive equipment and supplies stored inside the fence.
He had no interest in any of that. He only cared about Morrissey’s dy***ite.
The small bolt cutters snipped through the chain links of the fence and made short work of the padlock securing the Morrissey storage shed. Once he was inside, it was a matter of minutes to locate the powder magazine, cut the bolts holding the double-hooded locks that secured it, slice through the locks and open the steel box. The magazine’s interior was lined with wood to ensure no accidental spark from exposed metal could threaten the stability of the explosives. He found just a handful of dy***ite sticks but he didn’t care. He needed only one.
He removed the eight-inch-long brown stick and placed it in a narrow wooden box, then stowed the box in his jacket pocket. Carefully closing the powder magazine, he rearranged the locks so a casual observer would see nothing amiss.
The detonator caps were stored in a second locked box. He cut through the locks, removed a cap with its attached wires and tucked it into the small tote he’d carried in with him. When he’d closed the box, he rearranged the locks, then picked up the black tote bag and his bolt cutters, and checked his watch.
He smiled. His timing was perfect. The security guard wasn’t due for another twenty minutes. He eased the shed door open and peered out. The bright moonlight was the only flaw in his plan. Fortunately, the huge pieces of earthmoving equipment and stacks of supplies threw giant shadows over the exposed spaces between him and safety.
He crept out of the shack and hung the sliced padlock back on the hasp. Its appearance wouldn’t withstand close scrutiny, but in the dark, it would suffice.
He stood very still, scanning the area. Nothing moved. Satisfied, he ran toward the fence, moving quickly from shadow to shadow. He slipped through the fence, taking time to bend the wire into place again.
With a last backward glance, he melted into the brush and trees. Ten minutes later, he was driving northwest. Within the hour, he’d reached his apartment in Seattle’s Capitol Hill district and was hidden once more.
He wondered which one of Morrissey’s crew had followed him from Chloe Abbott’s house earlier. Stealing license plates and pairing them with nondescript stolen cars was a strategy he’d used often while tailing Morrissey over the past six weeks. Tonight his caution had paid off.
He opened his journal and began to write, satisfaction buoying him.
Morrissey didn’t have enough hours left to stop the sequence of events that was about to destroy him.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: May 22
Subject: Good morning—
Dear Clara,
I have interesting news to share! I spoke with Chloe last night and learned she’d had lunch with Jake Morrissey yesterday. And he took her to the symphony last night. (Picture me gleefully dancing a jig in my living room.:-)
I really like this young man and it appears Chloe might, too. Wouldn’t it be lovely if all three of our granddaughters were planning weddings??!! Stay tuned for further developments.