Chapter 7
Val
M inna’s fingers are almost a blur as she taps away at her keyboard, her focus as sharp as ever. I envy that focus. We’ve been at this for hours. Marcus Crowe might as well be a fucking ghost for all we’ve gotten so far.
“I’ve just received the age progression photos from my colleague in Indianapolis. I’m plugging it into facial recognition software and cross-referencing local security cameras and systems I’ve hacked into. Hopefully, we’ll get something soon,” Minna says, glancing up at me.
I don’t bother pointing out that there’s no way her hacking into local security systems and traffic cameras is legal. It’s not like I haven’t bent the rules before myself. With how good this guy is at staying hidden without a trace, even as the bodies pile up, this is no time to play by the book.
Even still, part of me can’t stop thinking about Crowe’s past. I wish I’d never known his story in the first place. That would make tracking him down a hell of a lot easier. But… his two kids and his pregnant wife were murdered by the same people he’d trusted? The people he’d helped… Can I blame him for wanting revenge?
I can’t. I’d want revenge if it were me in his position. But revenge doesn’t justify the deaths he’s caused. Innocent people whose families are now mourning their loss just as he mourns the loss of his own family.
“Good,” I finally murmur in response to Minna, though I’m not entirely focused on her. My eyes flick to the corner of the screen, where a security camera shows Gunnolf leaving the building. What was he doing here? Why didn’t he stop by my office?
It shouldn’t matter. But it does.
He is always at the edge of my thoughts. No. Scratch that. Front and center, every damn day. It’s ridiculous. I feel like my senses have been taken from me. Replaced by desire, wanting, and desperation. I hate it.
Yet all I can think about is how his hands feel on me. The way he kisses me. And the way he always walks away.
I grit my teeth and force myself to focus back on my computer screen. I’ve had no luck searching traditional avenues to find Marcus Crowe. No credit cards, bills, lease agreements, hell, not even a parking ticket.
So, I’ve redirected my efforts. These bombs are sophisticated. There’s no way he’s getting all of his supplies from the local hardware stores. He’s likely sourcing materials from somewhere under the radar. There must be a trail, and if there is one, I’ll find it.
“I’m hitting nothing but dead ends,” Minna mutters. “Crowe’s been a ghost since the botched raid. No aliases, no sightings, nothing.”
“Not for long,” I say, keeping my eyes glued to the screen. “He can’t stay invisible forever. He might be good, but we are better.”
As I dig through another set of vendor records, my patience is wearing thin. It seems that the purchases Crowe, or one of his companions made are small and sporadic enough to keep him hidden. But I’m not looking for big transactions. I’m looking for patterns.
There. A supplier flagged for rare, volatile materials. It’s not a smoking gun, but it’s something. I zero in on the details: a small shipment was ordered two months ago. These are the kind of components that could be used in bomb-making but are subtle enough to avoid suspicion.
“Minna, look at this,” I say, sending the details to her. “It’s a small purchase, but from a flagged vendor. Could it be part of what he’s using to build these bombs?”
She leans in, eyes scanning the data. “That could be something. Let’s cross-reference it with the reports from the bomb squad.”
Pulling up the reports, I scanned the suppliers’ records. It’s a long shot, but there’s a connection. The same type of material ordered was found in each of the bombs. Even the bombs that happened previously out of state over the past few years were too random to be connected to the recent bombing until Hati made the connection with the botched raid.
“We’ve got a match,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. It’s not definitive proof, but it’s a solid lead. The first real one we’ve had in days.
Minna smiles, a small victory in the midst of all this chaos. “Finally.”
As I sit back for a moment and revel in my progress, I can’t help but remember the text I’d gotten telling me to stop digging. Have I just signed my death certificate?
I push those thoughts aside and refocus. “I’ve got the address from the delivery. We can tell the team and have them check it out. It appears to be some sort of industrial warehouse. Let’s keep digging. If Crowe’s making these purchases, there’s more out there. We just have to find the next piece.”
Minna is still scanning the flagged purchases when a sudden ping from her computer draws our attention. “Wait a minute! I’ve got something,” she says, eyes wide.
I swivel toward her, my heart racing. “What is it?”
She taps a few more keys, pulling up a grainy security feed from a gas station about an hour and a half from the city. The timestamp is recent. And there, standing by one of the pumps, is Marcus Crowe. He looks almost exactly like the age progression photos except it’s clear that he’s been dying his hair black.
“It’s him,” Minna whispers, almost in disbelief. “It’s Crowe. He’s still alive.”
My chest tightens. I lean in, staring at the screen. There’s no doubt that it’s him. Same sharp features. After all these dead ends, we finally have visual confirmation that he’s not dead or living in another country.
“He’s got to be behind these bombings, then,” I say, soaking in every last detail of the photograph. He’s calm, not even the least bit of guilt on his face. Of course, there isn’t. In his mind every death he causes is justified because of what happened to his family, which makes him extremely dangerous.
Before Minna or I could even think of calling someone from the SPIU, the door to my office swings open, and Kato strides in with Gunnolf right behind him. There’s something about the way he fills the space that makes it hard to focus, but I push that feeling down. Now isn’t the time.
“Remind me to talk to Paige about her job duties,” I say, but before anyone can interject, I add, “We’ve got something. Minna found him on a security feed at a gas station, a couple of hours from here.”
Kato leans in, scanning the footage as Minna replays it. “That’s definitely Crowe.”
“And there’s more,” I say, pulling up the flagged purchase from earlier. “We cross-referenced some of Crowe’s recent material purchases with the bomb squad’s reports. The components match the explosives used in the recent attacks. We’ve also tracked the delivery address to an industrial warehouse.”
Gunnolf’s eyes lock onto mine, and there’s that quiet intensity again, the same one that makes it hard to breathe. “Good work. Two solid leads,” he says, his voice steady. “We need to move on this.”
Kato nods, already pulling out his phone. “We’ll check the warehouse ourselves. Val, I want you and Minna to keep digging and see if there’s anything else we can use. We’ll send the rest of the team to the gas station to ask questions and secure the area.”
We’re closing in on Marcus Crowe for the first time in days. But I can’t shake the uneasy feeling sitting in my gut, the one that whispers we’re walking into something bigger than we’re prepared for.
Gunnolf’s eyes meet mine one last time before he turns toward the door with Kato. “Stay sharp. We’ll handle this.”