Silent Sabotage

“You mentioned a cause,” Archer said. “Tell me about it.”

Withrow swung his gaze back to Archer. “It’s about time someone asked. Big Oil is trying to transport three hundred and sixty thousand barrels of oil a day through the Columbia River Gorge. Railroad cars loaded with the stuff. I aim to stop it today.”

Archer was familiar with the contentious battle with the corporation that’d built a large oil depot just across the state line and hoped to transport oil in a mobile pipeline.

“I would think you’d go straight to the oil company and place your demands there,” Archer continued in a calm, steady voice. “How can shooting up a mall help?”

“Just like a cop.” Contempt tightened Withrow’s eyes. “Can’t see the obvious. Security at the oil company is like trying to break into Fort Knox, and I’d get nowhere.”

“Still doesn’t explain the mall.”

“Couldn’t resist the chance to pay back my so-called neighbors who are supporting the pipeline. And, of course, this...” he paused and held up the trigger “...wouldn’t have been possible in the city. Cops would be breathing down my neck before I got the vest out of the bag. But out in the country you cops are few and far between.”

He was right. Many Oregon counties had lost funding and had to cut back on law enforcement. This county was no exception.

“Now,” Withrow continued, “you’re going to get a TV reporter on site to film this so people will sit up and take notice and finally stand up to the stinking oil company.”

“So you want to speak to a reporter?” Archer clarified.

“Yeah. Get one out here to do an interview, and I’ll turn over the trigger.”

Archer didn’t trust that Withrow’s motives were as pure as he was making it sound, but Archer could use the demand to negotiate for the evacuation of the wounded. “You allow the medics to tend to the innocents you wounded and transport them to the ER, and I’ll work on arranging your interview.”

Withrow arched an eyebrow. “I only plugged three guys and all of them deserved it.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“You mean that they deserved it? Yeah. They’ve supported Big Oil and it was about time someone made them pay.”

“I meant with all the bullets you fired, that you only hit three people?”

“It’s the truth.” He waved the trigger device at Emily. “This was my end game all along.”

“In that case, you’ll let the medics in,” Archer stated.

“The guys deserved what they got, but...” He shrugged. “If letting the medics haul them out gets me what I want, then so be it. I’ll provide the location of the first two and if the reporter isn’t here by then, number three will have to wait.”

Of course, he would arrange this to meet his needs alone. “I have to get out my phone to call my supervisor.”

“Go ahead.”

Archer dug out his phone. Not that the call mattered at all other than to assuage Withrow, as Jake would never let a reporter come into a standoff.

As Archer talked, Withrow stepped to his backpack and traded his rifle for a handgun. He circled around Emily and jerked her against his chest. He pressed the gun against her temple.

Archer expected her to blanch or even get sick, but she stood strong through his call and while the medics removed two of the injured.

“Okay, Nee-go-tiator,” Withrow sneered. “Seein’s how you didn’t comply with my demand, I’ll give you another thirty minutes. I see a reporter or I detonate the bomb.”

“You don’t want to do this, Delmar,” Archer said in a flat tone. “You heard the medics. The people you shot were still alive. So why not do this the smart way? You don’t need to die today.”

“This’s the only way I get to talk to a reporter.”

“Not so. I can get on the phone right now and arrange for an interview for you once you surrender.”

“Right.” Delmar’s brow creased. “You’d arrest me and then not follow through.”

“Even if I did—” Archer paused and looked him square in the eye “—which I won’t—you don’t have to rely on me. You control the people who visit you in County lockup. Put any or every reporter you can think of on your visitor list and they’ll be glad to come see you. That way your message will be broadcast on more than one station.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I could, couldn’t I?”

“Sure. Plus, if you direct us to the last guy, you won’t go away for murder and can get out so much sooner to continue your quest to protect the environment.”

“Maybe,” he said and his arm slackened from around Emily’s neck.

“Not only that,” Archer added, making sure he sounded enthusiastic, “you can continue fighting for your cause from prison. You can’t do that if you release the trigger.”

Archer could see he was making progress and it was time to end the standoff. “Who’s going to take up the charge if you’re not here? No one’s as passionate about it as you are. Don’t you want to keep fighting?”

“I do.”

Archer slowly lifted his arm and held out his hand. “Then give me the remote, and I’ll make sure the reporter comes to visit you.”

Withrow took a halting step forward.

Yes...

Then another step.

It was all Archer could do not to rush the guy, but he stayed put, his feet planted firmly on the ground.

Withrow took the remaining steps. Held out the trigger. Archer wrapped his hand around it and freed it from Withrow.

The room seemed to sigh in relief.

“Now on the floor, hands behind your back,” Archer said in a nonthreatening tone when every part of him wanted to bark orders at the man.

Withrow’s expression changed, and he looked as if he was going to balk.

“Your cause,” Archer soothed as he might with a small child. “Remember your cause.”

Withrow gave a firm nod, then lay down.

Wearing tactical gear, the First Response Squad flooded the room. Archer held firm on the trigger and looked at Emily. A grateful smile played across her lips, and if he wasn’t already captivated by her incredible bravado under pressure, her smile was enough to suck him in and never let him go.

* * *

The deputy named Archer who saved them all crossed over to Emily. He’d risked his life coming into this building to rescue them. Took a fine man to do that and she wanted to fling her arms round his neck and express her thanks. But she still wore the vest and until she was out of it, this wasn’t over for her.

“The vest. Can I take it off now, please?” she implored, as chaos seemed to reign around her with men in black clothes, helmets and heavy vests hauling Delmar to his feet.

Archer shook his head regretfully. “Our bomb expert will be in soon to take the trigger and help you.”

“How long will that be?”

“He’s suiting up now. I know these guys look kind of intimidating in their tactical attire, but if you haven’t done anything wrong you have nothing to worry about.”

She shot him a look. “Do you think I’m involved in this? Because I assure you I’m not.”

He shrugged as if he dealt with incidents like this every day. Maybe he did, but she sure didn’t. “I know Delmar, yes, but as you heard he hates me and apparently wants to kill me.”

“Yeah, I heard, and it sounds like you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but it’s not up to me to figure out your role. Once you’re free of the bomb, we’ll turn this over to detectives to sort out and my team and I will take off.”

“No!” she said before thinking about it. “Please. You saw me through this so far... Can’t you stay? Just for a little while.”

She sounded weak and whiny but she didn’t care. She was still wearing a vest. A bomb vest, for goodness’ sake! And people had been gunned down right in front of her. Unbelievable.

She didn’t think she’d ever forget what she’d seen and heard today. How could life ever go back to normal? Especially if Stan was coming after her to kill her. This handsome deputy standing tall and strong beside her, the man who risked his life for her, gave her hope that she desperately needed right now.

“Please,” she added when he didn’t speak.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Let me go talk to my team leader.” He took powerful strides across the space and stopped by a man who removed his helmet.

The leader clapped Archer on the back. “Great work, Archer.”

Archer.

She liked the name. Kind of regal and formal, which seemed to fit him. At times, there was something in his expression that was warm and welcoming, and yet there was an undercurrent of steel and a warning not to mess with him.

He looked every bit the rescuer, too. He was very tall, six foot four maybe, long and lean, but solidly built. A square jaw, sandy brown hair cut short and a uniform that fit to a T added to her perception. His eyes were icy blue and they seemed to look right through people.

He also seemed like a man who liked to control the action.

Just her type. Which meant if she crossed paths with him ever again, she’d turn and run in the other direction, as she wasn’t getting involved with any man. Ever.

She jerked her focus away and watched as two men snapped cuffs on Delmar and hauled him to his feet before marching him forward.

“Easy now,” he bellowed. “You’ll pay for every bruise I find.”

At his approach, he glared at her, his eyes a mass of anger and resentment. His narrow lips curled up in a wicked smile. His dark, sinister stare remained locked on her.

She cringed and wanted to scoot back from the barely contained rage, but that’s what he wanted, so she stayed strong.

His smile turned into a smirk. “You may have won this round, but our fight is far from over, sweetheart. And if I were you, I’d watch your back.”

THREE

Emily sat at a folding table under a canopy in the mall’s parking lot. Birdie rested at a similar table twenty feet away. A vacant, empty expression born from jumbled memories claimed her aunt’s face. Emily had asked to stay with Birdie and offer comfort, but Detective Carothers, who would investigate the case, forbid them to talk to each other until after they’d given their statements.

Poor Birdie. Stuck here. Alone. Lost and confused.

A common problem these days. Hour after hour. Day after day. Confusion. Fear. Living in another world. All courtesy of Alzheimer’s, early stage two. If they could afford a care nurse, Emily would have left her aunt home today. If it hadn’t been absolutely necessary, Emily wouldn’t have come either, but upcoming guests were expecting to find all-natural soap at the environmentally friendly B and B, and ordering soap was just one of the things that had fallen through the cracks as she desperately tried to save the business.

The fund-raiser. She’d almost forgotten. They’d scheduled a mini-carnival for that night to raise a quick influx of cash to pay the mortgage. If they failed, Birdie would be out of business in short order. Plus, Emily had invested all of her savings in the business, so if it went under, she and her aunt would be homeless and penniless.

Emily checked her watch. She had to get out of there and quickly. She searched the area for Detective Carothers, who was deep in conversation with Archer and his team leader, Jake Marsh. The detective, a pencil-thin man wearing a baggy suit, clutched a folder to his chest and locked Jake in a stare down. Jake appeared to be asking for something.

Carothers suddenly shoved his hand into his hair and gave a firm nod. He spun, then started toward her. Jake gave Archer a thumbs-up. Archer grinned.

“Ms. Graves.” A sour look claimed Detective Carothers’s face as he dropped into one of the metal folding chairs across the table. “Deputies Marsh and Reed will be sitting in with us, but I’ll be taking lead on this investigation.”

“I don’t mean to sound impertinent, but could you wait to take my statement?” she asked, and explained about the fund-raiser and how important it was to their business. “If I don’t get going now, we won’t be ready on time.”

“I need to take your statement while the incident is fresh in your mind.”

Archer took a step toward Carothers. “Why not cut Ms. Graves some slack? She could jot down her thoughts right now, and you could question her later at home. Withrow is off the streets and won’t hurt anyone, so this isn’t time sensitive.”

Carothers pressed his lips together. “That is against protocol.”

“I get that,” Archer said. “But sometimes we need to be flexible.”

“She could talk to others. Change her story.”

“Look,” Archer added, “I’ll be glad to accompany her home and keep an eye on her all night. If someone is helping Withrow get back at her, I can keep her safe and ensure she doesn’t talk to anyone about the incident. Then if you have questions, I’ll personally escort her to the station in the morning or you can come to the B and B if you’d rather do it that way.”

Carothers took a long breath, let it out, then shoved a legal pad and pen across the table to her.

“Write down your version of the incident, leaving nothing out, and you can go.” He stood, gestured for Deputy Marsh to follow him and stepped away from the table.

She looked up at Archer. “Thank you. Normally, I wouldn’t put you out like this, but the fund-raiser is basically our last chance to keep Birdie’s B and B afloat.”

“I don’t mind.” He sounded sincere and his eyes were warm and friendly. “Besides, it seems like you could use some help getting ready for the fund-raiser, and I’m nothing if not helpful.”

He turned on a megawatt smile, and she had to look away before she found herself smiling up into eyes that were at times icy blue and like now, a warm, soothing baby blue. The last thing she needed was for him to think she was one of the many dopey-eyed women who must fall at his feet all the time.

She didn’t want to date anyone or even engage in a flirtation. Her mind needed to be squarely on helping Birdie. That, and if Delmar’s threat was true, watching her own back so she stayed alive to take care of her aunt.

* * *

Archer trailed Emily Graves’s classic pickup truck around another bend and onto a gravel road lined with tall pine trees. The temperature had dropped and the once-vibrant sunshine disappeared, replaced with heavy shadows moving in the breeze.

As they approached the B and B, an uneasy feeling settled in his gut. His agency patrolled the large county with both urban and rural areas, but he’d never worked the rural beat. Coming from cosmopolitan New York City, where he’d lived his entire life, he was far more comfortable in a city setting than a rural one.

He followed Emily another three miles over hills, around bends, and she finally clicked on her blinker near a large house set back from the road. She turned the rusty truck under a blistered white sign with Birdie’s Bed-and-Breakfast etched in black lettering hanging from large log poles over a dirt-packed driveway. They wound around a few curves until he spotted a guest-parking sign near a small paved lot, but Emily gestured out her window to follow her toward the house.

Two stories, the place was painted a cheerful yellow with white trim, but as he drove closer, he could see the building needed a fresh coat of paint. A wide wraparound porch held white wooden rocking chairs and large planters filled with red and purple flowers. Off to the side of the house, he spotted a small cottage painted in matching colors with window boxes overflowing with the same flowers.

Emily suddenly stopped, and Archer had to slam on his brakes not to rear-end her truck. She jumped out and rounded the front of her car before bending down and disappearing from sight.

A spear of adrenaline sliced into his body, and he charged across the space to check on her. He was aware of Birdie getting out of the car and mumbling, but his focus remained on Emily. He reached the front of her vehicle, and she stood, her back to him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, trying to keep the concern from his voice.

She turned and was holding a coffee-colored chicken with white tail feathers. “Birdie left the chicken coop open again.”

“Did not,” Birdie said, but Archer suspected she wouldn’t remember if she had.

“Here.” Emily shoved the chicken into his hands and let go.

“What...” Archer complained, but Emily was already chasing after another chicken running toward the road.

Archer gaped after her. What in the world was he supposed to do with a chicken? His only experience with chickens was in a dining room, and he hadn’t a clue what to do with a living bird.

It squirmed and squawked in his hands, and he held it out as he searched for a place to get rid of it. Instead, he found five more chickens pecking the ground and scurrying around. He searched for Birdie, but she’d ignored the fiasco and was climbing the wide steps to the house.

So he stood like a dolt, hands outstretched until Emily returned with her fingers around the wayward chicken’s feet, the body clutched against her side and the head tucked under her arm.

“Follow me and hold that chicken this way.” She lifted her arm. “Or she’s going to squirm out of your hands.”

He tried maneuvering the plump bird, but she clucked loudly so he held her as close as he could and trailed Emily. She zigzagged around the yard, corralling the other birds. Together, they all clipped across the clearing and down a hill toward a small weatherworn building. It sat on raised stilts with a side room made of wooden uprights and covered in chicken wire. Emily scooted the chickens through a door into the open area, then slipped the one she was holding into the space.

Good. Archer could get rid of this animal, too. He rushed forward, maybe too fast for the bird, and made it nervous as it deposited a big splotch of white-and-brown gunk on his shirt.

“Ack,” he shouted and held out the chicken.

Emily watched him for a moment, then started laughing.

“It’s not funny,” he warned sternly. “This is my uniform, and I don’t want it ruined even more than it already is from the mall.”

“You’re right. The shirt isn’t funny, and I’m sorry this happened.” Her grin widened. “But you stared down a guy with a bomb not more than an hour ago with hardly a hint of what you were feeling, and now? Now the horror on your face is from a chicken. That’s priceless.”

“I’m not a country guy, all right?” He shoved the bird at her.

“That goes without saying.” She cradled the chicken and settled it in the building. “If she was making an egg, the way you held her would surely be the end of that.”

Archer didn’t care about an egg. He looked down on his shirt and gagged. He quickly undid the buttons and rubbed the offending gook onto the grass. He wore a khaki-colored T-shirt to match his uniform shirt, but it had a moist spot as well so he held it away from his body.

Emily turned and when her gaze landed on him, she stopped in her tracks and peered at him. The humor was long gone in her expression, and she stared at him with a clear look of interest.

If he wasn’t so creeped out about the goo on his shirt, he suspected he’d be returning the gaze, but this mess outweighed most everything else. “Is there somewhere I can clean up? I’ve got clothes in my trunk, but I’m not putting them on until I wash up.”

“I can wash your shirt.” She held out her hand.

He gladly turned it over. “I’ll grab my clothes.”

He sensed her watching him as he walked back to his car and could just imagine what she was thinking. He was a deputy. Could carry a gun and shoot people. Was trained in defensive combat and worked out to keep in top physical shape, and yet, a little bit of bird poop and he’d acted like a big sissy.

He didn’t like it any more than she did, but he was raised with overly strict cleanliness standards and, try as he might, he’d never been able to relax them. His pants and shirts were pressed at all times. If he got a spot on them, even a small one, he changed. Sure, it was prissy, but it was ingrained, and he made no apologies.

He grabbed his duffel bag and met Emily on the front porch. Without a word, but the remaining hint of a smile on her face, she escorted him straight to an upstairs bathroom.

“Do you need a full shower or will a washcloth with soap and water suffice?” Her eyes creased with unspoken laughter.

“No shower necessary,” he retorted and didn’t mind one bit that she gave him a knowing look as she shut the bathroom door.

In fact, he kind of found her teasing cute and endearing.

Odd.

He sure didn’t react that way when the team razzed him about his cleanliness obsession. Although he didn’t like it coming from them, for some reason this was different. He was sure that if he examined his feelings, he might discover the underlying cause, but in his mind, this situation was best left unexplored.

He ripped off his undershirt and scrubbed his stomach clean before putting on the fresh FRS uniform of a black polo shirt and tactical pants that he always kept at the ready. When he stepped back into the hallway, Emily was waiting for him.

She held out her hand. “I can add the undershirt to the washer, too.”

For a moment, he froze as it seemed so personal to be handing an undershirt to a near stranger, but like it or not, he’d rather the stain be removed.

“I can help,” he offered.

“You want to help because you don’t trust me to get it clean enough.” She grinned up at him.

“Busted,” he said and found himself smiling back at her. “Also, I came here to help, not add to your workload.”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s taking us longer to talk about this than it will take to do it.”

“Then would you mind if I have a look around the place while you put it in the washer? I want to check out the security.”

Her smile fell. “Security. Why?”

“I promised to make sure you remained safe, and I always keep my promises.”

“Oh, I heard you all right when you said that. You also said you’d keep an eye on me all night, but that’s not going to happen.”

“I meant that figuratively, but make no mistake, Ms. Graves, I’ll be staying here all night.”

She narrowed her eyes. “On the couch.”

He refrained from dropping his mouth open at her innuendo. “I’m here to protect you and nothing more.”

“I didn’t...” She shook her head and ran her fingers through long, chocolate-brown waves. “Do you really think one of Delmar’s friends is going to come after me?”

“It’s too early to tell,” he said to keep from heightening her apprehension. “But threats have been issued and we have to take them seriously until we can prove them false.”

“Understood,” she said, suddenly looking distracted. “I’ll get the laundry started, then meet you on the porch when you finish your tour.”

“Are there any rooms off-limits?”

“We don’t have guests right now, but I suspect Birdie might be napping. Her room is on the third floor in the front. If the door is closed she’s asleep, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t disturb her.”

“You got it.”

She looked at him as if pondering something, then turned and started down the hallway. Maybe he wasn’t able to read all of her expressions, but one thing was clear. She was uneasy around him, and she didn’t try to hide it. He’d tried to be compassionate and understanding so he wasn’t giving off a tough-deputy vibe, but there was obviously something else that bothered her.

Maybe he wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding the way she piqued his curiosity. Or maybe, she was just out of her element with everything that had happened.

Archer watched her disappear in the stairwell. He’d read in her statement that she was an accountant and he tried to imagine her in that position. With his MBA, he understood the duties in an accounting job, and he honestly couldn’t see her spending her days inside, bent over a desk in a small cubicle.

Problem was, he wanted to know more about her so he could figure out where she belonged.

“Get a grip,” he mumbled as he started his tour. “Remember why you’re here.”