And yet, perversely, she knew he was proud of her work and the way she handled herself. Knew because he'd told her more than once—usually right before he and Mom launched into their whole “it's time you settle down and have babies” routine.
And Neva's marital bliss and resulting pregnancy had only increased their fervor to see her palmed off onto some poor, unsuspecting man.
"The people behind the bombing tried to run Ronan down this afternoon,” she explained, then glanced at Bodee. “I've ordered my mom and dad to leave town immediately. I want you to play chauffeur and take them to wherever they want to go.” She returned her gaze to her dad's. “But nowhere known. Go somewhere you've never been, somewhere people wouldn't expect you to be."
"This is damnably inconvenient."
"Being dead would be doubly so. Just do it, and let me get on with my job."
He grunted. “Get that cut seen to, will you? It's bleeding everywhere."
As yeses went, it was begrudging, but it was better than nothing. She smiled, then leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Be careful."
"You too, cub. You, too.” He squeezed her arm, then spun around and followed Bodee to the car. She heaved a silent sigh of relief and looked at Steve. “Any word on Ike yet?"
"No one's seen him."
"Damn.” She bit her lip for a moment, trying to quell the fear knotting her stomach as she watched Anton and several fire fighters enter the diner's carcass. “Call Honor Jackson and see if Denny made it home, and then contact search and rescue. Once they've been advised, head on over to Ronan's. I want him watched for the next twenty-four hours, even if all of you have to sit outside his house in your trucks."
Steve raised an eyebrow. “Why only twenty-four hours?"
"Because I have a feeling this is all going to be over sooner rather than later."
"For good, not for bad, I hope."
"So do I,” she muttered. Trouble was her instincts didn't seem interested in seeing that far ahead.
"A twenty-four hour watch is going to be hard to manage,” he continued. “We don't have enough staff to man the station and do a watch."
Savannah scrubbed a hand across her forehead. She had a major league headache blooming, and she wasn't sure if it was a result of the bomb blast or simply an overflow of stress. “I know. But he won't leave town, so we'll just have to manage the best we can."
Steve coughed, then sniffed and said in a scratchy voice, “So are the rest of us in danger?"
"I honestly don't know. But it's well known that Ronan and I are good friends, and I suspect that's the only reason they had a go at him."
Steve nodded. “It might be better for everyone if you got out of town."
"It'd only delay the inevitable confrontation. These people are after me and Agent Cade, and we're better off trying to end it here, where at least we have the advantage of home field."
"Seems to me that the killers have the very same advantage. They know you, boss. They know what you do and who you associate with. That indicates they've been watching you for a while."
It did, but she mixed with so many people in the course of her job that it could be anyone. She rubbed her forehead again. “I'm going home to change, and then I'm heading over to Ari's to talk to her. I want everyone to report in to Kel every half hour."
"You know Alf Reeson's parked himself at the station, don't you? He says Agent Jones promised him an exclusive."
She had no idea if he had or hadn't, and right now, Reeson was the last of her worries. “As long as he's not causing problems, ignore him."
Steve nodded as he squinted towards the diner. “I'd start looking closer to home for suspects."
"I intend to. Just be careful.” She squeezed his arm and headed for her truck.
As she climbed into the driver's seat, Cade glanced up from a folder he was reading. “You okay?"
"I feel like shit, and I'm going home for a nice, hot shower. Then I'm going to talk to Ari, one of the waitresses who works in the diner and who has apparently befriended Candy. What's that?” she pointed to the folder as she started the engine.
"Information on Lonny's mother, Frankie Jackson.” He reached into the folder and pulled out a photo. “Have you seen her?"
The woman in the black and white photo looked about forty, with pale wavy hair and dark eyes. Her mouth was as thin as her face, and had a downward tilt that gave her a sour look. “This a license photo?"