The first time she’d met him he’d been suspicious to the point of amusing her. He’d been stiff, reluctant to speak even though he’d been the one who’d contacted the FBI. The next meeting he’d been slightly more relaxed and even asked for a suggestion on how to get law enforcement help for a friend in a domestic violence situation.
She suspected it had been hard for him to bring up. Sympathy had flashed in his eyes as he talked about a female friend. He said the police had come after her husband had hit her, but nothing had happened. Ava told him who in her local police department his friend should contact and emphasized that the woman needed to be ready to do whatever it took to keep herself safe. Ava looked up some domestic violence help websites and gave the addresses to Reuben.
But at their January meeting in the coffee shop, Reuben had been full of suspicion again.
She’d been waiting ten minutes and was moments from walking out when Reuben finally stepped into the crowded shop and scanned the room for her. They made eye contact, and he nodded but continued his perusal of the other patrons. Reuben was tall and lean but emitted a powerful energy that told her he believed he could hold his own in any fistfight. He walked and moved like a brawler. A type of person she rarely saw in this Starbucks. Due to its location, most of the patrons were white-collar professionals and soccer moms who’d come to shop at the mall.
He didn’t order and took the seat to her left so he could view the rest of the place. Just as she had.
“Morning, Reuben.” Ava sipped her coffee, wondering what was in store for her today. Reuben was unpredictable. Would it be the guy who wanted to help a friend, or the one who thought law enforcement was always watching him?
“How many agents are in this shop, Agent McLane?” His dark gaze darted from coffee drinker to coffee drinker, lingering on a businessman with a laptop twenty feet away.
“None.”
“He filming us?” Reuben jerked his head at the man with the laptop.
She sighed. It was to be a paranoid visit. “No. Do you think the FBI would be that obvious?”
“Maybe they’re trying the opposite.” His eyes were sharp and assessing.
“I think I should go.” Ava started to stand.
“Wait!” He grabbed her forearm, his gaze fierce. “Forget it. You know how I am.”
She glared daggers at him. “Do. Not. Touch. Me.”
He immediately let go. “I’m sorry.”
Ava made a show of rubbing her forearm, fury bubbling in her chest. “Do that again and we’re done. Permanently.”
“I told you where to find that guy who was violating his parole.”
“And I notified the proper law enforcement agency. You didn’t need to bring that to the FBI.”
“You listen to me. No one else does.”
“If you need someone to listen to you, get a dog.” She still fumed about him grabbing her arm, but she sat back down. “I have a lot of work to do.”
“Wait.” He stared at her left hand. “What’s that? You’re not married.”
“That’s none of your business.” She slipped the hand with the engagement ring under the table. She was not sharing personal information with this man.
“You’re not married,” he repeated, as if saying it again would make it true. Shock registered in his voice.
“Soon,” she reluctantly admitted. “Now. Tell me why we’re here.”
Concern crossed his face. “Who are you marrying? How well do you know him? You know a lot of marriages can turn violent. I’ve seen it.” His eyes softened. “I would never hurt you.”
Ava stood. “Don’t contact me again, Reuben. We’re done.”
“But I need to tell—”
“Tell it to a dog. Or a cat.” She strode out of the shop, her coffee cup gripped tightly, wondering why she’d agreed to the meeting.
Ava reread her notes. She had written that the meeting was a waste of time, that he’d grabbed her arm and made inappropriate comments. Her recommendation had been for no other agent to meet Reuben Braswell in person.
Scanning notes from earlier meetings, she confirmed he’d offered no more information that was pertinent to the FBI. He could have just as easily given any of his leads to the Portland Police Bureau. She’d suspected he was attracted to her. It was in his eyes and his body language, and his concern about her ending up in a violent situation, but she’d ignored it since he’d broken a big case, and she had hoped he’d offer useful tips again. He’d insinuated that he associated with people in antigovernment factions, but that he personally avoided anything illegal. It’d been enough for Ava to continue to meet with him.
She frowned as she looked at all the meeting notes as a whole. At two of the meetings he’d probed her about FBI activity, and he had done the same on all three of the phone calls. In her reports she’d briefly mentioned his questions about the FBI.
Was his overall goal to get information out of me?
She knew he’d gotten nothing of value, but she wished she had noted specifically what he had said.
Note-taking 101. Write it all. No matter how unimportant it seems.
Did he want to tell me something at the last meeting, but I walked out?
Like a plan for a bombing in June.
“Shit.” She was getting ahead of herself. What she needed to know was exactly how her name was connected to today’s bomb threat. She forwarded all her Reuben Braswell notes to Ben and wondered if it was possible that the early stages of bombing plans had started in January.
She fought the urge to call Mason, certain he must know that she had been informed her name was connected. Instead, she ran a search on her computer for police activity at the courthouse and found a news channel’s live helicopter footage of the evacuation. Squad cars lined the blocks near the courthouse.
The courthouse was a big brick historical building separated from the Willamette River by a four-lane highway in a tiny, slightly isolated sector of Oregon City. The small area was only two blocks deep and five blocks wide along the base of a steep cliff that divided it from the rest of the city. A strip of wine bars, little independent shops, and small restaurants filled the narrow space between the Willamette River and the cliffs.
An intermittent stream of people filed out of the building and the surrounding businesses. Uniformed officers guided them out of the area. From the helicopter’s feed, Ava picked up the worry and stress of the civilians. The perimeter strengthened as more officers and vehicles joined. The highway traffic was stopped in both directions. In a few more minutes, no one would be within blocks of the courthouse.
Is Mason down there?
He had a murder investigation to handle, but it wouldn’t surprise her if he’d sped to the heart of the action after finding the bomb plans. Again, she stopped herself from calling him. Now was not the time for an interruption.
The reporter in the news helicopter talked over the drone of the chopper. Ava tuned him out as he described what she was already seeing. The helicopter flew in circles around the scene, and it seemed close because of the powerful cameras. No doubt it was much farther away, but she couldn’t help but worry for the chopper if a powerful bomb went off.
Most bomb threats are fake. No doubt this one will be too.