Page 11 of Deadly Pride

“Ah.” Liam toed off his shoes and lay on his back on the bed, not bothering to undress. Finally, he could rest his weary body.

Despite ten years in the FBI, he'd never run across a case with as many dead ends as this one. Bodies were piling up, but they didn't even have a person of interest.

Finally, his body relaxed enough for him to fall asleep.

The pounding on his hotel room door woke him. No sunlight streamed through the curtains. He glanced at his watch. He'd gotten two hours.

“Liam!” Harper's voice rang out.

“I'm coming.” He groaned and got up, padding to open the door. “What happened?”

“The strip club blew up.” She pushed her way inside. “Get your shoes on.”

“Casualties?” He slid his feet into his shoes and grabbed his weapon from the nightstand.

“Don't know how many. Some for sure, but it wasn't the busiest time of the night, thank God.” She left his room and returned to her car, sliding into the driver's seat.

So much for Liam's declaration of driving from now on. He locked the door to his room and climbed into the passenger seat. “Did you manage to sleep at all?”

“No.” She started the car and sped down the interstate. “I feel like I could sleep for a week.”

“Why us at the club? Couldn't it be handled by other officers?”

She whipped her head toward me. “When was the last time you checked your phone?”

“Right before I fell asleep.” He pulled it from his pocket. He had a text. One word. “Boom.”

“The notification that I had a text is what woke me. I called the station and was told about the explosion. I came to get you as soon as possible.”

Flames kissed the sky as they parked near the burning building. A flash of their badges allowed them past the police barricade crowded with onlookers.

“Who's in charge?” Harper asked.

“Right now, the fire chief.” Officer Crypton jerked her thumb toward a man standing near the fire truck.

“Chief Langley, this is Special Agent McConnell,” Harper introduced. “What can you tell us?”

“Not a lot. Fire's too hot for my men. We won't be able to see anything until the blaze is under control.” He shook Liam's hand. “One survivor. A bouncer.”

Liam glanced to where Mark sat holding a towel to his head. “Excuse me.” He left the chief and leaned against the ambulance Mark sat in. “What happened?”

He shook his head. “I took out the garbage to make room for the nighttime crowd. I was headed back to the building when it blew up. The force slammed me against the dumpsters.”

“Did you see anyone around that seemed suspicious?”

“Wasn't really paying attention.”

“How many people were inside?”

“A couple of dancers, the bartender, maybe ten customers, the kitchen staff. Maybe thirty in all. They're all dead, aren't they?”

“Most likely. You're a very lucky man. Give us a call if something comes to you.” Liam started to think the man too lucky, but since he'd received a head injury that looked like it would require stitches, he stopped his questioning and studied the crowd.

One of them had placed the bomb. Liam had seen enough explosions to recognize the aftermath. Why not wait until the club was full? Maximize the collateral damage? Unless the person responsible simply kept playing their evil game and not interested in body counts. Why involve Liam and Harper? Clearly the person responsible wanted them on the case.

“What's on your mind?” Harper joined him. Exhaustion creased her pretty face. If the two of them didn't get some sleep, they'd be no good to anyone.

He explained his thoughts. “My brain is fuzzy from lack of sleep.”