Page 47 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

The Crusader gave her report regarding the lumber company’s business hours, the employees’ schedules, thesecurity personnel, and what she’d observed of the alarm systems. The Planner wrote everything down in his notebook, carefully vague in case anybody got ahold of it.

When she was finished, he said, “We need to talk alibis. Mine is in place.”

“You really think your father will lie for you?” the Builder asked.

“No question.”

His father would believe him. Even if he didn’t, he’d protect him. He always had.

To the Builder, the Planner said, “You’ll be at work, right? How about our friend?”

“I’ll figure something out. I’ll make sure of it.”

Then the Planner took the Crusader’s hand.

He loved holding her hand. Never mind that she was married. Never mind that she had a kid. She’d give up on that life soon enough, and then they’d be together.

Doing this with her…doing thisforher…would prove his devotion. His mother would be horrified. His father might disown him. He didn’t care. He’d do anything for her.

“Your alibi is the problem,” he said.

“I don’t care!” Her voice was loud enough that people at the bar turned to stare.

“Please lower your voice.” He kept his low and steady.

She did, marginally. “I don’t care who knows. I’ll take the blame for it.”

“But your little girl,” the Planner said. “You don’t want to leave her, do you?”

The Crusader blinked a couple of times. Sometimes her dreams were so lofty, so strongly felt, that she forgot she had to live in the real world. That was why they were perfect together. His feet were always planted firmly in reality.

Reminding her of her baby usually pulled her back in.

“Okay, you’re right.” She nodded a few times. “What’s your idea?”

“Like me, you won’t have a true alibi. You’ll need to fabricate one. You’ll need somebody to lie for you.”

She seemed to realize who he meant. “He won’t do it.”

“He will.”

“He’ll use it to take her away from me.”

“That’s why we have to be strategic.” The Planner told her exactly what to do. Carefully, slowly, repeating the ideas over and over. Because when the Crusader got like this, sometimes she couldn’t focus. Sometimes she couldn’t comprehend.

It was a long time before she nodded her understanding. “His clothes.”

“Which the Builder will wear to assemble the bomb.”

“His tools,” she said.

The Builder spoke. “I’ll get you a list of what I need.”

The Planner said, “A few strands of his hair.”

It wasn’t very long, but it was long enough.

“And you’ll plant a couple of books in your house,” the Planner said. “To prove to anybody looking that he could have done it himself.”

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