Second-Chance Hero

by Justine Davis

  Which took this whole thing into a different ballpark.

  He searched the area thoroughly, but found nothing else he could connect to the incident. He made his way back to the propane tank. He found and shut off the timer switch so it wouldn’t try to turn the generator on before they got the line repaired. Then he turned his thoughts to what to do next.

  He could simply sit here and wait for the breeze to dissipate the remaining fumes.

  And hope like hell nobody had the need for a midnight cigarette, he thought.

  Or that nobody turned on an electrical switch anywhere near a buildup of the heavy gas. Or started a vehicle. Or any one of the numerous things that could spell disaster in the presence of propane vapor. With the moisture here in the tropical air static electricity thankfully wasn’t likely, so simple movement shouldn’t be a problem.

  But if something did go, an explosion could follow the gas trail back to the source, and if that big tank went up it would leave a crater the size of a large asteroid hit, and they’d all probably be buried in it one way or another.

  The other option was waking everybody up to warn them. Of course, if he did that, their first instinct would be to turn on a light. And while the chances were slim the buildup was heavy enough that far away for that to cause an explosion, he couldn’t say there was no chance at all. He couldn’t even go around and disconnect the battery power for each rig, for fear of causing an arc.

  He could just check for any low pockets where the gas might have accumulated. But he wasn’t sure how sensitive his nose was, if he would still be able to smell well enough after taking in so much of the vapor. But it was better than doing nothing, he thought.

  He’d start with Grace’s motor home. He told himself it was only logical that he start there because it was the closest.

  By the time he got back to the site, he almost had himself convinced.

  Chapter 7

  Grace tried to slow her racing heart with deep breaths. She listened for a repeat of the sound that had awakened her. She heard nothing, but knew something had awakened her.

  Marly again?

  She reached for her crutch, got up and went to the doorway to peer into the other room. Her daughter was facedown on the foldaway bed, snoring softly, no doubt exhausted from the work she’d done today. It was a new experience for the girl, working that hard physically, and Grace couldn’t help thinking it would do her good.

  But that didn’t tell her what she’d heard.

  She crept past Marly and unlocked the front door of the motor home. She grabbed the flashlight she always kept handy, thinking the heavy, metal tube would serve as a weapon if necessary. It wasn’t until she’d eased the door open that she remembered the inflatable, and realized a flashlight wouldn’t be much defense against the kind of knife that had sunk it.

  She was considering retreating and locking both her and Marly safely inside when she caught the faintest whiff of something on the air. She’d been on enough sites that used generated power to recognize it quickly.

  Propane.

  Fear spiked through her. She’d once seen a tanker carrying the fuel explode after a collision, and it was not a thing she ever wanted to see again. The resultant fire had literally burned through the asphalt roadway, and left the truck itself a melted pile of unrecognizable metal.

  She had no choice now, she had to find out why she was smelling it all the way over here. She pulled the door open and went quickly down the two metal steps.

  And nearly screamed when a huge, dark figure suddenly loomed up in front of her.

  “What are you doing?”

  Draven. It was Draven.

  She repeated the knowledge to her once-again hammering heart, but it didn’t seem to be listening. She had to gulp for air before she could answer.

  “Testing my heart rate, apparently,” she snapped, straining to keep her voice low to avoid waking Marly.

  “Sorry.”

  She decided to drop it there; she supposed skulking around in the dark was part of his job, after all.

  “I smelled propane,” she said.

  He nodded. “Line’s been cut.”

  She let out a compressed, disgusted breath. She’d been hoping it was some sort of malfunction or normal kind of leak. “You shut the valve?”

  “Yes.”

  “Another big knife?”

  “More likely the same one.”

  “In the same hands?” She knew he couldn’t be sure, since no one had yet been seen, but she wanted his gut feeling. She suspected it was rather finely tuned by now.

  “If I had to guess, yes,” he said, confirming her own thoughts.

  She turned her head and took a deep breath, then turned the other way and did the same.

  “It’ll be clear shortly,” he said. “Stuff lingers.”

  “Are we safe now?”

  “Not enough left to be a problem without direct ignition, I don’t think.”

  She nodded. “I’ll have Chuck Carlson fix it in the morning. He’s good with that stuff.”

  He nodded in turn, then gave her a quick look up and down. “I’ll watch till it’s clear. Go back to bed.”

  For the first time, she realized she was standing here in front of him in just the old T-shirt and boxer shorts she slept in. And the shirt was worn thin, which made it comfortable but didn’t hide much.

  “Oh. Yes. I will,” she said, feeling as if she had suddenly developed a stammer.

  He nodded, and turned to go. Then he stopped and looked back at her.

  “Next time, Grace, stay put and call me. It’s my job, not yours.”

  She flushed, but hoped he couldn’t see it in the darkness. “I’m not used to having to call someone.” Or someone to call, she added to herself.

  “Get used to it,” he said.

  And then he was gone. Grace went back inside, intending to head back to bed. But her legs felt suddenly weak, and instead she sank down onto the passenger’s chair at the front of the motor home and felt herself tremble.

  “It’s the stress,” she whispered. “That’s all.”

  And it just happened to get worse when he was around. Because of what she associated with him. That’s all.

  After a few minutes, she checked once more on Marly, and went back to bed.

  The heavy equipment was fine, Nick told him in the morning.

  The propane line was fixed and the entire system had been checked, Chuck Carlson said.

  The new inflatables had arrived right on schedule just before noon, and Draven had gone back underwater to attach and activate the motion alarm he’d asked for, which had come along with a few other things in the shipment with the boats.

  The first thing he heard when he pulled himself out of the water was a young voice from behind him advising, “You’re a mess.”

  He slicked the water out of his hair before he turned around to see Marly studying him—or rather his scars—intently.

  “You’re late,” he said.

  “You didn’t tell me a time.”

  “I said morning.”

  “It is,” Marly protested.

  Draven glanced at his diver’s watch. It was one minute to noon. “You skate the edge, don’t you?”

  She gave him a mutinous look. “What edge?”

  “The edge,” he said, his tone ominous, “of my temper.”

  “Oh.” She apparently decided to cut her losses and dropped it. “What happened to you?” she asked with the bluntness of youth, indicating his scars.

  “Which time?”

  Her mouth quirked, as if she wanted to smile but wouldn’t allow herself. “All of them.”

  “Knife, gun, shark and bomb.”

  Her eyes widened and her eyebrows shot up. “Shark?”

  “Shark,” he confirmed.

  “Which one?”

  “Guess.”

  She looked him up and down, her gaze halting on the semicircle of marks on his right calf. “Your leg, right?”

  “Ri
ght.”

  “Wow.”

  “Didn’t think so at the time.”

  Again the smile threatened, a little more of it getting through this time.

  So, there’s hope, he thought.

  The momentary softening didn’t last. A moment later she had her arms crossed in front of her, and was glaring at him.

  “What do I have to do today, Mr. Boss?”

  He studied her for a moment. He looked past the bluster in her tone, and the challenge in her posture. He saw what hovered beneath the façade, saw it and knew it for what it was, because he’d seen it so often.

  He’d planned on more manual labor to drive the point home, but he suddenly changed his mind.

  “Help,” he said.

  “Who?”

  “Me.”

  She blinked. Then, suspiciously, “Help you what?”

  “Set some traps.”

  It worked. She looked interested despite herself. “Traps?”

  He nodded. “Surveillance cameras. Alarms. Trip wires. Snares.”

  With each word her eyes widened more. “Me? You want me to help with that kind of stuff?”

  “Problem?”

  “No! Beats sorting weeds, that’s for sure.”

  The smile broke through completely then. And her enthusiasm grew when she realized he’d seriously meant for her to help, not just hold things for him. He used her to test the field of view for the cameras around the perimeter of the site. When she asked why no wires, he explained about the transmitters Ian had developed, and that all the images would be recorded back in the trailer.

  “Taped?”

  He shook his head. “Digital. New system.” He gave her a sideways look. “Developed by the same guy who did your mother’s foot.”

  The girl frowned. She was still angry with her mother, it seemed. He was very glad he didn’t have to deal with that teenage moodiness. It was tough enough handling the little contact he was having.

  Once the cameras were in place and turned on, he started out on the more primitive stuff.

  “A trip wire? You mean like people trip over?”

  “Yes. And they pull one end out of a box with an alarm.”

  “And that sets it off?”

  He nodded. “And in this case, does a little extra.”

  “Extra?”

  “Heard of a dye pack? In a bank robbery?”

  “You mean the thing they put with the money that sprays the robber?”

  “Exactly.”

  She looked at the little box they were setting up. “You mean these have those?”

  “They do.”

  The smile became a grin. “Cool! What color?”

  He blinked. Looked down at the alarm box.

  “How are we gonna know what color to look for?” Marly asked with a touch of impatience.

  “Good point,” he muttered, and picked up the packet to read it. “Purple.”

  “Hey, my favorite color!”

  “Congratulations. You can pass the word.”

  “Really? You mean to the crew?”

  He nodded.

  “Cool,” she said again. He wondered what two “cools” in less than a minute were worth in teenage coin. “So what do I tell them? Watch for any purple people?”

  He couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from twitching. “Pretty much.”

  “And report to you if they see any?”

  He nodded. “No matter what their explanation is.”

  “Okay. What’s next?”

  “Lasers,” he said.

  She seemed to have given up trying not to grin. “Co—”

  Draven held up a hand to cut her off. “Cool,” he said.

  “Yeah,” she said, the grin getting even wider.

  She helped him sight the laser beam projectors and the receivers, something he could have done by himself but it would have taken twice as long.

  “So do they have those red beams like you see in the movies? And if you break the beam, it’s set off?”

  “No, and yes.”

  Her brow furrowed. “No red beams?” She sounded disappointed.

  “Not visible. Defeats the purpose.”

  “I guess it would,” she said, although she still sounded let down.

  When they were done with the lasers, she stood back and looked at where they’d put them.

  “A lot of people walk through here all the time. Aren’t they going to go off all the time?”

  “Only on at night, like the inner set of cameras. But, yes, I’ll be jumping at false alarms a lot.”

  “Then why do it?”

  “Only takes one real one.”

  “I guess,” she said, but she looked doubtful, as if running to false alarms wasn’t the idea she’d had of his job.

  When they were done there, she helped him carry the camera monitors into the trailer.

  “Why four?” she asked as they lined them up on a counter at the back of the trailer. “We put up sixteen cameras.”

  “Four zones,” he said. “Perimeter, beach, two in the actual construction area.”

  “The ones that will be off at night? ’Cause everybody’s always walking around?”

  He nodded.

  “Four cameras in each zone?” she asked.

  He nodded again as he started to hook up the first monitor.

  “Then…each screen is divided into four pictures? Or do they rotate?”

  He stopped and looked at her. “Divided. Know why?”

  She thought a moment. “So you can always see all the cameras?”

  “Exactly.”

  He gave her a nod of approval. This time her smile wasn’t one of amusement, it was one of pleasure.

  She watched closely as he connected the first and second monitors. When he started on the third, she turned the fourth so she could see the back. She seemed to be poking at the wires, and then he realized she was trying to wire it. He opened his mouth to stop her, but then stopped himself. She’d done fine on the other stuff, she was obviously bright, so he let her continue.

  She was still fiddling with it when he finished, but he said nothing. He saw her glancing at the others, as if to confirm she’d done hers the same way. Then she stepped back and looked at him, silently inviting him to look.

  He didn’t.

  “Let’s fire them up,” he said.

  She stared at him. “Aren’t you even going to look?”

  He met her gaze. “Do it right?”

  “I think so.”

  “All right, then.”

  The girl’s jaw literally dropped. He’d trained enough new agents over the years, and enough ranger candidates in the army, to recognize he’d found a key here.

  And when they turned on the monitors and they all worked, Draven gripped her shoulder for a moment and said, “Good job.”

  She smiled up at him. He felt how thin her young shoulder was under his hand. So fragile. And for the first time in his life, he thought he understood a little bit about parents who would do anything to protect their child.

  They had a morning of peace. No more incidents, the grading had actually started, and Draven had time to enjoy watching Grace in her element. He’d done all he could do for now, with the cameras and other gear now installed and working. He knew that, but he was still wound up. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew better than to deny the feeling. He’d learned early on that when his gut started screaming, it was usually about something his head hadn’t figured out yet.

  So, figure it out, he ordered himself.

  He walked down toward the water. Since they faced west here, he could see the sun on its downward arc, and the water was reflecting the golden light. It would get darker, more orange as it continued the plunge. He dropped down on the sand, drew up his knees and rested his crossed arms on them.

  He stared at the incoming surf. It wasn’t big here, the reef took care of that. But the rhythm was the same, the sound as soothing as everywhere on the water. But it wasn’t soothing him. It was doing
nothing to ease the edginess he was feeling.

  He heard faint sounds behind him and glanced over his shoulder. With an inward sigh he saw something approaching guaranteed to only increase his tension.

  Grace.

  She was wearing a pair of loose, almost flowing pants and a short, sleeveless sweater, both in a shade of blue that nearly matched the distant stretches of the sea. The outfit seemed to suit the location; she looked cool and tropical at the same time.

  She had an almost bemused expression on her face as she came to a halt beside him.

  “Do you mind?” she asked, gesturing toward the empty sand beside him.

  He did, but he couldn’t say so. Besides, he knew she wouldn’t voluntarily seek him out unless there was something she needed to say. So instead he nodded, and she sat beside him. Smoothly, he noticed. She went down on the knee of her intact leg first, then went the rest of the way. She’d obviously figured out ways to do most things smoothly.

  The breeze caught a gleaming strand of her dark hair, and she reached up to push it out of her eyes.

  “You cut it.” Yet another lapse, he thought. He didn’t usually voice such things, merely observed and filed away.

  “The prosthesis takes time in the morning. Something had to go.”

  He just looked at her while he processed that unexpected bit of information. He wondered if she realized what that simple act said about her. That she was practical, yes, but also that she was adaptable, flexible, willing and able to make the best of a difficult situation.

  He wondered if she’d realized how good that haircut would look before she’d seen it.

  “Suits you.”

  “I like it,” she said. “It’s easier, cooler and my hair’s healthier.”

  And it makes your nape the sexiest thing on the planet.

  He jerked his head back toward the water, as his thoughts careened out of control again. He didn’t want her to see the sudden rise of heat reflected in his eyes. He wasn’t sure he could hide it; it had been so long since he’d had to try.

  And another sign, he thought. He who had the poker face that was second only to St. John, had lost that as well. He wasn’t getting better. He was getting worse. True, he wasn’t really on the promised leave, but this wasn’t exactly a high-stress case.