by Laura Scott
They were a workman’s hands, Liam reflected, the knuckles swollen, scars bisecting his fingers and palms, evidence of a lifetime of working construction. Danny used to say that his father didn’t know the meaning of leisure time, that work and more work were all he’d ever known, all he’d ever wanted.
Shame washed over the older man’s face. “I didn’t mean—” He shook his head, the gesture one of defeat and sorrow rather than anger. “I don’t know what I mean anymore.”
“Harold?” A thin voice came from the other room. “Do we have company?”
The man disappeared from the front room.
Liam heard the murmur of voices from an adjoining room. One, Mrs. Howard’s, was faint and querulous, the other, her husband’s, patient and soothing. He tried to hear the words but couldn’t make out more than a few.
Mr. Howard returned shortly. “Excuse me, but I have to see to my wife.”
“Is she ill?” Paige asked.
“She has early-onset Alzheimer’s. Doctors say it might have been brought on by stress.” Howard aimed a hard look at Liam. “Like losing her only child when he might have been saved. After Danny died, she was never the same. I lost my son and my wife that day.” He covered his face with his hands, and his thin shoulders heaved with a gut-wrenching sob. “Nothing was ever right again.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Howard,” Liam said and stood. “I’m sorry for your loss.” Danny’s death had weighed heavily on Liam. It still did. His friend had been in the back of the bus, along with Brett, two of the cheerleaders, Rosemary and Torrie, and Liam’s own girlfriend, Marie. Though Liam had made repeated trips back to the bus, swimming through the murky river water, he’d been unable to reach them. And they’d refused to leave Rosemary behind to save themselves.
Whenever he was in the States in between deployments, he made a trip to the cemetery on the anniversary of the accident and laid flowers on the graves. He tried to time his visits when no one else was there. The last thing he’d wanted was to run into grieving family members.
“Which one?”
“Both.”
“Do me a favor and get out. Don’t come back. For both our sakes.” For a moment, his gaze softened and he resembled the easygoing, kind man Liam had known so many years ago. “Please.” The plea in his voice nearly ripped out Liam’s heart.
* * *
Paige remained silent as she and Liam returned to the car. “I’m sorry,” she said when they reached the vehicle.
“For what?”
“For what he said to you. He didn’t have any right to say what he did.”
“He has reason to hate me.” Liam unlocked the car but didn’t get in. He braced his hands against the car door and stared into space. “If I’d been faster, stronger, smarter, maybe I could have saved Danny, Marie, Brett, Rosemary and Torrie.”
“And maybe you wouldn’t have been able to save someone else. Mr. Howard’s wrong. And so are you if you keep blaming yourself.” She wet her lips, working to find the courage to say what she wanted to, needed to. “I lost my brother in the accident. I know what grief feels like, but I never blamed you.”
She didn’t open the car door immediately. Instead, she folded her arms across the roof of the car. “You have to know that you did everything you could. I could see it in your face at the funerals.”
On the other side of the car, Liam mirrored her.
She remembered the funerals. Five. Four friends and one very dear brother buried. Five lives taken. Five families destroyed.
“What did you see?”
“Pain. Unspeakable pain. I knew at the service for Brett that you wished it had been you. I wanted to tell you then that it wasn’t your fault, but my parents needed me at their side.”
“And they wouldn’t have taken it kindly if you’d tried to comfort the boy who had let their only son die. They made their feelings plain to me that day.”
“They were so filled with grief that they were incoherent.”
“What about you? You were grieving, too.”
“I was. But it wasn’t the same as what my parents were going through. You have to understand. Brett was their golden child. The star athlete who went to state and was going to have a brilliant career as a pro football player after he graduated from college. After...after the accident, Mom put away all of Brett’s trophies. She said she was decluttering, but I knew she couldn’t bear to look at them anymore. Dad just stopped talking. Not to Mom. Not to me. Not to anybody.”
“They must have been proud of you, too. You weren’t exactly chopped liver.”
Her lips pulled into a self-deprecating line. “My parents loved me, but they never knew what to do with me. I was too different. They didn’t know what to make of a child who started high school at twelve and college at fifteen. If I had been athletic or popular like Brett was, it would have been better.”
“For who?”
“For them. They looked at me and saw this geeky girl who didn’t fit anywhere.”
“What about now? Do you see them often?”
“They each remarried, have new families. I have two half-brothers. My parents and I see each other once every couple of years or so. It’s not perfect, but it works.” She gave him a probing gaze. “Enough about me. You think those deaths were your fault. They’re not. They never were.”
“Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. You’re right—it wasn’t my fault, but sometimes it feels like it.” Another sigh that was more a huff of grief. “Like now.”
Paige made to speak, but he cut her off with a hard thrust of his hand. “Don’t. Just...don’t. When I was in the Stand, our unit took fire from enemy insurgents. We were outnumbered by a factor of two. Yet I sent three men, three good men, on a reconnaissance mission to scout out an alternative route. Two were killed. One returned with the information I needed. I sent those men to their deaths. Our unit escaped. Barely.
“Afterward, I was presented with a medal. I told my CO that I didn’t deserve it. I’ll never forget what he said. ‘Son, you’re not getting a medal for what you did but for having to live with it.’ I didn’t understand what he meant then, but, later, I did. It’s the same with the kids in the bus. I had to live with it. All of it.”
She leveled a steady look at him, telling him that she disagreed with his self-blame but that she wouldn’t argue with him anymore.
He turned the conversation back to business. “I think we can cross Mr. and Mrs. Howard off our list.”
Paige slid in behind the steering wheel.
Before she had even buckled her seat belt, she heard a distinctive click.
“Don’t move,” he warned.
Paige stilled. Didn’t dare breathe. Sweat slicked her forehead, gathered above her upper lip and dampened her underarms. But she was cold. So cold.
That was what intense fear did to you. It had you sweating bullets while, at the same time, turning you extremely cold.
Goose bumps prickled her arms, causing her to shiver.
Do. Not. Move.
The silent order stiffened her backbone. She wasn’t a simpering miss. She didn’t scream at the sight of a cockroach the size of a drone. She didn’t scream if she came across a snake. She refused to scream just because there was a bomb placed under her seat.
“Did you hear it?” he asked.
She gave a tiny nod, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. How long could she hold her breath?
Not long enough.
“I hope I’m wrong,” Liam said, “but it sounded like the click a pressure plate gives off when it’s activated.”
She’d learned about pressure plates while working for the ATF. Some of the crime families used them to take out rivals or even agents, but she’d never come up close and personal with one.
“I think you’re sitting on a pressure plate.”
She worked
to keep the panic out of her voice. Breathe. Release. Breathe. Release.
“They’re a favorite of terrorists in the Middle East. Don’t move,” he said again.
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Good. I’m going to bend down, check out what we’re dealing with. If it’s what I’m thinking, we’re going to have to do some strategizing.”
“Like calling in the police?”
“We’ll do that. But we don’t have time for them to get here.”
“This just keeps getting better and better.” The panic was coming back.
“That it does, but I’ve got some experience in defusing these bad boys.”
“Good to know.”
He looked up, gave her the same grin he had on the cliff. “We’ll get through this.”
“Is this another one of your famous promises?”
He didn’t answer, instead looked at her right arm trussed up in a sling. “This is going to be a little tricky.”
She’d already figured that out. She also knew that she couldn’t allow him to risk his life for her. He had a son who needed him. “You ought to get out of here. Wait for the police, the bomb squad. No sense in both of us—” She didn’t finish. She didn’t have to.
The grim line of Liam’s lips told her what he thought of her suggestion.
“You think I’d leave you?” Outrage rimmed every syllable.
No. She didn’t. Afraid to say anything more, she shook her head. At the same time, she bit down on her lip. Hard. The pain gave her something to focus on rather than the fear that crawled up her spine to settle at the base of her neck.
Buck up, girl. You’ve faced down terrorists, gunrunners and smugglers. What’s one bomb?
He rounded the car to her side. “On the count of three, be ready.”
“For what?”
“This.” With that, he grabbed her good arm and yanked her from the seat before she knew what was happening.
FOUR
Liam pulled Paige from the car and half dragged, half carried her away from it just as it exploded. He sheltered her from the pieces of metal and debris raining down upon them by hunching over her. Shards of glass pierced his neck and hands, but he scarcely noticed.
Protecting Paige was instinctive. He didn’t think about it. He just did it.
The acrid stench of smoke, gasoline and burning metal singed the air, stinging his eyes and nostrils. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision.
Sirens sounded in the distance. Someone had already called 911.
When the aftershocks of the explosion came to an end, he rolled off her and hunkered at her side. He brushed soot from her face. “Are you okay?”
She looked dazed but nodded. “What about you?” She didn’t give him time to answer as she brushed glass from his hair and aimed a reproving look his way. “You cheated—you didn’t count to three.”
He knew she was trying to lighten the atmosphere and appreciated the effort. What a woman. They’d nearly been killed—again—and she was doing her best to reassure him that she was all right by making light of the fact that someone had tried to blow them up.
“That’s what you have to say after we were almost turned into mincemeat?” He held out a hand to help her up.
“That and thank you.” Her voice shook, then steadied. “That’s twice that you’ve saved my life. I owe you.” She accepted his hand and stood, lips pulled in a rueful line. “I’m supposed to be protecting you.”
“The next one’s on you.”
“The next one? I’m hoping there won’t be any more. I still say you cheated.” The teasing note in her voice defused much of the remaining tension that roiled through him.
Liam played along. “My humblest apologies.” Thinking of what might have happened, he sobered. “I didn’t want you tensing up when I pulled you from the car.”
“I got that. You could have taken off and saved yourself.”
He rolled his lips inward. “Not my style.”
“I know.”
He saw the effort it was costing Paige to hold herself together, but she didn’t give in to tears. He’d witnessed battle-hardened soldiers break down in tears after a near miss in the field and didn’t hold it against them. Just as he wouldn’t have held it against Paige if she’d given way to tears, but she held steady.
He was learning that that was who she was.
The warmth in her gaze as it rested on him had Liam feeling like a schoolboy after stealing his first kiss. It was gratitude Paige was experiencing, nothing else. He’d do well to remember that.
As she started to comb her fingers through her hair, he caught her hand and stilled it. A piece of glass was lodged against her temple. With exquisite care, he removed it before she cut herself.
Her eyes met his. “Thank you. Again.”
An ambulance arrived. He and Paige were examined, their cuts and scrapes treated. Both refused to go to the hospital for a more thorough examination.
By that time, curious onlookers had gathered behind the crime scene tape. It had always annoyed and even angered Liam that people considered an accident or a crime a source of entertainment, delighting in the misfortunes and tragedies of others.
Mr. Howard stood on his front porch, studying the scene. He shook his head and went back inside his house.
Liam didn’t expect anything more.
The next twenty minutes were spent being quizzed by the police. Uniforms did the initial questioning before a detective showed up.
A fireplug of a man, he stuck out a beefy hand. “Reineke.”
After shaking it, Liam introduced himself and Paige and submitted to yet more questions.
No, they didn’t know who had set the explosion.
No, they hadn’t seen anyone suspicious.
No, they hadn’t noticed anyone following them.
The interrogation continued until Liam had had enough. “Maybe if the police had paid attention when I told you about the so-called accidents, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“You should have come to us sooner.”
“I did.” Liam put some bite in his voice. “I went to the Atlanta police, and no one believed me.”
The detective’s expression edged toward apologetic. “That’s on all of us who wear blue, but the Willow Springs PD will take a long look at things.” His voice hardened. “We want you and Ms. Walker to come in and tell us what you know.”
“We’ll be there.”
“Now.” Any sign of contrition vanished as the detective folded his arms across a bulldog chest.
“First,” Liam said, “we need to see about getting some new wheels.”
“Make it today.” Reineke huffed out an impatient breath before stalking off.
“A real people pleaser,” Paige said.
“Yeah. He’s a charmer, all right.”
A rueful smile pulled at Paige’s mouth. “S&J isn’t going to be thrilled with me for totaling a car.”
Liam grimaced at the thought of reporting his own totaled vehicle. “I’m sure not making myself popular with my insurance agency, either.”
They arranged for another car at a rental place to be delivered there. Forty-five minutes later, they took delivery of the vehicle.
“Good choice with the full insurance package,” Paige said, tongue in cheek.
Liam gave a mock growl. “Seemed like a good idea at the time,” he said and drove to the police station.
The station house smelled of sweat, anxiety and bad coffee.
There, they asked for Detective Reineke and were ushered to his office.
The detective stood and pointed to two hard-backed metal chairs that were obviously not designed for long-winded visitors. “Tell me everything. From the beginning. Don’t leave anything out.”
His brusque manner and clippe
d voice were hardly inviting, but Liam complied and laid out what he knew, starting with the school bus accident fifteen years ago, then the first alleged accident that had taken place six weeks earlier. “His name was Bryce Mendenhall. He died in a fall from an apartment balcony. I didn’t think much about it except for regretting that I hadn’t stayed in touch better with someone who used to be a friend.”
“He was a player on the football team you mentioned, is that right?” Reineke asked.
“Right. Then the second accident happened, a diving accident. This time it was Angie Raul. She was a cheerleader. And then a third, Roger Newsom, who died in a house fire caused by an electrical short. By that time, I knew something was off and started paying attention. That’s when I went to the Atlanta police. Two days ago, my son and I were nearly run off the road. I took him to my parents’ in Savannah, then came back and contacted S&J Security/Protection.”
“Which is when you entered the picture,” the detective said with a brief nod in Paige’s direction. “I’m familiar with your firm. It’s got a good rep.”
“Thanks.” Her nod was equally crisp. “We’ve been interviewing families of the kids who died in the accident. So far we haven’t turned up anything, but there’s no doubt that someone is trying to stop us. Full disclosure—my brother was one of the kids who died in the accident.”
Reineke chewed on his lip as he digested that. “Do you have a list of families of the survivors?” the detective asked. “We’ll want to run our own investigation, but it may be that the bus accident had nothing to do with what’s going on now.”
Liam ground his teeth, letting his glare do the talking for him. When he finally trusted himself to speak, it was with undisguised disgust. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“There could be other reasons someone wants you dead. And we’ve yet to prove that those accidents that claimed the lives of your classmates were murder.” Impatience nipped at the detective’s voice. “We’ve got to check every angle.”
“And what happens while you’re checking those angles? Three people have died so far. And three attempts have been made on my life. Three for three. I’d say that covers all the important angles. Don’t you see?” Urgency roughened his voice. “Someone is killing everyone who survived that accident. Three people have died. How many more deaths do you have to have before you see the truth?”