Chapter Nine

Jacie was scared to death and that made her furious!

She stayed away from everyone so her temper wouldn’t do any damage. Sifting through the smoldering rubble, she examined what was left of Brett’s house. She crouched down and studied the blast pattern and the fine ash where the blaze had been hottest. She knew about security, and what happened when security failed. An explosion could be read as easily as the written word.

After a brief search, she worked her way to the obvious spot and lifted something out of the scarred remnants of Brett’s home that made her lurch up from her crouched position. Only slow steady breaths kept her stomach from rebelling. She turned to watch Brett load the last pet carrier in a pickup. He talked to a shrimp of a woman with a no-nonsense brown ponytail, who touched him constantly, patting his arm and occasionally leaning against him.

The woman’s quiet concern and affection for Brett showed in every move. Dr. Duarte, Jacie remembered, the veterinarian who covered for him when he needed help.

Everyone scurried around rolling up hoses, and drinking cold water that Brett had so thoughtfully produced from his clinic. Ten firemen, all volunteers, the two policemen, and assorted ambulance chasers, worked and talked together.

Muffy was back wearing an EMT uniform. Or was it Buffy? No, that was the buffalo. She was named after some animal. Badger, Warthog, Muskrat – emphasis on ‘rat’ - Jacie was almost sorry when she remembered it was Kitty.

Kitty hung all over Brett. She was a little touchy-feely with the firemen too, but it was different with Brett. At least it seemed different to Jacie. Her stomach twisted as Kitty fussed.
As the night wore on, it turned into a neighborhood party, everyone worrying over that nice Dr. Garrison. A paramedic had bandaged a few cuts on Brett’s back and put a butterfly bandage on the wound on his head. In fairness, Jacie had to admit the paramedic had checked her, too, but since she was unscratched because of Brett’s protection, and grouchy as all get out, she’d been left alone. One tiny bright side was that all the aches of yesterday were gone, or maybe just forgotten in the chaos.

Kitty draped a shirt over Brett’s bare, broad shoulders and patted his chest a few times too many. Everyone offered him help and sympathy and wondered ‘who in the world would be so horrible that they’d try to shoot Brett? What was the world coming to?’

Jacie had been blown out of a three story window yesterday, or was it two days ago? She had the normal number of friends a person had when they traveled all the time -- none. The cops knew she was independent so they let her check in when it suited her. She was so detached from her family that they wouldn’t notice she wasn’t home until her Christmas card didn’t show up. No one had cared.

Loneliness. She’d never minded it before – oh, who was she kidding? She’d hoped for it, fought for it, alienated hundreds of people for it. But right now it hurt so bad the pain was physical. She’d lived a life that brought her to this point. She was reaping what she had sown.

Eyes, stinging from the smoke, welled up and overflowed. It had to be the smoke, she never cried. “I know you’re there, Lord. But why has it always been only you? Why hasn’t there ever been anyone else I could love?”

He didn’t answer but Jacie was pretty sure what God thought. Loneliness was her own fault.

She looked back at the little mass of wires and plastic in her hand. In all the hubbub, no one seemed to notice her, and no one knew she was a security expert. Usually her job ran to installing burglar alarms and hiring bodyguards, but she knew bombs. This mass of melted wires made her sick.

Making her way across the grass, soaked by the fire engines, she slipped into the clinic and called Long Pine PD.

The crowd thinned until only the two Jaspers remained. Jacie approached Brett for the first time in hours. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to be here alone.”

Brett turned to her with that warm, generous look in his eyes, the look that said he’d protect her with his life.

Get away from me and stay away. That’s what she should say. But he was at risk now, too, because of her. She couldn’t make her jaw move.

“Okay, let’s go. There’s nothing left to do here.” Brett stared at what was left of his home. “Jasper works at the garage in Oaken, besides moonlighting as town cop. He took the tire in. It was beyond patching. He said it was the worst blow out he’d ever seen. But he had a replacement. We shouldn’t have any trouble driving into Long Pine.”

Brett took her arm. He’d done it before, but she’d paid scant attention. It was a courtly, Old World gesture. She was starting to expect it. Depend on it. She couldn’t stop herself from sliding her own hand over his where it rested in the crook of her elbow.

The two Jaspers let them leave Brett’s yard. Jacie still couldn’t say what she had to say. Instead she asked, “Are you really a Christian, Brett? Is your faith important to you?”

She saw Brett smile in the glowing light from the instrument panel. “Yeah, it’s important to me. As a matter of fact, this morning was the first time I’ve missed church in a long time.”

“What do you think all this means then?” Jacie had no hope that he’d know.

“You mean why would God let us be in danger?”

Jacie nodded.

Brett fell silent. At last he said, “How about we think of it another way. How about, God let you fly far enough to land in a swimming pool. God led me to the side of that pool at that exact second. I’d just checked out of the hotel. I was headed for the parking lot, but I stepped out the wrong door. God used a cat to direct us away from the explosion and made those bullets miss.”

“Okay.” After a long time she added, “Couldn’t He have let me land a little softer though? And made whatever nailed you in the head veer off?”

Brett laughed softly. “People are never satisfied.”

Jacie thought over what Brett had said as they drove down Brett’s long driveway. She’d brought this up to avoid what she needed to say, but she liked hearing Brett put his faith into words. The piece of half-melted electronics in her hand, finally goaded her into speaking. “I don’t think the man who blew up your home was after you.”

“What?” Brett looked away from the road for an instant. “You said he aimed for me. All head shots.”

“I know I said that and it did seem that way. But that’s before I found this.” She held up the detonator. “This is the same device that was used to kill Leon Bagwell in Long Pine, Saturday morning.”

“You mean it’s the same man?” Brett asked, astonished.

She knew what he’d say. She knew what he’d do. He was a Good Samaritan. He wouldn’t abandon her, even if it got him killed. Because of that, she shouldn’t even tell him. But she knew he was in this until the bitter end now. If whoever killed Bagwell was after her, it had to be because she was a witness of sorts. He couldn’t have believed Brett was a witness just because he pulled Jacie out of the pool. The bomber had probably trailed her to Brett’s house. If she had gone somewhere else, Brett would have been left alone. But now Brett was involved. She had to believe that in the twisted mind of their attacker, Brett knew too much. Those bullets were aimed at Brett.

“I think it’s the same man. I think the bomb was meant for me.”

Brett slowed until Jacie thought he was going to stop. She saw the dark woods all around them. “Keep driving.”

He glanced away from the road into the tangled undergrowth and sped up. “You think he’s out there?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know. I just don’t feel safe.”

Brett watched the road, but Jacie could feel laser beams of mental energy focused on her.

“If he’s after you, then he followed you...” Brett’s voice faded.

Jacie knew that Veterinary College was tough. Lots of science and math—lots of logic—lots of analysis. Brett got it almost the instant she told him.

“If he’s been following you since after the hotel explosion, why did he wait so long to strike? Why not right after you left the hotel or last night while we were both asleep?”

“Maybe it took him a while to track me here.”

“And why come after you at all? You said you don’t know anything. Is that the truth?” Brett kept his eyes on the road. And kept the car cruising at sixty miles an hour.

Jacie marveled at his self-control, she’d have had the sucker floored, going 95 until they were out of the woods. “I haven’t figured it out yet. What I do know is this...” she hefted the detonator. “I found it at the scene.”

“The scene?” He sounded angry. “That wasn’t a ‘scene’, Jacie. That was my home.”

It was the mildest anger of anyone she’d ever met. There must have been some smoke in the car, because Jacie’s eyes started burning again. “I don’t mean to diminish what you lost, Brett.”

“I’m sorry, Jace. I shouldn’t take my anger out on you. I lost my house, and I lost the joy that peaceful place gives me, and I’m so scared I can’t think straight. None of that is your fault. Please don’t be upset.”

He apologized more sincerely that anyone she’d ever met, too. She’d gotten his house blown to smithereens, and he was apologizing to her.

Usually, if she hurt someone’s feelings, and they called her on it, she dealt with her regret and embarrassment by insulting them some more.

She got a hold of herself, before she committed the ultimate act of idiocy and cried. “I’m not upset, Brett. I think all your comments are sensible. Maybe I jumped too far forward in my conclusion that he was after me. What I do know is; this detonator is unique. It’s the invention of someone who takes a great deal of pride in his work. Whoever his intended victim is, and whatever the bomber’s motives, it’s the man who killed Leon Bagwell.”

Brett pulled onto the highway, a repeat of their afternoon trip. This time Jacie didn’t know where they were headed because it was a cinch she couldn’t go home.

“You concluded that you were the intended victim because it doesn’t seem possible that the bomber could have a motive for coming after me.”

Jacie nodded, “He doesn’t really have a motive for coming after me either, but he might think I saw something in that room that could implicate him. And in a way I did because I saw his bomb in that room, which made it possible for me to recognize the same device in the rubble of your house. But you, down on the ground—there’s no reason behind that. To connect that hit to you, and decide you have to die is just...just...”

“Crazy?” Brett supplied.

They exchanged a glance. That inhuman shriek echoed in Jacie’s ears. She whispered, “Crazy.”

 

 

 

 

Brett left the isolation of his mountain behind, and started seeing Long Pine’s sprawling suburbs almost immediately. “You can’t go home.”

“I need to give this detonator to Lieutenant Girardi. He’s Long Pine PD’s liaison with the FBI on this case.”

“My brother’s a homicide detective for Long Pine PD.”

Jacie turned and met his eye. “Really, what’s his name?”

“Ben Garrison.”

Jacie got a look like she was sorting around in her brain. “I’m not really with the police department but I work with a detective…he gives my name out when there’s a need for security. I’ve heard of Ben Garrison. He just got a big promotion for busting some rich guy as a stalker.”

“That’s him. Ben was on TV and everything.”

“And he married some superstar author who writes bestselling pop psychology nonsense.”

Smiling, Brett said, “That’s right, Trudy Jennings. Garrison now.”

“Let me talk to Girardi before you contact your brother. There’s a national security angle to this, not to mention we don’t want to lead a killer to your family.”

Brett swerved the car. “You think that could happen?”

Jacie shrugged. “Only if we go back to that crazy part again.”

Brett thought of the way that man had screamed in frustration. “I’ll wait. I doubt news of my clinic fire will reach my family. No reason it should be on the news.”

Nodding, satisfied, Jacie said, “The military has a stake in this, too, because of the work the computer engineers were doing and the possibility there is a security leak involved in the hits. Even the White House has the National Security Advisor on alert.”

“If we can’t contact my brother, how about we hide?” Brett asked. “I have a strong, bomb-related impulse to lay low.”

“Well, for now we’ll stay under the radar. But Girardi is on it. He’s arranging protection.”

“Protection like Bagwell got?” That wasn’t inspiring a lot of confidence.

“Better than that.” Jacie didn’t sound that sure.

“It couldn’t be much worse.”

“I called Girardi. He’s meeting us at the airport.”

“The airport? You mean Long Pine Regional Airport? Are we flying somewhere?”

“No, another airport where some very special planes land.”

“And is this very special plane taking us somewhere very special?”

“No, actually someone's coming to us. They’re sending in an expert from D.C. They’re interested in this detonator. They retrieved one from the explosion that killed Bagwell, but it was badly mangled. They think they can identify the killer from the one I found at your house. If they can identify him, it might help them track down who is paying him. We’ll be able to clear this whole thing up.”

“Sounds simple.”

Jacie said, “Piece of cake.”

They exchanged a look. Neither of them believed it for a second.

 

 

 

He used shadows for concealment. He eased closer, silent as the tomb, slowly as the sunset, a detonator in one pocket, his plastic explosive in the other.

With amusement, he thought about what had led him to this job. Chita. He relished the chance to be her avenger.

A security guard passed within three feet of him. The guard moved on and The Destroyer inched forward to the next shadow. He caressed the detonator, enjoying the splendor of his creation. Ruffing. Tonight. Then the fifth one would have to wait.

He slithered over the high stone wall and dropped to the ground and for once he didn’t wait. He enjoyed his work. But tonight he was eager to get onto the next job.