Rush (18 page)

She was damn lucky. They both were. Others hadn’t been so fortunate. A cameraman had been burned badly. Another’s leg had been crushed. He was still in surgery. Crosby had a broken arm and a severe concussion. Cal had escaped with nothing more than cuts and bruises. His honey hadn’t faired so well with cracked ribs and a broken collarbone. Almost no one had escaped unscathed. Considering the size of the blast and the timing it was a miracle there wasn’t more than the one fatality.

He kissed the back of Mi’s hand, marveling at the gift of that simple gesture. Her eyelashes fluttered open. Her gaze searched, then settled on him. His heart felt ten times too big for his chest.

He squeezed her hand to hide the shaking. “Hey.”

“Hey.” She croaked. “Water?”

He scrambled for the cup the nurse had left. Pressing the straw to her lips, he sent out another silent message of gratitude. She took a few sips, then settled back on the pillow.

“You don’t have any broken bones.” He tried for cheerful. “Only a slight concussion. They want to keep you overnight for observation.”

“I know. I was there when they poked and prodded.”

“Right.”

“Are you okay?”

“Me?”

Her expression softened at his astonishment. “Yes, you.” She eyed the bandage on his forehead. “Is that all?”

He put a self-conscious hand over it. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

A frown formed between her brows and she looked as though she was trying to riddle something out. “I’m not sure of what is real. I remember being thrown back, hitting. The heat. Then you were there. Did you take me outside?” He nodded to confirm her memory. She put her free hand up to her ear. “My ears are ringing.”

“Mine too. It will get better.”

“Okay.” She tried to bite her lip and winced, blinking at the pain. She took a breath. “I think I faded out some. I heard one of the nurses say something about a bomb?”

“Yeah. They think one of the ah, vibrator things had been rigged.”

“But why? Why would someone do that to us?”

“People do some fucked up things.” He placed her hand between both of his more for his comfort than hers. “For some very fucked up reasons.”

“You’re quite the philosopher.”

“I’m glad you can joke.” He grinned at her, feeling for the first time since the explosion that things might turn out all right. “I predict a full recovery.”

She gave him a small smile, but the frown still lingered between her brows. “I need you to tell me. I need to know. I saw…” Her eyes filled with tears. “Davy.” Her voice broke on a sob. “Is he… did he…” She clamped a hand over her mouth as though keeping the words in kept them from being true.

He rubbed her hand between his, wanting more than anything to not say the words he knew would grieve her. “He didn’t make it.”

Tears spilled, flowing down her cheeks and around her fingers. Behind her hand she asked, “Who… who else?”

“Just him.”

She closed her eyes, her hand forming a fist that she bit. “Crosby?” she managed to squeak out.

“A concussion and broken arm. He’ll be okay.”

“Tracey?”

“I haven’t seen her. She might have been taken to another hospital.”

She averted her face, pulled her hand from his, and turned away, curling into a ball. “Oh, God, Davy.” Her slight frame shook with silent sobs.

He rose from his chair and stood over her, not knowing what to do. Uselessness and despair ate at him until he thought it would consume him. A fine sheen of cold sweat broke out across his forehead. He put a tentative hand out, then pulled it back. He racked his brain for the right words, but none came. Acting on instinct and desperation, he climbed into bed with her. She turned into him. Wrapping his body around her, he brought her in tight.

“I’m sorry,
querida
,” he whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He’d failed her. He was supposed to protect her. Instead he’d left her exposed, wrongly thinking she’d be safe inside the studio. The cops hadn’t said it, but the implication was that the bomb had been meant for Mi. Something about a phone call claiming responsibility and the fact that the product the bomb was in had moments before been on the table in front of Mi. Davy had saved her by switching it at the last moment. He’d lost his life in place of Mi’s.

The thought of losing her sunk a hole so deep in him he could hardly breathe. The feel of her safe in his arms, trembling with shock and grief, was a gift he didn’t deserve. She gripped the front of his torn and stained shirt, tugging handfuls of his chest hair. He focused on that small pain as a way back to now, back to what he needed to do.

Mi thought she’d dissolve under the weight of her despair.
Davy
. She fisted her hands in Lucas’s shirt, trying to find her balance. Davy’s face with his shy smile and gentle hazel eyes superimposed over the last image she had of him, lying limp and lifeless just feet away from her. Squeezing her eyes tight, she tried to blot out the memory. She sniffed and swiped at the tears, forcing them back. She never cried, hadn’t cried once in the past thirteen years.

Smoothing the wrinkles in Lucas’s shirt, she fought for her bearings, fought to make some kind of sense of what had happened. She let out a breath, so thankful for this big man who had come to mean more to her than he should. After the explosion, she’d tried to get to him. He was the first thing she’d thought of. And then suddenly he’d been there, filling her vision. She closed her eyes at the memory that burned so sweet amongst the horror.

She’d turned so easily into him, into the comfort he offered. She sought him out from the moment she opened her eyes in the morning until she closed them at night. She’d come to depend on him. And that scared her down to the deepest, quietest place inside her. She wanted him, could feel herself leaning hard on needing him. He deserved better than she had to offer. Which wasn’t much more than her body and the beginnings of feelings she couldn’t follow through on.

“I’m sorry about your friend.” He placed a hand on her cheek and swiped a tear with his thumb. He followed it with a kiss to her forehead.

“I just can’t believe… he was so young. He would’ve turned twenty-one next week. Oh, God. His parents. Has anyone called them?”

“I’m sure the cops will take care of that.”

She nodded.

He pulled away. “You should rest,
querida
.” He climbed out of bed and moved to the window. Hooking a finger in the curtain, he looked out. “The media is camped out in front of the hospital. The explosion will make the news.”

“I’m sure Cookie Dixon and the other members of C.A.L.M. will be thrilled. They’ll probably get that law like the one in Alabama passed here in Texas now, banning the sale of adult toys. We’ll all be out of jobs.” Memories of flames and smoke coming out of the studio filled her mind. “If we’re not already.”

“They’re claiming responsibility for the explosion.”

“God,” she said on an exhale.

“The bomb had to have been put in place by someone on the inside.”

She whipped her head to look at him, shocked. The pain nearly split her skull. She breathed past the pain. This was all so unbelievable. “One of us did this? Killed Davy?”

He nodded, still looking out the window.

“Who?”

“I wish I knew.”

“Do the police?”

“I don’t know. What little information I have I got from the detective who came to interview me earlier while you slept.”

She lay back in the bed, overwhelmed by this new information. Someone she worked with, saw everyday had tried to kill them. They’d been like a family. Which one of the faces she had thought of as a friend’s had harbored a hatred so black they’d kill?

Detective Rolls pushed into the room. He looked like he’d pulled his outfit from the bottom of the hamper and then slept in it. Grimness floated in a cloud around him. The door whooshed closed behind him, bringing the stale scent of dinner trays from the hall into the room. He fixed his bunched up eyes on Mi and sighed. “You look pretty good, considerin’.” He motioned toward the chair by the bed. “May I?”

She inclined her head. “Do you know who did this?”

“I wish. ATF recognized the bomb signature, but the guy’s been dead more ‘an ten years,” Rolls said.

Lucas turned away from the window. “Apprentice?”

Rolls jerked in surprise, clamping a hand to his chest. “Jesus H. Christmas. How in the hell d’you do that? I didn’t see ya at all. That some special forces shit?”

Lucas scowled in response.

“Apprentice?” Mi asked.

“Most bombers work alone, but if he was with a militant group, he might have had an apprentice, someone to pass his trade on to,” Lucas answered.

“That’s an angle ATF’s trackin’.” Rolls took out a notebook and pen. “I haveta ask ya some questions ‘bout the bombing.”

Mi leaned back against the pillows and pulled the sheet up higher on her chest.

“Are you cold?” Lucas asked her, starting toward the bed.

“No. I’m fine. Thank you. Go ahead with your questions detective.”

Rolls shifted in his seat as though he was settling in for good long while. “Start me off by tellin’ me whatya did when ya got to the TV studio.”

“From the time we walked in the door?”

“Uh-huh.”

Mi smothered a sigh and told the detective everything she could remember. Lucas stayed by the window, alternately looking out and keeping an eye on her. He frowned when Mi described the blast.

“Can ya think of anyone who’d do this or help someone do this?” Rolls asked.

“No.” She rubbed her forehead, straining to come up with a clue or something that might help. “I can’t believe someone I worked with would do such a thing.”

“That’s enough,” Lucas said, coming away from the window. “She needs to rest. We’ll call if we think of anything else.”

“Just one more thing,” Mi said. “Can you tell me which hospital they took Tracey Casey to? She’s the makeup artist for the show. And my friend.”

Rolls consulted his notebook. “Casey, you say?”

Mi nodded.

“Don’t see the name here. She at the studio when the bomb went off?”

Mi twisted the bed sheet. “Yes.”

“She ain’t listed as injured.” He flipped through the pages some more. “That’s odd. She ain’t listed as a witness either. You’re sure about her bein’ there?”

Lucas stepped over. “She was there.”

“I’ll look into it.” Rolls slapped his notebook closed and rested his arms over his belly. “Just so’s ya know, we haven’t had any luck trackin’ down Gann. No credit cards. He hasn’t contacted known associates. Nothin’. Just thought ya should know.” He stood and awkwardly patted her arm. “Feel better.”

Mi stopped him before he left. “Detective?” Rolls turned with his hand on the door handle. “Davy Johnson. Have you notified his family?”

Rolls hangdog face drooped even more. “A few hours ago.”

“Could you let me know about his service? I’d like to go.”

“Yes, ma’am. I will.”

“When you find out about Tracey, you’ll let me know that, too?”

Rolls nodded. “Ya’ll take care.” With that he left.

Lucas took up the chair Rolls had vacated. He propped his elbows on his knees, steepled his fingers, and gave Mi a thoughtful look. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

She rolled her head on the pillow, unable to do much more. “What?”

“Going to the funeral.”

“Why not?”

“It’s going to be next to impossible for me to protect you in a crowd. And with all the publicity, there’s sure to be a crowd. You’re not going.”

Sitting up, she braced herself with her elbows. “Yes. I am.”

“No. You’re not.”

“I’m going.”

“Mi.
Querida
, please. You can’t go.”

“Davy was my friend.” She couldn’t stop the tears that flooded her eyes. Thirteen years was a long time to hold them in. She worried she wouldn’t ever be able to dam them up again. “I have to go.”

He stood and helped her lay back down. “Rest now,
querida
. You’re tired. We’ll talk more later.”

Settling under the covers, she capitulated only because she
was
tired. He flipped off the overhead light, kissed her lightly on the lips, then resettled into the chair. Sliding down, he piled his feet on the end of the bed. His head rested on the back of the chair. He regarded her with a closed expression as if he was trying to guard his thoughts from her. Whatever he was thinking, she had a feeling things were going to change. He’d made some kind of decision or come to a conclusion without consulting her. She wanted to ask him, maybe talk him out of it, because she was pretty sure it was going to piss her off.

*****

The following day, Mi was released from the hospital. If she thought she’d had it bad before, she knew different now. Things could always get worse. She’d been sent home in hospital scrubs because the paramedics had cut her clothes. Her purse with her wallet and cell phone hadn’t been recovered from the rubble yet. She had no job, no income, which hardly mattered when she had no ATM or credit cards. She couldn’t go home. Her family had no way to reach her, which worried her to the point of near panic.

But for all of that she was thankful. She’d suffer all of those things and more to have Davy back.

Lucas drove like a man with a mission. He’d been circumspect at best, an impenetrable fortress at worst. Whatever he was plotting made him ornerier than a bee-stung bear. Or it could have been spending the night slouched in a chair that was two sizes too small. Mi would’ve bet on both.

“Did you get a hold of Cal?” she asked for the fifth time, expecting the same answer she’d gotten the other four times. She really needed to talk to Cal.

“He’s meeting us at our apartment.”

“
Our
apartment?”

“What else would you call it?”

“What it is.
Your
apartment.”

He didn’t answer for a while, glaring out at the road in front of them. “I had some of your things brought over from your house. Clothes… and stuff.”

She sat for a moment and just stared at him. So this was what had been rolling around in that hard head of his. “What stuff?”