Markie opened the passenger door and slid in. "I know. It did seem strange."
Amber cranked the engine. "Did you want to go somewhere else?"
"Just home."
After the short ride back to her place, and still in need of a drink, she invited her bestie inside. They each popped a beer.
Amber zoned in on her. "I guess I've always known Lori had a thing for Bryce, but good Lord she seemed really angry at you. Lucky for you eyes can't really shoot daggers."
In acknowledgment, she nodded and took another swig from her bottle.
"I can't imagine what she'd be like if he actually showed any interest in her. She'd probably turn into one of those femme fatale's." Amber stated.
They shared a chuckle, though a part of her didn't find it funny.
"So, you going to tell me who you got all dolled up for?"
Markie shook her head. "I just wanted to go out and have a nice time."
Her friend’s head tilted to the side. "Okay, you just keep your little secret for now, but you know I'll find out eventually."
Markie knew she'd better watch her step around Amber. Her best friend was intuitive. Probably already knew it was Bryce who sent her heart racing which was why she’d dashed over to the dart team’s table at the bar—force her to face Bryce if he showed. But with as many times as she had spouted off to her comrade that she thought he was a casanova, she was too embarrassed to tell her how much she'd grown to like the man.
Pressing her fingers to her lips, she recalled the kiss she and Bryce shared the night before. That sweet, lingering kiss that had been on her mind the entire day. The kiss that led her to call her friend to go out in hopes to find Bryce at the bar. The kiss that kept her awake the entire night fantasizing about what could follow a sensual kiss like that.
Her chest hollowed as she remembered Bryce's retraction. She couldn't believe he let her walk away last night after that mindboggling kiss. Hope filled the empty space in her heart as she recalled the desire that swirled in his gaze right before she turned away from him to leave. Yet, with all that yearning and want in his eyes, he still let her leave.
Next time, Bryce Hawk. Next time I'm not going to let you off the hook so easily.
Chapter Eight
Bryce climbed between the crisp sheets of his king-sized bed and stared into the darkness as he debated if he'd made the right choice by doing an about-face the second he saw Markie step through the back door of O'Malley's earlier. Odd, he'd come through the front door at the very same moment. Even though he'd declined Lori’s offer, something caused him to quit working on his house an hour earlier, clean up, and walk to O'Malley's.
When he closed his eyes Markie's angelic face, sprinkled with those sexy, reddish-brown freckles, appeared on the back of his eyelids. Her hair had looked different tonight. Made-up. Soft, shiny red curls framed her face. And her clothes. The short, hot-pink skirt was not the attire she normally wore. The sight of her pale, shapely legs, and pink painted toenails had sent his heart into overdrive. The woman had the face and body of an angel. More importantly, she had the soul of one.
His stubby limb twitched, reminding him he'd never get and keep hold of a woman like that.
Click.
Bryce popped open his eyes and sprang into a seated position. What was that?
Back door? No. Service door to the garage?
He swung his leg over the side of the bed and yanked his pistol from the drawer of the nightstand, then he reached for his prosthetic leg.
Before he could grip it, the house shook, hard, jostling everything from within reach while tossing him to the floor. His ears rang from the explosion. Pain ripped through his ghostly limb. Memories of dirt, rocks, and shrapnel pelting and penetrating his body shot through his mind.
Is this a memory or really happening?
The pain tearing through his flesh felt real—familiar.
When the scent of smoke snapped him back into realty, he found himself curled in the fetal position on his carpeted bedroom floor. Automatically, he reached for his leg. Gone. His heart leaped into his throat. Wait, of course it was. Fear froze him in place. What if he reached for the other and it wasn't there? The smoke filling his lungs caused him to choke. His eyes watered. His shaky hands reached for his other leg. Warmth of his own touch assured him it was still there and sent a message that he'd better pull it together and get to safety.
With the thickening smoke, he was unable to find his prosthetic leg but did manage to grasp the hand grip of one of his crutches that had been leaning against the wall collecting dust.
He made his way to the bedroom door and gripped the scorching doorknob. His fingers sprang open, palm burned. He wasn’t getting out that way. He hobbled toward the window. His toe caught under something unrecognizable. Hands flailing like a madman he fell to the floor. Luckily, his knee broke the face-forward fall.
Glass sliced into his hands as he crawled across the floor.
Sirens echoed in the distance, growing louder with each passing moment. He welcomed the deafening noise.
After a few more clumsy movements, he reached out and touched the windowsill. Gripping the warm wood, he pulled himself up and flung his body out the window, then he rolled away from the house.
"Are you okay?" someone asked.
He lay on his back in the cool grass, gasping for fresh air. His lungs burned, pain shot through his wet hands. Moisture? Probably blood.
"Bryce. Help is on the way. Can you hear me?"
"Robert?"
"Yes. Jesus, what happened?"
Bryce tried to focus on his neighbor. "I don't know," he whispered through his burning throat.
Robert helped him to a seated position. Flames shot out of his bedroom window. His house was a goner along with the rest of his stuff.
His coughing began to subside and his cloudy vision began to clear enough that he could see his sliced up bloody hands.
A firefighter and two paramedics ran toward him. One firefighter barked out orders and others scrambled around the trucks, opening doors, pulling hoses, and pushing buttons.
The paramedics helped him to the ambulance and took his vitals. His pulse and blood pressure were through the roof. They hoisted him onto a cot, lifted it into the ambulance, and hooked him to oxygen.
One of the EMTs inspected his hands. "Not too bad. You'll probably need a couple of stitches on your palm.
"Are you okay?"
He lifted his head and looked at Captain Tomie. The man wore a T-shirt and jeans. Not his usual attire. He must have grabbed the nearest clothes he could find and ran out of his house when he'd heard the 911 call.
"Yeah."
Tomie ran his gaze over him, lingering for a moment at his leg, or lack thereof. The man offered an understanding nod. Until now, he and Chief Mertz were the only two people in town who knew about his leg. The subject had come up shortly after he started at City Hall and for some reason he'd chosen to reveal it to the men. Maybe it was because they'd both served in the military as well and he knew they'd have a sense of understanding. A tinge of liberation washed over him when he disclosed it to them, especially since he knew they'd keep his secret.
"What happened?"
Bryce laid his heavy head back down. "I don’t know. I was in bed and the house just exploded."
His body quivered at the thought of his near death experience.
"Is anyone else inside?"
He heard the Captain ask him a question but he couldn't process his words. His brain was mush.
"Huh?"
"Is there anybody else in the house?"
Was anyone? Had that been the door he heard click right before the explosion?
The large lump of anxiety in his throat was nearly impossible to swallow down. Had someone come into his house and set off the explosion? "I...don’t know."
The concerned man leaned over him. "You don't know?"
"I was in bed, and I swear to God I heard the service door to the garage click.
I was getting up to check it out when the house exploded. So if someone came in, I don't know if they were on their way in or out, then the explosion occurred."
"Is he okay?"
Markie’s voice came through all the noise and chaos outside the ambulance. His heart warmed at the concern laced in her tone.
Needing to see her warm, emerald eyes, he pushed himself up on his elbows. One quick glimpse at where his leg used to be caused his pulse to race faster. Anxiety ripped through him. He couldn't let her see him like this.
He flung his gaze to Captain Tomie. "Don’t let her in here!"
Without hesitation, Tomie jumped out of the ambulance and shut the door.
Bryce breathed out a sigh of relief. It was as if the man immediately understood why he didn't want to see Markie. He pulled his gaze from the doors and shifted it to his legs—leg. How in the hell was he going to keep this from people—her—until he could get a new prosthetic leg.
"We're going to get you up to the ER," stated the EMT who'd been looking at his hands.
With a nod, he eased back down.
It had taken less than an hour for the ER doctor to stitch up his palm and put some ointment on the burns on his hands from the doorknob. The forced oxygen was a blessing to his lungs as much as the drops were to his itchy eyes. It seemed with every fresh breath he took, the soreness in his throat subsided along with the dryness. By the time Captain Tomie popped into his room, he felt pretty good except for coping with the fact his house was surely a total loss. The house he'd been working so hard on.
"Is there anyone you want to call before they see it on the news? You can use my phone, or I can make the call if you'd like?"
"No. I'll call my dad in the morning. No sense in ruining his sleep."
"Markie wants in here. She's pretty relentless and may shoot her way in if I don’t let her see you soon."
Bryce's chest tightened. He'd done so well at keeping his secret from her—everyone, until now.
The compassionate man leaned toward him. "Bryce, this isn't the end of the world."
His fatherly tone was both knowing and reassuring.
"Of course not, I can get another house."
"Nice try, but you know I'm not talking about the house."
Confirmation the man knew for sure how he felt about Markie and that he wanted to keep his secret from her. Bryce stared at the wall.
"Well, that aside, we need to figure out what happened tonight and why. Chief Bosley will call in the state fire marshal in the morning."
Again, he told him what little he knew, and at present, they had no answers to the most evident questions. Was the explosion intentional? If so, who tried to kill him? And, was it the same person who killed his property maintenance violators?
MARKIE PACED THE HOSPITAL hall, waiting for word from Captain Tomie about Bryce. Yes, she knew his injuries were minor, but she still needed to see him to make sure. She'd been seconds too late to the scene. In fact, she was about to climb into the back of the ambulance when the captain shot out, shut the door, and slapped his palm against the metal, indicating the ambulance should go.
As for Bryce's house, that was a total loss. All his hard work for nothing.
Her gut clenched. Deep down she knew this wasn't an accident. Someone set off that explosion. Who would do such a thing, want to...a quiver raked through her nearly knocking her off her feet...who would want to kill Bryce and why?
When she reached the end of the hall she spun around to walk back toward the ER. Only she and Captain were at the hospital. Chief Mertz and the on-duty police officers were at the scene with Fire Chief Bosley and his crew. Come hell or high water, she was going to figure out who did this and make sure justice would be served.
From down the hall, she caught the captain slipping through the ER doors. The grim look he wore earlier had been replaced with a slightly less worried expression. That had to be good, still, she picked up her pace.
"Is he okay?"
"Minor burns on his hands and arms, a few cuts, nothing a couple of stitches didn't take care of, and he's being treated for smoke inhalation. Luckily that wasn't too bad either."
"Can I see him?"
His gaze stayed on her. "Not tonight. He needs his rest. I'm going to come back later in the morning and talk with him some more. He's tired and groggy."
I'm. He said I'm. Did that mean she was not to join him even though she was the investigator assigned to the possible related murder cases?
"Well, shouldn't I..."
He held up his hand. "I'm going to talk to him in the morning for starters. Go home and get some rest."
"But..."
He moved his hand a bit closer to her.
Chain of command. Markie reminded herself. She loathed the hierarchy at this particular moment and craved for a way around it.
"Yes sir."
She turned and mentally huffed away.
On her way home, she drove past Bryce's house—what was left of it. Firefighters still scrambled around the wreckage. Neighbors lined the sidewalk filming the disaster with their phones. The poor guy's unfortunate incident was probably already plastered all over social media. Nothing was sacred anymore.
She pulled into her driveway, cut the engine, and let her sluggish feet carry her to the front door. She slipped into the house, made a beeline to her bedroom, and flopped down face-first onto the bed. Exhaustion consumed her.
Upon waking, she found herself in the exact position as where she collapsed earlier in the wee morning hours. When the sleep cleared out of her eyes, she narrowed in on the clock. Half past seven. Though she'd only gotten five hours of sleep, she rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom. A quick shower to wake her up was needed, then she'd scoot back up to the hospital to see Bryce, ignoring the captain's orders. Sort of, anyhow.
She arrived at the hospital within the hour to find he had been moved from the ER to a private room. His stepmother stood outside the doorway, leaning against the wall. Her thumbs tapped against her phone.
She'd met the young lady, not much older than Bryce, a few months back when she and Bryce's dad stopped in at City Hall. Since then, she'd seen her a couple of times, but never really talked with her.
Bridget glanced up and smiled warmly. "Markie, right?"
"Yes. How are you?"
The petite woman shrugged. "Better now than we first got here. William was a mess until he found out Bryce was fine. Just some cuts and bruises."
"I suppose he was worried."
"Yeah. I stepped out of the room so they could talk a bit. Bryce doesn't open up a lot, only to his dad. Though he's fine physically, he's still having a rough time of it." Bridget paused and turned toward her, "Do you really think someone did this on purpose? That's what Bryce thinks."
"I don’t know. When I leave here, I'm going to meet my captain so we can try to figure out what happened. Hopefully, we can quickly get someone up here from the State Fire Marshal's office to start investigating."
The door opened, drawing Markie's attention. Bryce's dad stepped through. His gaze fixed on her. "Good morning."
"Morning. Can I go in and see Bryce?"
The man stared at her for a couple of seconds before swinging his gaze to his wife. The young lady shrugged hesitantly.
Why on earth was everyone afraid to let her in by Bryce? First the captain last night, and now his dad and stepmom.
Her pulse quickened. Was he worse off than what they'd let on? Had he been disfigured by the fire?
"I...let me check with him," Bryce's dad said as he spun to reenter the room.
Looking over William's shoulder she could only see the foot of Bryce's bed and a set of crutches leaning against the wall before the door clicked shut.
Markie looked at Bridget, "Did Bryce hurt his foot or leg last night."
"No, not that I'm aware of."
"Oh, I saw some crutches in there."
Bryce’s step-mom's gaze landed on the floor.
"Bridget, wha
t's going on?"
The woman slowly lifted her head. "I can't say, it's not my story to tell. I would but he's so...I don't know, I guess dead set against talking about it."
Markie blew out an exaggerated breath. What was with all this secrecy? "Screw it. I'm going in," she said as she made a move for the door.
Bridget leaped in front of her. "Please don't. He's just not ready yet...my heart breaks for him."
The desperation in the woman’s gaze and tone froze Markie in place. The shared stare felt like it lasted an eternity.
"I just want to see him. Make sure he's okay. I know you said it but..." Markie swallowed down the lump in her throat. "I care about him."
"I know you do. I can see it in your eyes. And Bryce cares for you as well. My husband's told me. And that's what makes it even harder for him."
"I don't understand."
The door opened again and William stepped out. He looked ragged, unlike minutes ago when he greeted her with a little morning sunshine.
Her heart sank. "I take it he doesn't want to see me?" Markie asked.
"No. Though I don't know why. His secret will come out anyhow. There will be no hiding it when he returns to work tomorrow." The distraught man ran his hand through his thinning gray hair. "My son will hate me for this, but I think you should go in anyhow. However, I need to warn you about something first."
Secret? Her heart leaped into her throat. How bad is this? What is he hiding?
William shared an apprehensive look with his wife. Bridget nodded.
The older gentleman cleared his throat. "While Bryce was with the Marines in Afghanistan several years back, his truck ran over an improvised explosive device. He was injured pretty bad." The weathered man paused and blew out a breath. "He lost his left leg just below the knee and suffered some other injuries. His leg being the most obvious."
Markie just stared at him. Had she heard him correctly? Bryce had worked at City Hall for a couple of years already, how could she not know he'd suffered that kind of significant injury? This would explain that little limp she saw on occasion. Thinking back, she'd never seen him in shorts. He intentionally hid it. Why?
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