by Robin Caroll
She glanced out the window and noticed an orangish glow to the predawn sky. "Is that . . . ?" Oh, Lord, please watch over Cameron and Alana.
His gaze followed hers. "Yeah." He punched the gas harder. "Look, the housing parts of the retreat were barely damaged."
She gave a grunt. "That you can see." But as a contractor, she knew what the damage could be. Had seen way too many times people thinking they had minor damage, only to learn they had to do some heavy repairs. Heavy and pricey.
"Was anybody else hurt?"
"As far as we can tell, everyone else was like Alana—minor cuts and smoke inhalation."
"Except for Cameron."
"Yes." His jawline was firm as he concentrated on the road.
Thank You, Jesus, that no one else was badly injured. God, please put Your hand of healing over Cameron. If something happened to him, there was no telling how Alana would fall apart.
Layla had to be strong. For Alana. For Cameron. For everybody at Second Chances. She already sensed the suffocating pressure of responsibility cloaking her shoulders.
Maddox laid his hand over hers. "Layla, I know you've got to be scared and upset, that's only natural. If you need to talk, I'm here."
The gentleness of his tone almost made her cry again. But she couldn't afford to be weak and break down. Alana would be a mess. Layla had to be tough. Then again, she'd always had to. It was her lot in life. Nothing would change.
"Thanks, but I'm fine."
"Okay." He patted her hand, then gripped the steering wheel with both hands.
She watched him from the corner of her eye. What an enigma. Relentless and intimidating cop, yet sweet and sensitive when it came to his father—and with her this morning in the midst of a personal tragedy.
He slowed down as they ascended the I-210 bridge. His lips pinched closed. She could barely make out the sweat beads on his upper lip under the streetlights of the high bridge. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel.
What was making him so nervous? She glanced out the window, looking out across the west fork of the Calcasieu River. Nothing seemed amiss, save the bright orange behind them. The remains of what had once been a building very near and dear to her heart.
Layla denied the tears as Maddox topped the curve at the apex of the bridge. He kept his speed under the limit as they descended. When they reached level road, he gunned the engine and they sped off the exit.
Maybe she was just imagining things. Wouldn't be surprised—so much had hit her so quickly. God, what am I supposed to do?
Only the hum of Maddox's Mustang as he spun into the hospital parking lot answered her.
He kept his hand on the small of her back as they entered. They checked the packed emergency room waiting area but didn't find Alana. So many people she recognized from Second Chances. Some had bandages on them, some cried, and some paced. It was standing room only.
Maddox flashed his badge at the triage nurse. "Alana Taylor?"
The nurse checked the computer, then pointed down the hallway. "Exam room 2."
Maddox guided her down the corridor amid all the hustling of doctors and nurses. It was nice to have him there to handle issues. She was pretty certain she'd never have gotten this far without him and his badge.
He stopped outside the room with a big number 2 plastered on the outside. "Would you like me to wait here?"
She didn't know. Without answering, she pushed open the door to find Alana sitting on the examining bed, crying. Two large bandages were on her face—the biggest on her forehead and a smaller one on her right cheek.
She looked up as they entered, her tear-streaked face reminding Layla of when they were little and Alana would get hurt. "Oh, Layla." Alana held out her arms.
Layla crawled up on the bed beside Alana and gathered her younger sister in her arms. She rocked her, petting her hair and making shushing noises. "It's going to be okay."
"C-Cameron," Alana wailed. "They won't tell me anything."
Layla turned her head and made eye contact with Maddox. She silently pleaded with him to use his police magic again and get an update on Cameron. He nodded, then left the room.
"Shh. We'll find out. It'll be okay."
Alana clung to her, sobbing for all she was worth. It nearly ripped Layla's heart from her chest. She held her sister tighter, trying to provide as much comfort as she could.
Finally Alana's sobs lessened to sniffles. Layla released her and studied her sister's face. "How bad is yours?"
"Stitches where glass got me. Nothing serious. Not like Cameron." Her eyes filled with tears again.
Layla took Alana's hand and squeezed. "Whatever it is, we'll get through it."
"The house. It's gone." Tears streamed down Alana's cheeks.
Swallowing, Layla forced her own pain from her expression. "It was just a building. It can be replaced." She smoothed back Alana's bangs and pasted on a smile. "I happen to know a really good contractor who can build a new one."
Even though it wouldn't be the same. Not ever again.
TWENTY-TWO
"The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams."
—ELEANOR ROOSEVELT
ONCE AGAIN HE WAS cast into the character of the bearer of bad news. And he didn't like it one bit.
Maddox dragged his feet down the emergency room hall as he headed back to Layla and Alana, having gotten the report on Cameron Stone. It wasn't good. The young software designer might not live to see tomorrow. The doctors weren't hopeful.
He hesitated outside the exam room, sucking in air and strength. The stench of disinfectant wasn't as strong as before. Or maybe his senses were adjusting to the smell. He tapped on the door left ajar.
"Come in." Layla's voice sounded strong. Good, because what he'd tell them would crush Alana.
He inched into the room and shut the door behind him.
Hope flickered in Layla's eyes. He hated to let her down.
"Well?"
He moved to the edge of the bed, standing before the Taylor sisters. He felt like the Grim Reaper. "They were able to stabilize Cameron enough to take him up to ICU."
"Praise God," Alana whispered. "At least they were able to stabilize him. That's good news."
Praise God? The man probably wouldn't live throughout the day, and she praised the God who had allowed this to happen? She was in shock, had to be.
"It's not good, Alana. He's got severe burns over 30 percent of his body. His organs have sustained a lot of trauma." Good thing he'd memorized what the doctor had said.
She gasped and trembled.
Layla wrapped an arm around her sister and pulled her close. She squared her shoulders. "What else?"
He let out a quiet breath, wishing they'd go find the doctor and talk to him themselves. "They'll be able to tell you more once he's settled and evaluated in the ICU."
Alana jumped off the bed. "Let's go."
Layla grabbed her arm. "Whoa there. Have you been released?"
"I was never admitted. They just gave me oxygen and stitched me up." Alana jerked her arm free of Layla's grasp. "I need to be with Cameron. He needs me." Her eyes glistened as they filled with tears.
Slipping to her feet, Layla looked at Maddox. "We're going up to ICU. Could you please make sure the nurses know where Alana is in the event they need her?"
Normally he'd balk at being an errand boy, but this was an emergency.
And it was Layla.
He ignored that implication. "Sure."
She smiled and his heart stalled. "Thanks." She followed her sister from the examining room, heading toward the elevators.
Maddox relayed information to the busy nurses' station, then moved to follow the sisters. His cell phone vibrated on his hip. He snatched it open. "Hello."
"Hey, partner. How's it going there?"
"It's crazy here. Lots of people everywhere." Maddox ducked out the ER entrance for a little privacy. And some quiet. Dawn crested, but the air still carried a col
d edge.
"And Alana?"
"She's fine. Just went to find out about her fiancé. Doctors have admitted him into ICU, but his prognosis isn't good." He moved out of the walkway into the parking lot. "What's the story there?"
"Fire investigator confirmed it was a bomb. The forensics team has it, trying to trace the compounds back to its maker."
"What else?"
"Initial thought is we're dealing with an amateur. Investigator said it's a rough unit, shoddily made. Probably put together on the fly."
"That's so helpful." He glanced up as the med-helicopter took off—someone else who might not make it through the night.
"They're cross-checking the method, means, and compounds with known bomb makers to see if they get a match."
"How long will that take?" People went in and out of the emergency room entrance like ants to a picnic.
"Said a day or so. I asked them to rush whatever they could."
Cars started. Engines revved. "That's something."
"I'm about to head from the scene. Thought I'd run by and interview Denny Keys, the electrician. Want me to swing by and pick you up?"
It was his job . . . but it was Layla. "Nah, I have my car here. And Layla doesn't have a ride. I'll stick around here for a few. See what I can learn. Call me when you finish up, and I'll meet you at the station."
"Sounds like a plan."
Maddox shoved his phone back into its clip, then rushed into the hospital. The chill followed him as he waited for the elevators.
None of this made sense. He could understand burning the Hope-for-Homes site—it destroyed evidence of the murder. But why was LeJeune murdered in the first place? Then the break-in at Taylor Construction? And just when he'd begun to think the connection wasn't Second Chances, there's a bomb?
He stepped onto the floor housing ICU and almost passed the waiting room, but he caught a glimpse of Layla and Alana with their elderly friend Betty Page and several others. He paused in the doorway, not wanting to intrude on what had to be a very private moment.
Layla and Alana, along with three or four others, knelt in front of Mrs. Page. All were crying. All had their eyes closed but were whispering.
Had something happened to Stone? No, that couldn't be it. Alana appeared too together for it to be her fiancé.
Suddenly those kneeling stood and helped Mrs. Page to her feet. Two young men flanked her as they shuffled from the waiting room.
Mrs. Page paused in front of Maddox. Her eyes were red and puffy. Tears still glistened in them. "How's your father?"
"They released him." He smiled, remembering his father's words this morning. Even if it was the medication that caused Pop to speak as he did, Maddox would carry the memory in his heart.
"I'll keep praying for him." She nodded and allowed the young men to guide her to the elevator.
Maddox's gaze drifted to Layla, who stood and joined him just inside the waiting room. "Her husband died a few moments ago."
She'd just lost her husband, but the lady had taken the time to inquire about his father's health. "That's awful."
"It is. But she'll be okay. She's strong in her faith, and her two grandsons arrived this morning to stay with her."
What did faith have to do with losing someone? Someone you loved with all your heart? Did faith comfort you when you missed the person with every ounce of your being? Did faith stop the guilt or regret?
Layla took his hand and pulled him into the hallway. "It's not looking good for Cameron. The doctors are talking about getting him stable enough to transport him to Baton Rouge's hospital. It has a specialized burn unit."
He glanced through the window at Alana talking with some of the others. She was still crying. He couldn't imagine what she was going through.
"About Mr. James's illness . . . the hospital called in a specialist from the CDC. Not that it'll do Ms. Ethel or Mr. James any good, but maybe they can help Pastor."
"Who? What?" The CDC?
"Our pastor. He was admitted yesterday afternoon. Same symptoms—nose bleeding, not being able to breathe, coughing uncontrollably, then loss of consciousness." Layla kept her voice low, so he had to bend closer to hear her clearly. "The doctors called in a specialist from the CDC. He got here this morning. He's running some tests on Pastor—a gas chromatography, carboxyhemoglobin test, whatever those are."
If the pastor was admitted, then the connection had to be the church. Layla had been right. "Maybe the specialist will figure everything out."
"I hope so. We've been praying." She glanced over her shoulder. "Having the church members around praying for Cameron has helped Alana tremendously. She's holding up really well."
He studied Alana through the window and had to admit Layla was right. Alana looked poised and . . . peaceful.
How was that? Her fiancé was going to be transported to a special hospital, might not even make it, and she looked at peace. Was that faith? Prayers? What if all this—?
Alana rushed from the waiting room, holding out her cell phone as if it were a dead rat. Her eyes were wide and her face pale. "Layla, Maddox. You have to see this text message!"
WHAT IN THE WORLD?
Layla reached out for Alana and drew her into a sideways hug. "What is it, honey?"
Her sister trembled in her arms as she handed her a cell phone. "Here. Read. For. Yourself."
Keeping her arm around Alana, Layla hit a button to bring the backlight up. Her heart thudded as she read:
tell UR sister 2 stop with the ?s R next time it wont B a bldg blown
Layla's world tilted as her knees went weak. She tightened her grip on her sister, more to keep herself upright. "M-M—"
Maddox took the phone from her and repeated her actions. His brows shot into his forehead, and he lifted his gaze to meet hers, then looked at Alana. "Do you know this number? The one that sent the text?"
She shook her head. "I've never seen it before."
He looked at Layla. "Do you?"
"No."
He pocketed the phone in the front hip pocket of his jeans. "I need to take this for evidence."
Alana nodded and wrapped her arms around her stomach. Layla could relate—she felt sick to her stomach herself.
"Who's your service through?" he asked Alana.
She rattled off the name although she continued to shake against Layla.
His stare penetrated Layla. "I'll get Houston on this immediately." He reached out and squeezed her hand, providing her a moment's comfort. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere." Maddox ran to the elevator.
Layla tightened her hold on Alana as she led her to the waiting room and eased them both to a couch. The enormity of it all slapped against her.
The bomb at Second Chances was her fault. She'd been asking questions that made someone angry enough to blow up a building.
With her sister inside.
Layla's body stiffened and she bit her bottom lip. Tears burned her eyes, and sobs tore inside her. She jumped to her feet, mumbled about having to go to the restroom, then made a quick getaway.
Once inside the bathroom, she shut herself in a stall and hugged herself, rocking.
Oh, God . . . oh, God . . . oh, God. Cameron could die, and it'd be all her fault. Because she'd asked the wrong questions. Or too many questions. Or questions period.
The home she'd grown up in was no more, and she was to blame. Her sister was injured and could lose the man she loved, and Layla was solely responsible.
Sobs exploded from her, destroying her control like the bomb had destroyed their lives. She continued rocking herself, pushing her fist against her mouth. Oh, God, what have I done? Please forgive me. Help Alana to forgive me. She doubled over. God, help Cameron forgive me.
TWENTY-THREE
"For time and the world do not stand still. Change is the law of life. And those who look only to the past or the present are certain to miss the future."
—JOHN F. KENNEDY
"I'LL GET RIGHT ON this. Keep her ce
ll until I can get copies of the records." Houston's excitement came through the phone.
Maddox stepped outside the hospital's main entrance. The wind was still cold, cutting through him. "Planned on it."
"This could be our break. Aren't you glad you're still gonna be in the thick of things and not behind some stupid desk?"
Maddox stared at the people rushing to and from the parking lot and considered his partner's words. He wouldn't turn this case over to anyone. If he were commander, he wouldn't be tracking down leads, catching the bad guys. Speaking of bad guys . . . "Houston, we have to provide protection for Layla and Alana." If something happened to her . . . or Alana . . . "This message is a warning."
"I'll run protection detail by the commander, but you know how that is. There hasn't been a threat made to them personally. Not by name."
Maddox's muscles knotted. "Come on, you know that message is a threat against them. The bomb was a clear threat that this person means business. Layla was digging around—"
"Interfering in a murder investigation."
"Yeah, but she was just trying to get answers. She didn't—"
"I know all that, Maddox. I'm just giving the argument the commander will. You know how he feels about a wasted use of police officers."
Maddox steeled his grip on his cell. "I get that. But we can't leave them out there without protection. Even if the commander doesn't approve it."
Houston's chuckle was barely audible.
"What?" This wasn't funny. This was Layla's life.
"That cat-and-dog thing again."
Maddox leaned against the cold brick wall, not even slightly amused. "While I appreciate you trying to develop a sense of humor, isn't our motto to serve and protect? Did you miss the protect part, Houston?"
"No. I'm laughing at you, not the situation."
"Well, why don't you get busy getting those phone records so we can find out who sent the message?"
"Aye, aye, captain." The amusement was back in Houston's voice.
Maddox shut the phone and headed back into the hospital. Houston didn't mean anything. He'd used his warped sense of humor many times over the years to lessen the tension they felt when working a murder case. But this was Layla.
