Explosive Forces

by D. D. Ayres

  An apology was the last thing she’d expected. Concoction? No. She didn’t need to know. She absolutely didn’t want to deal with anyone else—especially not this man—today.

  “Apology accepted. Go away.”

  Instead, he moved closer so that the shouting, at least, would end. “You wanted to talk so badly this morning you came to see me.”

  “Yes. And we talked.”

  “No. You yelled and I listened.”

  She shrugged. “I’m yelling now. Go away.”

  “Not gonna happen.” He stood his ground, looking around casually at the disaster as she piled a few more items in the two handmade wicker baskets she’d uncovered under another tarp. The firefighters had done a better job of shielding her wares than she’d first given them credit for.

  “You need remediation in here, pronto.”

  She looked up, about to spend a bit more of her frustration on him. But the sight of him stopped her. He looked, well, he looked like hell. She was pretty sure she’d missed that in the hospital. And it wasn’t her anger. She remembered him as impressive, vital, and sexy.

  Or, perhaps, she’d been paying more attention to his pelvis than she’d given herself credit for. How else had she missed his utter exhaustion?

  The whites of his blue eyes were still an angry red, and she could’ve packed for a week in the bags underneath. The reddish blond sketch of a day’s worth of stubble stood stark against his washed-out complexion. Whatever had happened to him last night, he was the worse for wear for it.

  Instinctively, she offered him the thermos she’d been drinking from. “Drink some of this.”

  He took and upended it. Just as quickly he grimaced and lowered it, sputtering, “What the hell is that? I was expecting coffee.”

  “Kale and green tea smoothie. It’s loaded with polyphenols that function as powerful antioxidants. Your body’s stressed out. That depletes your immune system. You could end up ill after last night.”

  He tried to hand it back. “No thanks. I got plenty of antioxidants at the hospital.”

  “Sure you did.” She waved off the thermos. “Green tea’s got caffeine, too. You like coffee, right? Drink it for the caffeine lift. You look like you need to lie down.”

  He grinned then, a slow, heat-you-up-from-the-inside grin.

  Carly crossed her arms. “Drink it, Investigator Glover. It’s the only good thing being offered here today.”

  He took another sip, this time swallowing it all. Then he glanced at his watch. “I haven’t eaten yet. There’s a place across the street where we can talk and eat. Like you said. I need to keep my strength up.”

  Carly waited a beat as her stomach reminded her that it was an hour past her usual lunchtime. “I didn’t hear a please.”

  She watched his jaw work and decided his dentist must spend a lot of time worried about the investigator’s enamel. “Please. Across the street. Now.”

  “Attitude, much?”

  He frowned. “How old are you? Twenty?”

  “Thirty. In December. You know all about me. Remember?”

  He opened his mouth, couldn’t think of a thing that wouldn’t sound cheesy, patronizing, or close to an insult, and closed it.

  She picked up her purse and keys and began locking up. When she was done, she piled one wicker basket on top of the other and headed toward the rear entrance without so much as glancing at him.

  It took him a couple of seconds to catch up. “Where are you going?”

  “I have a dog to feed.” She put her baskets down to lock the back door.

  He smiled. “Harley.”

  She shrugged. “You can come with, or follow me.”

  “Come with.” He grabbed up her baskets.

  As he slid into the passenger side of the Mazda he didn’t know why he hadn’t just agreed to follow her. He never “came with.” He drove everywhere and anywhere he needed to go. He wasn’t a chauvinist. He just didn’t like the way most men or women behaved behind the wheel. He’d seen too many accidents, pried too many injured people—and a few dead ones—out of wrecked vehicles. But he didn’t put it past Carly to simply drive away and lose him in the traffic. Plus, riding with her gave him an excuse to be in her presence a little longer.

  It had been a long time since he simply wanted to be in a woman’s company. He had needs and found women willing to accommodate them. But the rules were clear up front. Not looking for anything but a good time. Some relationships lasted a night. A few others, a few months. Nothing he couldn’t walk away from. He had a child to protect. There’d be no parade of women in and out of his son’s life, giving him hope and then snatching it away.

  Why the hell was he thinking of that now? He wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to that question. But something about her drew his interest. It wasn’t only her beauty.

  He glanced at Carly’s profile. She had a delicate narrow face with a soft full mouth and a stubborn chin. In the fashion pictures, she’d looked remote, regal, very much like a sculpture of Nefertiti he’d first seen in a book in high school. It was cheekbones and skin tone, he supposed. In every way, Carly was better in the flesh than in her pictures. Her skin was a warm shade of brown. Her hair a celebration of her African American heritage. The fashion photographs resembled art house stills. As much about her body being a sculpture in the space of light and shadow and color. Hers was a gorgeous, slim body with just enough curves to make a very touchable sculpture of female perfection. But it wasn’t real.

  The real woman was sitting next to him now. He could see her pulse beating in the hollow of her throat. Could watch in real time the unedited expressions crossing her face as she maneuvered through traffic. There was a tiny mole on her left collarbone just above the neckline of her oversized sweater. Tiny curls bounced happily against her forehead each time she moved her head. The hair said Don’t Worry, Be Happy. Her expression said Woman at Work. The dichotomy stirred his investigative juices.

  He didn’t think it was only the store that drew the two lines between her brows. From what he’d read, she’d lived a lot of her early life in the fast lane. And what about that gap in her life story? What thirty-year-old has three years unaccounted for? What had happened to pull her off her pedestal?

  He glanced again at her, mind-warping images of her body artfully posed in ways that showed off her nakedness running through his mind. Suddenly he was thinking about how long it had been since he’d spent a night with a woman.

  So maybe the second reason he was sitting in the passenger seat wasn’t the only other reason. She said she pulled him out of the fire by herself. Tall and still slim, she’d lost the coltishness of her youth—another thing he liked better about the real Carly. But what did she weigh, a hundred twenty, a hundred twenty-five? She didn’t seem capable of dragging his one hundred and ninety pounds out of a building alone. What if there was someone else?

  He didn’t want to think about what that might mean. But it was his skin in the game, and he was going to find out.

  He half turned to her in his seat. “We need to get one thing straight. I came to see you, not just to get Harley back. I need you to tell me everything, in great detail, that you remember about last night.”

  She didn’t say anything. She just kept driving. Finally, she sighed and looked at him. “I don’t want to be any more involved. You get Harley back. We’re done.”

  * * *

  When Noah glanced out the window, they were climbing a terraced hill with flowing shrubbery lining the drive. “Where are we?”

  “Off Riverside, eastside.”

  They crested a curve to find a large traditional two-story white brick house coming into view. Beyond it the grounds fell away in all directions. It was a mini-estate of several acres in the middle of a neighborhood.

  “Who lives here?”

  “My aunt Fredda. Why do you sound so suspicious? You were expecting the hood?” She laughed. God, she knew how to get to him.

  Talking with her was like drinking
whisky, neat. It packed a kick but then went down with fiery smoothness, leaving him with a warm stimulating craving for more.

  He rubbed his eyes with his fingers. They still stung from the smoke. “Actually, I know this place. Mrs. Fredda Wiley lives here. Worked for years as president of Eastside Citizens on Patrol.” He grinned as she turned to him, brows lifted. “This is my town. I get around.”

  They pulled up into a broad paved space large enough to park half a dozen cars easily. At present the only car there was a late-model Mercedes.

  Carly sighed when she saw it. No sneaking in and out of Aunt Fredda’s house without having to answer questions.

  Carly exited her car and hurried across the lawn instead of heading toward the house. Noah followed and grinned when he realized why. She reached a long fenced-in area behind. And there was Harley, tail wagging. Then he saw Noah. He stepped back a few feet and then jumped and cleared the five-foot-high chain-link fence with ease.

  Noah heard Carly call out in surprise just before he was hit by ninety pounds of happy K9. Barking and leaping and wagging his tail so hard it seemed like his rear end might break off, Harley did happy all over his handler.

  “I know. I know. Hi, Harley. Missed you, too.” Noah went down on a knee to accept the slobbering licks of his K9 buddy. “Sorry to leave you alone so long. But you’re lucky to have a nice lady take care of you.”

  Carly watched them wrestle with a bemused expression. When the mutual love fest slowed down, she offered, “He’s probably starving. He wouldn’t take much from me. Bring him in the house. You can feed him.”

  They followed her in through a side door that led directly to the kitchen. Before she could say a word, an attractive fiftysomething woman dressed in silver skinny jeans tucked into high-heel boots and a black velour sweater with a rhinestone zipper confronted them, a hand on each hip. “Who’s this young man?”

  “He’s the man I—we met last night at the fire.” Carly began fluffing the curls atop her head. No need to start more rumors than necessary.

  “Are you the owner of this animal?” Aunt Fredda pointed to Harley, who was still doing a happy dance all over his master.

  “Yes ma’am.” Noah pushed Harley away, a game they played. The dog skidded a few feet across the spotless tile floor. Almost instantly he got traction and galloped back to throw his full weight into his handler. Noah oofed softly but did not go down behind the knee block.

  Aunt Fredda’s lips pursed as she watched. “I want you to know that dog is a menace. He ate my pound cake.”

  Carly gaped at her aunt. “Why would you think that?”

  Her aunt pointed to a piece of paper lying on the breakfast nook table. “That’s what the note Jarius left me says. Now what am I supposed to do about the church social tomorrow? I always bring my pound cake. Folks expect it.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am.” Frowning at his K-9, Noah gave Harley the “down” sign. The dog instantly complied. “Harley has a history of food boundary issues. I’d be happy to replace your missing cake. How about one from Blue Bonnet Bakery?”

  Aunt Fredda worked her mouth, trying not to smile. “They do make some decent cakes. But I have my reputation to maintain. Everybody is expecting my pound cake.”

  “I’m sure that’s true.” He looked again at his dog. “Bad dog, Harley.”

  The German Shepherd gazed up at his master, head kicked over to the side with ears on high alert.

  Noah smiled. “He says he didn’t do it.”

  Aunt Fredda glanced down at the animal. “You’d take that shaggy bag of bones’ word over mine?”

  “Harley didn’t eat the cake.” Both parties looked over at Carly.

  “Are you sure?” Noah looked at her doubtfully. “To be honest, Harley does have a history for unreliability around unsupervised food. That’s why he’s not a seeing-eye dog.”

  Aunt Fredda tucked her arms together. “I’d like to hear about that.”

  Noah smiled. “He was kicked out of the guide-dogs-for-the-blind program after he ate a burger off the plate of a blind man during his probation period.”

  Carly burst into laughter before she could clap a hand over her mouth. “Are you serious?”

  He grinned back. “Yep.” He reached down to pet his partner. “But Harley’s been retrained to eat only from my hand. And, honestly, he doesn’t like sweets. So you might be right, Carly. There might be another culprit.”

  “Harley hadn’t come up against my prize-winning pound cake before.” Aunt Fredda looked almost pleased to have tempted the dog beyond his training. “You keep him away from my cakes, he’ll be fine.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Carly glanced again at the note. She didn’t want to throw poor Harley under the bus, but she hated to rat out her cousin to his mom.

  “You two had lunch?”

  “Yes—No.” Carly and Noah glanced at each other as they had both answered at the same time.

  Aunt Fredda chuckled. “Men don’t lie about hunger. I got some chicken salad from Costco this morning. And some grapes. You go sit while I pull some lunch together.”

  “That’d be much appreciated, Mrs. Wiley.”

  Aunt Fredda turned to Noah. “You know my name. I know you, too, don’t I?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m Noah Glover.” He held out his hand. “You were kind enough to invite a member of the fire department arson investigation unit to speak at your Neighborhood Watch group last year. That was me.”

  She nodded and shook his hand. “That’s why you look so familiar. I don’t usually forget a handsome face.” Then, as if a light bulb went off, her friendly expression hardened into her courtroom face. “But that’s not the first time we met, is it?”

  “No, ma’am.” Carly was astonished to see Noah blush. “I came up before you once in juvie court. I was hoping you wouldn’t remember that. Not my finest moment.”

  Aunt Fredda frowned as she shifted through her memory. “Ah, yes. Noah Glover. Joy-riding without a license in a stolen vehicle. Your uncle turned you in, said he did it to teach you a lesson.”

  “Yes, ma’am. That was me. I’m amazed you remember that.”

  “I didn’t often see young men before me who looked so repentant. You admitted your guilt. That’s why I didn’t sentence you to juvenile detention. I figured a year of community service working with other kids headed down the wrong way might wake you up.”

  “It did.” He turned to Carly. “I tutored juvies for a year. Best education on what not to do in the world.” He looked back at Aunt Fredda. “I wasn’t a bad kid, but your verdict made me choose a career in law enforcement. Thank you.”

  Aunt Fredda’s expression turned friendly again. “You did that. I only pointed out the path.” She patted his hand before glancing at Carly. “I take it your being together has something to do with that fire last night.”

  Presented like that, Carly couldn’t lie. “Yes. And we need to talk.”

  “I see. Then you might want to take that discussion into the dining room. For privacy.”

  Carly headed in that direction, not at all certain they wouldn’t be eavesdropped upon anyway. Aunt Fredda was worried. She could see that in her aunt’s eyes.

  Carly indicated that Noah take a seat as she rounded the table to sit opposite him. Harley came in quietly, as if he understood Fredda Wiley’s beautifully appointed dining room was no place for misbehaving. Carly smiled at the dog when he sat next to Noah and set his big head on his thigh with a sigh. “Was Harley really a seeing eye dog?”

  “He was mostly a see-food, eat-food dog.” Noah stroked his dog calmly. “When he’s on duty, he’s alert and all business. But when he’s off duty, he’s pretty much a total slob. He’s either looking for trouble, eating, or sleeping.”

  “What kind of work? I thought he failed as a service dog.”

  “Ever try a sport and been terrible at it? Then you try a different one and excel? Harley’s like that. He’s now an explosives specialist. It’s not unusua
l for a canine who fails one service-dog program to be handed off to another professional K-9 program. They’ve already been screened for intelligence, diligence, hardiness, and trainability. After the seeing-eye gig didn’t work out, Harley went to the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives to be trained as an explosives K-9. He’s got a great nose. And he’s thorough. A year ago he was offered to our arson investigation unit as part of Homeland Security cross-training. He’s trained to detect a variety of components used in bombs, as well as the explosives and accelerants themselves. I’ve always had dogs, so I got him.”

  Noah reached into his back pocket and pulled out a notepad. “Now that the polite talk is over, I want you to tell me everything that happened last night. No detail is too small.”

  “I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

  He glanced up at her, the friendly wrinkles around his eyes going squint hard. “Why not?”

  Carly lifted her chin. “You’re a suspect in a crime. I’m a witness. Discussing what happened could—what’s the word?—taint my testimony.”

  “What makes you think you’ll need to testify?”

  She simply stared at him.

  He rubbed his forehead. “Let’s get this straight once and for all. I was the target. Someone tried to murder me last night.”

  The words hung in the air as Fredda Wiley entered with a tray containing plates with generous scoops of chicken salad on lettuce cups, piles of green and red grapes, some kind of cheese, and two long sections of fresh baguette. She said nothing directly, but the look she gave her niece crawled right up Carly’s nape.

  “I’ve got coffee brewing. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  They waited until she was gone, then Carly met Noah’s gaze, gorgeous chocolate-drop eyes boring into his. “I sympathize with you, truly I do. But I’ve already given my statement to the officers handling the investigation.”

  The truth struck him in the chest. Before, at the hospital, he’d thought she was a bit hysterical, and rightly so. She’d had a bad scare. But now he didn’t see fear in her eyes so much as opaque disinterest. “You don’t believe me.”