There she was wishing again. Didn’t solve a thing.
She went to her room to change her damp jeans, then settled on the sofa. She turned on the news and waited for the clip of Parsons shoving a microphone in her face. Not surprisingly, the bomb was top news, and Parsons’s segment soon came on.
Standing outside the stadium, his update included revealing her name and claiming eyewitnesses believed she was the person who foiled the bomb attempt. He added that they also believed she was the only one who had gotten a good look at the bomber and could identify him. Just as she feared. If the bomber hadn’t already figured out that she was the person who stood between him and a long prison term, he would know it now.
She took a deep breath to wait for the footage of her and Opa in the parking lot, but Parsons ended the segment by saying he was working to confirm her role in foiling the bombing, then they moved to another reporter inside the stadium. When the broadcast signed off and the footage hadn’t aired, she let out a relieved breath and switched off the TV.
Without her face plastered on the news, she was safe from anyone recognizing her. For now anyway. But Parsons seemed committed to following up, and she wouldn’t count on them not using his video in another segment.
As she got up to go to bed, she heard a noise outside. Like a thump. By the back door leading to the deck. Her imagination shot into overdrive. Could the bomber have found her?
Fear coursing through her body, she raced to the hall closet and lifted the door to the crawl space. She felt around for the tote bag she’d hung from a hook and tugged it out.
Her fingers trembled but she managed to open the long zipper and grab her father’s old gun. The metal felt cold and reassuring in her hand. She’d spent hours at a gun range with her father and knew how to handle a gun, but never once did she believe she’d have to use it. Still, the training came back. She flipped off the safety and hurried to the back door.
She switched on the exterior light as her heart thundered in her chest. She held her breath and peeked through the blinds.
A raccoon hopped off a turned-over lawn chair and scurried off the deck. Krista sagged against the wall and pulled in gulps of air. Her heart continued to pound, and suddenly, she was back four years ago to a different house she’d shared with Opa after Toby died. To the neighbors who thought she was a murderer. Protesting outside. Breaking in and spray-painting horrible messages on the walls. Trashing the house. Threatening more attacks if she didn’t move out of their neighborhood.
It could all happen again. Easily. Quickly, if Parsons dug deep enough and discovered her real identity. She didn’t know if she could survive targeted attacks like that again, but when she’d decided to move back from Georgia to take care of Opa, she’d known it was a possibility. Known she might someday have to take off again, though she hated the thought of leaving Opa behind when he was still so ill.
Even so, she’d prepared. Hopefully, she’d thought of everything.
She returned to the hallway and knelt by her bag. It contained clothes, money and extra ammo. Most important, it included a passport, driver’s license and credit cards she’d gotten from her father’s old friend who issued fake IDs.
She sat back, sighing. How had her life come to this? Contacting a forger. Obtaining yet one more false identity. She felt dirty and underhanded. It was bad enough that she’d gone back to using Curry as her last name. It was the name her father had once procured for her when he was on the run. After she’d left that life behind, she’d left the name behind, too, but going back to it had been her only option after Toby died. The police had frozen all their assets. She had no money. She couldn’t even use a credit card, which meant she couldn’t escape from the irate neighbors.
She’d felt helpless. Out of control. She’d never let something like that happen again. And she especially wouldn’t let Opa go through such a hateful experience again. Nor would she let this bomber get to Opa because of her.
Opa. The one person she loved and trusted. She’d lay down her life to protect him.
She returned the bag minus the gun to her hidey-hole, secured the door, then headed for the sofa in the family room. The loaded gun on her lap, she settled back for a long night of watching.
If the bomber showed up, she’d be ready to stand her ground. To protect herself and her grandfather. No matter the cost.
*
Cash paced the floor in his condo located on the upper level of an old converted firehouse where the entire team lived. He should be sleeping, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw Krista’s last look before she entered her house.
Gone was the evasiveness. Gone was the determination. Instead, fear-darkened eyes that got to him in a way he couldn’t explain peered at him. She was worried about the bomber finding her. Or maybe worried about whatever she was hiding.
So what should he do about it, if anything? He’d done his part. Made sure she and Otto arrived home safely. The bomber likely didn’t know her identity unless Parsons’s segment had aired and her name had been revealed. Then she could be in serious trouble.
Cash couldn’t sleep without knowing. He grabbed his laptop and navigated to the station’s website, where he found the video from tonight’s broadcast. He started Parsons’s story playing and sat back to watch. The camera panned the stadium as the relentless reporter announced Krista’s full name.
Great. Just as Cash suspected. The bomber could easily know her identity. Question was, could he find her address from that piece of information alone?
Cash assumed the house was in Otto’s name. His fingers flew over the keyboard and a quick search of property records confirmed his assumption. Still, the bomber couldn’t access databases restricted to law enforcement and retrieve the information as fast as Cash. The bomber would only have the internet at his disposal. So what exactly would he find?
Cash plugged Krista Curry into a search engine. After an hour of searching, only one link led to her, showing she’d worked in a home child-care center in Kennesaw, Georgia.
Odd. In today’s social media world, he should have located far more information about her. She’d obviously worked hard to keep her private life private. Maybe because of whatever she seemed to be hiding.
Cash might want to know her secret, but her caution meant he didn’t need to worry if the media or the bomber could easily find her.
A shadowy image of the man she’d described, hunkering down in the thick bushes outside her secluded home, flashed into his mind. Cash had been cautious on the way to Otto’s house, but he couldn’t guarantee the bomber hadn’t tailed them. That the creep wasn’t outside their home right now. Krista and Opa alone.
Unprotected.
“Not on my watch,” he said and retrieved his gun from the safe. He locked his condo and took the stairs leading to the first-floor common area. A light burning in the shared kitchen had him hesitating. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone.
He loved living here, but privacy? Unheard of in the firehouse. Still, he was thankful for the free living quarters. A woman grateful to Darcie for saving her life had donated the place to the county for the FRS members. They each had a private condo on the second and third floors. The first floor was a communal space with a kitchen and dining, family and game rooms.
Trouble was, with their crazy shifts, someone was almost always up. He should have thought of that, as he doubted whoever was awake would support his plan.
He started back up the steps to take the back exit.
“Hey, man.” Brady’s voice came from the first floor. He wore a freshly pressed county uniform, indicating he was heading out for a patrol shift. “Thought I heard someone out here. You headed out?”
Cash couldn’t very well turn back now. He jogged down the steel stairs.
Holding a thick sandwich, Brady leaned against a metal post and crossed his ankles. “Where’re you off to?”
Cash considered evading the question or outright lying, but he didn’t abide lying. He would
n’t start now. “Thought I’d check on Krista and Otto.”
Brady’s eyebrow went up, but he didn’t say anything, just swung his foot and watched.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Cash said.
Brady smirked. “You do, do you?”
“It’s written all over your face. You think I’m going over there because I’ve got a thing for Krista.”
“Aren’t you?” Brady chomped a bite from his sandwich.
“I’m going because Parsons mentioned her name in his broadcast and the bomber might have located her.”
“And that’s your only motivation?”
Cash thought to deny that his motivations were mixed, but why bother? He and Brady might be able to keep stuff from the others, but with their military backgrounds, they often thought alike and couldn’t successfully hide things from each other.
Cash shrugged. “I don’t know how to separate the two, I guess.”
Brady frowned. “You better figure it out, man, and stay away from her if it’s just an attraction thing, or Skyler will have your head on a platter.”
Cash respected Skyler—they were good friends—and he would never do anything to interfere in her investigation, unless lives were on the line. That was true of all of his teammates, and Brady needed to recognize that. “So you’re saying if a woman you found attractive could be in danger, you’d climb into bed, sleep soundly and forget all about her?”
“You know none of us would do that with anyone—attractive or not. Not if we had some proof that they were in danger. You have proof?”
Cash shook his head.
Brady made strong eye contact. “Ever consider this thing has more to do with losing your team than with anything else? You know…thinking it’s up to you to stop anything else bad from happening to the people around you?”
“Maybe,” Cash said, avoiding a more detailed answer.
“Hey, I get it.” Brady clapped a hand on Cash’s shoulder. “You can’t stand the thought that someone else could die on your watch. But you can’t extend that watch to everyone you come in contact with. You’ll burn out and won’t be good to anyone.”
“I know that.”
“But?”
“Krista and Otto are different somehow. And before you say it’s because I’ve got a thing for Krista, it’s not that.”
“Then what?’
Cash shrugged.
Brady eyed him. “Like I said, figure it out, or you could burn out and that won’t help Krista.” Brady turned and strode back to the kitchen.
Cash shrugged into his jacket and went to his car. He tried to concentrate on driving but couldn’t get Brady’s words out of his head. Brady was right. After losing his team, Cash hated the thought of anyone getting hurt on his watch. He’d done the right thing in requesting the bomb strike in Afghanistan. They’d come under fire, were pinned down, and a strike offered the best chance of saving lives. Cash couldn’t have predicted the stupid thing would go astray and he’d be the only team member to survive.
Leaving him to wonder why he’d made it. To question God for eighteen months and not receive a clear answer. Cash usually didn’t dwell on things he couldn’t change, but he just couldn’t shake this. Staying busy was the only way to keep the questions out of his head.
He cranked up the radio. Old favorites on a country station blared through the car until he arrived at Otto’s house. Cutting off the headlights, he coasted to a stop well out of view of the rustic place.
Dark and quiet inside, a dim light flashed, then quickly cut off. Suspicious? Maybe. It could be a night-light of some sort, but he wouldn’t take any chances.
He tugged his collar up against the cold April wind and strode down the driveway toward the A-frame home, a light drizzle dampening his face. The moon, only a sliver tonight, hid behind dense cloud cover.
He swept his flashlight over the shrubbery abutting the front porch. All clear. He turned the corner heading for the back side overlooking the river swollen from heavy spring rains.
All was quiet. Serene, even.
He’d let his fears make him overreact. Nothing new there. Status quo since he’d left Delta. He turned to go.
A hair-raising scream pierced the air, echoing through the trees.
His blood ran cold.
A second scream split the quiet. Both cries came from inside. A woman.
It was Krista! She was in danger.
Serious danger.
SEVEN
Krista fought hard. Her fists. Her elbows. Punching. Pummeling. Striking anywhere she could. She connected, catching the masked intruder by surprise and shoving him away. Scrambling, she dropped to the floor. Shadows clung to the wood. She groped around. Frantic, hurried movements, searching for her gun. Finally, she touched the edge of the cool metal.
Yes! Only an inch more.
A hand came around her ponytail. Jerked hard. Pain screamed through her scalp. He kept pulling, bringing her to her feet. His arm snaked around her waist. He dragged her toward the door as if planning to abduct her.
She couldn’t let that happen. Self-defense courses her father had insisted she take came rushing back. She threw herself back, hit him hard and unsettled him. He flailed around, trying to regain his balance.
She dived for the gun.
“Krista, are you all right?” a male called from outside the back door.
Cash Dixon?
“Cash, is that you?” she yelled, her mind racing to figure out her next steps.
Her attacker paused to listen for a minute. A perfect opportunity to act. She grabbed the gun and scrambled to her feet in front of the door. Lifted the weapon. Aimed.
The intruder held his hands up and inched backward.
“Stop,” she screamed, but even she could hear the uncertainty in her voice.
He kept moving.
She raised the gun higher. He suddenly turned and bolted down the hallway toward the back door. She held the gun at the ready but couldn’t shoot. Didn’t know if she could ever shoot another person. She stepped into the hallway. A wave of light swept in from the open door leading to the deck. She could see a man with a flashlight standing just outside.
Dear God, please let it be Cash.
Her attacker barreled ahead, plowing Cash to the ground. The light went out.
Terrified to act, Krista waited—the gun still in her hand.
“Krista, it’s Cash Dixon.” The worried voice came from the deck. “Are you all right?”
“I am now,” she managed to say.
“Stay there,” Cash called out. “I’m going after the intruder.”
Relief flooded through her, and she collapsed. The gun’s heavy weight pulled her trembling hand to the floor.
The gun. No! She couldn’t let Cash see the gun. She doubted her father had gotten it legally. If Cash caught her with it, he’d assume the worst.
“Liebchen,” Opa’s sleepy voice rumbled down the hallway. “What is all the noise?”
“Everything’s okay,” she called out as she tucked the gun in her waistband and covered it with her shirt. Despite her shaking knees, she counseled herself to act calm as she went to meet him. In his condition, worrying about her was the last thing he needed.
He rubbed his eyes and blinked. “What is going on?”
“A man broke into the house. I fell asleep on the couch but a noise woke me up.” She nodded in the direction of the back door. “Cash Dixon showed up and scared him off. He’s still out there, trying to chase the man down.”
Concern tightened Opa’s eyes. “The bomber?”
“I don’t see who else it would be.”
“Krista.” Cash’s voice came from outside.
“Be right there,” she shouted, then turned to Opa. “Would you go meet him? I want to splash some water on my face.”
“Of course.” Opa squeezed her arm. “But then you will let Cash help us. He is a good man.”
“You thought Toby was a good man, too, Opa.” Despite
her love for him, she couldn’t temper her tone. “He might have been a respected member of your church, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a liar and a thief.”
Opa grimaced. “You are upset so I will ignore your hurtful tone and suggest you pray about this. God will reveal what to do.”
“Like he did with Toby?”
“You did not give Him a chance then. You gave up too soon.”
She sighed. “I love you, Opa, and I respect you and your opinions, but this is one area we’ll have to disagree on.” Thankful she’d tucked the gun in the back of her jeans, she gave him a quick hug, then released him before he felt her trembling. “Go talk to Cash. I’ll be right out.”
She didn’t give Opa a chance to argue, but slipped into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. The reality of her attack settled in. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. She sank to the floor. Panic threatened to take her over the edge.
No. Focus on the fact that you survived.
But what if Cash hadn’t arrived in time? Stop. She couldn’t dwell on that. She had to find the strength to hold it together for Opa. The man she’d just verbally attacked in the hallway. The man she would never want to hurt. She had to apologize to him. Not yet. Not while she was still this upset.
She sat for uncounted minutes, crying and waiting until the trembling subsided. She crawled to the bed, slid her gun underneath, then pulled herself up by the thick post. In the bathroom, she splashed water over her face, willing her tears to stop before her eyes became swollen and red. She ran a comb through her hair, her scalp tender from the attack. After a few deep cleansing breaths, she stepped into the hallway.
The aroma of fresh coffee greeted her. She found Cash and Opa sitting at the small table in the kitchen. Opa poured his favorite blend of rich, dark coffee from a popular German company. Cash had hung his jacket on his chair as if he intended to stay for some time. He wore jeans, scuffed cowboy boots and a tan waffle-weave shirt that brought out his dark hair. The casual attire should make him look less threatening, but he seemed even more deadly intense. The weapon holstered at his side added to the look. He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced before grabbing the cream.
Love Inspired Suspense May 2015 #2 Page 5
