Page 48 of Bare
Kemper’s words brought a hot blister of shame. Gary had said the same thing Zina and his mom had been saying to him for the past two years. The same thing Rosemary had said last Friday night. He was letting his loss blind him to other people’s pain, blind him from seeing or understanding other perspectives.
What else has this whirlpool of grief kept me from seeing?
He pushed the thought away. This was not the time for psychoanalysis. He’d have to figure his shit out later.
“Fine. We’ll call a truce, but I need you to tell me what the hell is going on. My cell service has been shit since last night, and now I have a ton of frantic messages from my mom and sister. They said something about a fire.”
Kemper took another drag on his cigarette. A really long drag. Aleksei’s spine tensed.
“The shit hit the fan,” Kemper said.
“Not helpful,” Aleksei responded. “What shit? What fan?”
“Pannetone & Associates blew up. And so did your apartment.”
No preface. No warning. Gary had done nothing to soften the blow.
Aleksei leaned against the park office building, giving his body physical support so his mind could fully process the information. “Do you mean actually exploded?”
Kemper’s “yep” sounded like a grunt.
His apartment was gone. He hadn’t lived there in years, but it still felt like his home had been ripped away.
“Could the explosions have been accidental?”
He knew the answer even as he asked the question. The coincidence was too great. The chance of accidental explosions at both the accounting office and his apartment was fingernail-thin.
“The bomb techs confirmed explosive devices were present at both locations,” Kemper answered.
His home was gone. Rose’s workplace had been attacked.
Kemper was right. The shit had definitely hit the fan.
“When?”
“Pannetone’s office blew just before ten this morning. Your apartment went about an hour later.”
The first thing you did after an attack was assess the damage.
“Casualties?”
Kemper sighed. “I played your connection to the bureau, the link between Pannetone and Moresco, and our prior op to get the FBI to take jurisdiction. With two explosions, they were probably going to step in anyway, but I didn’t want to waste time and let the locals fuck it up. Since I’m based in Chicago now, I’m not assigned to the case, but I was able to get some inside info. Your apartment building was empty, but the investigators found three bodies at Pannetone’s: two male, one female. All burned beyond recognition. There are six employees, and the only one the bureau located is the receptionist. She got lucky. She was in the stairwell when the bomb went off. She was injured, but it looks like she’s going to be OK. She’s been in surgery, so no one’s talked to her yet. They don’t know who the deceased female is.”
Kemper’s voice trailed off, his last sentence a question. Aleksei knew what Gary was asking.
“It’s not Rosemary. She’s with me. She’s safe.”
“Thank God,” Kemper said. “With what the informant said about Moresco having her followed, I was worried she was the target.”
“Maybe she was. She told me her vacation was a last-minute thing, so maybe whoever planted the bomb expected her to be at work. We need to find out who the other survivor is. Maybe he’s behind this whole fiasco. What’s the initial read?”
Silence from Kemper.
“What’s the initial read?” Aleksei repeated.
“You’re the prime suspect. The current working theory is that the Pannetone explosion was a revenge hit. Moresco was grabbing coffee in the gelato shop when the bomb went off. He was at Pannetone’s for a meeting and left a few minutes in because the espresso machine in the office broke this morning. He got lucky.”
If Moresco had left a few minutes later, he would be dead right now—incapable of hurting anyone else. Instead, Moresco had been spared, and Aleksei was a fucking suspect. Maybe karma was already kicking in.
