Page 47 of Concrete Evidence
“We have security cams for those who don’t belong there.”
An hour later, they walked across the parking lot to her car. Marccarried her to-go box for the hotel room’s fridge, and she carried a heart full of unanswered questions. Her respect for Marc grew. He maintained his loyalty to the FBI, and she admired his stand. Still, she wished he’d have revealed a few details from the ranch hands’ and her parents’ interviews.
“Thanks for having dinner with me,” he said. “I’d like to think we could do this again.”
She stopped at her car. “I had a great time. Food was amazing and the company too.”
He grinned, a lopsided, little boy look. “For whatever it’s worth, I wish I’d met you without this case shadowing us.”
Kind words, but did he mean them? She wanted to believe so. “What would we talk about?”
“Horses. Trail bike riding. Things to do for fun.” His voice lowered to a gentle whisper. “Be careful. Stay safe. Don’t do anything rash until this is over.”
She started to remind him of the impossibility of her assuming a role of the damsel in distress when she had to find Granddad. “I’ll do my best.” Marc walked away and she deactivated her car alarm. Remembering her to-go box, she called out to him. “You have my dinner for tomorrow night.”
He turned and they walked to meet each other. “Do I hear an invitation?”
The moment she reached for the plastic bag, a flash of light and an explosion tossed Marc and her sprawling onto the pavement.
28
AVERY’S EYES FLUTTERED OPENto a blaze of fire and heat straight from the pits of the earth. Stunned by the explosion, silence filled her ears and numbed her brain. She shoved aside her disorientation to focus on the arm across her back.
Marc. He didn’t move.
She attempted to raise her body, but a sting in her right arm stopped her.
“Marc.” She slowly turned her head and faced him, inhaling sharply. Blood trickled down the side of his face. Her gaze followed the path to a gash above his temple in his hairline. “Marc, are you okay?”
“Miss, how can I help?” She saw the huge check mark signifying the man’s Nike tennis shoes, but her whole body hurt too much to lift her head. “I’ve called 911. But I’m afraid to touch you.”
She swallowed hard and prayed for strength. Was this what trusting God meant? “Is my friend okay?”
“I can’t tell. He appears unconscious.”
Sirens rang in the distance... An ambulance? Police? Fire truck?
“Marc, answer me.”
Not even a groan.
Her last thoughts before the explosion trickled in. Marc had used his body to shield hers and pull her close to him. How had she ended up on her stomach? She tried again to get up. To take care of him. She forced strength into her pain-packed body. What had happened to her, the strong and determined woman?
What if Marc had died protecting her? How could she live with the knowledge of such a sacrifice? His protective instincts might have killed him.
“I need to scoot out from under him,” she whispered to the man, whose Nikes hadn’t budged.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, please.” She held her breath, anticipating any broken bones or more torn flesh.
He eased her out from under Marc’s monster hold. Her body burned, but she’d snapped bones in the past, and the excruciating pain nestled in her memories didn’t surface. Once cleared from Marc’s arm but still facedown on the pavement, she took a moment to evaluate her body.
The sirens grew closer, but not as loud as she expected with the ringing in her ears. What had triggered the blast? All the warnings from Granddad rolled across her mind.“Don’t trust anyone.”She doubted the explosion had been an accident. Was she targeted because of her search for Granddad? Because of her insistence to learn the truth, she and Marc had experienced someone’s evil intent. She gritted her teeth and once again tried to lift her head and failed.
Her gaze wandered to the lower part of her car. Hers wasn’t engulfed in flames but the vehicle parked next to it. Debris and shattered glass lay around Marc and her. In the gathering darkness of thesummer evening, a crowd formed. A woman asked if she was okay. Another woman screamed—she owned the car erupting into more flames.
The headlights of an ambulance, then a police car whirled onto the scene. The muffled sounds confused her. When would her head clear? She had no experience to compare the sensation of being transported out of reality partnered with the inability to hear and focus. She looked for the man wearing Nikes. He’d disappeared. Maybe he stepped back into the crowd to avoid the emergency vehicles.
