The Agent's Secret Past. Debby Giusti
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blew past, replaced with frigid winter air that penetrated her bones.
Jet-black smoke billowed from the windows of the bedroom where she had been asleep just moments earlier. The terrifying dream had saved her life.
Flames licked at the building’s wood facade and devoured the decorative trim. “No,” she gasped as the growing inferno turned night into day.
Sirens sounded in the distance. A trail of flashing lights signaled their approach. Fire trucks, followed by military police cars, raced into the parking area and screeched to a stop. Men in turnout gear spilled from the trucks. With swift, sure motions, they connected hoses to nearby hydrants and trained the heavy streams of water on the blaze while maintenance personnel hastened to cut off the gas supply that fueled the fire.
Footfalls pounded on the ground behind her. Becca turned at the sound, ready to defend herself again.
“Are you okay?” Colby Voss.
“How—how did you get here?” Instantly, she regretted the foolish question. No doubt, her fellow CID agent lived in the older BOQs on Sheridan Road, just across the open field.
“Are you hurt?” His eyes roamed her body as if searching for an injury or burn.
With her throat unexpectedly dry, she shook her head and raised her hand to reassure him. Her inability to find her voice caused an additional tangle of concern to wrap around her.
A pressure filled her chest. She clamped down on her jaw to ward off the wave of nausea that swirled around her. She didn’t want to appear weak.
Especially not to a guy with inquiring eyes.
For the past eight years, no one had climbed her wall of defense. No one until Special Agent Colby Voss had sauntered into her cubicle ten days earlier to welcome her to Fort Rickman.
So much for maintaining her cool. Although right now she felt completely drained and unable to maintain anything, let alone her composure.
“What happened?” he asked, his eyes flicking between her and the firemen battling the blaze.
She wiped her hand across her forehead and pulled in another breath of cold night air. “I—I smelled gas. My stove was off. There must have been a leak someplace in the system.”
“You were awake?”
A good question, but one she didn’t want to answer. She had never told anyone about the reoccurring dreams.
“Just barely. I went into the kitchen for a glass of water and realized there was a leak.”
“Good job getting outside.”
She didn’t need his praise or affirmation. Not tonight. Not when he was standing way too close and adding more anxiety to her already questionable stability.
Turning to stare at the raging inferno, she sucked in another mouthful of air and tried to calm her out-of-control pulse.
“It happened in the empty apartment next door,” she said, convinced the gas had seeped into her kitchen from the neighboring unit. “Probably an accidental leak.”
Had it been accidental?
Or was something else or someone else involved?
Her stomach tightened.
Surely not someone from her past.
* * *
Colby wanted to put his arm around Becca and quiet the fear that flashed from her eyes. He would have done exactly that, if not for the keep-out sign she wore around her heart, which he’d noticed the moment she reported for duty at CID Headquarters.
He had refused to be put off when they’d first met, especially since he had been the new CID agent two months earlier when he transferred from Fort Hood, Texas. He could read her body language and kept his welcome to a firm handshake and nod of his head, knowing all too well about self-sufficient women who didn’t want or need a man in their lives.
Becca appeared to be a by-the-book type of agent who kept to herself. Not that he had been staring at her pretty face or green eyes with their flecks of gold. Eyes that she averted whenever he glanced her way.
That elusive shift of attention made him wonder if there wasn’t something she wanted to hide. Perhaps he was reading more into what was only her nervous attempt to remain aloof, yet his gut feelings were usually right, and he kept thinking she had something buried beneath her neat and trim facade.
Two military police officers hustled toward them. Colby recognized the taller of the two as Gary Flanders, a put-together sergeant with an interest in joining the CID.
“Hey, sir, you know anything about what happened?”
Before Colby could answer, Becca drew in a deep breath and steeled her jaw with determination. “It was an explosion, Sergeant, in my BOQ.”
Flanders pulled a notepad and mechanical pencil from his pocket while his partner stood to the side. “Can I get your name, ma’am?”
“Special Agent Becca Miller. I’m with the CID.”
“You were the only resident in the new building?”
“That’s correct. I arrived on post ten days ago and signed for the bottom apartment on the left. The one on the bottom right, as well as the two second-story apartments, were unoccupied.”
“What happened?” the MP asked.
“I—I went into the kitchen for a glass of water and noticed a strong gas smell. Realizing the danger, I exited the building.”
“Did you see anyone outside?”
She shook her head. “No one.”
Wind blew across the clearing and ruffled the pages of the sergeant’s notebook. He hunched his shoulders against the cold and glanced at her lightweight flannel pants and T-shirt. “The temperature’s dropping, ma’am. Would you like to take shelter in one of the squad cars?”
“I’m fine, Sergeant.”
Colby knew better.
Dressed as she was coupled with the plummeting temperature and the shock of seeing her BOQ in flames had to have an adverse effect on her. Even in the half-light, her face was noticeably pale and drawn.
He glanced down at her bare feet.
Time to make a command decision. “My BOQ is just across the clearing. We can continue to talk there.”
He shrugged out of the thick fleece he’d grabbed on his way outside and slipped it over her shoulders.
She shook her head. “That’s not necessary.”
“Maybe not, but humor me.”
Their eyes locked for a long moment.
Colby wanted to shake his head at her obstinacy. Someone needed to inform Ms. Miller that taking healthy measures to protect herself wasn’t a sign of weakness.
What did she have to prove?
He took her arm.
She glanced down at his hand and then raised her gaze. “Really, I’m okay.”
“Maybe, but the temperature is in the forties. You’re not dressed for the cold. Neither am I.”
He turned to the MP. “Sergeant, I’m in apartment 103, the first door on the left, should anyone need to question either Special Agent Miller or me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Colby motioned Becca forward and was somewhat surprised when she followed his lead. As tough as she had tried to be over the past few days, he had expected opposition. Not that he wasn’t relieved.
Shock was a nasty complication that often went unnoticed. From the knit of her brow and the ever-so-slight slump to her usually ramrod-straight spine, Becca had been affected by