A Time to Die. BEVERLY BARTON
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apart her clutched fingers, removed the phone and gave it to Aldridge.
“Are you all right?” Bain asked.
“I will be, once I stop shaking.” She offered him a weak smile. “The guy is crazy. For some reason, he hates Lexie. Of all people—Lexie, who is one of the kindest, most caring and giving human beings I’ve ever known.”
Bain exchanged concerned glances with the Dundee agent. “We’re definitely dealing with a dangerous person.” As he cupped Cara’s elbow and guided her back to the sofa, he filled Geoff Monday in on the caller’s end of the conversation.
When they reached the sofa, Cara balked and hurriedly turned to face Bain. “I’m fine.” He looked at her skeptically. “Really, I’m all right.” She glanced over her shoulder at her bodyguard, then turned back to Bain. “Lieutenant, you should go ahead and report the call I just received and do whatever you need to do. Geoff won’t leave me alone.”
Bain barely stopped himself from grabbing her and hauling her into his arms. There was something definitely wrong with the world when a guy couldn’t comfort a woman he cared about the way he cared about Cara.
“Should I call Lexie and tell her?” Cara asked.
“I’ll get in touch with Deke Bronson,” Geoff said. “If that’s all right with you, Lieutenant Desmond.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Bain went out into the hallway, contacted headquarters, made a brief report and issued orders to his partner, Mike Swain. He couldn’t be with Cara 24/7 the way her highly trained bodyguard could, but he could and would do whatever it took to find out who was behind the threats. He would personally see to it that this nut-job was stopped before he could hurt either Cara or Lexie.
HE STOOD in the back-entrance alcove of a building half a block away from Lexie Murrough’s apartment, a self-satisfied smile on his face as he slipped the prepaid cell phone into his pocket. He had enjoyed hearing the fear in Cara Bedell’s voice. She had tried her best to hide it, but he understood the sound of fear as only a person who had been horribly afraid himself could truly understand. As a boy, witnessing his father’s brutal murder, he had known unparalleled fear, a child’s real-life nightmare. He’d been barely twelve when he and his mother had been forced to flee Gadi, outcasts who became unwanted refugees in country after country. Eventually his mother met and married a good man who treated them both well. But his mother and stepfather had been killed in a car accident when he was fourteen, forcing him onto the streets to fend for himself. He would have died of starvation if it had not been for the kindness of a neighbor, Kalil Ben Riyad. He not only owed Kalil his life but his undying loyalty for saving him and introducing him to the Majeed.
He lifted the small binoculars hanging around his neck and focused on the parking lot behind Lexie’s apartment building. He had no idea when she and her bodyguard would emerge, but he could wait. After all, he had nothing else to do this morning, and he didn’t want to miss the look of shock on her face or her screams when she saw the surprise he had waiting for her.
CHAPTER FIVE
DEKE SLOWED his pace to accommodate Lexie’s hindered gait. She hated that anyone who walked with her was forced to regulate their normal speed to hers. Before a crossfire bullet had hit her spine and partially paralyzed her, she had been reasonably athletic: jogging, swimming, playing softball and dancing. Now, she was doing well to walk and swim. But she was one of the lucky ones whose spinal cord had not been severed, causing irreversible damage. If there hadn’t been a delay in starting steroids shortly after her injury, she might have recovered more quickly. But what was done was done, and even though she could never forget what had happened to her, she tried not to dwell on it.
So why was she thinking about it now?
Because Deke Bronson’s presence in her life made her feel helpless, and helplessness was something she had struggled with for the past ten years. She might have a handicap, but she was strong, independent and perfectly capable of taking care of herself.
Except when her life was in danger from an unknown assailant.
Deke stepped in front of Lexie and opened the back door, then held it for her as she emerged from the apartment building into the sunny warmth of a beautiful autumn day. The distant sounds of a small city’s hustle and bustle on a Thursday morning greeted them, as did the bright sunshine and clear blue sky. They were the only ones in the parking lot, although Lexie noticed a couple of people in the adjacent lot used by the tenants of a neighboring building.
“Stay here, please,” Deke said as he visually scanned the area, taking special note of the four vehicles parked alongside Lexie’s. “I need to check your car.”
“Check my car for what?” No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she realized what he’d meant. “For a bomb?”
He nodded. “Keep your back to the door and stay right here, no matter what happens. Understand?”
She nodded.
“I need a verbal acknowledgment from you,” he told her.
“Yes, I understand.”
Lexie pushed her back and hips up against the closed door and watched while Deke walked toward her Subaru. Suddenly, a loud explosion shook the ground. The Lincoln Navigator parked at the end of the row of four vehicles exploded, shooting fire and smoke, and scattering debris as if it were raining metal and plastic fragments. Deke spun around and ran from the blast, heading straight for Lexie. Reacting instantly, she dropped the sack containing her sausage biscuit and coffee. The bag hit the concrete walkway, but the splattering sound was masked by her startled, frightened scream.
Trembling, gasping, but no longer screaming, Lexie reached out to Deke, but before he could get to her, a second explosion rocked the parking lot. The sleek, red Mustang parked beside the Navigator went up in flames.
Oh, God! Why would someone destroy her neighbor’s vehicles?
Deke barreled straight into Lexie, grabbing her and pushing her toward the back door. Just as Deke grabbed the door handle with one hand and wrapped his arm around Lexie’s shoulders, another explosion erupted. They both glanced back and saw that Lexie’s SUV had died the same violent death as the Navigator and the Mustang.
When Deke opened the door and shoved her inside, she stumbled and lost her grip on her cane, which caught in the door, holding it partially open. Deke slid his arm around her waist, yanked her to his side and swung her around so that his body protected her, as he simultaneously kicked her cane across the concrete floor of the back hallway. The door slammed shut with a resounding wham.
Looking through the row of shattered windows across the back wall, Lexie saw the fourth vehicle, a white Mercedes, explode. Scared out of her mind, she clung to Deke. Involuntarily shivering as if half frozen and gasping for air, she realized she was on the verge of hyperventilating.
Take some deep breaths. Calm down. You’re safe. Deke’s safe. No one was hurt. Cars can be replaced.
Deke hurried her away from the windows and toward the elevator, which opened to reveal several residents, some in their robes and house slippers.
Roy and Betsy Morrison, a middle-aged couple who owned the Mercedes, emerged first, followed by Susan McKelvey, whose red Mustang was now smoldering outside in the parking lot.
“What happened?” Roy Morrison asked. “We were eating breakfast and heard the most godawful explosions.”
“I looked out the window and saw fire and smoke coming from the Wilsons’ Navigator,” Susan said.
“Y’all need to go back into the elevator and return to your apartments,” Deke told them. “I’m calling the police.” He leaned down, picked up Lexie’s cane and handed it to her, then yanked his cell phone off his belt and flipped it open. “All four vehicles in the parking lot have exploded.”
Susan and Betsy gasped.
“Somebody deliberately bombed