then made his way to the ambulance.
* * *
As a paramedic cleaned the wounds on Amber’s hands, she watched firefighters douse the remaining flames from her car until the charred piece of metal smoldered. Nausea rolled through her abdomen. Forty-eight months of payments up in smoke. Literally.
Amber drew a deep breath. What am I thinking? At least she hadn’t been in it.
“You really need to get to the ER,” the paramedic reiterated for the fourth time.
She clenched her fist against the sting of alcohol and settled her gaze back on the man. “Do you think I’ll need stitches?”
“You’ve got some pretty good lacerations on your hands and knees. If nothing else, you’ll need to get a tetanus shot.”
Amber looked at her palms and grimaced. The bloody gouges in her flesh looked as painful as they felt. “I’d really like to just go home. A hot shower and antibiotic cream sounds more appealing than a trip to the ER.”
“Your call, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”
Of course not. She stretched out one leg and winced. Then glanced at her hands again. He probably was right. “Okay. I suppose I should go.”
“Great. We’ll get packed and be on our way. Since you’re stable, you can buckle up where you are on the bench seat. We won’t need to strap you onto the gurney.”
“I really appreciate that.” More than he could imagine.
Still, the mere thought of the ambulance ride made her uneasy. It was something she’d never wanted to experience again. Let alone a trip to the emergency room. She flexed her fingers and cringed against the pain. She was being ridiculous. Nearly a decade had passed. The nightmares had faded.
But the memories lingered—along with the guilt.
“Ma’am, could I speak to you for a moment?” The rich deep timbre of the man’s voice raised goose bumps along her arms.
She jerked her head up, and her breath caught as a tall figure stepped to the door of the EMS vehicle. Broad and muscular, he had a bewildered look on his face that probably mimicked her own. “Patrick?”
“Amber?” Patrick cocked his head to the side, his dark, velvety eyes and strong, chiseled features as intriguing as ever. Little had changed over the past eleven years. If anything the years had only enhanced his good looks.
“I sure wasn’t expecting to find you here.” The glint in his brown gaze was unexpectedly warm. So unlike the last time she’d seen him.
Ditto. She swallowed. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”
“Got home about a year ago. I work with the Savannah-Chatham police department violent crimes unit.” He flashed his badge, very detectivelike. “How are you?”
“Happy to be alive.” She tried for a smile, but hated that just the sight of him caused her pulse to rev. He shouldn’t have that effect on her, especially after all she’d put him through. Her guilt alone should have tamped those emotions years ago.
“I’m sure you are happy to be alive. That was a pretty violent explosion.” Patrick gestured to the remains of her car. “Who do you think did this?”
Shaking her head, she shrugged. “No idea. Maybe a random act. I don’t know.”
His head moved in an agreeable nod, but she could just imagine his churning thoughts. He didn’t buy it. He hadn’t changed one iota. Always suspected the worst. Still, she held on to the hope that her car had been a random choice by some wayward lunatic.
Patrick turned his head and stared back at the charred debris. “Did you see anyone in the parking lot or notice anything unusual before the bomb went off?”
“No. The parking lot was nearly empty. With the storm approaching, this area of town has been pretty deserted.”
His gaze met hers again, his eyes narrowing. “What about the man who found the item you dropped?”
“I dropped a file on the sidewalk leading to the parking area. Thankfully, that gentleman was around, otherwise—” Amber choked on the last word, suddenly dizzy. She could have been killed.
“Detective, are you about finished with your questions?” the medic asked as he placed the orange plastic supply box into the back of the emergency vehicle.
“For now.” Patrick gave the medic a nod, then returned his attention to Amber. “I’ll let you get to the hospital and catch up with you later.” He pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to her. “Call me if any new revelations come to you.”
Amber took the card, breathing relief when the paramedic closed the doors. A siren roared and the ambulance maneuvered out of the tight parking lot. She lolled her head back against the vinyl seat, ignoring the pain streaking through her extremities. Tears welled in her eyes just before she squeezed them shut.
This was definitely not her day.
* * *
Patrick watched the ambulance ease through the crowded parking lot and then pull away. Catching his breath, he felt his insides reel from the sucker punch that caught him the moment Amber’s crystal-green gaze collided with his.
She hadn’t changed at all. Sill had the same delicate features—straight little nose, high cheekbones, luscious full lips. And a tumble of dark mahogany curls, soft and flowing about her shoulders.
She was still mesmerizing.
Seeing her had unearthed a whole host of emotions he had no business feeling, given their history. Feelings he’d thought he’d buried the night she’d walked out of his life the summer after their freshman year of college. Just weeks after she’d accepted his ring.
Waves of emotion shuddered through Patrick as memories of Amber flooded his mind. Sweet memories still outnumbered the bad, which made seeing her sting that much more. Crazy, he thought. It had been eleven years.
He tilted his head back and deeply inhaled, trying to calm the turbulent pulsing in his veins. Instead, adrenaline kicked him into overdrive as the stench of smoke entered his lungs. He stiffened his posture. Refocused. This was not the time to deal with the irrational emotions knotting his gut. Someone had blown up a car. Amber may have been the target.
He had a crime to solve.
* * *
The next five hours passed in a blur. Amber sat on the edge of a stretcher in the ER and studied her hands wrapped in gauze. She wiggled her fingers. Tender but tolerable. Somehow not seeing the wounds made them smart less.
Not so with her legs. She straightened one. The wounds had been cleaned and left open to air, with several jagged stitches on each knee. The black tights she’d been wearing had offered nothing in the way of protection, as the deep abrasions on her now-bare legs attested. Not pretty and painfully sore.
The events of the day still struck her as surreal, even impossible. Why would someone plant a bomb in a nearly deserted parking lot?
