emerged. Amber rubbed a knuckle against the pounding in her temple, where a tension headache had taken hold. She’d grown up in Savannah. It was the one place she felt safe.
Until today.
A nurse walked into the room carrying a small syringe. She pulled gloves from a box mounted on the wall. “After I give you this tetanus shot, you’ll be ready for discharge.”
“Thank you.” Amber nodded, happy to be nearing the end of her visit. Although her dreaded time in the emergency room hadn’t been as difficult as she’d imagined in terms of invoking memories.
A near miss with a bomb had taken care of that.
Her blood chilled at the thought.
“Right arm, please.” The nurse pulled off the plastic tip of the syringe.
Amber flinched a little as the nurse gave her the shot.
“It may be sore for a few days, so just use a warm compress for the pain. I’ll be right back with your paperwork.” The nurse left the room.
The pain from a tiny shot was the least of Amber’s concerns.
“How about a ride home?”
At the sound of the deep voice, every fine hair on her neck rose to attention. She glanced up. Detective Patrick Wiley stood there, his commanding presence filling the doorway, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and one shoulder leaning against the door frame.
“A ride?” Amber blurted, startled more than she was surprised to see him again. She’d thought he’d wait at least until she got home and settled.
“The hospital called and said you were ready to be released.”
Amber instinctively tucked a stray curl behind her ear. The sooty film on her hair reminded her how terrible she must look, while Patrick stood there looking...well, incredible. “Someone from the hospital called you?” She barely kept her voice from cracking. She sat up straighter, trying to look somewhat together, although after the day she had, she could hardly be expected to look calm and collected. It wasn’t every day a bomb blew up her car, or Patrick Wiley popped back into her life.
He nodded. “I asked them to. I still have a few questions. So if you haven’t called for a ride already, I can give you one.”
Hesitating, Amber scoured her brain for an excuse. Then again, what excuse could she have? She hadn’t called anyone. She blew out a breath. “Okay...if you don’t mind.”
“I’m ready whenever you are.”
Which would be never.
Patrick pulled keys from his pocket and Amber blinked. The man at the door was not just her old boyfriend, he was a law enforcement officer, here to do his job. That truth alone should have calmed her.
Instead, a fresh burst of regret exploded in her chest. Regret for choices she’d made and the results they’d caused.
* * *
Patrick pulled his SUV to the curb in front of Amber’s wood-frame bungalow and killed the engine. Gusty wind whistled and raindrops pelted the windshield, punctuating the awkward silence that had settled in the air between them.
As eager as Patrick was to jump-start the investigation, he could tell Amber was still shell-shocked. Even as he’d updated her on the bomb squad’s initial report for the explosives involved in the blast, she’d stayed rather apathetic, acknowledging his comments with a nod, but not saying much else. He had hoped to engage in a fact-finding conversation, but so far, that was not happening.
And after he spent two solid hours at the station poring over data collected at the crime scene, he realized very quickly that this wasn’t going to be a slam-dunk investigation. And, as with most crimes of this magnitude, time was of the essence, meaning, like it or not, he needed to dig more into Amber’s personal life.
Patrick flicked on the car’s interior lights. He twisted in his seat and rested his arm on the center console. Not an easy feat for his large frame, but he wanted to give Amber his full attention. “I need to ask a few questions about your relationships. Is there anyone, in the past or presently, who might be nursing a grudge of some kind? Ex-boyfriend, spouse or otherwise.”
She took a deep, silent breath. “Well, I’ve never had a spouse, and I can’t think of any looming relationship issues.”
Good. Not that it had any bearing on him personally, but it might make working with her a little less awkward. “How about outstanding debt? Do you owe anybody anything?”
She shook her head. “No, I live pretty frugally. Other than my house, I’m debt-free. Well,” she amended, “I guess I’ll be buying a new car.”
Patrick caught the subtle tremble of her body, but she kept any emotion off her face. He admired the way she was trying to stay strong, but he got a knot in his gut thinking about what she’d been through. A need to comfort her welled up inside of him.
He quickly stifled the impulse to pull her into his arms and offer her support. That wasn’t his place anymore.
“I’m sorry about your car.” His eyes captured hers, hoping to provide some solace, yet feeling ineffective against any stress she was dealing with.
“Thank you.”
He shook his head, thinking back to the destruction the bomb had left. “It was only by God’s grace that you made it out alive.”
As Amber acknowledged his remark with a small nod, her gaze drifted away to the storm raging outside. “Yes, things could have been much worse.”
It wasn’t just her averted eyes, but the fleeting look of remorse tightening her features that made him wonder what kind of storm was raging inside her.
Patrick hesitated, giving her a moment. “Amber, are you okay?”
She returned her gaze to him, shapely brows drawn together. “Sorry. It’s been a crazy day.” She pushed hair from her face. “Are you finished with your questions?”
“No, I have a few more.” Patrick shifted in the seat and switched modes, turning his focus once again on solving this case. “You talked about recently opening a counseling center. What kind of clients do you cater to?”
At the mention of her place of business, she brightened some. “Well, I work with two other counselors and we offer a variety of services, geared mostly toward women in crisis situations. We deal with everything from marital and family discord to substance abuse and mental health issues.”
Patrick nodded to himself. “Okay, how about a family member or significant other of one of your clients—anyone seeking revenge for your intervention?”
Amber hesitated, brushing another stray lock of hair from her cheek. “It’s possible, I guess. But most of my referrals come from the women’s shelter or hospital social workers. It’s a very confidential climate. I stay pretty much under the radar.”
“I understand,” Patrick said, although he did not completely dismiss the theory. “Have you received any unusual phone calls or messages lately?”
She
