followed milliseconds later by a whoosh and sounds of cracking and shattering. A flaming, rolling, expanding ball of gas filled the duplex to bursting and sent splintered windows and walls outward while the roof rose, fell and disappeared.
Adam ducked instinctively. So did Sara. He covered her as best he could and stayed hunched over her until smoldering pieces of the destroyed building stopped falling around them.
A cloud of acrid black and gray smoke boiled from the site of the explosion, filling the atmosphere and stealing breathable air. It rolled over the scene like a malevolent entity that was bent on hiding the carnage and claiming more victims.
Adam’s ears were ringing. “Don’t inhale deeply,” he cautioned Sara. “Fumes from burning synthetics can kill you.”
“Or you!” she replied, coughing and choking.
“I’ll be okay. There’s plenty of O2 on the engines. Wait a minute more, then keep low while you head for the squad. This smoke will hide you. Get in with Forrester. Stay there and keep your head down, just in case.”
“No. I can help out here. There may be injuries.”
“There will be for sure if you keep being so stubborn,” he countered. “I can only do so much to protect you.”
“I never asked you to.”
“You didn’t have to,” Adam said soberly. “It’s what I do.”
* * *
Everyone’s adrenaline had dissipated to the point of exhaustion by the time all the firefighters except the mop-up crew had returned to the station. Disappointingly, the duplex was on the ground and no sniper had been located.
Sara had given her statement about the deceased victim to police officers on scene, then ridden back with the rescue squad. The crews were done debriefing for the night, although their chief would later go over the primary attack on the fire and their coordinated efforts.
On-duty firefighters were cleaning and restocking the equipment and the other volunteers had left for home. Sara would have been among them if Adam hadn’t specifically asked her to stay so they could speak in private.
Weariness made her mood less than affable. “Well? What’s so important that we can’t let everybody in on it?”
“You must know that better than I do. Talk. I’m waiting,” he said flatly.
“For what? I’m as in the dark as you are about what happened tonight. Even if you’re right about those shots, I can’t lock myself in a closet and stay there to make it safe for the rest of the folks in Paradise.”
“There’s a lot more to consider than that and you know it,” Adam argued. “I just want you to take reasonable precautions. The police agree. Nobody accidentally shoots the same tree twice in a row—while you happen to be standing under it.”
Sara could picture Adam’s larger frame physically shielding hers. By the time the second bullet was fired he might have been in the way. Therefore, the assailant had little concern for which victim fell.
“How do you know they weren’t shooting at you?”
“Because I wasn’t there the first time.”
“You were the second time,” she argued.
He grimaced. “Don’t remind me.”
Judging by his expression and the abrupt retort, he meant it. Well, fine. Sara chewed on her lower lip. She was certainly going to remember. The way he had protected her from both the impending blast and whoever was apparently threatening her life had brought back good memories. Sweet memories she had done her best to banish when he’d chosen to ignore her tearful pleas and enlist in the marines rather than stay in Paradise.
So, what do I have to do to get him to see me as a responsible adult instead of a giggly teenage buddy? she wondered with a sigh. Sara stiffened her spine, raised her chin and made sure none of the on-duty firefighters were listening before she said, “Okay. Suppose somebody is mad enough at me to try to shoot me. Who? And why?”
“Don’t ask me. Ask yourself,” Adam snapped back. “Start with why anybody would start a fire in Vicki’s apartment.”
“I don’t have a clue. Really.”
“How about that guy you recognized? You met him in Texas?”
“Yes.” She swallowed hard, her mouth dry.
“What happened there?”
“Besides losing my best girlfriend in the whole world, you mean?” She noted his morphing expression, unsure whether it portrayed anger or loss or grief.
Adam set his jaw. “Yes.”
Sara decided he was struggling to control anger, which was actually a necessary step in the grieving process, so she tried not to hold it against him. At least he was staying civil toward her—for the present.
“Vicki thought she’d found a problem with the records kept by the local overseer for the mission organization,” Sara said. “That was why she insisted on going back to the office trailer despite the storm. The Brazos River and its tributaries were already flooding and more rain was falling, but she’d stashed the proof back at the office.”
He rolled his eyes. “That’s ridiculous. She could have saved a copy on a thumb drive.”
“Not without electricity and a working scanner to copy the original invoices. She—we—needed those paper copies. They had signatures on them. There was no way to prove who was involved in the corruption without them. Anybody she accused could easily have denied it.”
“That’s what she gave her life for? A bunch of paperwork?” Running his fingers through his short, dark hair he began to pace. “And you didn’t stop her?”
Sara was trembling, inside and out. She clenched her fingers together. “I tried. She wouldn’t listen. I told her the flood water was getting too high, moving too fast, but she was determined.”
“You could have grabbed her, shaken some sense into her.”
“I did!” Gulping back sobs Sara relived that terrible evening in a flash. “I was holding on to her slicker. It was wet. My hand slipped.” She inhaled shakily. “And then she was gone.”
Watching Adam’s reaction, Sara realized he was accepting her story. When he said, “I’m sorry, but at least that explains a few things,” she arched an eyebrow and stared, waiting for him to go on.
“I got texts from Vicki the evening she disappeared.” He plopped down on the wide rear bumper of his engine, leaned his elbows on his knees and bowed his head.
“When?” Sara cautiously joined him.
“Around six. It was already dark here so the sun would have been setting where you were, too. She told me you two were okay, then mentioned the mystery game we used to play when we were kids. The game where one of you pretended to be Holmes and the other one Watson.”
“That’s
