and clear her mind. If only she could wash the memories away.
She placed the gun, which had been her almost constant companion for the last eight years, next to her purse on the kitchen table and opened the cabinet over the sink in search of a glass. A sickening smell, like rotten eggs, hit her full force.
Pinpricks of fear needled the nape of her neck.
She glanced at the gas cooking range. The burners were off. The flame on the pilot lights glowed crimson in the dark.
The smell was intense, overpowering, deadly.
Run!
She reached for her Glock and slipped her handbag over her shoulder as she raced through the living area to the back door. Fingers trembling, she fumbled at the lock, dead bolt and chain, her progress slowed by the protective safeguards she had put in place. For too long, she had tried to distance herself from Jacob, fearing he was still alive.
Her pulse pounded in her ear, like a ticking time bomb ready to explode. She had to escape before—
The door opened. She ran into the night, inhaling the pure, sweet air that filled her lungs.
In the distance beyond the common green space stood the older BOQ apartments. Even at this late hour a few lights glowed in the windows.
She glanced back at the newly built quad she’d moved into ten days earlier. The only occupant thus far.
Digging into her purse, she traded her gun for her cell and speed dialed the Criminal Investigation Division on post, where she worked. The noncommissioned officer on duty answered on the second ring.
“This is Special Agent Rebecca Miller. Notify the fire department and military police of a gas leak in the new BOQ quad on Eisenhower Drive. Tell them the only occupant has cleared the premises.”
Before she could disconnect, the sound of unleashed fury rocked her world. The explosion lit the sky and mushroomed into a giant ball of fire.
The force of the blast pushed against her. She took a step back to keep her balance.
Her ears rang. Her eyes blurred.
She blinked against the brightness.
A surge of heat warmed her for an instant as it 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
