She whirled, the scent of jasmine and sweet pea floating around her, her expression sharp-edged and full of resentment. “You, of all people, should understand how I feel. I didn’t want to come back here. I wanted to stay in Día Belo because I made a commitment to those villagers and because I cared about them.”
Brice lowered his head, his whisper just for her. “And you, of all people, should know that I could not leave you down there in danger. It’s a matter of honor.”
Hitching her tote onto her shoulder, she grabbed a pile of files off a hallway table and headed for the double front doors of the inner-city clinic known as Haven Center. “Yes, right. CHAIM honor. I know all about that. Remember, I’ve lived it and breathed it since birth. My father’s honor, your honor—”
“The Lord’s honor,” Brice said, fighting to keep from grabbing her arm again. “C’mere.” Reaching for the files, he shifted them to his other arm as he guided her toward the door. “We try to do God’s work. You know that. And I couldn’t let you stay down there after—”
“After those cutthroat smugglers killed my best friend and a good doctor, after they murdered Diego before I could help him? I watched them raid my clinic, Brice, while I cowered in the trees. Is that why you forced me to leave?”
“Well, yes, cara. That was certainly enough reason for me to come and fetch you home.”
“Fetch me home?”
She marched up the hallway, locking doors and telling workers to call it a day. “You certainly did fetch me home, all right. You practically kidnapped me.” Turning at the intricate doors of what had once been a church school and now served as the hub of this underprivileged inner-city suburb, she gave him a look that would trouble his dreams, her violet-blue eyes so big and luminous Brice’s heart crumbled like zapped stardust right at her feet.
“They needed me,” she continued. “And I needed them. Someone should have protected those villagers, too. But no, we left them to be slaughtered.” Poking at his cotton shirt with a finger, she gave him a disgusted, disgraced look. “You took me and left them. And that’s what I can’t forgive. Or maybe I just can’t forgive myself for not confronting those thugs in the first place.” Grabbing back her files, she turned and stalked out the door.
The sting of her anger hit Brice with as much force as the damp spring humidity on the warm Atlanta streets. A quick spring shower had assaulted the city earlier, but the rain had stopped, leaving everything steamy and soaked. Searching, he saw her heading toward her hybrid mini SUV, her long golden-red ponytail set swinging with her frustration, her lightweight white button-up sweater sweeping away from her slender body.
“I guess that means she’s not coming home with me,” he mumbled. Selena, you do my head in, you know that?
He almost walked away, but he looked back up as she hit the remote key to open the SUV. When nothing happened, she hit the key again, then frowned.
Brice stood frozen by the door of the Haven Center, his instincts ramping up, his muscles clenching. Something wasn’t right.
Selena stepped toward the car, still clicking the remote. Again, nothing happened. Her aggravated groan echoed down the street as she continued to hit the remote lock attached to her key chain. Finally, she looked up the street toward Brice, a determined frown on her face.
“Selena?”
Brice hurried toward her, a pulse booming inside his temple. “Selena?”
“Leave me alone, Brice! This thing hasn’t worked right since I bought the car before I left for Argentina. So much for going green.” Intent on finding out why her car wouldn’t unlock, she reached toward the door, her fingers brushing against the lock button.
Then Brice smelled it—a strong scent of gasoline and oil. He screamed her name again, then sprinted toward her and grabbed her from behind, lifting her up as he ran with all his might away from the car. About thirty feet away, he pushed her down onto the sidewalk, knocking her files all over the concrete, his body shielding hers as he tried to cover her.
Seconds later, the explosion hit and the inside of Selena’s car became an inferno of molten-hot metal and chrome.
His voice was close to her, but the buzz inside her ears made it sound so far away. “You’re bleeding.”
Selena looked up at the man holding her, her breath coming in deep, slashing gulps. “So are you.”
She tried to sit up, tried to touch a finger to the scratch running across Brice’s cheekbone. But his hand on hers brought her back down. “Don’t move, cara. Let me make sure you’re in one piece.”
“I’m fine,” she said, his nearness as heated as the fire from the burning vehicle. Pushing at him, she managed to shift away. “What happened?”
Brice sat her up against the clinic wall as people came running out of nearby buildings. “Your car exploded.”
“But…why?” Then she looked up at him and saw it there on his face. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me. This can’t have anything to do with Argentina, with La Casa de Dios?”
The grim set of Brice’s mouth told her he certainly believed it did. La Casa de Dios—the house of God—was what the locals had called the clinic where she lived and worked. “I told you these were very dangerous people, luv. If you’d gotten in that car—”
Selena pushed up the wall. “No. I don’t believe you. My key pad didn’t work. Something malfunctioned inside the vehicle. A spark—”
Brice squatted in front of her, blood running down his face. “A bomb, Selena. A bomb happened inside that car, or at least underneath the car. You smelled the fumes, didn’t you? I don’t know what went wrong—maybe they weren’t as expert as they thought or maybe their timer wasn’t set correctly. But your key pad messing up saved you. It went off before you cranked it. Before you got inside—”
Selena took in the scene, realizing the magnitude of what he was saying. Her car was totaled, a burning heap of gas fumes and scorched metal and chrome. Thank goodness no other cars or people had been nearby. Not many ventured on this street this late in the day, so no one else had been hurt.
And she was still alive. And Brice. Brice was still alive. She thanked God for that.
He held his cell phone while he looked up and down the street. Sirens sounded in the distance. “Listen, I called 911 but we don’t have much time. We have to get you away.”
“Away from what?” she asked, her thoughts all jumbled up like mixed wires.
“Away…before the newspeople get here. Your face doesn’t need to be plastered all over this city. They’ll try to come after you again.”
“But if they know where I am already—”
“We don’t need to give them any more firsthand information, though, do we, luv?”
A clinic worker came running out then. “Selena, are you all right?”
Brice lifted her up. “She needs to be checked out. We don’t want her going into shock.”
The
