tasted better. She swallowed. “Again.”
When Bree appeared next to her, she tried to hide the worry in her eyes, but Lydia knew Bree.
“I’m okay,” Lydia murmured, her voice stronger now. “Get me out of this hole, and I’ll be good as new in no time.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Bree ran her hands over Lydia, especially examining the wound on her head, then put a neck brace on her. “She’s okay to be lifted but be careful. Slow and easy. No jarring.”
“Honey, stop telling us our job. We’ve done this before,” David said from above, ready to take Lydia when Thomas and Jesse hoisted her up.
Jesse positioned himself at her head while Thomas was at her feet. “On the count of three.”
Bree stabilized her midsection as Lydia was brought up out of the hole.
Sunlight bathed Lydia. She was put on a stretcher and carried from the rubble. The last sight she saw was Jesse’s handsome face—but he wasn’t smiling. Worry knitted his forehead.
Lydia gave in to the black swirling abyss beckoning her.
* * *
Lydia heard an annoying beep. Pain quickly followed, radiating from her head and chest. She moaned and lifted her eyelids halfway. A hospital room greeted her, and she remembered why she was here and hurting. She’d been in and out of consciousness since an emergency surgery to have her spleen repaired.
She wondered where her sister and Bree went. Earlier they’d been in here. Probably to grab something to eat. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about Kate while she was in the hospital. She’d stay with Bree and David until Lydia was released, which she hoped was soon.
Lydia closed her eyes and tried to relax. But the second she did, visions of the bombing assailed her mind. The sound of hideous laughter right before the bomb went off. The expression on Melinda’s face when she knew what was going to happen. Was she alive? The feeling of helplessness she experienced trapped under the building debris. Her heartbeat began to race. A cold clamminess blanketed her, much like when she’d been trapped.
The swish of her hospital room door opening pulled her away from the memories. Kate returning? She needed to have a few moments with her sister. When Lydia fastened her gaze on the person who entered, her pulse rate sped faster. Jesse Hunt. She wasn’t prepared to see him.
He looked like he’d come straight from the crime scene. As a search and rescue worker for Northern Frontier, he’d probably work as long as he could function. The only time he’d rest was when Brutus needed to.
So why is he here?
He stopped at the end of the bed. “Bree told me you’d been awake earlier and coherent after your surgery, so I took a chance and came to talk to you.”
His stiff stance and white-knuckled hands on the railing betrayed his nervousness, but his tone told her he was here in his professional capacity. Saddened by that thought, Lydia said, “Thank you for finding me.”
“I was doing my job yesterday.”
“Knowing the people who would be searching kept my hope alive. Have you found everyone?”
“We don’t know for sure. Names of missing people are still coming in. I was hoping you could tell me how many people were in the restaurant when the bomb exploded.”
“I’m not sure. Let me think.” As much as she didn’t want to, she tried to visualize the moments before the explosion. “Melinda, and I remember seeing another waitress. I don’t know how many cooks she had in the kitchen. They’re always in the back.”
“How about customers?”
She had to think. She didn’t want this person to get away with what he’d done. She fought the weariness that kept edging forward. “People were coming in and out. Some ordered takeout for lunch and didn’t stay long. I came out of the restroom, saw Melinda seconds before the laugh track played. I’d estimate maybe nine besides me. Most of them were regulars.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know their names. I just see them there a lot. I go get lunch there once or twice a week...” The thought that the bistro was totally gone inundated her. She dropped her gaze to her lap, her hands quivering. She balled them, but that didn’t stop the trembling sweeping through her body.
“If I bring you photos, could you tell me if they were there?”
Emotions crammed her throat. She turned for her water on the bedside table, but it was too far away without leaning for it. She started to and winced from the movement.
Jesse was at her side, grabbing the plastic cup and offering it to her.
She took it, their fingers brushing, and she nearly splashed the water all over her with her shaking.
Jesse covered her hand and steadied her drink, then guided it to her mouth. The feel of his fingers against hers for more than a second jolted her. “I know this isn’t something you want to talk about, but we want to recover all the bodies as quickly as possible.”
“Bodies? Did anyone else survive?”
“A waitress and two cooks. We found them in the kitchen area, the waitress just inside the entrance while the cooks were across the room.”
She didn’t want to ask but she needed to know. “Did Melinda survive?”
“No, we ID’d her body. So far we’ve recovered eight bodies, including Melinda. Four people are missing, according to their families, but we haven’t found them yet. The bomb squad thinks the bomb originated in the dining area where the customers were. They’ll know more when the bomb fragments are all found.”
“Eight dead.” How did she survive when the others didn’t? “I was in the hallway to the bathrooms when it went off, not in the main dining room. Do you think that protected me some?”
“Possibly. Do you know where the laughing sound came from?”
“Not sure.” She closed her eyes and tried to think back to that time. Nothing. She massaged her temple, forcing herself to dig deeper beyond the pain throbbing against her skull. “I don’t think from behind me. When I heard the laughter—” she shuddered “—I took two steps back. Then everything went blank.”
Jesse put the cup on the bedside table. “I know this isn’t easy, but anything you can remember could help us piece together what happened. We’ve got to stop this man.”
“Nobody wants that more than me. I... I...” Tears blurred her vision. She couldn’t voice what she felt, not even to herself. She remembered coming to in recovery, and all she’d wanted to do was surrender to the darkness. Stay there. But that wouldn’t help. She’d learned long ago she couldn’t escape from the truth.
“I’m sorry, Jesse. I’m tired. I’m sure I’ll remember more later.” She hoped she could. She needed to. If no one in the dining area survived the bombing except her, she might know something that could help find the culprit. But at the moment her head felt as if it would explode.
“I
