Civilian life had to be easier than what she’d endured, if she really had been able to leave it behind. He remembered certain details now. Navy Chaplain Angela Gallagher brought in with minor wounds along with her chaplain’s assistant, who had died from the bullets that tore through his aorta when he’d shielded her. God’s handiwork ripped to irreparable shreds by the merciless progress of metal and machine.
“I need to find someone,” she said, keeping a distance between them as she passed him.
“Lila?”
Angela started. “The woman who just ran up these stairs. Is that her name?”
He nodded. “She’s a dental hygienist. She works at the same health clinic where I volunteer.”
Angela’s gaze shifted as she thought it over. “I’ve got to talk to her.”
“She didn’t look in the talking mood.”
“I got that sense, too, when she pulled a knife.”
Now it was his turn to gape. “What?”
“I’ve got to go.”
“Bad idea. She’s got a knife and you don’t...”
She stiffened. “Carry a weapon?”
It wasn’t what he’d meant, but her reaction stopped him cold, her expression brittle as glass.
“You’re right, Dr. Blackwater. I don’t.”
The landing at the top of the stairs emptied out onto a cement sidewalk that led to the boardwalk. The crowds were thicker now, the lights in restaurant windows were advertising the beginning of the dinner hour. Paper lanterns that lined the sidewalks glowed in soft hues. While Dan struggled to think of how in the world he should handle the bizarre situation, Angela simply jogged by him and into the milling group.
Lila had pulled a knife on someone? The soft-spoken, tea-drinking woman who read poetry during her lunch break? After a moment of thought, he went after Angela. At first he could not find her. Then the failing light shone on a man with a cap pulled down low over his wide forehead and a wound on the back of his hand. Dan had seen the scar before because he’d stitched it up himself. Tank Guzman.
It was probably not outside the realm of possibility that Guzman was just coincidently attending the Beach Fest on the same night as Angela Gallagher, the woman who had watched his brother die. A chance meeting? And Lila just happened along, too?
Guzman stood in the shadows near a restaurant, the air rich with the scent of garlic and calamari, a cigarette in his fingers. Guzman wasn’t interested in the food. He scanned the masses, a scowl on his face, until his gaze fastened on someone.
Angela?
Dan spotted her making a beeline for the parking lot. Several yards ahead of her was Lila, hastily edging her way through the throng.
Tank stubbed out the cigarette and tossed it to the ground, following Angela. Dan closed the gap, intending to reach Angela before Tank did.
“Wait, Lila,” he heard Angela call. “I need to talk to you about Tank. Please.”
Lila wrenched open the door and got inside before slamming and locking it.
“Lila,” Angela called again.
Time slowed down in Dan’s mind. Lila’s lips moved in some silent uttering as she turned the key. Her head turned the slightest bit, a frown on her brow as she watched Angela one moment longer. Her shoulder moved as she shifted into reverse.
“Lila,” Angela cried one more time, coming within ten feet of the car.
Then there was a deafening bang and the smell of fire.
The blast took out the front right bumper and much of the engine compartment. It was the sound more than the force that caused Angela to stumble backward into the person behind her. Her head connected with the hard bone of a shoulder or chin. Tiny bits of glass pricked her face, and there was a vague sensation of heat. As she regained her balance, she caught a fleeting glimpse of Lila through the car window, pale profile wreathed in smoke.
Stunned, her legs turned to rubber. Run, run, run, her brain screamed. Her memory filled with the sound of rockets shrieking through the sky and the smell of burning diesel. A cry knifed the air. Was it her own? Lila’s? A memory from the war?
Electricity surged through her limbs, overriding the fear.
The hood of the car was crawling with orange flames. The stink of burning plastic clogged her throat. Lila was still in the driver’s seat, eyes closed, knocked unconscious by the explosion. Angela sprang forward but found herself caught. Dan Blackwater, gray eyes sparking, gripped her wrist.
“Stay back,” he growled.
She yanked, almost ripping free of his grasp, but he was nearly six-four and strong. “She’s got to get out.”
He held her easily, moving her back several feet in spite of her resistance. “You can’t help her right now.” His tone was arrogant, reassuring, infuriating.
Can’t help her? Unacceptable. She forced out a breath and stopped wriggling for a moment, just long enough for him to loosen his hold, and then broke away, running to the car and pulling on the door handle, which was hot to the touch. Locked. A crackle of flames burst from the engine compartment.
“Lila, wake up. Open the door,” Angela screamed, trying the back door handle with no success. She pounded her palm against the glass as hard as she could.
Then Dan was on her again, grabbing her around the waist.
“Let me go,” she shrieked. Was he just going to stay safely back and watch Lila burn to death or die of smoke inhalation?
Twisting from his grip she started hitting the glass again when he braced an arm around her and moved her back, lifting her off the ground.
“You’re a coward,” she yelled, flailing.
“That’s enough,” he roared.
She found herself tossed over his shoulder and carted away like a bag of laundry in spite of her screams. Blood rushed to her face as he hurried her away. A minute later, when he let her down, her head was spinning, cheeks hot.
He pushed her into the restraining hands of two twentysomething festivalgoers who had run to witness the aftermath of the explosion. “Hold on to her,” he commanded. “Tightly.” Each one grabbed an arm, and she was imprisoned.
“He’s right, lady,” said the one with the goatee. “There’s nothing you can do.”
Nothing? Should she stand by and watch while someone died right in front of her? Again? Her gaze traveled in horror to the car.
Free of her, Dan ran to the car, grabbing up a folding card chair the parking attendant had been using. Several people were already on their cell phones calling
