Flanders pulled a notepad and mechanical pencil from his pocket while his partner stood to the side. “Can I get your name, ma’am?”
“Special Agent Becca Miller. I’m with the CID.”
“You were the only resident in the new building?”
“That’s correct. I arrived on post ten days ago and signed for the bottom apartment on the left. The one on the bottom right, as well as the two second-story apartments, were unoccupied.”
“What happened?” the MP asked.
“I—I went into the kitchen for a glass of water and noticed a strong gas smell. Realizing the danger, I exited the building.”
“Did you see anyone outside?”
She shook her head. “No one.”
Wind blew across the clearing and ruffled the pages of the sergeant’s notebook. He hunched his shoulders against the cold and glanced at her lightweight flannel pants and T-shirt. “The temperature’s dropping, ma’am. Would you like to take shelter in one of the squad cars?”
“I’m fine, Sergeant.”
Colby knew better.
Dressed as she was coupled with the plummeting temperature and the shock of seeing her BOQ in flames had to have an adverse effect on her. Even in the half-light, her face was noticeably pale and drawn.
He glanced down at her bare feet.
Time to make a command decision. “My BOQ is just across the clearing. We can continue to talk there.”
He shrugged out of the thick fleece he’d grabbed on his way outside and slipped it over her shoulders.
She shook her head. “That’s not necessary.”
“Maybe not, but humor me.”
Their eyes locked for a long moment.
Colby wanted to shake his head at her obstinacy. Someone needed to inform Ms. Miller that taking healthy measures to protect herself wasn’t a sign of weakness.
What did she have to prove?
He took her arm.
She glanced down at his hand and then raised her gaze. “Really, I’m okay.”
“Maybe, but the temperature is in the forties. You’re not dressed for the cold. Neither am I.”
He turned to the MP. “Sergeant, I’m in apartment 103, the first door on the left, should anyone need to question either Special Agent Miller or me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Colby motioned Becca forward and was somewhat surprised when she followed his lead. As tough as she had tried to be over the past few days, he had expected opposition. Not that he wasn’t relieved.
Shock was a nasty complication that often went unnoticed. From the knit of her brow and the ever-so-slight slump to her usually ramrod-straight spine, Becca had been affected by the middle-of-the-night attack.
Who wouldn’t be? To go from a near sleep to a race for your life could try the best of men—or women.
Glancing over his shoulder, he took in the seeming chaos as the on-post fire company worked to control the inferno that resisted their attempts at containment. The military police, post engineer, fire marshal and fire chief would survey the damage and photograph anything suspect. As much as Colby would have liked to check the property himself, someone needed to get Becca inside and out of the cold.
Tomorrow, the fire marshal and his entourage would sift through the rubble in hopes of uncovering the cause. More than likely, an accidental malfunction from a leak in a gas line or a faulty pilot light coupled with some type of spark.
At the far side of the grassy knoll Becca stopped and glanced over her shoulder at the blaze.
Colby heard the sharp intake of air as she shook her head.
“Was it Jacob?” she whispered.
He leaned closer, not sure if he had heard correctly.
“What did you say, Becca?”
Her eyes widened as if she had forgotten he was there.
So much for making a positive, first impression. Something his sisters would have teased him about mercilessly, if they found out.
Which they wouldn’t.
“Did you say ‘Jacob’?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I didn’t say anything.”
But she had. A man’s name. Did she associate Jacob—whoever he was—with the explosion?
If so, Colby would keep watch in hopes she would eventually reveal more information. Maybe then he’d know what secrets she kept hidden behind her hauntingly hooded eyes and tantalizing reticence.
TWO
Becca hesitated for a moment before she stepped into Colby’s BOQ and flicked her gaze over the leather couch and matching chair bathed in soft light from a floor lamp. A newspaper and stack of fitness magazines were arranged on the coffee table next to a collection of framed photos. She moved closer, her eyes drawn to a picture of a group of girls standing around a much younger Colby in uniform. The family resemblance couldn’t be ignored.
“These must be your sisters?” she said.
“All five of them.” She could hear the smile in his voice as he headed for the kitchen. “They insisted on a picture before I deployed to Afghanistan the first time.”
A bittersweet moment for sure. Pride for their brother was tempered by the reality that he might not come home from war. Photos were something tangible to hold on to when all else was gone.
Graven images, the Amish called them. Her father had railed when she and Katie had come home with a snapshot a friend from town had taken of both of them. Her father had torn the picture into tiny pieces that Becca had tried to glue together later that night after he had gone to bed. If only she had that picture now. Instead, she had to rely on memories that faded with time.
“How do you take your coffee?” Colby called from the other room.
“With a little milk, if you’ve got it.”
“Creamer okay?”
“Perfect.”
A biography of General George S. Patton sat on a side table along with a number of training manuals. Military plaques and memorabilia hung on the wall next to citations for an army commendation medal, a meritorious service metal and two bronze stars. Impressive to say the least.
Not only was Colby good-looking but also competent, although she’d realized that the day they’d met. He’d been
