Karen Kirst - Explosive Reunion

Six months ago, her mom told her that Cade had been involved in an ambush and had saved someone. Tori had experienced nightmares for weeks afterward. Off and on through the years, she’d considered telling her mom to cease with the updates. They weren’t a couple anymore. They didn’t text or email. Didn’t follow each other on social media. But she hadn’t been able to cut off the flow of information. Because no matter how much time passed, she needed to know he was all right.

Cade fiddled with the straw in his milkshake, his mouth grim. “Kind of difficult to think of myself that way when we lost someone. I may have helped Corporal Faulkner, but I wasn’t able to do anything to save William Poole. He was an outstanding Marine.” The haunted look about his eyes troubled her. His fingers pressed into the beveled glass.

“Surely you don’t blame yourself.”

“Did I do what I thought was right at the time? Yes. I relied on my training and sheer instinct. Not everyone was satisfied with my performance, however. Two Marines in my platoon lodged complaints with our command, which led to an informal investigation into my actions.”

“But you weren’t found to be at fault.”

“No.”

Tori wanted to reach across and squeeze his hand. Offering him comfort used to be second nature.

“I thought we’d agreed to keep the conversation shallow and meaningless,” she lightly chided.

“You’re too easy to talk to. That hasn’t changed.”

Whatever else he might’ve said was lost by a foreign sound. A high-pitched ping. Glass splintering. A heavy thwack .

Then, for the second time in the span of a few hours, Cade was diving for her.

Screams rent the air. Another round whizzed into the diner.

Cade’s focus narrowed to one thing—keeping Tori safe.

Familiar with the hail of gunfire, he’d tugged her to the space beneath the table and ordered the others to hunker down. Somewhere in the room, a woman sobbed. A baby’s helpless cries prompted him to action.

He gripped her shoulders. “Stay here.”

“Where are you going?” Her eyes were huge pools of dread.

“To see if I can spot the shooter before he decides to come inside.”

“Are you armed?”

In answer, he lifted his pant leg and removed his Beretta Jetfire from the ankle holster. His larger weapon was at home in the safe, more suited to long-range targets. This one would have to do.

He twisted toward the kitchen area and hoped some of the employees had escaped through the rear exit. There was no evidence of blood, no anguished moans that typically accompanied wounds. Lord Jesus, let us all survive this.

Tori gasped. “Cade, your arm’s bleeding.”

The light was dim in the space beneath the table. He prodded the area and came away with bloodstained fingers. A needle-sharp sting registered through the rush of adrenaline. “Feels superficial.”

Another bullet pierced the glass above them.

“I have to go.”

Jaw locked, she gave a tight nod.

Cade inched farther onto the tiles and scanned the crowd. “Anyone hit?”

Those trapped beneath the tables in the middle stared at him in shock. In the far corner, an older man with a high-and-tight haircut—likely a retired Marine—lifted his shirt to reveal a pistol. “We’re okay on this side.”

Satisfied there were no wounds to tend, Cade darted toward the side door that led to an alley and trash dumpsters. If he could reach those dumpsters, he could use them as a buffer while searching for their assailant. Crouching low, he rushed outside. Oppressive heat mixed with eerie silence. The gravel beneath his shoes crunched. Blood singing through his veins brought back memories of Afghanistan and the kill-or-be-killed mindset. Instead of Marines, he was protecting a diner full of civilians. And Tori.

Weapon drawn, he wedged into a slim crevice between the metal dumpster and brick building. The rain-dampened sidewalks were empty. Water droplets coating the playground equipment glittered in the waning sunlight. He squinted at the storefronts farther down, but the angle wasn’t right.

Where are you?

Who are you?

Cade braced for further assault and prayed that Tori would stay put.

Was this a random act? Maybe a disgruntled former employee with an ax to grind?

An employee trained in sniper-like kills?

Doubtful.

In the back of his mind, he kept connecting this to the explosion earlier that day. He didn’t want to. Tried to reject it. But he’d lived in Sneads Ferry all his life and couldn’t remember a single incident like this one.

Sirens announced the approach of law enforcement. The gunman must’ve heard it, too, because there were no more shots fired. The first officer to arrive was an acquaintance of Cade’s, sparing him the need to get on the ground until they figured out he wasn’t involved. Cade sprinted over and, crouching behind the patrol car, told him everything he knew. Tori rushed into the street before they’d given the all clear.

Ignoring the officers’ protests, she hurried to join Cade. He seized her hand and tugged her down. “You’re not supposed to be out here,” he growled.

“I remembered something. While we were waiting for our order, I saw a man. He was watching us.”

The gut feeling he’d had solidified. Over her shoulder, he studied the diner’s facade. Tori turned to see what he was looking at. What scant color there was left in her face drained, and she lifted a trembling hand to clutch her neck.

“Cade...”

Only one of the plateglass windows had been blown out. Theirs.

“My car. It wasn’t an accident, was it?” Her gaze swerved to his, begging him to refute her claim.

“We can’t know that for sure—”

“Someone shot at us.” She had to work to drag in air. “You told me not to ignore my instincts. I should’ve heeded your advice. Someone has been watching me since I returned. Waiting for an opportunity to...”

She didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t have to.

They both knew that, had the timing of the car explosion been different, had the shooter’s aim been a little more accurate, Tori would be dead already.

“Why would someone target you?” Cade demanded. “Did something happen in Tennessee? Something you’re afraid to share?”

His words doused her in cold shock.

Secrets were her former boyfriend’s specialty. Patrick, with whom she’d shared a fun, low-key relationship, had turned out to be a white-collar criminal. His arrest and conviction hadn’t shattered her heart so much as shaken her confidence in her ability to discern a person’s true character.

Not about to share her humiliation with Cade, she said, “My life is ordinary.”

His head sagged against the bumper. “Nothing about this is ordinary, Tori.” He sighed.

Beneath his tattered sleeve, blood trickled down his biceps. She sidled closer, the hot pavement searing her bare knees, and reached for his wounded arm. “You need medical attention.”

He shifted away. “It’ll keep a while longer.”

“I won’t pass out.” At his disbelieving stare, she said, “I’m not as squeamish as I used to be.”

“You aren’t going to swoon in my arms like a Jane Austen heroine?”

She was unable to banish the memory of her seventeenth birthday and the incident involving a rusty nail in her foot. He’d carried her half a mile to the nearest residence, called for an ambulance and refused to leave her side. He’d been her own personal hero. Well, she was older and wiser. More cynical? Or was it that her heart had been broken at eighteen and never fully repaired? Whatever the case, she didn’t believe in heroes anymore. Exceptional romance belonged on library shelves.