Susan Sleeman - Explosive Alliance

The thought made every shadow in the secluded property seem ominous, sending a shiver over her body. She glanced at Cash, wondering if she should ask for his continued help to keep them safe.

“Cash seems like a nice young man,” Opa said, oblivious to her concerns.

“He’s a cop,” she replied as she fitted the key into the lock, reminding herself why Cash was the last person she should trust.

“Not all police officers are bad, Liebchen. If you would stop worrying about the past catching up with you, you would see this young man’s positive qualities as I do.”

Inside the foyer, she spun in disbelief. “You want to go through all that again? To have people and reporters camping out on the doorstep of your new house? Never getting any peace? Dealing with break-ins and people destroying the place?”

“No, of course not.” He stepped inside. “But I doubt that will happen as a result of trusting Cash.”

“No.” She closed the door, secured the locks, then double-checked them. “It’ll happen when a reporter like Paul Parsons wants to find out all he can about me and the FRS team members, including Cash, leak what they know. That’ll lead to Parsons eventually discovering my real name is Krista Alger, linking me to Toby’s murder and Dad’s multitude of crimes.”

“You had nothing to do with your father’s crimes and Toby’s death. Or with scamming those people and the missing money, for that matter. That was all on Toby.”

“You and I are the only ones who believe that.” Memories of Toby’s investment scam that bilked seniors out of their savings came flooding back. No one would accept that she hadn’t known about the scam—or about the half-million dollars he’d held in their bank account, then electronically transferred to another account two days before he died. The police never located the money, nor did they locate the person who made the transfer.

Didn’t matter. Toby was dead. She was alive and a very convenient suspect, complete with a colorful family background that made her look even guiltier. “I proved that I wasn’t home when our wireless network was used to move the money, but the detectives couldn’t look beyond Dad’s crimes to see me for who I am. All they could say was the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

“But there was no proof, Liebchen. They never charged you with the crime.”

“But they wanted to, didn’t they? Leaking to the press that I was a person of interest. Making me seem guilty. Hoping I couldn’t live under the press’s extreme spotlight and would confess.”

“There was nothing to confess. If your true name comes out, then Cash will see this and understand.”

“I wish, but wishing doesn’t change anything.” She took Opa’s arm. “There’s no point in worrying about it now. You’ve had a long day. Let’s get you to bed.”

“I am not a baby. I will get myself to bed.” He shrugged free of her hold. “Think about what I said about Cash. I think he is an honorable man. If for some reason Skyler keeps you on her suspect list, Cash can be of help.”

She stared into the distance. Could she let go of her terrible experience with the police and believe Cash was the man Opa thought him to be?

“I see the doubt in your eyes, Granddaughter, but trust me in this. I am rarely wrong about people.” He shuffled down the hallway before Krista could remind him how wrong he’d been about Toby. She wished Opa had never introduced them.

There she was wishing again. Didn’t solve a thing.

She went to her room to change her damp jeans, then settled on the sofa. She turned on the news and waited for the clip of Parsons shoving a microphone in her face. Not surprisingly, the bomb was top news, and Parsons’s segment soon came on.

Standing outside the stadium, his update included revealing her name and claiming eyewitnesses believed she was the person who foiled the bomb attempt. He added that they also believed she was the only one who had gotten a good look at the bomber and could identify him. Just as she feared. If the bomber hadn’t already figured out that she was the person who stood between him and a long prison term, he would know it now.

She took a deep breath to wait for the footage of her and Opa in the parking lot, but Parsons ended the segment by saying he was working to confirm her role in foiling the bombing, then they moved to another reporter inside the stadium. When the broadcast signed off and the footage hadn’t aired, she let out a relieved breath and switched off the TV.

Without her face plastered on the news, she was safe from anyone recognizing her. For now anyway. But Parsons seemed committed to following up, and she wouldn’t count on them not using his video in another segment.

As she got up to go to bed, she heard a noise outside. Like a thump. By the back door leading to the deck. Her imagination shot into overdrive. Could the bomber have found her?

Fear coursing through her body, she raced to the hall closet and lifted the door to the crawl space. She felt around for the tote bag she’d hung from a hook and tugged it out.

Her fingers trembled but she managed to open the long zipper and grab her father’s old gun. The metal felt cold and reassuring in her hand. She’d spent hours at a gun range with her father and knew how to handle a gun, but never once did she believe she’d have to use it. Still, the training came back. She flipped off the safety and hurried to the back door.

She switched on the exterior light as her heart thundered in her chest. She held her breath and peeked through the blinds.

A raccoon hopped off a turned-over lawn chair and scurried off the deck. Krista sagged against the wall and pulled in gulps of air. Her heart continued to pound, and suddenly, she was back four years ago to a different house she’d shared with Opa after Toby died. To the neighbors who thought she was a murderer. Protesting outside. Breaking in and spray-painting horrible messages on the walls. Trashing the house. Threatening more attacks if she didn’t move out of their neighborhood.

It could all happen again. Easily. Quickly, if Parsons dug deep enough and discovered her real identity. She didn’t know if she could survive targeted attacks like that again, but when she’d decided to move back from Georgia to take care of Opa, she’d known it was a possibility. Known she might someday have to take off again, though she hated the thought of leaving Opa behind when he was still so ill.

Even so, she’d prepared. Hopefully, she’d thought of everything.

She returned to the hallway and knelt by her bag. It contained clothes, money and extra ammo. Most important, it included a passport, driver’s license and credit cards she’d gotten from her father’s old friend who issued fake IDs.

She sat back, sighing. How had her life come to this? Contacting a forger. Obtaining yet one more false identity. She felt dirty and underhanded. It was bad enough that she’d gone back to using Curry as her last name. It was the name her father had once procured for her when he was on the run. After she’d left that life behind, she’d left the name behind, too, but going back to it had been her only option after Toby died. The police had frozen all their assets. She had no money. She couldn’t even use a credit card, which meant she couldn’t escape from the irate neighbors.

She’d felt helpless. Out of control. She’d never let something like that happen again. And she especially wouldn’t let Opa go through such a hateful experience again. Nor would she let this bomber get to Opa because of her.

Opa. The one person she loved and trusted. She’d lay down her life to protect him.

She returned the bag minus the gun to her hidey-hole, secured the door, then headed for the sofa in the family room. The loaded gun on her lap, she settled back for a long night of watching.