Susan Sleeman - Explosive Alliance

If the bomber showed up, she’d be ready to stand her ground. To protect herself and her grandfather. No matter the cost.

* * *

Cash paced the floor in his condo located on the upper level of an old converted firehouse where the entire team lived. He should be sleeping, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw Krista’s last look before she entered her house.

Gone was the evasiveness. Gone was the determination. Instead, fear-darkened eyes that got to him in a way he couldn’t explain peered at him. She was worried about the bomber finding her. Or maybe worried about whatever she was hiding.

So what should he do about it, if anything? He’d done his part. Made sure she and Otto arrived home safely. The bomber likely didn’t know her identity unless Parsons’s segment had aired and her name had been revealed. Then she could be in serious trouble.

Cash couldn’t sleep without knowing. He grabbed his laptop and navigated to the station’s website, where he found the video from tonight’s broadcast. He started Parsons’s story playing and sat back to watch. The camera panned the stadium as the relentless reporter announced Krista’s full name.

Great. Just as Cash suspected. The bomber could easily know her identity. Question was, could he find her address from that piece of information alone?

Cash assumed the house was in Otto’s name. His fingers flew over the keyboard and a quick search of property records confirmed his assumption. Still, the bomber couldn’t access databases restricted to law enforcement and retrieve the information as fast as Cash. The bomber would only have the internet at his disposal. So what exactly would he find?

Cash plugged Krista Curry into a search engine. After an hour of searching, only one link led to her, showing she’d worked in a home child-care center in Kennesaw, Georgia.

Odd. In today’s social media world, he should have located far more information about her. She’d obviously worked hard to keep her private life private. Maybe because of whatever she seemed to be hiding.

Cash might want to know her secret, but her caution meant he didn’t need to worry if the media or the bomber could easily find her.

A shadowy image of the man she’d described, hunkering down in the thick bushes outside her secluded home, flashed into his mind. Cash had been cautious on the way to Otto’s house, but he couldn’t guarantee the bomber hadn’t tailed them. That the creep wasn’t outside their home right now. Krista and Opa alone.

Unprotected.

“Not on my watch,” he said and retrieved his gun from the safe. He locked his condo and took the stairs leading to the first-floor common area. A light burning in the shared kitchen had him hesitating. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone.

He loved living here, but privacy? Unheard of in the firehouse. Still, he was thankful for the free living quarters. A woman grateful to Darcie for saving her life had donated the place to the county for the FRS members. They each had a private condo on the second and third floors. The first floor was a communal space with a kitchen and dining, family and game rooms.

Trouble was, with their crazy shifts, someone was almost always up. He should have thought of that, as he doubted whoever was awake would support his plan.

He started back up the steps to take the back exit.

“Hey, man.” Brady’s voice came from the first floor. He wore a freshly pressed county uniform, indicating he was heading out for a patrol shift. “Thought I heard someone out here. You headed out?”

Cash couldn’t very well turn back now. He jogged down the steel stairs.

Holding a thick sandwich, Brady leaned against a metal post and crossed his ankles. “Where’re you off to?”

Cash considered evading the question or outright lying, but he didn’t abide lying. He wouldn’t start now. “Thought I’d check on Krista and Otto.”

Brady’s eyebrow went up, but he didn’t say anything, just swung his foot and watched.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Cash said.

Brady smirked. “You do, do you?”

“It’s written all over your face. You think I’m going over there because I’ve got a thing for Krista.”

“Aren’t you?” Brady chomped a bite from his sandwich.

“I’m going because Parsons mentioned her name in his broadcast and the bomber might have located her.”

“And that’s your only motivation?”

Cash thought to deny that his motivations were mixed, but why bother? He and Brady might be able to keep stuff from the others, but with their military backgrounds, they often thought alike and couldn’t successfully hide things from each other.

Cash shrugged. “I don’t know how to separate the two, I guess.”

Brady frowned. “You better figure it out, man, and stay away from her if it’s just an attraction thing, or Skyler will have your head on a platter.”

Cash respected Skyler—they were good friends—and he would never do anything to interfere in her investigation, unless lives were on the line. That was true of all of his teammates, and Brady needed to recognize that. “So you’re saying if a woman you found attractive could be in danger, you’d climb into bed, sleep soundly and forget all about her?”

“You know none of us would do that with anyone—attractive or not. Not if we had some proof that they were in danger. You have proof?”

Cash shook his head.

Brady made strong eye contact. “Ever consider this thing has more to do with losing your team than with anything else? You know...thinking it’s up to you to stop anything else bad from happening to the people around you?”

“Maybe,” Cash said, avoiding a more detailed answer.

“Hey, I get it.” Brady clapped a hand on Cash’s shoulder. “You can’t stand the thought that someone else could die on your watch. But you can’t extend that watch to everyone you come in contact with. You’ll burn out and won’t be good to anyone.”

“I know that.”

“But?”

“Krista and Otto are different somehow. And before you say it’s because I’ve got a thing for Krista, it’s not that.”

“Then what?’

Cash shrugged.

Brady eyed him. “Like I said, figure it out, or you could burn out and that won’t help Krista.” Brady turned and strode back to the kitchen.

Cash shrugged into his jacket and went to his car. He tried to concentrate on driving but couldn’t get Brady’s words out of his head. Brady was right. After losing his team, Cash hated the thought of anyone getting hurt on his watch. He’d done the right thing in requesting the bomb strike in Afghanistan. They’d come under fire, were pinned down, and a strike offered the best chance of saving lives. Cash couldn’t have predicted the stupid thing would go astray and he’d be the only team member to survive.

Leaving him to wonder why he’d made it. To question God for eighteen months and not receive a clear answer. Cash usually didn’t dwell on things he couldn’t change, but he just couldn’t shake this. Staying busy was the only way to keep the questions out of his head.

He cranked up the radio. Old favorites on a country station blared through the car until he arrived at Otto’s house. Cutting off the headlights, he coasted to a stop well out of view of the rustic place.

Dark and quiet inside, a dim light flashed, then quickly cut off. Suspicious? Maybe. It could be a night-light of some sort, but he wouldn’t take any chances.

He tugged his collar up against the cold April wind and strode down the driveway toward the A-frame home, a light drizzle dampening his face. The moon, only a sliver tonight, hid behind dense cloud cover.

He swept his flashlight over the shrubbery abutting the front porch. All clear. He turned the corner heading for the back side overlooking the river swollen from heavy spring rains.