Annslee Urban - Broken Silence

With those thoughts echoing in her head, Amber jogged up a short flight of steps to the parking lot. Lengthening her strides, she dug out her key fob and unlocked her car with a click.

“Ma’am, did you drop this?”

Amber spun in the direction of the male voice and found an older gentleman waving a manila envelope with her name sprawled across it.

She glanced at her open messenger bag, crammed full with her purse, client files and notes for her fund-raiser. How careless, she chastised herself, for forgetting to zip it closed.

Tucking the bag under her arm, she started toward the man. “Thank you, sir—”

A deafening blast filled the air.

Amber flew backward, landed hard on the pavement. Black smoke plumed in front of her. The ground shook as glass and metal rained down like a hailstorm. Scrambling to her knees, she hurled her arms over her head to protect it from the shower of stinging objects. A whoosh sounded, then she heard crackling as heat blanketed her. She willed herself to move but couldn’t.

I’m going to die!

“Lady, are you okay?” The man’s distant shriek filled her ears. “You need to get away from the flames!”

Amber’s body pulsed with pain. Smoke raked across her eyes like claws. She squeezed them shut as coughs racked her lungs. She pulled herself forward, crawling in the direction of the man’s voice. Shrapnel bit into her palms and knees, but adrenaline kept her moving until the man grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet.

“I called 9-1-1. Help’s on the way,” the older man screeched between hacks. “Was that your car?”

Amber’s lungs burned. She worked to breathe. On shaky legs she managed to turn.

The smoke had subsided some, but the car was engulfed in flames. Panic grew; her mind spun with shock.

“Yes,” she said, disbelieving. “That was my car.”

* * *

“Possible car bomb off River Street,” the police radio blared.

Detective Patrick Wiley forgot about the lunch meeting with his boss, swung his SUV around and headed that way.

His years as a navy SEAL had taught him one thing: get to the scene when the evidence was fresh. Facts and data meant a lot when he put his senses to the test.

Pulling a small siren from under his seat, he slapped it on the roof of the vehicle and sped onto the Talmadge Memorial Bridge. Cars swerved out of his way, and in moments he was over the Savannah River and nearing River Street.

He knew about car bombings—shrapnel, flying debris, collateral damage, innocent bloodshed. A coward’s weapon of destruction.

Unlike his days in Afghanistan, this, he surmised, was likely faulty mechanic work resulting in an engine fire.

He came to a stop at the scene and leaped from his car. His positive rationale faded, and a dire feeling settled in his gut. Dark smoke blanketed the sky, the smell of destruction in the air. Rescue vehicles crammed into the small parking lot. Lines of fire hoses snaked every which way from multiple trucks.

Fortunately the parking lot hadn’t been full. The tourist season had yet to take off, due to the looming storm and cooler-than-usual spring temperatures. A blessing in disguise, as it turned out.

Patrick wove his way around rescue and police vehicles, moving closer to the scene. Firefighters battled the last of the flames biting at the charred skeleton of the small sedan. A dozen yards away, paramedics tended to a young woman sitting in the back of an ambulance.

He gave another assessing glance of the area. No other casualties came into view.

Lightning flashed in the distance, followed by a clap of thunder. Hopefully the forensics team could collect any evidence before the storm hit.

Officer Bill Robinson hurried toward him, stepping around the tangle of hoses. “That was some explosion. We got calls from folks who felt it ten blocks away.” He jerked his head toward the woman sitting in the back of an EMS vehicle. “Somebody really wanted that girl scared, or dead.”

By the looks of the damage and scattered debris, Patrick didn’t doubt it. “Is she the only victim?”

“As far as we can tell,” Bill said, taking off his hat and shaking his head. “She was fortunate. If she hadn’t dropped something and went back to get it...” He didn’t finish, just wagged his head.

Patrick got the picture. “Did she give you any information about who might be responsible?”

Bill shook his head again. “Shocked and confused is all I got out of her. She’s pretty cut up, too. Probably needs a little time to process everything.”

“I’ll talk to her and see what I can find out.” Patrick patted Bill on the shoulder, then made his way to the ambulance.

* * *

As a paramedic cleaned the wounds on Amber’s hands, she watched firefighters douse the remaining flames from her car until the charred piece of metal smoldered. Nausea rolled through her abdomen. Forty-eight months of payments up in smoke. Literally.

Amber drew a deep breath. What am I thinking? At least she hadn’t been in it.

“You really need to get to the ER,” the paramedic reiterated for the fourth time.

She clenched her fist against the sting of alcohol and settled her gaze back on the man. “Do you think I’ll need stitches?”

“You’ve got some pretty good lacerations on your hands and knees. If nothing else, you’ll need to get a tetanus shot.”

Amber looked at her palms and grimaced. The bloody gouges in her flesh looked as painful as they felt. “I’d really like to just go home. A hot shower and antibiotic cream sounds more appealing than a trip to the ER.”

“Your call, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Of course not. She stretched out one leg and winced. Then glanced at her hands again. He probably was right. “Okay. I suppose I should go.”

“Great. We’ll get packed and be on our way. Since you’re stable, you can buckle up where you are on the bench seat. We won’t need to strap you onto the gurney.”

“I really appreciate that.” More than he could imagine.

Still, the mere thought of the ambulance ride made her uneasy. It was something she’d never wanted to experience again. Let alone a trip to the emergency room. She flexed her fingers and cringed against the pain. She was being ridiculous. Nearly a decade had passed. The nightmares had faded.

But the memories lingered—along with the guilt.

“Ma’am, could I speak to you for a moment?” The rich deep timbre of the man’s voice raised goose bumps along her arms.

She jerked her head up, and her breath caught as a tall figure stepped to the door of the EMS vehicle. Broad and muscular, he had a bewildered look on his face that probably mimicked her own. “Patrick?”

“Amber?” Patrick cocked his head to the side, his dark, velvety eyes and strong, chiseled features as intriguing as ever. Little had changed over the past eleven years. If anything the years had only enhanced his good looks.

“I sure wasn’t expecting to find you here.” The glint in his brown gaze was unexpectedly warm. So unlike the last time she’d seen him.

Ditto. She swallowed. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”

“Got home about a year ago. I work with the Savannah-Chatham police department violent crimes unit.” He flashed his badge, very detectivelike. “How are you?”

“Happy to be alive.” She tried for a smile, but hated that just the sight of him caused her pulse to rev. He shouldn’t have that effect on her, especially after all she’d put him through. Her guilt alone should have tamped those emotions years ago.

“I’m sure you are happy to be alive. That was a pretty violent explosion.” Patrick gestured to the remains of her car. “Who do you think did this?”