Explosive Attraction (11 page)

She couldn’t help but wonder if this was the same rage Jake felt. Or even how Rafe might feel inside—angry, helpless—with
no one to blame for his wife’s death because the man who’d killed her had never been caught.

After spending an agonizing half hour watching her friend lying motionless in the hospital bed, Darby escaped from the room and headed to the parking lot. The policeman who’d driven her car to the hospital had stopped at the ICU earlier to return her keys. Darby dug those keys out of her purse now,
and opened the driver’s side door to her black BMW. She was about to get inside, when a footstep sounded behind her.

She whirled around, clutching her keys to her chest. She scanned the parking lot. No one. Had she imagined that sound? She quickly got into her car and locked the door. Her mind was playing tricks on her. That’s all. There was no reason to be worried. The man who’d tried to
kill her was dead. He couldn’t hurt her anymore.

So why did she still feel so uneasy?

Chapter Eleven

Darby stepped inside the cool interior of the figurine shop, grateful for the relief from the heat outside. The bell above the scarred wooden door tinkled a welcome, reminding Darby of the ringtone on her phone, the phone she’d purposely left at home this morning before heading to St. George Street, the only “street” in St. Augustine reserved for pedestrians.

After spending the past two days sitting with Mindy’s family, watching the hope fade on their faces, she desperately needed to stop thinking, stop hurting. She needed a reminder that there was something still beautiful and good in the world, which was why she was wandering through the shops on one of the oldest streets in the country, unhooked and unplugged from the cruel world she’d been immersed
in this past week.

And desperately trying
not
to think about Rafe Morgan.

“Morning, let me know if you need help finding anything.”

Darby leaned around one of the glass cases to see who’d spoken. A short, older woman with thick glasses waved at her from the back corner of the store. The feather duster in her other hand never stopped moving.

“Just browsing, not wanting anything
in particular.” Darby returned the woman’s wave.

What she
wanted
wasn’t something she’d find in this store, or any store. What she wanted was a feeling of normalcy, to return to the way things used to be. But that was impossible when every time she went to bed she thought about Rafe Morgan—the way his dark eyes seemed to look into her soul, the way his deep voice cut across a room, the way
he’d kissed her at the hospital.

The way he’d
left
her, after telling her they could never be friends.

Wanting a man who didn’t want her was beyond pathetic. Tomorrow she’d go back to work, reclaim her life. A temp agency was sending an assistant to help her. She refused to hire someone permanent. That would be like admitting Mindy would never return.

She shied away from that thought
and the pain that shot straight to her heart. A crystal lighthouse caught her eye. The tiny black-and-red stripes were hand painted to resemble the St. Augustine Lighthouse a few miles down the road. Darby held the tiny figurine up to watch it sparkle. She sucked in a breath when she saw a man looking through the window at her.

He jerked back and disappeared into the crowd of tourists walking
past the store. With the sunlight shining from behind him, his face had been in shadow. Darby drew a shaky breath, telling herself she was being silly. That man wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at the figurines, window-shopping, like dozens of other people walking down the street.

Then why had he jerked back when she spotted him?

A shiver of foreboding snaked up her spine. She set
the lighthouse down and rubbed the goose bumps forming on her arms.

“Did you find anything you like, dear?” The shopkeeper approached Darby, her feather duster dangling from her fingertips, a friendly smile on her face. “We have several more lighthouses in the back, if that’s what you’re interested in.”

Darby was tempted to take her up on her offer, but she’d known as soon as she’d stepped
into the store that it wasn’t her kind of place. It was charming, and the figurines were beautiful, but she wasn’t a figurine kind of girl. The only reason she was tempted to stay in the store any longer was because her stomach was still fluttering from her scare—her unreasonable, totally unfounded scare when a tourist had looked through the window.

Ridiculous.

It didn’t take a degree
in psychology to realize she needed to face her fears to make them go away. She needed to step back outside, rejoin the world and prove to herself that no one was waiting to grab her and hold a knife to her side.

She forced a smile and shook her head. “Your store is lovely, but I’m not really looking for figurines. Thank you for your time.”

Disappointment clouded the woman’s eyes but
she gave Darby a warm smile. “Of course, dear. There are plenty more shops around here. I’m sure you’ll find something that suits you.”

Darby adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder, and stepped outside.

* * *

W
ITH
C
APTAIN
B
URESH
recuperating at home, and Jake on administrative leave, Rafe was stuck in Buresh’s office...on a Sunday. All those times he’d been jealous because the
captain always chose Jake to fill in when he was out now seemed pathetic. Rafe’s desire to have his captain’s job someday had died a quick death after spending the past two days catching up on paperwork.

He’d rather defuse a bomb than fill out one more report, or listen to one more complaint from someone about something he couldn’t do anything about anyway.

The door to Buresh’s office
opened and Rafe looked up, hoping for something, anything, more interesting than filling out forms. His hope withered away when one of the weekend shift officers walked inside with an armload of mail and dropped it onto the corner of the desk.

“Gee, thanks. Just what I need. More work.” Rafe frowned. “I didn’t think anyone delivered mail on Sundays.”

“Most of it’s interoffice stuff that
just got sorted. There was one item that came by special courier. I guess they couldn’t wait until a weekday. Watch out for all those sharp edges. Wouldn’t want you to bleed to death from a paper cut.” The officer laughed and headed toward the door.

A tingling sensation had the hairs standing up on the back of Rafe’s neck. There was no reason to worry, but he was suddenly feeling a sense
of déjà vu. “Wait a minute. You said a special courier dropped something off. Which envelope?”

The officer turned, riffled through the stack, then pulled out a large envelope that was bulging at one end.

A sinking feeling slammed through Rafe’s gut as he stared at the familiar block lettering.

No, this wasn’t possible.

“Something wrong, Detective Morgan? You look like you’ve
seen a ghost.”

“Maybe I have.” Rafe dug into his suit jacket pocket for one of the pairs of latex gloves he always carried. He tugged them on and gingerly picked up the envelope. It had to have been mailed before the bomber was killed. He looked at the date stamped on the seal from the courier service.

The package was mailed
today.

Rafe swallowed hard, adrenaline kicking in, tightening
his chest.

The officer sat down on the edge of the desk, watching Rafe gently work the end of the envelope open. Rafe peered into the envelope.

No, it couldn’t be.

He pulled out the timer.

His pulse roared in his ears. He pushed away from the desk and stood. The chair slammed back against the wall. Rafe shoved his hand in the envelope and pulled out the picture.

“Hey,”
the officer said, leaning across the desk. “Isn’t that—”

“Yes, it is.” Rafe grabbed his phone out of his pocket and bolted for the door. “Tell dispatch to issue a code red,” he called back over his shoulder. “All hands on deck.”

He ran through the outer office, dialing as he went.

* * *

S
OMEONE
BRUSHED
AGAINST
Darby’s arm. She whirled around, her hand clutched to her throat.

The woman who’d touched her stopped in the middle of St. George Street, eyes wide, her face flushing the light pink of embarrassment. “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to push you.”

She was obviously a tourist, wearing a T-shirt with a picture of Castillo de San Marcos, the Spanish fort a couple of blocks away. She was holding hands with the man beside her, and both of them were staring at Darby
as if she’d lost her mind.

Darby forced a smile to her lips. “No problem. Sorry. I’m a little...jumpy today. Um, enjoy your stay in St. Augustine.”

The woman’s expression mellowed into an eager smile. “Oh, we are. I just love all these little shops. And we took a horse-and-buggy ride yesterday. So much fun.” She smiled up at her companion and they took off into the steady throng of people
walking up and down the street.

This was crazy. Darby leaned back against the nearest wall and passed a shaky hand over her face. If she didn’t get this irrational fear out of her system, she’d be useless at work tomorrow.

A familiar, small wooden sign hanging over the door across the street caught her eye. The Bunnery. She’d been there many times, but even if she hadn’t, she would have
known it was a bakery the second someone stepped out the door and she smelled the delicious aroma of fresh baked cinnamon rolls.

Sitting down in a quaint little bakery eating homemade cinnamon rolls might be just the thing she needed to calm down and regain her perspective. She glanced both ways on the pedestrian-only street, and told herself she was doing so just to make sure she didn’t
run into anyone.

She certainly wasn’t checking to see if anyone was following her.

* * *

J
AKE
DUCKED
INTO
the narrow passageway between two buildings when Darby Steele looked his way. That was twice she’d looked right at him, which meant his skills at following people sure needed work. He wasn’t ready to let her know he was here, not yet. Their little confrontation was going to
be on his terms, on his timetable, not a moment before. He waited a few seconds, then eased around the corner of the building.

When the door of the bakery closed behind Darby, Jake debated his next move. He couldn’t exactly march inside in front of all those people. Darby didn’t strike him as the docile type. She’d make a scene. He needed to catch her when she was alone.

He moved back
into the shadows to wait.

* * *

“B
REAK
IT
DOWN
.”
Rafe stepped back from the front door of the house to give the SWAT team room to maneuver. He didn’t know what they’d find when they got inside, but he had the bomb squad van out front with a full team geared up just in case.

“You sure about this, Detective?” the SWAT team leader asked. “Buresh wouldn’t—”

“Buresh isn’t here.
I am. Break it down. Now.”

The leader shrugged and gave the signal. One swing of the battering ram against the doorknob and the frame gave way. The door sagged open and the team ran inside.

Less than a minute later they came back out. Alone. One of them spoke in low tones to their commander before the team headed back to the truck.

The commander crossed his arms. “Everything looks
normal inside, except for the busted door. You ordered this because of a note? That’s a lot of wasted resources. And you dragged a lot of guys away from their families on a Sunday for nothing.”

“I don’t care one bit that it’s a weekend, Commander. Keep your men on standby. This isn’t over.” He raced back to his car. He hit Redial on his phone and floored the accelerator. Just like the last
time he’d tried, and the dozen calls before that, the phone rang and rang.

But no one answered.

He hung up and called the station. As soon as dispatch came on the line, he gave them the cell number he’d been calling. “Get me a GPS location on that phone. Then get every officer we have out to that location, including the bomb squad.
Especially
the bomb squad.”

* * *

T
HE
CINNAMON
ROLL
Darby had eaten sat like a rock in her stomach. It wasn’t The Bunnery’s fault. The food was delicious. Anxiety was what was twisting her insides into knots. She stood at The Bunnery’s front window, several minutes after finishing her sugary snack, and still couldn’t work up the nerve to step outside.

She studied the crowd of people walking by. Searching for...what? A man who’d died several
days ago? A man who could never hurt her again, and who shouldn’t have this much power over her emotions?

“Darby, is that you?”

Darby turned at the sound of a familiar voice. The petite blonde woman standing in front of her was the owner of The Bunnery, along with her husband. Darby had known them for years, but she so rarely took time off from work anymore that it had been months since
she’d seen either of them.

“Hey, Pam.” She hugged the other woman, then cast another glance out the window.

Pam followed the direction of her gaze. “Is someone bothering you?”

Darby fisted her hands beside her. She didn’t want to seem weak, scared. But she knew that at this moment, she couldn’t step out that door. She hated to manipulate her friend, but she didn’t want to get into
a long conversation, either, and tell her everything that had happened in the past week, or why she was so edgy.

So, instead, she lied.

“An old boyfriend. He’s been following me today. I really don’t want to face him.”

“Do you want George to have a talk with your young man? I guarantee George can put the fear into him and make him leave you alone.”

Darby glanced past Pam to
the far end of the long, narrow restaurant. George stood several feet above Pam, and was the tallest man in the kitchen, visible through the cut-through. If anyone could put “the fear” into someone, she imagined George could.

“Would you mind terribly if I just sneak out the back door?”

Pam wrapped her arm around Darby’s shoulders and pulled her toward the kitchen. “Of course not, honey.
You go ahead and grab one of those fresh, hot cinnamon rolls George just pulled out of the oven before you go. And if you change your mind and want George’s help, just say the word.”

A few minutes later, with another cinnamon roll bagged and tucked into her purse, Darby was out the back door and in a tiny parking lot that serviced several of the shops. She made her way through the line of
cars, emerging between two buildings that faced onto the busy road that funneled tourists through the historic part of town.

Castillo de San Marcos squatted on the green off to her left, guarding the mouth of the Matanzas River just as it had hundreds of years ago when the fort had first been built. Darby hadn’t been to the fort in years, and suddenly the idea had tremendous appeal. Losing
herself in a bit of history was just what she needed to take her mind off
recent
history.