Fourth of July (7 page)

“Let’s go over what we do know.” Chris rubbed at the gravel in his eyes. Research was his least favorite part of his job.

“Okay.” Dylan raised his eyes from the reports and leaned back in his chair. “The lab results say it was your typical car bomb. Ammonium nitrate mixed with nitro-methane.”

“Oklahoma City?”

“Yes, except they used diesel fuel instead of racing fuel. Nitro-methane burns stronger,” Dylan said grimly. “Some kind of remote detonator was used, cell phone, two-way radio. The bombs were all the same size with about a thousand pound explosive capacity and a hundred and twenty-five foot lethal blast radius.”

Chris nodded. “Okay. So that tells us, what? The attacks were coordinated? Any idiot could figure that out.”

“You’re right.”

“Looking at these parade rosters is a complete waste of time.” Chris pushed the papers away. “When we figure out which of the floats had a bomb hidden on them, the names will be fake. No one would be stupid enough to use their real names when they’re planning on blowing a parade sky high.”

“True,” Dylan’s voice conveyed his exhaustion. “But what if the terrorists managed to plant the bombs in the floats without the owners knowing? If the names on the float are legit we need to question them. They may have seen the terrorists or the terrorists could have worked for them.”

“I see your point. It could’ve happened.” Chris sighed. “There’s just so little to go on. I hope the forensic teams are finding more information that will give us some direction. If it was linked to one of the terrorist groups, why haven’t they claimed responsibility?”

“So you don’t think it’s a terrorist cell?”

“I don’t know.” Chris shook his head. “Anyone could purchase the materials they used.”

“Sure, with the right connections.” Dylan nodded. “That was smart of them, too. They didn’t have to import any of the materials used in the bomb and they’ve got us guessing whether it was terrorist backed or some psycho with a grudge.”

“It’s all theories,” Chris said. “I hate that.”

He sighed again, picking up the phone and dialing the number of their contact with New York’s FBI division to check on any new information. It was his third call to the agent today but he had to do something. Before the call connected, Chris’ cell phone rang. He disconnected the landline, looking to see who was calling him—Danielle.

“Hello, Beautiful,” he greeted her, although he pictured a petite redhead instead of his girlfriend.

“I thought you were calling me.” Danielle used the pouty tone that he sometimes thought was cute.

Chris wondered how Alexis would react if the man she was dating didn’t call. He smiled to himself. If he were dating Alexis, he’d call even if it meant missing lunch.

“We’ve been busy,” he said to Danielle.

Chris continued mindlessly perusing the papers, resting the phone against his shoulder. He wasn’t sure what he was even looking for and his eyes were glazing over.

“You’re can’t be too busy for
me
.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll call you tonight.”

Dylan’s eyebrows rose as he stared at Chris instead of his computer screen.

“I’ll be waiting,” Danielle purred.

Chris sighed and set his phone down. “What?” He threw at Dylan.

“Why are you dating her again?”

“Lots of reasons,” Chris muttered, staring at the paperwork.

“Please tell me one of them that isn’t external.”

“You understand it’s completely unfair for the man with the perfect wife to give anybody dating advice.”

“What? I’m the only one who should be giving dating advice. Look how well I did.”

“I’ve been in the dating game twice as long as you’ve been married and I can promise you there aren’t any other Rachels out there.”

Dylan stewed on that one for a while. “True. But what about…Alexis?”

“So far out of my league it’s laughable.” Chris slouched in his chair. “Can we just work?”

“Have you ever asked her out?”

“No! She’s dating some politician who has a boat bigger than my apartment. Can we
please
work?”

Dylan arched an eyebrow and clicked his mouse, muttering, “Never know if you never try.”

Chris ignored him, googling spots to purchase ammonium nitrate.

Exhausted, Dylan knelt by the side of his bed. The day’s events were scenes from a nightmare. He kept seeing people thrown through the air, the woman on fire, the young boy with no skin left on his face. He couldn’t wash his hands clean of their blood. The responsibility to bring their killers to justice was almost too much.

Dylan rose from his knees feeling gratitude intermingled with despair. His prayer was a jumbled mix of thank yous and whys. Could the bombings have been prevented? Had he missed something at work that would have saved thousands of lives this morning? Couldn’t the Lord have averted this tragedy?

He gazed at the raven-haired beauty tucked under the covers. At least he had Rachel, Madison, and Tyler. Therein lay his gratitude to the Lord. Far too many Americans were not so fortunate tonight. He brushed a lock of hair away from Rachel’s face.

Why was my family spared?
He knew the guilt of surviving would consume him if he pondered on it. Unable to alter the day’s events, he could only be grateful his family was safe and try to help. He would make the people who were responsible pay the price.

Dylan settled into his pillow, reaching over to pull Rachel close. Inhaling deeply, he enjoyed her soft scent—Bvlgari perfume and baby lotion.

She stirred.

“Dylan?” Her voice was scratchy, full of sleep. “Oh, thank heavens you’re home.”

“I’m home.” He relished the feel of her body close to his. She turned in his arms, snuggling deeper into his embrace.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Rachel said. “I was so worried.”

Dylan didn’t inform her she was asleep moments earlier. “I knew you would be. I hurried as fast as I could.”

“Did you find any leads?”

“Not really. It’s going to take a lot of time.”

Rachel’s sigh made Dylan cringe. He knew it bothered her that he was rarely home. He shared her greatest fear—Madison and Tyler’s childhood years slipping away without their father present.

“Honey,” he said. He had something more important to discuss than his busy workload.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry I left you.”

She shuddered and gasped for air. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes, dampening his chest.

Dylan took a long breath before continuing. “I shouldn’t have made you take Maddie and Ty to the car by yourself, but I had to help the people who were hurt.”

She didn’t respond. The silence hung heavy in the room. Dylan gently pushed the hair from her face. He stroked her cheek.

“You understand. Don’t you?”

“I guess,” she whispered against his skin. “I’m glad you could help those people.”

Dylan could hear her softly crying.

“Is it awful that I wanted you to protect us first?”

“Of course not.” Dylan tightened his grip on her. “I wanted to be with you. I promise I did, but I couldn’t run away from something like that. You’re so strong. I knew you could take care of Maddie and Ty.”

“We were okay,” Rachel said.

Dylan listened to her sniffle. He didn’t know what else to say. He’d deserted her when she needed him. Did she understand why he couldn’t put his family first? Did he?

Chris dialed Danielle’s number at eleven-thirty that night, relieved when she didn’t sound like he’d woken her.

“How did it go?” Danielle asked.

“Not great.” He walked through his living room and kitchen area, not bothering to flick on lights. His feet thudded against the wood floor.

“You work so hard and you learned
nothing?
”

“Yeah, it’s kind of tedious and not quite as exciting as you would think.” He didn’t try to conceal the bitterness creeping into his voice.

“I’m sorry, that must be frustrating. What a waste of your time.”

“Are you really worried about me wasting my
time
when thousands of people were killed today?” Chris asked. Her voice sounded so concerned for him, but everything frustrated him at the moment, including her.

“No. I’m sure it’s tedious work. You’re amazing working so hard to stop terrorism.”

Chris hated that he was second-guessing her sincerity. It wasn’t fair to her. Not everyone could be as genuine as Alexis. “Thanks.”

“Will I see you before the weekend?” she asked.

“I won’t have a break.” Chris entered his bedroom. Sitting on the edge of his unmade bed, he slipped off his shoes and watch. “Maybe we could go to dinner or something on Friday night.”

The thought of food made Chris’ stomach do a somersault. His insides hadn’t stopped churning all day. His uneaten breakfast still lingered on the kitchen table. He couldn’t face the sight of food after helping so many injured victims and seeing the awful footage the FBI had collected on the bombings.

“Chris, you didn’t forget.”

“What?” He would’ve been proud of himself for remembering his brother’s birthday at this point. All he wanted was to bury himself in his comfortable bed. He wasn’t even going to pick up his laptop and lose himself in dreams of the Caribbean. Maybe tonight would be the night he could sleep longer than four hours.

“The charity auction, July 6
th
, remember? They’ve changed it from a charity auction to a memorial service where they’ll raise money for the victims and their families.”

“The mayor and his staff are expected to be there,” Danielle continued, unfazed by his lack of response. “It means so much to me that you come with me. I know you don’t love to dress up, but we need to look amazing, show the world we are grieving right along with those who lost loved ones in the bombings.”

What did she mean, “show”, and who cared if they looked good? Danielle had done well moving up the career ladder. Her job as the mayor’s chief assistant was a fairly high-profile position. Chris realized a lot of what she did was for show.

Chris groaned. “I really hate those black-tie kiss-ups.”

“I know, but please, for
me
.”

Why was he dating Danielle? An angelic face framed by wild, red hair replaced Danielle in his mind. Alexis was so genuine, she’d never have to “show” the world she was grieving.

He sighed. Thinking of Alexis wouldn’t solve his problems with Danielle. He should tell Danielle the truth, but she deserved to hear it in person.

“I can only stay for a few hours.”

“Okay,” she sighed. “It will be great to be with you that long. You get some rest and I’ll see you Friday.”

“Bye,” Chris heard himself mutter as he disconnected the phone and fell onto his pillows fully clothed.

BY LATE THURSDAY MORNING, Alexis realized she’d never be able to stomach lunch. The nauseated feeling that began yesterday morning hadn’t dissipated. Choking down a few bites of toast and a gulp of juice at breakfast had taxed her digestive system to its limits. Spending her lunch hour with Carla at the hospital would accomplish multiple things—helping comfort a friend, getting her out of the office for a while and avoiding a lunch she wouldn’t eat anyway.

Alexis rapped softly on the white door. No one answered.