RACE AGAINST TIME

The last thing Krista Curry expected to find in a soccer stadium was a time bomb. When she alerts explosives expert Cash Dixon, she becomes a local hero. But the attention could expose her real name—and the infamous past she fought to escape. Cash promises Krista protection from the bomber’s retaliation. Yet she hesitates to trust him as she sees his suspicion about her grow with every question she dodges. She can’t expect Cash to continue to safeguard her unless she tells him the truth. Now Cash must decide if she’s an innocent woman or guilty accomplice. But the clock is ticking down—and the real bomber is still on the loose…

First Responders: Brave men and women alert and ready for danger and love.

He looked like a warrior, ready to do battle.

He downplayed the threat from the SUV he’d just chased off, his voice calm. But his body language said differently.

“If it’s the intruder from last night, he’s more of a danger.”

“How so?” Krista kept the mounting panic from her voice.

“Takes someone without fear to return right after the police were called. He doesn’t care who gets in his way.”

This guy was persistent. Breaking in. Attacking her. Perhaps killing her if Cash hadn’t arrived.

Panic threatened again but she fought it. Cash was here. Strong, capable Cash. The man she’d been fighting every step of the way.

“Thanks for being here.”

“It’s what I do.”

“You can’t possibly do this for everyone. So why me?”

He shrugged, but held her gaze, and she felt a change in him. Not the spark of attraction that clearly existed between them. Something softer. Something that made her forget the bomber.

“I can’t put my finger on it, but I know you need me.” His voice was low and husky.

The word trustworthy came to mind. A man of honor. Could she really believe he was everything he seemed to be…even if he discovered who she really was?

SUSAN SLEEMAN is a bestselling author of inspirational and clean-read romantic suspense books and mysteries. Awards include RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book for Thread of Suspicion; No Way Out and The Christmas Witness were finalists for the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence. She’s had the pleasure of living in nine states and currently lives in Oregon. To learn more about Susan visit her website at susansleeman.com.

Explosive

Alliance

Susan Sleeman

www.millsandboon.co.uk

And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

—Philippians 4:7

For the many law enforcement bomb squads

and military disposal technicians who risk their lives on a daily basis to rid our world of dangerous explosives. It takes a special person to do this job, and I hope I honor them in the way I have portrayed bomb tech Cash Dixon.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Epigraph

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Murderer!

The word hung in the soggy air.

Krista Curry could feel it. Taste it. Smell it.

She hunched forward, hiding her face and holding her breath, waiting for someone in the crowd to recognize her. To shout out the horrific title she’d been branded with after her husband, Toby, was murdered four years ago.

She shifted on the hard stadium chair. Risked a quick glance around Providence Park’s open-air stadium. Rain flooded from dusky skies, the seats glistening, the players soaked as they slogged over a field shadowed with whispery swatches of fog.

“Watch the net.” Her grandfather’s shout mingled with the crowd’s cheers for the Portland Timbers. His cheeks were rosy from the cold, the pure joy of the sport widening his smile that was often marred from battling cancer.

Krista’s heart creased with concern for him. She didn’t know if he’d beat stage three cancer or how many more joyful days he’d have. She’d do anything for him. Including risking recognition and someone calling her out in public so he could attend the soccer match.

Oh, Opa. Her precious Opa.

She loved everything about him, including his insistence that she use the informal German name for grandfather. He was the one man she could count on. The man who’d helped her survive the loss of her mother. Who’d stood by her when her father had gone to prison for murder. Who’d believed in her when she’d been accused of killing Toby.

She couldn’t lose him to cancer. She just couldn’t.

“Did you see that save, Liebchen?” he asked excitedly, using his pet name that meant sweetheart. He placed a hand on her knee. She jumped, immediately regretting her startled response when concern wiped away his joy.

He eyed her for a long, uncomfortable moment. “What is going on in that mind that has you wound as tight as a spring?”

“Nothing that’s worth taking you away from your game.”

He watched her for another second before turning back to the match. The Timbers scored a goal. He whooped loudly. He suddenly clutched his neck and coughed, cleared his throat and coughed harder. He gasped for air, his chest heaving with the effort.

She grabbed his water only to discover she’d kicked the cup over. She swirled the container, grateful to find a small amount of liquid still in the bottom. He quickly gulped it down, then cleared his throat hard.

“Better?” she asked.

He sighed out a long breath. “Better.”

She took the cup. “If I go fill this, will you be okay by yourself?”

“I am not one of the preschoolers in your class, you know.” His feisty attitude returned, along with his fierce sense of independence. The same independence she’d fought since she’d come back to Portland weeks ago to care for him. The chemo treatments left him more helpless than he’d admit, and he continued to make decisions that weren’t always in his best interest. Coming to the match was a perfect example. Now he needed water to stay hydrated and silence his cough.

“I’ll be right back.” She slipped around his feet and avoided making eye contact with anyone. She put one foot in front of the other on the slick concrete. Down the stairs. Quickly toward the Mezzanine Terrace. Praying for anonymity.

Feeling eyes on her, she raised her head. Inch by inch, she scanned the area ahead. A uniformed deputy leaned against the railing, his focus on her.

No. Oh, no. Did he recognize her? Did he know about Toby’s murder—about the accusations? That even though the police had never brought formal charges, she hadn’t been fully cleared?

Or maybe he’d simply noticed her jumpy behavior and suspected she was up to something. The last thing she needed or wanted was for a cop to start questioning her.

He caught her studying him and smiled. A sizzling, I’m-all-that kind of smile. A clear look of interest burned in his eyes. He didn’t know who she was. This was a simple case of a man interested in a woman. In her. It was there in his eyes. There in his body turned toward her. Anticipation saturated his expression and he didn’t try to hide it. Her heart gave a kick. Warning bells followed, telling her to look away, but she couldn’t manage it.

She suddenly realized she was staring and dropped her gaze to the walkway to take the last few steps without falling.

She heard him chuckle before he said, “Evening, ma’am.”

His lazy, Southern drawl took her by surprise, bringing her eyes back up. She caught a quick look at his name tag—Deputy Cash Dixon—before the heat of a blush crept up her face.

“You look a bit flustered,” he went on. “Anything I can help you with?”

Ugh! He knew why she was flustered. He was teasing her.

She held up the empty cup and stepped past him.

Another chuckle followed her into the concourse, but she tuned him out and retrieved the water. On the return trip, she felt his focus on her again but refused to let him bait her into looking his way and hurried up the stairs. As she neared her row, the man seated to her left got up and moved into the aisle, leaving his backpack behind.

“Your pack,” she called out and pointed at it, but he didn’t look up.

She stepped in front of him to get his attention.

His head jerked up, his steely-gray eyes dark with anger meeting hers. He shoved his hands into his sweatshirt pocket, then blinked in surprise.

“Sorry to bother you,” she said, trying not to wilt under his continued study. “But you left your backpack.”

His eyes lingered for long, tense moments before he brushed by her and jogged down the stairs.

“So much for trying to be a good citizen,” she mumbled and stepped past Opa. “Did you see that guy who just left?”

Opa shook his head, but kept his attention on the game. “He blocked my view for a few seconds, but I didn’t actually look at him. Why?”

“He left his backpack. When I told him about it, he got mad.”

“Odd,” Opa said absently, his focus still pinned on the field.

Krista handed the water to Opa and looked at the pack a few seats away. That unsettled feeling returned.

Stop it, Krista. What did she think was in the pack, a bomb?

Ha! The guy was rude, maybe a bit creepy, but that didn’t make him some lunatic leaving a bomb behind. He’d likely had too much to drink, needed to use the restroom and would be right back. That’s why he didn’t take her concern seriously.

She ignored the fact that there weren’t any empty cups by his seat and forced her attention on to the game. Not that she knew anything about football, as Opa called it, other than it involved a ball with two nets and Opa loved it. She tried to get into the game, but the backpack kept nagging at her, and she continued to check her watch. The man had been gone for fifteen minutes. Far too long for a trip to the bathroom or snack bar when long lines weren’t likely due to tonight’s low attendance.

Her gaze slid back to the pack.

Should she check it out? With all the craziness going on in the world today, could she afford not to check it out?

She glanced down the stairs to confirm the guy wasn’t returning, then slid over to the pack. Once a vivid blue, it was now worn and dingy gray. She checked for the owner one last time, then pulled the zipper and spread it open.

A cell phone lay on a stack of red blocks. Next to it, large neon-green numbers on a timer counted down from twenty-seven minutes fifty seconds. It was strapped to the bricks resembling modeling clay with wires leading to the stack.

Timer. Bricks. Wires.

“Bo—” she started to shout, then realized what yelling “bomb” would do to nearby spectators.

A bomb! It’s really a bomb. What should she do?

She and Opa didn’t have cell phones, so she couldn’t call 911. So then what?

Think, Krista, think.

The numerals kept flashing their countdown—taunting her.

Twenty-five minutes ten seconds. Nine. Eight.

Panic crawled up her spine.

No, no, no!

Why had she waited so long to look? How should she handle this?

Deputy Cash Dixon, the name barreled into her brain. She had to alert him.

She started to rise. Caught sight of Opa. In his fragile state, if she took him with her, it would take a long time to climb down the stairs. Precious minutes would be wasted before the bomb squad could be notified. She had no choice. She’d have to leave him sitting in his seat.

Here. Near a bomb.

She couldn’t do that to her Opa.

You have to or all of these people could die. Go! Now!

She’d bring the deputy up here, leave this situation in his hands and guide Opa to the exit. She had enough time. If she hurried.

Her stomach threatening to revolt, she gently closed the flaps on the pack from prying eyes and jumped to her feet.

“I’ll be right back, Opa.” She forced the words over a lump in her throat.

“Okay.” He didn’t look up.

“I love you.” She hoped it wouldn’t be the last time she ever said these words to him.

His perceptive gaze met hers. “What’s wrong, Liebchen?”

“Nothing.” She offered him a wobbly smile, then jogged down the stairs to discover Cash Dixon now leaned against the restaurant wall, that casual pose still in place. Her confidence in him evaporated.

Could he handle this? This man who seemed to excel in flirting? Was he just a pretty face, or was he cool and calm under pressure? Steady? Trustworthy?

Because he needed to be. Desperately needed to be, if he was going to stop this bomb from exploding and bringing the building down around them.

TWO

Rent-a-cop duty.

Could Cash sink any lower on the boredom scale? He didn’t usually go in for security duty, but his buddy’s wife was having a baby and his buddy needed someone to cover at the last minute. Ninety minutes into the job, he was regretting his decision to help.

He glanced at his solid titanium watch he’d worn on countless Delta Force missions.

Now that was an exciting job.

There was nothing more thrilling than serving on the army’s elite tier-one Special Ops team. Fast-roping down to free a hostage. Night jumps and rock climbs to raid insurgent groups in Afghanistan. Diving into dark, murky waters.

Man, he missed it. Missed it all. The team. The camaraderie. Working with guys who really got him. His life hadn’t been the same since a friendly bomb had gone astray, taking out his whole team. Why he’d survived, he had no idea, even after eighteen months.

Stop, he warned himself. Standing here brooding wouldn’t help him figure it out. He needed to keep busy.

He searched the crowd, looking for someone whose chops he could bust. He spotted the woman who’d brushed past him a few minutes ago to retrieve a cup of water charging down the steps.

Good. Just the distraction he was looking for. A particularly beautiful one at that. He loved the way she’d blushed when he’d flirted with her. Wasn’t often these days that he ran into a woman exhibiting such innocence.

She hit the landing and ran toward him, skidding to a stop in front of him. Eyes the color of his army dress blues were dark with worry, sending a curl of apprehension into his gut.

“I need your help.” She panted to catch her breath. “There’s a...” She paused to look around, then drew him away from a man standing nearby.

She leaned close to Cash’s ear. He caught a faint whiff of vanilla and another appealing spice he couldn’t identify.

“There’s a bomb,” she whispered, her breath warm on his skin.

He pulled back. “Don’t even kid about that, ma’am.”

“I’m not kidding.” Full lips drew down in a scowl as her gaze continued to dart around.

“What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Krista Curry.”

“Well, Krista, why don’t you tell me what you saw?” It was very unlikely she’d actually seen a bomb, but whatever she’d witnessed had clearly upset her and he needed to take it seriously.

“It’s by my seat,” she said. “A guy got up and left his backpack. There’s a cell phone inside with a timer attached to a bunch of red bricks. It’s counting down. It had twenty-five minutes on it. Now it must be closer to twenty.” She grabbed his arm in a viselike grip. “Please, we can’t waste any time.”

Something in her desperate plea made him believe her enough to agree to check out the so-called device. “Show me.”

She led him toward the aisle and gestured at the upper section. “See the older man seated in the second row from the top? That’s my grandfather. The backpack is six seats to his left. By that big girder.”

He looked at the upper section, saw a gray-haired man sitting at the aisle, intent on the game.

“Wait. That woman.” Krista wiggled her finger at a stick-thin woman climbing over a seat. “Looks like she’s spotted the backpack. She’s going to open it just like I did. She might... Oh, no.”

He saw the woman, but he couldn’t see the backpack. Krista grabbed his arm again. “We need to get up there before she does something stupid.”

The woman fumbled around at her feet. She looked up, her gaze wild and unfocused.

“Bomb!” she screamed and charged for the aisle. “There’s a bomb in that backpack. Only fifteen minutes on the timer. Run! Everybody run!” She catapulted over the old man’s legs, nearly lost her balance but recovered to run down the steps, waving her arms and inciting the crowd. “Bomb! There’s a bomb! Go!”

People fled toward the exits in a stampede. Cash had to restore order before they trampled each other. At least attendance was down due to the rain, and he had a chance of calming them down.

“C’mon, people!” He held up his hands. “This is someone’s bad idea of a joke, but just to be safe, let’s clear the area in an orderly fashion.”

“It’s no joke—I saw it,” the woman shouted, her eyes so terrified Cash figured she wasn’t making it up, but the device could still be a dummy left to cause a riot.

“I’ve got to get to Opa!” Krista darted toward the steps.

Cash ran after her and jerked her into an empty aisle moments before the fleeing mob reached them. “You can’t go up there. They’ll trample you.”

She tried to wrench free. “But my grandfather needs me. I can’t leave him alone.”

The last thing Cash wanted was for another person to lose their life on his watch so he tightened his hold while he reported the situation over his radio. He ordered the security team to cease use of their radios from this point forward. He’d take no chance of the radio signal setting off the bomb if it was real. He’d make one more call to the team leader for the First Response Squad—the tactical team Cash served on. The six-person squad was created to deal with emergency situations just like this one and would be the first to respond. Once he notified them, he’d go radio silent, too.

“Let. Me. Go!” Krista’s volume escalated with each word.

“I can’t.”

“Please.” Her eyes darted around as if she might lose it any second. “I have to help him. I have to.”

She jerked harder. Cash let go of his radio to catch her chin, forcing her to make eye contact. “Calm down, Krista. If you promise to stay right here, I’ll take care of your gramps.”

She stopped thrashing and eyed him suspiciously. “Really? You’ll get him out of here?”

After I get a look at that bomb and, if it’s legit, disarm it if I can. Thankfully, he was on duty tonight. His buddy Neil was a great guy, but he wasn’t a bomb expert. Cash had years of experience disarming explosives in the military and another year as the FRS bomb tech.

He looked around for another officer to hand Krista off to but found no one. “I’ll go, but you have to stay here. Right here on this spot. No moving at all. Promise?”

She nodded unreservedly.

He hoped she was sincere and wasn’t playing him. “I mean it. If I look back down here and see you’ve moved at all, I won’t follow through.”

“You’d leave him?”

No, but you don’t need to know that. “If you force me to.”

“I won’t move. I promise. Just go. Now! Hurry!”

Cash released her arm and surveyed the chaos as he formed a quick game plan. With crazed people flooding down the aisle, he’d have to climb over seats to reach the top, then hope the crowd had thinned enough, allowing him to shoot across the aisle to the bomb.

He started over the seats. One by one. Up. Higher. Toward the bomb.

“Be careful, Deputy,” Krista called out.

He felt his stride falter. Not for long. The briefest of moments, really, but long enough for the memory of his fallen teammates to come rushing back.

Stow it, man. Or these people could pay the price for your distraction. Keep calm. In control. Step by step. Work through it.

He could do this. He had to do this. If the bomb was real, it was up to him—him alone—to disarm the device. With fifteen minutes on the timer, neither his squad nor the Metropolitan Explosives Disposal Unit could arrive on time.

If he even had the fifteen minutes to get this done.

More likely he had less.

Putting a cell phone on the bomb said the bomber planned to detonate via a phone call and the timer was likely a fallback. A simple ring of the phone and the bomb could go off in a split second, killing everyone in the blast radius.

He upped his speed, reaching the top tier. He looked for a break in the crowd. A cold bead of sweat dampening his forehead, he shot across the aisle, found the backpack and gently opened it. The sight that greeted him sent his heart plummeting.

He shone his flashlight into the pack, following the detonator wire from the timer now at twelve minutes to demolition blocks stacked neatly inside.

He let out a low whistle, and a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach followed.

There was nothing fake about this bomb. Nothing at all.

THREE

“No-o-o-o!” Raw fear uncoiled in Krista’s stomach. “Don’t mess with it. Opa first. Please!” Her words came from deep in her gut, but there was no chance Cash could hear her over the crowd.

Was he trying to be a hero? Trying to disarm the bomb himself instead of waiting for a trained technician?

Of course he was. He was a hotheaded cop like the ones who’d railroaded her toward a murder rap. And she’d trusted him. Stupidly. She was the worst kind of granddaughter. She’d left Opa a stone’s throw from a bomb, then trusted the wrong person again.

You’re a fool, Krista.

She was about to charge up there, but Cash turned and headed in Opa’s direction. He squatted in front of him. They talked, Opa responding with his usual animated gesturing. Cash patted Opa’s hand then stood and looked away. Krista waited for Opa to get up, but he sat there watching Cash walk toward the bomb.

What?

“No! What’re you doing?” she screamed.

He took a tool from his pocket and bent over the bomb. He was going to try to disarm it and leave Opa all alone.

Fear skittered down Krista’s spine. She couldn’t stand there any longer and leave her grandfather in extreme peril. She took off, following the trail Cash had left behind, pushing through people like a snowplow. She wouldn’t stop. No matter what. She was going up to Opa’s seat even if the crowd trampled her to death.

* * *

Adrenaline raced through Cash’s veins, leaving him light-headed for a moment. He took in a calming breath. Blew it out and replayed his radio conversation with Jake, the FRS leader. The team had an ETA of ten minutes, but once they arrived, they still would have to fight through the crowd streaming out of the stadium.

Translated, Cash was on his own.

So did he move the bomb? Disarm it? Jake had told Cash to use his gut feeling. His gut, right. His gut couldn’t be trusted. Afghanistan proved that.

He stared at the bomb for a moment. Thinking. Evaluating. His best option was to get the device away from people. Center field would be good, but safely moving through the crowd while carrying a bomb would be problematic. So then what?

He checked the timer.

08:29.

08:28.

08:27.

He had to act. Move it or disarm it, which was less risky? He just didn’t know. He used to be so decisive. Until the loss of his team.

He glanced around, assessing the number of people still in the blast radius, and saw Krista urgently climbing over seats to get to her grandfather.

Otto seemed like a fine gentleman. He’d thanked Cash for risking his life to disarm the bomb and for his willingness to sacrifice himself for others, then told him to go ahead with his job and not worry about him. He was counting on Cash to make the right decision. So was Krista. So were all the people in the stadium.

A lump formed in Cash’s throat, but he wouldn’t disappoint them.

He knew what he had to do. He flipped open his Leatherman and went to work on the antiremoval device. Each movement calculated. Precise.

The noise of the crowd. The announcer. The sounds of other officers who’d responded, all fading into the background. It was just him and the device. And the timer.

He wasn’t one for praying. Not since answers to his questions about the loss of his former team remained unanswered, but if any situation called for hope and prayer, this one did.

He sent up a quick request to keep everyone safe. To make his movements sure and true. He took a deep breath, held it and decisively disconnected the device.

With no time to spare, he moved on to the detonator, carefully pulling it from the Semtex and moving it well away from the explosives. The timer continued counting down, but with the detonator removed, it no longer mattered.

“Done!” he called out, then wiped perspiration from his forehead.

Before he could celebrate, in his peripheral vision he caught someone quickly advancing toward him. He was instantly on alert again.

He jerked around, his hand flying to his gun.

Krista raced across the now-deserted aisle.

“What’re you doing?” She rushed up to him, her eyes immediately going to the backpack. “The timer is almost down to zero and you promised to get Opa out of here. Let’s hurry. Now!”

He opened his mouth to tell her that he’d disarmed the bomb, but she flew at him and pounded his chest. He grabbed her hands. They were icy cold and trembling. “We’ve got to go. Now! Help us. Please.”

“Krista,” Otto said calmly from behind them.

Cash continued to clutch her hands as she looked over her shoulder at her grandfather. “Opa, we have to go.”

“But Cash is a bomb technician. He has disarmed the bomb. There is no longer any danger.”

She whirled on Cash. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried to.”

She jerked her hands free, looking torn between aggravation with him and relief that her grandfather was safe. She made quite a sight, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. Her fiery personality contrasted with her elegant, tailored clothing, which Cash bet cost a pretty penny. Not that he had much experience with such things from his low-income upbringing, but he knew quality when he saw it.

“Let me arrange for someone to stand watch on the backpack, and I’ll assist you with helping Otto down the stairs,” he offered.

“I don’t need your help.” She turned away. “Let’s get you up, Opa.”

“I’m feeling tired,” Otto said, a smile in his voice. “I think it would be better to wait for the nice young man to help us.”

She jerked around to look at Cash again, her frustration with waiting for him rampant in her expression.

Cash stifled a snort and radioed for an officer. She watched him, her jaw jutted out in defiance. She was a tenacious little thing, battling for her grandfather at all costs, a trait Cash admired. By the time the officer arrived and Cash had given him instructions, she had Opa on his feet.

He was clearly in poor health, and today’s scare had likely rattled him more than he was willing to admit. Cash would do his best to help Otto relax.

Cash took the older man’s elbow and winked at him. “Let me know if you catch the eye of a pretty lady. I’ll let go so we don’t ruin your cred as a ladies’ man.”

Otto shook with laughter. “I like you, Cash Dixon.”

Krista glared at him. It was obvious she didn’t like him. Not the least little bit. No skin off his nose. He was hardly boyfriend material right now. The jury was still out on whether he’d ever be again.

They slowly worked their way toward the main concourse. Otto chatted all the way down, his attitude remarkably cheerful.

Around the corner, Cash spotted the First Response Squad barreling up the ramp. Five strong, they wore uniforms of black tactical pants and black collared knit shirts. Kevlar vests covered with intricate FRS logos on their chests.

“Late to the party, I see,” Cash joked, though he was glad to see them.

Jake marched up to Cash. “We good?”

“Yeah. The device is disarmed. I’ve put an officer on the backpack. When MEDU arrives they can dispose of the Semtex.”

“Good job, man.” Jake clapped Cash on the back.

Brady Owens, whose shaggy blond hair made him look like a surfer instead of a sniper, socked Cash in the arm. “When the building didn’t blow up on schedule, we figured you had things under control.”

“Yeah, man.” Archer Reed, a team negotiator and the only member of the group taller than Cash, grinned. “We’re glad you didn’t go boom.”

Despite the obvious sarcasm, Cash knew both men were sincerely relieved that he was all right.

Negotiator Skyler Brennan, small for a law enforcement officer, with fiery red hair, stepped forward. Her size often had people underestimating her strength and determination, but she was one of the strongest women Cash had ever met. She lifted her arms to give him a hug.

He wasn’t about to let anyone hug him on the job. He stepped back, and she looked hurt.

“Don’t be rude, Cash Dixon,” EMT Darcie Stevens chastised. The self-professed mom of the group, she kept everyone in line.

A job Cash could never do. Making a bunch of adrenaline junkies mind their manners and play nice together was a thankless job. But Darcie did it well. Most of the time anyway. When she wasn’t trying to get all the guys to express their feelings. That was just plain annoying.

“Don’t worry, Darcie,” Skyler said. “I get it. Cash’s on duty. He can’t possibly let people think he’s less than a macho alpha male.” She grinned at Cash, then turned her attention to Krista. “When Cash called this in, he told us how well you handled discovering the bomb. Most people would’ve screamed or fainted.”

Krista shot Cash a surprised look.

He shrugged it off.

“Don’t mind him.” Skyler wrinkled her nose at Cash. “He doesn’t like people to see it, but he’s a real softy.”

Cash groaned. “Maybe we should keep the focus on Krista, not me.”

“My Krista is an amazing woman,” Otto said fondly. “I’m glad for others to see this, as well.”

Jake cast an intimidating look at Otto. “And you are?”

“I am her very proud grandfather, Otto Schiffer.” Otto puffed out his chest.

“A brave man in his own right.” Cash relayed how Otto had been willing to give up his life so Cash could disarm the bomb instead of helping Otto exit the arena.

A flush colored Otto’s face, his silvery beard now more pronounced. “It wasn’t anything that anyone else wouldn’t do.”

“If you don’t mind, can we end this praise fest and move things along?” Brady tapped his foot on the concrete.

He was constantly in motion, a field of energy always buzzing around him, but he had a laid-back, carefree attitude. Cash was more deliberate. Moved slower. Thought things through and weighed the consequences. Still, as a former Marine Scout Sniper, Brady’s past military experience made him the person Cash connected with most on the team, despite their different personalities.

“For once I agree with your need for speed, Brady.” Jake changed his focus to Krista. “The sooner we get your statement, the sooner we can catch our bomber.”

“Wait, what?” Brady swiveled to face Jake. “We’re staying to take her statement?”

Cash seconded the question. The FRS was needed in the moment of crisis to take care of the immediate danger. They were rarely involved in the subsequent investigation other than holding a debriefing to evaluate and improve their performance for the next incident.

“With the gravity of this situation, the higher-ups have already decided the county will form a joint task force with the city. Skyler will take lead for County.” Jake turned to Krista. “In addition to Skyler’s duties as a negotiator on our team, she’s also a detective with the county’s Special Investigation Unit. She’s asked us to sit in while she takes your statement.”

Darcie lifted her medical bag. “After I give them a quick evaluation.”

“The restaurant looks deserted. We can meet in there.” Jake took off, his long strides carrying him swiftly down the empty corridor.

The team followed like ducklings after their mama, Krista and Otto trailing them. Cash chose to hang back for a few seconds to clear his mind. Still, he let his gaze track Krista. He’d never admit it to anyone, but he was glad he didn’t have to say goodbye to her just yet.

Brady turned back and eyed Cash.

Right. Get moving before everyone starts asking questions.

“Dude.” Brady slugged Cash again. “You’re practically drooling. Not that I blame you. She’s a real looker. But you’d better get your head together before Jake notices.”

Cash laughed, pretending to blow off Brady’s comment.

Brady was right—Krista was a real looker. But what really attracted him was the care and concern she exhibited for her grandfather. After Cash’s parents had died when he was eight and he’d been passed around from home to home, he could appreciate the obvious love they both shared.

Still, he wouldn’t let this interest in her distract him. Not now. Not when his help was needed to locate this very dangerous bomber before he struck again.

FOUR

Krista helped Opa find a seat in the restaurant as the First Response Squad connected tables, allowing the group to sit together.

What a team.

Six people. Calm, efficient and quick to move. Intimidating, really. Very intimidating.

Except for the EMT, Darcie. Tall and thin with auburn hair in a ponytail, Darcie’s warm, motherly attributes shone through as she squatted in front of Krista and took her vital signs. Everything about Darcie exuded compassion and friendliness.

Maybe her kindness proved that this team was different from the detectives investigating Toby’s murder. Would they actually be kind to her instead of falsely accusing her? Trashing her name in the media and ruining her life, leaving her no choice but to flee from Portland?

Could she be lucky enough to stumble upon decent cops who believed in someone’s innocence until proven guilty?

Like their leader, Jake Marsh. Was he a good guy?

He oozed strength and seemed to analyze every step before acting. Exactly what Krista would expect from a leader. At the same time, he didn’t pressure Darcie to finish her exam so they could start the questioning. A good balance for the deputies who counted on him, Krista supposed.

He talked with Brady, who she’d gathered from their chatter held the position of sniper. Solidly built, he had a carefree smile and laid-back look, but he bounced around the room like a Super Ball. The team negotiator named Archer was long, lean and intense, his gaze watchful all the time. As if he was trying to figure out what made people tick. Skyler, who was about Krista’s height, stood next to him. She carried herself with a self-assurance that warned Krista to be careful around her.

And Cash? The man she tried not to look at? She didn’t know what to make of him.

Over six feet with a muscular build, he had dark hair, a wide jaw and intense eyes that lightened up only when he smiled. He was a fine-looking man, there was no disputing that. One most women would jump at a chance to date. But not her. She’d had no interest in dating since she’d discovered Toby had lied to her.

Cash looked up and caught her watching him. A slow smile crept across his face, his eyes glinting with amusement as if he could read her mind. She felt her face heat up again and jerked her gaze back to Darcie.

Darcie shot a curious look at Cash, then frowned up at Krista. “Your pulse and blood pressure are good, but shock can sometimes be delayed.” She hung her stethoscope around her neck. “The others will focus on getting as much information from you as possible to have a better chance at finding the bomber. Not me. I’ll keep an eye on you during the interview to be sure you’re handling this okay. If at any time you need a break, ask for one.”

“I will.”

Darcie scooted over to Opa and took his pulse.

Skyler joined them and handed out bottles of water. “It’s important to stay hydrated, too.”

“Thank you.” Krista’s stomach was a tight knot. She couldn’t imagine putting anything, even water, in it, but nerves had left her mouth dry. She took a long pull on the bottle.

“This isn’t our first crisis situation so we understand what you’re going through.” Skyler smiled, yet Krista could see questions lurking in her eyes.

“I’d appreciate it if you could continue monitoring Opa’s medical condition.”

“Opa?” Skyler asked.

“Means grandfather in German.” Krista peered at Opa, who was greedily drinking from the bottle while Darcie strapped the blood pressure cuff on his arm. “He’s been undergoing chemo treatments and—”

“And she worries too much about me.” He waved off Krista’s concern. “Please don’t go to any trouble for me. I dare say I am doing better than my Liebchen here.”

Krista patted his knee. “They can look after both of us.”

Darcie ripped the Velcro cuff from Opa’s arm and stood. “If you start to feel dizzy or short of breath, don’t try to be a hero. Tell me right away.”

Opa nodded and Darcie turned. “We’re good to go, Jake.”

His clipped nod seemed to fit his no-nonsense personality. “If everyone will join us at the table, we’ll get started.”

Krista helped Opa to his feet and, for once, he didn’t shrug off her help but leaned heavily on her arm. Which troubled Krista more than if he’d tried to move on his own. This day was taking a toll on him, and she needed to get him home as soon as possible.

She settled him in a chair near the head of the table, deposited their jackets on another chair and sat next to him, far away from Cash Dixon. He remained standing, resting a shoulder against a window overlooking the midfield section of the stadium.

Looking out past him, she saw powerful lights illuminating the empty field. The bomb still sat high in the stands and cops swarmed around the area, probably looking for anything that could help them track the bomber. That man. That creep who’d tried to kill children. Families. Opa.

And she’d seen him. Up close and personal—could identify him.

Would he realize that and try to find her to silence her?

A shudder started at Krista’s head and worked over her body. She willed away memories of the bomber’s cold eyes. Willed away her fear of him coming after her and clamped her hands together under the table. Opa needed her to stay strong and get through this quickly to take him home.

She focused on Jake, who stood at the head of the table, carefully appraising her. She tried not to shrink back from the intensity of his expression. Her past experience with police officers told her he’d likely take it to mean she was hiding something so she smiled and forced herself to relax taut muscles in her shoulders.

He didn’t return her smile, but sat on the corner of the table, his determined gaze never leaving her. “Go ahead and tell us what happened today. Start with your arrival at the field and really think about anything unusual you might’ve seen.” He turned his focus to Opa, and Krista resisted sighing with relief. “If you can add anything along the way, Mr. Schiffer, feel free to jump in.”

“Please.” He waved a hand. “Stop with this Mr. Schiffer business. It’s Otto.”

“Okay, Otto.” A tight-lipped smile briefly lifted the corner of Jake’s mouth, but it disappeared when he looked at Krista again. “Go ahead, Ms. Curry.”

Unlike Opa, Krista didn’t ask him to call her by her first name. Formality would make it feel less personal should they fire accusations at her later. It would also continue to remind them of her last name. A name she’d had to assume after the press had vilified her. A name that should help conceal a connection to Toby and leave her past in the past.

“We didn’t want to battle traffic so we arrived on the MAX train,” she said, reminding herself to stick to facts that couldn’t be misconstrued and later turned against her. “We entered through Gate 2. After stopping at a water fountain to fill our cup, we went straight to our seats.”

Skyler pulled a notepad from her backpack. “Was the bomber in his seat when you arrived?”

Was he?

Krista squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force away the terror of the final moments to remember the beginning. Entering the stadium. Climbing the stairs as quickly as she could with Opa. Watching her feet so no one had the chance to get a good look at her face and recognize her. Settling into her seat. Keeping her head down—way down—until the match started.

Not something she’d tell the team eyeing her. The minute they learned she remained a suspect in a murder investigation was the minute they’d brand her a criminal and start thinking she could be involved in this incident, too.

She glanced at Opa. “I don’t remember if he was there. Do you?”

“I only had eyes for my Timbers, but he must have been in his seat. I would have noticed if he arrived after us and got between me and my football game.”

“Makes sense.” Skyler flipped the page in her notebook. “What time did you arrive?”

“I didn’t look at the clock.” Krista took a quick sip of water. “But I’d guess it was about ten minutes before the match started.”

“I concur,” Opa added.

Skyler jotted a note, then looked up. “What happened after you took your seats?”

Krista ran through the events in her mind and nothing except her worry of being recognized stood out. “The match started, and it was just the usual things you’d expect. Vendors. People coming and going.”

Skyler’s eyes bored into Krista. “When did you first notice the man who left the backpack?”

Krista forced herself to meet Skyler’s intimidating gaze. “I accidently spilled Opa’s water. When he started coughing, I went down to the mezzanine to get more.”

“That’s when I first saw you,” Cash said with no inflection in his tone to give away his thoughts.

She nodded as the memory of his intense study and blatant flirtation made her uneasy. She took a quick cleansing breath before she blushed again and drew attention to the attraction between them, then looked Cash straight in the eye. “Then maybe you saw me when I returned, too.”

“I saw you,” he said, and this time, she saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

So the flirting continues. Great.

Despite the desire to look away, Krista kept her focus on him. “That’s when I bumped into the bomber, which means you saw him, too.”

“Ah...” The flicker in his eyes turned to full-bloom amusement. “I wasn’t exactly focusing on the bomber.”

Brady snorted. “I could’ve told you that.”

Cash crossed his arms, the taut muscles flexing. He fired a testy look at Brady.

Brady laughed. “Hey, man, it would’ve been great if you’d seen the guy, but no one blames you for looking at Krista instead of an ugly old bomber.”

Chuckles traveled around the table but did nothing to alleviate Krista’s tension.

Skyler was the only team member who didn’t seem amused. “You bumped into the bomber?”

Krista nodded. “He was leaving as I was returning from the water fountain. I noticed he’d left his backpack, but when I tried to tell him, he ignored me and kept going. So I stepped in his path to stop him. He stared at me for a minute, then brushed past me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Liebchen?” Opa asked, sounding hurt.

“I thought he was just a rude man, and I love you, Opa, but I can’t tell you about every rude man I encounter.” She gave Cash a pointed look. “I figured he was headed to the bathroom and would come back for his pack later, so I took my seat. After he didn’t return in fifteen minutes, I looked in the pack. I saw the bomb and remembered Deputy Dixon. I went to tell him about it. He agreed to look at the backpack.”

Cash pushed off the window and planted his feet. “That’s when the other woman saw the bomb and her warning sent everyone into panic mode. Krista wanted to go after Otto, but she agreed to let me go instead. I scoped out the bomb and rendered it safe.”

Skyler’s pen hovered over her notebook as she stared at Krista. “Now would be a good time to give us a physical description of the bomber.”

Images of the creep slunk through her mind. Her hands trembled. She clenched them harder while dredging up the nerve to speak of him.

“Are you all right, Ms. Curry?” Darcie asked.

No. She doubted she’d be all right for a very long time. But she wanted this monster caught, so she forced herself back to the moment in the aisle. “He’s Caucasian. Maybe six feet. Thin. I’d say in his late twenties. He wore jeans and a green Timbers sweatshirt with the hood up. I saw a bit of black hair on his forehead. The rest was hidden. His face is long with a pointed chin. His eyes are grayish blue.” Memories of the hatred in his eyes sent a cold chill through her body. “His eyes were mean. Extremely mean.” She shook her head. “Maybe I should’ve known he planned to kill people...all of us. If I had done more to stop him, he might not be free to try again.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Liebchen.” Opa’s papery-soft hand settled over hers and she clung to him. “You couldn’t have known.”

“It sounds like you saw him well enough to help our sketch artist render an accurate drawing,” Skyler said. “Are you willing to meet with him?”

Krista nodded. “I’ll never forget his face. Never.”

“I’ll set something up for tomorrow. Is there a time that’s best for you?”

“I teach preschool and the kids need me there. I have two sessions a day. I start at seven and get off at four.”

Skyler frowned. “I’d rather not wait an entire day. What about a lunch break? Could we do it then?”

“Yes, if your artist comes to the preschool at noon.”

“I’ll make sure it happens.” Skyler pulled her gaze from Krista for the first time since the questioning had begun. “Anyone else have questions?”

Brady looked right at Krista, not the least bit uncomfortable pinning her with a hard stare. “We wouldn’t be doing our jobs if we didn’t at least ask Ms. Curry if she’s involved in this.”

Here it comes. The accusations.

Opa grasped his chest. “Och, not my Krista. She’d never do a thing like this. Don’t you have security cameras that caught our arrival? If so, you can see for yourself that she carried no backpack.”

“To get through security she would have had to stow the pack with the bomb in advance,” Jake said.

She crossed her arms. “How could I have gotten materials in here? I have no access.”

“But a friend might.” Skyler watched Krista carefully, measuring, weighing.

“I just returned to Portland two weeks ago. After being gone for four years, I know few people in town, let alone someone who works here.”

Skyler didn’t seem fazed by Krista’s protests. “You were in a premier seating area. Seats like that are hard to come by. How did you get tickets to such an area if you’ve just arrived in town?”

“Opa’s friend Erwin gave them to us. He has season tickets.” Krista hated that she sounded defensive when she was telling the truth. “We did nothing wrong.”

Skyler offered Krista an apologetic look. “You aren’t the only person we’ll talk to. There’s a long list of people with access to this place who we’ll thoroughly investigate. I’d appreciate your patience as it will take time to work the list to rule out any connection to you.”

Translated, Krista was a suspect and would be one for some time. If they dug deep enough into her assumed identity, they’d eventually discover her real name and her supposed role in Toby’s death. Then her life would dissolve in chaos again. People would hurl the title murderer at her again. Add bomber to it. Taunt and embarrass her and Opa. Her throat closed with the thought, and she chugged her water under Darcie’s watchful eyes.

“You can certainly rule out my Timbers as suspects,” Opa announced, taking the attention from her. “None of the players would ever be involved in such a thing.”

Krista had to smile at the staunch support of his team.

“Sorry, Otto.” Jake grinned. “We’ll even have to check into the players.

Opa crossed his arms. “A waste of time, if you ask me. As it is a waste of time checking up on Krista and me, but I will give you Erwin’s information so you can contact him to confirm our story.”

Determined not to let this team railroad her the way the other cops had, Krista fired a confident look at Skyler. “Do you honestly think I’d bring my grandfather along if I planned to bomb the stadium?”

Brady’s brows rose toward thick blond hair. “You could have brought him along for cover. Then something went wrong. You couldn’t get out in time and went running to Cash.”

Archer faced her. “If you’re involved in this, Ms. Curry, it’ll go easier on you if you tell us now.”

“No...I...” At the wall of stares from the team, the water she’d consumed turned to acid in her stomach. She closed her mouth and looked to Cash for his help.

His eyes that had been so warm and friendly, so interested earlier, were now filled with steely resolve.

Fine. Be that way.

She should’ve expected his lack of help. She’d trusted him to be on her side once, to rescue Opa, and he’d let her down by tending to the bomb first.

Even if the squad members seemed kind and compassionate at first, they were cops doing their jobs. Cops who didn’t trust anyone. She cringed at the thought of the past interrogations. The questions fired at her. Badgering her. Accusing her. Slandering her in the press until no one believed in her innocence, even when they couldn’t prove a thing against her.

No. She couldn’t trust people like that. A man like that. Even if the bomber showed up on her doorstep to stop her from identifying him, she couldn’t count on anyone else. She had to be prepared to protect herself and Opa from the monster willing to kill innocent people.

FIVE

Cash didn’t know what to think. Could he believe Krista’s story? He looked out the window at her. She sat next to Otto just outside the restaurant, perching on the edge of the bench as if she wanted to bolt. Otto leaned back and crossed his ankles, giving Cash a good look at surprising lime-green sneakers. Cash could see the older guy was tired and wished Skyler would let the pair go home. But she insisted they stay in case the team came up with questions during a quick brainstorming session.

“So.” Skyler’s no-nonsense tone brought Cash’s attention back to the group. Her focus traveled around the table. “Give me your thoughts.”

Archer sat forward. “Though this is a real stereotype, being Caucasian makes the bomber less likely to be a terrorist.”

Skyler nodded. “But terrorists can be Caucasian, too. Especially ecoterrorists in a green state like Oregon. Still, they rarely resort to bombing, and I can’t see an environmental reason for bombing the stadium.”

Jake shifted on the edge of the table, a frown drawing down his face. “If he is a terrorist, he’ll take credit for his work in the next twenty-four hours or so.”

“Can’t you just look up who bought the ticket for the suspect’s seat number?” Darcie asked. “Wouldn’t you then have his identity?”

Jake shook his head. “Someone who plants a bomb won’t buy a ticket under his real name.”

“Plus, the heavy rain kept people away, leaving tons of empty seats in the covered area,” Cash added. “The bomber might have simply taken advantage of an empty seat.”

“What about the bomb itself?” Skyler asked. “Does it give you any thoughts on who we might be looking for?”

Cash nodded. “The bomb was rudimentary, but it did have an antiremoval device, so that speaks to some experience with explosives. Also, he used blocks of Semtex, which aren’t easy to come by.” Cash shifted on his feet. “The question I think we need to be asking is, what did he hope to accomplish with the bomb? The backpack was placed by the stanchion holding up the roof. Maybe he wanted to take it down, but without tamping the bomb, it wouldn’t likely happen.”

“Tamping?” Darcie asked.

“In layman’s terms it means aiming the force of the blast in the direction you want it to go to make the explosion more effective.”

“Which tells us what exactly?” Jake asked.

“Either he’s not very knowledgeable about bombs, or his intent was simply to kill someone in the seating area rather than damage the stadium. Of course, if he had a specific target, then he might’ve thought to add shrapnel to inflict the most damage, but he didn’t.”

Brady looked up from a small piece of wood and a knife in his hands. A hyper guy, he often whittled to keep calm. “Setting a bomb is a pretty drastic action just to kill one or two people. I can think of many less risky ways to kill someone.”

Jake faced Skyler. “I’m assuming you’ll look at security videos and request street cam, business and MAX footage. Not just for today but earlier on.”

She nodded. “Though I’d rather not involve the media in this, I’ll also have them issue a plea to the public for any pictures or videos taken of the targeted seating section for our review. And we’ll get a team on interviewing ticket holders.” She grabbed her pen. “What about potential suspects?”

“The obvious one is a stadium employee,” Archer said, his intense focus on Skyler. “And event crews or even concessions company staff. They’d have access and if they were unhappy with their work they’d have a motive, too.”

“Same with delivery people,” Jake tossed out. “Or recycling company employees who pick up green products.”

Skyler’s pen raced across the paper.

Cash grinned. “And despite what Otto may think, we also can’t rule out the players and coaches. Though I suspect Otto wouldn’t mind if we limited our inquiries to the opposing team.”

Brady cleared his throat and all eyes turned to him. “Don’t forget to add Ms. Curry and Otto.”

“Are you honestly liking them for this?” Cash asked. “I mean, we have no motive for her wanting to do this.”

Brady met Cash’s gaze. “You haven’t been in law enforcement all that long, but we all know—”

“The person who reports the crime—” Skyler finished writing and looked up “—is always a suspect until we can prove otherwise. And that includes finding the motive you’re speaking of.”

“I’m not sure this counts on the motive thing,” Darcie said, “but Krista’s wearing designer clothes. Not something she could afford on a preschool teacher’s salary. And I didn’t see a wedding ring so there’s not likely a spouse to pay for the clothes.”

“She still could be married,” Archer said.

The thought left Cash more unsettled than he wanted to think about.

“Or divorced. Or widowed,” Jake added.

“Easy enough to find out. I’ll ask.” Skyler stepped outside. Cash saw Krista’s shoulders go up in a defensive posture at the question.

Was she hiding an involvement in the bombing, or did she simply hate personal questions?

Skyler returned. “Widowed. Four years ago.”

Cash sighed, drawing Jake’s attention so Cash quickly moved on. “If we’re looking at Krista for this, then we should also look into the woman who incited the crowd. I can check a stadium diagram for her seat number. It may not lead anywhere if she was dodging the rain, but it’s worth a shot.”

“Once you locate the number, I’ll make it a priority to find her.” Skyler looked around the group. “Any other suggestions or ideas?”

No one spoke.

“Okay, then.” Skyler tucked her notebook in her backpack. “As Jake said, I’ll be teaming up with the city. We’ll both assign considerable resources to the investigation, but with the number of people to be interviewed, it would be great if everyone volunteered time to help.”

“I’m game.” Brady hopped to his feet.

The others added their agreement.

“Great,” Skyler said. “If you’ll email your schedules to me, I’ll work you in the rotation. And thanks for the help.”

“That all?” Brady was clearly itching to get moving. Cash was surprised it had taken him this long to ask.

Jake nodded. “We’re good to go.”

Brady shot for the door.

“I’ll go tell Krista and Otto they’re free to leave.” Cash headed outside before anyone tried to stop him, especially Skyler, who was coming his way. He stepped into the cold, damp air and zipped his jacket as he approached the pair.

The scent of popcorn lingering in the air spoke of fun and enjoyment, contradicting Otto’s fatigued expression. He looked plumb worn-out and still had a long train ride.

Cash met Otto’s gaze. “You two look like you could use a ride home instead of taking MAX.”

“No,” Krista said.

“That is most generous,” Otto said at the same time.

She frowned at him. “It’s not necessary, Deputy Dixon.”

“It’s Cash,” he said, not liking the formality of her tone for reasons he chose not to analyze. “Necessary or not, I want to help.”

“Thank you.” Otto smiled. “We will be glad to accept your offer. Might I use the restroom before we go?”

Cash ignored Krista’s stare and nodded. “There’s one in the restaurant.”

“I’ll go with you.” Krista helped Otto rise and move back into the restaurant.

Skyler eyed the pair as they strolled by. After the door closed, she joined Cash. “What’s going on?”

“With what?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

“You and Ms. Curry know each other?”

“No.”

“But you find her attractive.”

“What red-blooded male wouldn’t?” He held up a hand to stop Skyler from continuing. “Don’t worry. I don’t plan to do anything about it.”

“Please don’t be offended that I asked about this.” She took a step closer. “You haven’t been a deputy all that long, and I want to make sure you understand your role here.”

He smiled. “You mean other than the red-blooded-male thing?”

She frowned at him. “I’m serious here, Cash.”

So was he. He wasn’t uncomfortable disagreeing with others on the team. That was the norm for him, but he was uncomfortable with his reason for disagreeing today. He couldn’t clear Krista from suspicion just because she was pretty and kind to her grandfather. He needed to take a step back. To focus on the evidence in front of him as he’d been taught. To remember Brady spoke the truth—suspect the person who reported the crime until they were ruled out.

He leaned against the wall and let the night play in his memory. He saw Krista running toward him, gripping his arm, her terrified eyes looking up at Otto. “Krista’s shock and fear at the discovery of the bomb were real. I’d stake my life on that, and I find it hard to believe she had any part in this.”

“Don’t make a rookie mistake,” Skyler warned. “There are all kinds of reasons she could be involved and still be legitimately terrified.”

“Name one,” he challenged.

“She could’ve been working with a partner who stashed the backpack in the stadium earlier and it was her job to retrieve and place the bomb.”

“Otto didn’t mention seeing her with a backpack and you have to agree he reads like a straight shooter.”

“I agree about Otto, but with his obsession with the game it’s not hard to believe that he wouldn’t notice Krista leaving her seat to retrieve the bomb.”

“Okay, say I buy that—which I don’t—why would she bring Otto with her if she was going to plant a bomb?”

“He makes great cover for something like this.”

“Still, I don’t see her risking his life.”

“Maybe she didn’t think he was at risk. Her partner could have told her there would be more time for her to get out of the stadium, but when she saw the countdown on the cell phone, she realized she couldn’t get Otto out in time.”

“Maybe.” Cash let the idea roll around in his head.

“Or maybe the partner said he only intended to damage the building and the bomb wouldn’t go off until after everyone left for the night. Or he might not have told her about the cell phone and only mentioned a timer. When she realized he could call to detonate the bomb at any time, she knew she couldn’t get Otto out of there in time, panicked and ran for your help.”

“All possible, I suppose.”

“But you don’t buy any of them.”

He shrugged.

“Fine.” She sounded irritated, an unusual stance for Skyler. She was their peacemaker. The one who brought people together on their team. But tonight he was seeing a different side of her. The tough investigator. “We can disagree on this as long as we’re clear that Ms. Curry is a suspect.”

“We’re clear.” He saw Krista and Opa returning, both of them slipping into their raincoats. Cash pushed off the wall. “I promise to give them a ride, then come running home like a good little boy.”

“Right, joke about this as you always do but remember this conversation.” Shaking her head, Skyler turned to Krista and handed her a business card. “If you think of anything else that might help, give me a call.”

Cash escorted the pair down a ramp to ground level, where he nodded at the officer guarding the exit. Outside, the rain had let up and wispy fingers of steam rose up from the asphalt, disappearing into the dark night. Police cars, both county and city, sat in the lot. Red lights twisted into a swirly cotton candy of fog. A perimeter had been set up and officers dressed in rain gear stood sentry, holding the public at bay.

Cash peered at Otto. “Employees park in an auxiliary lot. It’s a bit of a hike. You up for that, or do you want to wait here while I get the car?”

Krista stared across the lot, her expression dark and unreadable. “Maybe we should wait here. We should be fine with all the cops around.”

“Stop fussing, Liebchen.” A stubborn look claimed the old man’s face. “I am able to walk.”

Cash didn’t want to offend Otto, so he started walking at what he hoped was a slow enough stride to be comfortable. They neared police barricades holding back media crews fairly salivating to one-up each other in their coverage. Paul Parsons from the local News Channel Four TV station was making his way to the front of the crowd. He wore a damp white shirt, and his nondescript brown hair was plastered against his head.

Cash stifled a groan. He’d expected reporters, but he’d rather not face the overly zealous Parsons. He’d tried the patience of FRS team members recently when he’d hounded Skyler after someone tried to kill her. Parsons had made it clear in his reports that he could do a better job in the investigation than the sheriff’s department or even better than Skyler’s FBI agent fiancé.

But worse, in Cash’s opinion, was the way the man had harassed Skyler when she was injured and fragile. Parsons was a bully, plain and simple. If he started hassling Krista or Opa, Cash would have a hard time not pushing back.

As expected, Parsons slipped past an officer and rushed toward them, his cameraman in tow. Cash put his head down and continued moving.

Krista quickly flipped up her hood, seeming to shrink into her coat. “Do you think he knows who we are? That I saw the bomber?”

“Doubtful, but if he has somehow learned you’re a witness, just say no comment and keep moving.” Cash used his body to shield Krista and Otto while easing them past the tenacious reporter.

Parsons swiveled, planted his feet in front of Krista and shoved the microphone in her face, forcing her to stop. “Is it true, Ms. Curry, that you saw the bomber well enough to give the police a detailed description?”

She took a step back and glanced at Cash. Panic flared in her eyes. An overwhelming protective urge welled up inside Cash—a familiar feeling but not one he’d expected for a woman he barely knew. One who was a suspect in the bombing. It caught him by surprise and made him hesitate. Just a fraction, but long enough for Parsons to seize the moment and step closer.

“Did you see the bomber, Ms. Curry?” he demanded.

Krista jerked back.

Cash did the first thing he could think of. He grabbed Opa’s arm. “I’m sorry, but Ms. Curry’s grandfather’s had a very trying night, and he isn’t feeling well. We need to get him home.”

“Yes,” Krista mumbled. “He has to get home.”

“I won’t keep you,” Parsons said. “All I want is a simple yes or no. Did you see the bomber?”

“Oh.” Opa wobbled and his legs seemed to turn to rubber. He reached for Krista’s arm. She clutched his elbow, steadying him.

Cash glanced at the older man, and he winked at Cash.

Nice. The crafty old guy was simply putting on a show for the reporter to distract him from Krista.

“As you can see,” Cash said pointedly, “we really need to be going. Unless, of course, you want to be responsible for an elderly man collapsing on your news program.”

“Of course not.” Parsons knew when to step down and back away.

Cash continued to hold Otto’s elbow and hurried ahead. Otto kept up with Cash, but they nearly had to drag Krista. Despite her unspoken desire to get away from the crowd, she kept shooting looks around the area, slowing them down.

Hoping to see what she was searching for, Cash followed her gaze. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe she feared the bomber was in the crowd of looky-loos that circled the perimeter.

Cash figured the guy was long gone. Unless, of course, he’d heard the news stories by now and knew Krista’s heroic actions had kept the bomb from detonating. If so, he would want to stop her before she had a chance to ID him. Which meant he could have come back and was out in the crowd. Watching. Waiting. Planning to follow them and take Krista out when she was away from the heavy police presence.

Cash was suddenly thankful he’d offered to escort her home. A woman with a sick, elderly man would be a sitting duck for a bomber and without Cash’s help, the consequences could be deadly.

SIX

Feeling Cash’s focus on her from the car, Krista helped Opa climb the steps to his house. She was torn between wanting Cash gone and wanting him to stay exactly where he was, watching them and making sure no harm came their way. On the ride home, she couldn’t stop thinking about what the bomber would do if he knew she could identify him. It would only take one news story to alert him and make him determined to silence her.

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.

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.

All was quiet. Serene, even.

He’d let his fears make him overreact. Nothing new there. Status quo since he’d left Delta. He turned to go.

A hair-raising scream pierced the air, echoing through the trees.

His blood ran cold.

A second scream split the quiet. Both cries came from inside. A woman.

It was Krista! She was in danger.

Serious danger.

SEVEN

Krista fought hard. Her fists. Her elbows. Punching. Pummeling. Striking anywhere she could. She connected, catching the masked intruder by surprise and shoving him away. Scrambling, she dropped to the floor. Shadows clung to the wood. She groped around. Frantic, hurried movements, searching for her gun. Finally, she touched the edge of the cool metal.

Yes! Only an inch more.

A hand came around her ponytail. Jerked hard. Pain screamed through her scalp. He kept pulling, bringing her to her feet. His arm snaked around her waist. He dragged her toward the door as if planning to abduct her.

She couldn’t let that happen. Self-defense courses her father had insisted she take came rushing back. She threw herself back, hit him hard and unsettled him. He flailed around, trying to regain his balance.

She dived for the gun.

“Krista, are you all right?” a male called from outside the back door.

Cash Dixon?

“Cash, is that you?” she yelled, her mind racing to figure out her next steps.

Her attacker paused to listen for a minute. A perfect opportunity to act. She grabbed the gun and scrambled to her feet in front of the door. Lifted the weapon. Aimed.

The intruder held his hands up and inched backward.

“Stop,” she screamed, but even she could hear the uncertainty in her voice.

He kept moving.

She raised the gun higher. He suddenly turned and bolted down the hallway toward the back door. She held the gun at the ready but couldn’t shoot. Didn’t know if she could ever shoot another person. She stepped into the hallway. A wave of light swept in from the open door leading to the deck. She could see a man with a flashlight standing just outside.

Dear God, please let it be Cash.

Her attacker barreled ahead, plowing Cash to the ground. The light went out.

Terrified to act, Krista waited—the gun still in her hand.

“Krista, it’s Cash Dixon.” The worried voice came from the deck. “Are you all right?”

“I am now,” she managed to say.

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