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Chelsea Handler Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang (epub
Brit Brinson [Dia of the Dead Dia of the Dead (epub)
Cody Goodfellow [Radiant Dawn Radiant Dawn (epub)
Cate Tiernan [Immortal Belove Immortal Beloved (epub)
C J Busby [Deep Amber 01] Deep Amber (retail) (epub)
Carl Ashmore [Time Hunters 01 The Time Hunters (epub)
Drew Hayes [Super Powereds 02 Super Powereds Year 2 (epub) i
Beth Harbison [Shoe Addict 02 Secrets of a Shoe Addict (epub)
Cara Lynn Shultz [Dark World The Dark World (retail) (epub)
Dwarven Nations 01 The Covena Dragonlance

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.“Before the blast—did you see Abigail?”Fiona paled even more.“The phone rang.She…”“Easy, Fi.Just take it slow.” But Bob could feel his own urgency mounting, dread crawling over him, sucking the breath out of him.He had to concentrate to keep it out of his expression, his voice.“Okay?”“She went to answer the phone.”“When?”“Just before the explosion.” Fiona squeezed her eyes shut, fresh tears leaking out the corners and joining up with the rest of the mess on her cheeks.“Not long before.I can’t remember.Minutes?” She opened her eyes, sniffled.“I…Dad.I’m going to be sick.”Bob shook his head.“Nah.You’re not going to puke on Scoop.”Had he misinterpreted the partially open doors? What if Abigail hadn’t been fleeing the fire but, instead, someone had gone in after her?Why?What was he missing?He placed his palm on his daughter’s cheek, noted with a jolt how cold it was.“Help will be here soon.” He spoke softly, trying to stay calm, to be assertive and clear without scaring her more.“We can’t move Scoop.It’s too dangerous.”“I’ll stay with him.”Bob nodded.“Okay.The fire won’t get here.Do what you can to keep Scoop still, so he doesn’t dislodge a piece of shrapnel and make the bleeding worse.You be still, too.You could be hurt and not feel it.”“I’m not hurt, Dad, and I know first aid.”He lowered his hand from her cheek.She’d always been stubborn—and strong.“Hang in there, kid.I won’t let anything happen to you.” But hadn’t he already?Her lower lip trembled.“You’re going to find Abigail, aren’t you?”Abigail.He pushed back his fear and nodded.“Yeah.”“It’s okay, Dad.” Fiona gave him a ragged smile.“You can count on me.”His heart nearly broke.He hated to leave her, but she and Scoop would be better off staying put than having him try to get them out to the street.And he had to find Abigail.Bob leaned his fire extinguisher next to the compost bin and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.“I don’t know what all you heard,” he said to the dispatcher, “but you can talk to my daughter.”Fiona’s fingers closed around the phone.They were callused from endless hours of harp practice.She should be practicing now, but here she was, the victim of some dirtbag.He couldn’t think about that now.“The 911 dispatcher is on the line.He’ll help you.Do what he says.”She nodded.Bob looked back toward the house.Scoop’s porch was on fire now, too.The triple-decker was a hundred years old.Bob had seen others like it burn.Firefighters would have to get there fast if they stood a chance of saving it.Didn’t matter to him one way or the other.He ran back through Scoop’s vegetables and across the yard.The heat was brutal.Sweat poured down his face and soaked his armpits and chest, plastered his undershorts to his behind.Gunk burned in his eyes.He could hear sirens blaring maybe a block away, but he couldn’t wait.When he reached the street, he took the front steps two at a time.Black smoke drifted out from Abigail’s apartment.Pulling his shirt back up over his face, he dived into her living room, but he didn’t see her passed out on the floor.No sign of her in the dining room, either.The smoke was thick, dangerous.The fire was close.He took another couple of steps, but he couldn’t get to the kitchen or the bedroom in back, closer to the fire.He was coughing up soot.He felt his knees crumbling under him but stiffened and made sure he didn’t collapse.He was fifty and in decent shape.It wasn’t exertion that had him out of breath as much as emotion, but he locked the fear into its own dark compartment and focused on what had to be done.Get Scoop and Fiona out of the backyard and to the E.R.Find Abigail.Find the bastards who’d set off a bomb on her porch.No question the fire wasn’t an accident.Keira and the other woman in Ireland had been right that it was a bomb.Two hulking firefighters materialized on either side of him and got him by the arms and led him back outside.He shook them off when they reached the sidewalk.“An off-duty police officer is out back with my daughter.He’s hurt bad.She isn’t.” His eyes felt seared as he pointed toward the gate.“They’re behind the compost bin.Scoop.Fiona.Those are their names.”The firefighters took off without a word.More firefighters poured off trucks, heading inside and out back.Paramedics arrived.Two police cruisers.Bob looked back at the triple-decker.He and Scoop and Abigail had just put on new siding.A new roof.Tom Yarborough, Abigail’s partner, a straight-backed son of a bitch if there ever was one, got out of an unmarked car and approached the house.Bob forced himself to think.The FBI, ATF, bomb squad, arson squad—the damn world would be on this one.Neighbors drifted out of houses up and down the street to check out the commotion, see if they could help.Find out if the fire would spread and if they should get out of there.Yarborough, already taking charge, addressed two uniformed officers.“Keep them back.” He looked at Bob.“You okay?”“I’m fine.” Bob spat and filled him in on Scoop and Fiona.“Firefighters are back there now.”“How’d the fire start?” Yarborough asked.“Bomb on Abigail’s back porch.”Yarborough had no visible reaction.“Where is she?”“Missing.”“What about Owen?”Bob shook his head.“He wasn’t here.”“Is he a potential target? What—”“Hell,” Bob interrupted.“I have to warn him.Give me your cell phone.”Yarborough flipped him an expensive-looking phone that Bob immediately smudged with soot, sweat and blood.Scoop’s blood.“Bob,” Yarborough said.“Lieutenant, I can dial—”“I don’t know his number.You’d think…” He opened up the phone and stared at it.“I should have all Abigail and Owen’s numbers memorized.They have enough of them.Cell, here, Beacon Street, Texas, Maine.The way they live.Their luck.I should know their numbers.”“Owen’s cell phone is in my address book.”Bob squinted at him.“In what?”“Let me, Bob,” Yarborough said.He took the phone, hit a couple of buttons, handed it back to Bob.“It’s dialing.”Owen picked up on the first ring.“Hey, Tom.”“It’s Bob.” A thousand bad calls he’d made in his nearly thirty years as a cop, and he could feel his damn voice crack.“Where are you?”“Beacon Street.” A wariness, a hint of fear, had come into Owen’s voice.“What’s going on? Where’s Abigail?”“Are you safe?”“Talk to me, Bob.What’s happened?”“I don’t know.I’m at the house.She’s not here.There’s been a fire.” No point getting into the details.“Listen to me.I’m sending Yarborough over there.He’ll check things out.Right now, you need to get everyone out of the building.”“The fire was set,” Owen said.“It was a bomb, Owen.Move now.Abigail’s one of our own.We’ll find her.” But Owen was ex-military and one of the world’s foremost experts in search-and-rescue.He was head of Fast Rescue, a renowned rapid response organization.He’d think he could find her, too.“You know this is different.It’s not what you do—”“I’ll be in touch.”He disconnected.Bob didn’t bother trying him again.Owen wouldn’t answer.He’d get everyone out of the Federal Period house on Beacon Street owned by his family and used as the offices for their charitable foundation.Then he’d go after Abigail [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]