A Time to Die

Oh, God! Why would someone destroy her neighbor’s vehicles?

Deke barreled straight into Lexie, grabbing her and pushing her toward the back door. Just as Deke grabbed the door handle with one hand and wrapped his arm around Lexie’s shoulders, another explosion erupted. They both glanced back and saw that Lexie’s SUV had died the same violent death as the Navigator and the Mustang.

When Deke opened the door and shoved her inside, she stumbled and lost her grip on her cane, which caught in the door, holding it partially open. Deke slid his arm around her waist, yanked her to his side and swung her around so that his body protected her, as he simultaneously kicked her cane across the concrete floor of the back hallway. The door slammed shut with a resounding wham.

Looking through the row of shattered windows across the back wall, Lexie saw the fourth vehicle, a white Mercedes, explode. Scared out of her mind, she clung to Deke. Involuntarily shivering as if half frozen and gasping for air, she realized she was on the verge of hyperventilating.

Take some deep breaths. Calm down. You’re safe. Deke’s safe. No one was hurt. Cars can be replaced.

Deke hurried her away from the windows and toward the elevator, which opened to reveal several residents, some in their robes and house slippers.

Roy and Betsy Morrison, a middle-aged couple who owned the Mercedes, emerged first, followed by Susan McKelvey, whose red Mustang was now smoldering outside in the parking lot.

“What happened?” Roy Morrison asked. “We were eating breakfast and heard the most godawful explosions.”

“I looked out the window and saw fire and smoke coming from the Wilsons’ Navigator,” Susan said.

“Y’all need to go back into the elevator and return to your apartments,” Deke told them. “I’m calling the police.” He leaned down, picked up Lexie’s cane and handed it to her, then yanked his cell phone off his belt and flipped it open. “All four vehicles in the parking lot have exploded.”

Susan and Betsy gasped.

“Somebody deliberately bombed our cars?” A perplexed expression flashed across Roy’s round, ruddy face.

Deke herded everyone into the elevator, then made his call. He spoke quietly, and with the Morrisons and Susan jabbering nonstop, Lexie couldn’t make out everything he said, but she heard enough to know he was talking to Geoff Monday and not the police. The Morrisons departed on the second floor, then Susan on the third. Deke remained on the phone as they ascended to her loft.

“Yeah, lieutenant, she’s safe. We’re almost back up to her apartment.”

Undoubtedly Bain was already at the Bedell home, she realized, and after speaking to Geoff Monday, Deke was now talking to Bain.

The elevator doors slid open. Deke motioned for her to get out, which she did, as he continued his conversation with Bain, mostly listening and occasionally replying in succinct sentences.

Once inside the apartment, he flipped his phone closed and hung it back on its belt hook, then turned to her. “You might want to sit down. You look pretty shaky.”

He didn’t need to make the suggestion twice. She went directly into the living room and all but fell into her favorite chair, letting her cane slip from her hand and onto the floor.

Deke came over and sat down on the sofa, straight across from her. “Are you okay?”

“Other than being terrified?” she said. “Yeah, I’m okay. I just feel like I might throw up.”

“You’ll be all right. Your reaction is normal. If you need to throw up, do it. Whatever it takes to settle your nerves.”

“The cars exploding…” She took a deep breath. “It’s connected to what happened at Helping Hands yesterday, right? It’s the same person, and I’m his target.”

“Probably.”

“But why harm innocent people? Why blow up all four cars instead of just mine?”

“My guess is that he’s making a statement. He wants to put the fear of God into you, Lexie. And I’d say he’s succeeding.”

She glared at Deke as what he’d said sunk in and she realized he was right.

“I’d be a fool not to be frightened.”

“Yes, you would. It’s how you handle your fear that matters. You have to protect yourself without giving in to fear.”

“Who would do this? As far as I know, I don’t have any real enemies, no one who wants to hurt me.”

“He may be someone you don’t know,” Deke said. “A stalker or a secret admirer, or someone who, for whatever reason, doesn’t approve of you and your work at Helping Hands. Or he could be someone from your past, someone who, for his own sick reasons, focused his hatred on you.”

The salty bile that had risen into her throat traveled back down her esophagus, leaving a burning trail that went all the way to her stomach. “I need some water.” She started to get up.

Deke motioned her back down. “I’ll get it for you.”

“I keep bottled water in the refrigerator.”

As he walked toward the kitchen, he told her, “Lieutenant Desmond is on his way over here. He called in a report, and a couple of squad cars should arrive any minute.” Deke opened the fridge and retrieved a bottle of water. “The bomb squad and CSI will be here soon to work the scene. It’s possible there are more bombs.”

Lexie’s muscles tightened and her stomach churned. “Here in the building?”

Deke shook his head. “That’s highly unlikely, but not impossible. If this guy had wanted to kill you yesterday, he would have placed the bomb in your office or a part of the building where he knew you would be. Same goes for the car bombs. If he’d wanted to kill you, he could have waited for you to get in your car before detonating the bomb.”

Lexie heaved a sigh of relief.

Deke handed her the bottled water. “Ms. Bedell and Geoff are coming over, too.”

Lexie twisted off the cap, lifted the bottle to her lips and took a hefty swig of the natural spring water. The moment the cool liquid hit her stomach, she moaned quietly. “The water was a bad idea.” She reached down, picked up her cane and then stood.

“Need any help?” he asked.

She hurried as quickly as possible in the direction of the half bath that was located beside the dining room. “Oh, mercy. I’m not sure I can make it.”

The words were no sooner out of her mouth than Deke rushed to her, swept her up into his arms and carried her into the powder room. He tossed back the commode lid and seat, situated Lexie in front of the bowl and propped her on her feet by keeping his arm firmly around her waist. She dropped her cane, which she’d been clutching against her side. When she bent over and heaved, Deke slipped in behind her, still supporting her securely.

After she threw up her morning coffee and some viscid stomach fluids, she lifted her head, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and glanced over her shoulder at Deke. She hated for him to see her like this. After spending helpless months in hospitals and undergoing years of physical therapy that had required her to put her well-being in other people’s hands, she had come to pride herself on being totally self-reliant over the past five years.

“Sorry.” She whispered the one-word apology.

“Hey, I’ve seen grown men toss their cookies for less reason.”

When she tried to stand up, she staggered. Thank goodness he hadn’t released his hold. Standing perfectly still for a few minutes, she breathed deeply. Once the nausea and dizziness subsided, she pulled away from Deke.

“I’ll be fine.” She held on to the edge of the decorative, free-standing sink. “I need to wash my face and rinse out my mouth. You can leave me alone now.” When he remained behind her, as if he were waiting to catch her if she wavered, she looked back at him and said, “Really. I’m all right.”

He gave her a stern, concerned look, then walked out of the powder room and closed the door behind him.

Lexie gripped the sink’s rim with white-knuckled strength. It wasn’t like her to fall apart in a crisis, so why now? Maybe it was because in the past ten years, all her crises had been non-life-threatening. Not since that horrible day in Gadi all those years ago had she been faced with the possibility of dying or of her actually being the cause of someone else’s death. She still blamed herself for Marty Bearn getting killed. No one else blamed her, not even Marty’s widow or his daughter. But no matter how many people had exonerated her for the crime, she knew she was guilty. She’d been the overeager reporter who had told her young cameraman to keep filming when the assassination squad attacked and President’s Tum’s guard fired back.

If she and Marty had taken cover as soon as they’d realized what was happening, neither of them would have been shot. Marty would still be alive and she wouldn’t—