Pamela Clare - Striking Distance

She’d been speaking with him for almost an hour. His story was one of the most compelling she’d heard so far. She felt sick for him.

“It’s the nightmares that bother me most,” he said. “They feel so real. When I wake up, I don’t even know where I am. But I suppose you know your share about nightmares, don’t you, Ms. Nilsson?”

She did, but she wasn’t accustomed to discussing such things with strangers. Then again, she was asking Mr. Hollis to bare his wounds for millions of strangers in the form of the newspaper’s readership. It seemed only fair to answer.

“Yes, I do.”

“I’ve read the articles about you and watched your interview with Diane Sawyer. I’ve always wondered what frightened you the most. The daily rapes or the idea of having your head cut off.”

Laura’s pulse picked up. She reminded herself that she was dealing with someone who needed treatment, someone who was probably trying to empathize with her, one trauma victim to another. “Mr. Hollis—”

“I think maybe being raped every day would be worse than being dead.”

That wasn’t how it had been for Laura. “I . . . I was more afraid of having my head cut off. I wanted to survive.”

“I’m sorry. Was that too personal? Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. I guess I wouldn’t know. I’m a man. I’ve never been raped. It must be pretty horrible.”

“Mr. Hollis—”

A loud crack. A boom like thunder that shook the floor beneath Laura’s feet. An orange wall of flame. Shattered glass. Heat.

She was knocked sideways, her head striking the edge of her desk, one word flashing through her mind before she lost consciousness.

Bomb.

* * *

JAVIER FOLLOWED NATE through the garage toward the mudroom, his stomach growling. It was just after nine in the morning, and he’d already been up and working for four hours with nothing more than coffee in his gut. “So Wilson starts handing out soccer balls to every kid in the village. One kid drops his ball in the dirt, kicks it, and accidentally hits Wilson square in the nuts. That dawg hit the dirt like he’d been shot.”

Nate gave a sympathetic groan. “No good deed goes unpunished.”

“Man, I felt for him, but I couldn’t quit laughing.” Javier took off his gloves, parka, and boots, and made his way toward the scent of eggs and bacon that was wafting toward them from the kitchen.

“Tell me you’ve got fresh coffee, old man,” Nate called to his father.

But Jack wasn’t in the kitchen, bacon sizzling forgotten on the stove. They found him in the living room together with Megan, who looked wide-eyed and pale.

“What is it?”

On the television screen was an image of flames and smoke.

Jack glanced over at them, his face grave. “VBIED. It happened just a couple of minutes ago.”

Megan turned to her husband. “Someone car-bombed the newspaper.”

Laura.

Adrenaline gave Javier a good hard kick, breath rushing from his lungs.

Al-Nassar, you hijo e puta!

“Any casualties?” Nate’s gaze was fixed on the flames, his jaw tight.

Jack shook his head. “No word yet.”

“I’ve tried Sophie’s cell phone and can’t reach her.” Fresh tears gathered in Megan’s eyes. “Marc’s on his way there with SWAT, but he hasn’t been able to reach her either. Oh, Nate, I’m so afraid for her—and for all of our friends there.”

Javier turned back toward the mudroom.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Nate called after him.

“I’m going to find Laura.”

Nate followed. “How did I know you were going to say that?”

* * *

“IT’S NOT AS bad as it looks. Wounds on the face and head always bleed a lot.” Laura dabbed a square of gauze she’d gotten from the cafeteria’s first-aid kit to the cut on Holly’s temple, her own head throbbing, her stomach in knots, one thought running repeatedly through her mind.

It had happened. It had actually happened.

Someone had tried to kill her here in her new hometown.

That had to be it. This couldn’t be random. A few days ago, Al-Nassar had called upon his followers to hunt her down and kill her, and today a car bomb had gone off outside her window.

She had already called her mother and her grandmother to let them know that she was safe. Her mother had wanted her to pack her bags and return to Sweden, but Laura couldn’t do that. She’d tried to make her mother understand.

“If I let them frighten me away from the life I want, then Al-Nassar wins. I have to show him and his minions that I’m not afraid.”

“But you are afraid, Laura.”

Yes, she was. In fact, she was terrified.

But she wouldn’t run.

Holly trembled uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face. “Do you think I’ll need stitches . . . or plastic surgery?”

“I don’t think so, but I’m not a doctor.” Laura’s hands were only slightly steadier than Holly’s, but it made Laura feel better to help, taking her mind off her own shock and fear. “Just hold it here. There you go. It will stop the bleeding.”

Beside them, Sophie spoke with her husband on Laura’s cell phone, her own forgotten in her car. “We’re in the cafeteria. We had to get out of the smoke. It was rolling in through the broken windows. Laura hit her head and was unconscious for a minute or two, but she seems okay now. We all got cut by flying glass. Apart from that, we’re all fine.”

Thank God!

If any of Laura’s coworkers had been seriously hurt or killed . . .

Already, six people had died because of her. Now her I-Team friends had come into harm’s way, too. Sophie, Matt, Alex, Joaquin—they’d all been in the newsroom. If that side of the building had come down, they would have died with her.

The thought left her nauseated, shaky.

Around them, chaos reigned. The high-pitched squeal of the fire alarm. Tom, Alex, and Matt shouting to be heard as they tried to figure out how to get the paper out on time. The murmur of voices as those who hadn’t evacuated the building milled about, waiting for the all clear to return to their desks.

It felt surreal, a nightmare.

Sophie lowered the cell phone, her face lined with worry, the bandage on her arm already soaked through with blood. “Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry, Sophie. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Sophie gave her hand a squeeze, then raised her voice so that everyone could hear her. “Marc said there are undetonated explosives out there. SWAT is coming in to evacuate the building.”

“Shit.” Tom turned to Matt and Alex. “We need to move fast, get everyone’s computers and files moved down here before the cops push us out. If we don’t, we’re fucked. Alton, Nilsson, want to lend us a hand?”

Sophie shook her head. “Marc said to stay here in the cafeteria, and that’s what I’m doing. Didn’t you hear me? There are undetonated—”

Ignoring her, Tom turned with Matt and Alex and disappeared out the door—only to reappear a minute or so later, herded by a group of SWAT officers with Marc in the lead, Julian behind him.

Tom was a big man, but Marc was taller. Wearing Kevlar and carrying SWAT gear, he was also more imposing. His gaze rested a moment on Sophie, taking in the cuts on her right arm and cheek, and Laura could tell that more than anything he wanted to go to her. But he had a job to do.

He faced Tom. “You can get the computers as soon as the bomb squad has done its job. Now cooperate, or you’re going to put me in the awkward position of arresting my wife’s boss.”

Done with Tom, Marc turned to the room and raised his voice. “Listen, everyone! There are still undetonated explosives outside. I need you all to leave by the rear exit. Be calm, but be quick. We’re evacuating the entire block. Follow the police barricades to safety. No one is allowed to remain inside the building.”

While Marc organized the evacuation, Julian walked over to Laura, something in his hand—a Kevlar vest. “Let’s get this on you.”

Laura’s adrenaline spiked. “You think someone’s waiting out there for me?”

His expression gave nothing away. “The vest is just a precaution.”

She raised her arms and let him draw it on over her head.

“I’m glad to see you’re okay.” Julian pulled the Velcro straps tight. “I heard you got a bad bump on the head. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. Just a headache, maybe a little dizzy.”

He frowned, seemed to study her. “We’ve got a couple of ambulances standing by. I think it’s best if we get you, Holly, and Sophie to the hospital, get you cleaned up, make sure you really are okay.”

Laura shook her head. She hated hospitals. “I’m fine. I’d rather work to get the paper out. They’re going to need all the help they—”

“I wouldn’t be doing my job as a law officer and a friend if I let you go back to work without first seeing a doctor. Head injuries can take you by surprise. You can refuse treatment if you want, but at least let a doctor check you out.” When she didn’t object, he pushed the button on the radio clipped to his Kevlar. “Eight-twenty-five.”

A voice crackled back. “Eight-twenty-five, go ahead.”

“I need two ambulances at the paper’s rear entrance. Someone will need to shift the barricades to let them through.” He turned his attention to Holly. He drew her close in a careful hug. “It’s going to be okay, honey.”

Holly cried harder.

Marc at last came to stand at Sophie’s side, his hand resting protectively on the small of her back. “Let’s get you out of here. That cut on your arm looks deep.”

Julian looked over at Laura. “Can you walk?”

“I walked down here.” His hand at her elbow, she headed out of the cafeteria and down the hall, the blaring fire alarm louder in the hallway, the shrill sound making her headache worse.

She stepped out the back door and for one dark second found herself back in Baghdad in the aftermath of a terrorist bombing, the air tinged with the reek of burning fuel, rubber, and wires, men armed with high-powered assault rifles on the rooftop of the building next door, the whir of a helicopter mixing with the wail of sirens.

But this wasn’t Baghdad. It was Denver.

How could this have followed her to Denver?

To Laura’s left, two ambulances turned down the alley toward them, steel barricades and police cars with flashing lights holding curious onlookers and the media at a distance, officers guiding the other evacuated employees to safety. To her right stood Marc holding Sophie in a protective embrace.

Sophie looked up at him. “Be careful.”

He cupped the back of her head with a big, gloved hand and kissed her forehead. “You know I will be. You let them take good care of that arm.”

It was an intimate moment, a private moment.

Laura looked away, feeling sick to her stomach to think these good people had been put in harm’s way because of her. She looked up at Julian. “Do you have any idea who did this?”

“We will as soon as we can ID the body.”

“You mean . . . ?”

Julian nodded his head. “Looks like a suicide bomber.”

JAVIER LEANED AGAINST the wall in the emergency room of University Hospital, feeling more restless by the minute. On the television screen, Channel 12 kept going back and forth between the same recycled footage they’d been repeating for the past three hours. The smoking hulk of the car. Firefighters dousing the flames. Police evacuating the area as the bomb squad moved in. An aerial view of the blast site filmed from a news helo. SWAT guys milling around in body armor.

So the FBI hadn’t found Al-Nassar’s threats against Laura credible.

Idiots.

They were damned lucky the bastard who’d tried to kill her today hadn’t known what he was doing. If he had . . .

It had been close, so damned close.

Javier fought the urge to pace, glanced around the waiting area. A thin old man with papery skin and an oxygen tube beneath his nose. A mother and father with a crying baby. A middle-aged woman sitting alone. Two men and a woman who were almost certainly journalists, smartphones out, notepads in hand. They were clearly checking the place out, probably hoping to snag an interview with Laura.

What kind of assholes staked out an ER, for God’s sake? And what was taking so long? Maybe Laura was more seriously injured than they’d realized.