Authors: Dallas Schulze
'^Trace?"
'Tm here, sweetheart. How do you feel? Do you hurt anywhere?"
"I... I don't know." Her hand wavered as she lifted it to her forehead and frowned. ''What happened?"
*'Your car exploded. Do you feel any pain?"
"No, I don't think so. A little bruised, maybe. What do you mean my car exploded?" She struggled to sit up but he pressed her back down.
*'Hold still until the paramedics have had a chance to take a look at you. We don't know if there are any internal injuries."
"I'm fine." She pushed herself up on one elbow, brushing aside his attempt to make her lie back down. "Why would my car explode?''
"At a guess I'd say a bomb." The reply came from John, who now knelt across from Trace. Trace threw him a quick angry look but John met it with one that held just as much determination.
"No good is going to come of lying to her about it."
"And no good is going to come of worrying her right now when we don't really know what happened."
"Stop quarreling, you two," Lily admonished them, her eyes on the smoldering ruin of her car. "If you hadn't called my name. Trace, I'd have been in there when it exploded."
"The bomb was probably activated by you opening the door," John explained. "It was likely tied into the courtesy lights, and set to go off a few seconds later when you'd have
gotten in. A little more risky than setting it to go off with the ignition but fairly functional."
John's expression was distant as he studied the smoking ruin and Trace had no doubt that this wasn't the first time he'd viewed the aftermath of a car bomb. Whatever kind of **import-export" business he was in, Trace would have laid bets that it didn't have anything to do with fancy French chocolates.
Lily shuddered and reached out to take hold of his hand, and the look he gave John was as searing as the heat from the car. John met the look calmly. "Whatever is going on here, it obviously involves more than just you. Someone had to set that bomb. And it's Lily's car they set it on."
Before he could say more, the paramedics had arrived and were politely but firmly pushing them both aside. Lily clung to Trace's hand, throwing him a pleading look, but he detached himself. "I'll be close. I promise."
He backed away, giving the paramedics room to work. The fire department was spraying the car with foam and a couple of squad cars had arrived and the officers were dispersing the curious crowd of onlookers. Trace nodded to them but he was in no mood to make polite conversation.
He stood off to one side, watching everything with a feeling of detachment. The only thing that seemed real was that Lily had abnost died. What if he hadn't come after her? What if she'd been just a few feet closer to the car when it blew? He shoved his hands into his pockets, oblivious of the twinge of protest from his injured palm. So close. He'd come so close to losing her forever.
"Dushane?" Captain Jacobs had to repeat his name before Trace responded. He turned slowly to look at the older man.
"Captain. What are you doing here?"
'*I heard the call and recognized the address. How is she?" He nodded to where Lily lay on the grass, the paramedics still kneeling over her.
**I don't know yet. I couldn't find any obvious injuries."
**rm sure she's fine. She's a lot stronger than she looks."
*'Yes, I think she is."
"What happened?"
The two men turned their attention to the remains of the car. *'A car bomb, it looks like," Trace replied. "John seemed to have a pretty good idea of how it might have been set. If I hadn't called her name, she'd have been in the car when it blew." He hunched his shoulders, "Just a few seconds one way or the other and she'd be dead."
Jacobs slanted him a shrewd look. "You've been under a lot of stress these past few weeks. How's your hand?"
"My hand?" Trace pulled his left hand out of his pocket and stared at the bandages as if trying to remember what they were doing there. "It's okay. It's just a couple of stitches."
' * I wanted to talk to you.''
"About what?" Trace was watching the Httle group around Lily and his tone was absent.
"We've got some new information that may relate to this case."
Trace's head jerked around and he fixed the older man with a fierce gaze. "Mike's killer? You know who it is?"
Jacobs shook his head. "Unfortunately, nothing that concrete, but there are some things we should discuss. Actually, I think John and Lily should be in on the discussion, also."
"I'm not going to the hospital." Lily's voice rose clearly over the murmur of those around them. "I feel fine and I'm not going to the hospital."
Trace moved toward the small group on the lawn, Ja-cobs's words not forgotten but filed for future examination. Lily was sitting up, her hair in disarray, her delicate chin set in a determined expression he knew well. The paramedics were mjjttering admonitions and suggestions, resorting almost to pleas, but she was clearly not in the mood to listen. She looked at Trace as he stepped up to the group, her eyes lighting.
''Trace, explain to these nice men that I'm not going to the hospital."
He knelt down in front of her, filled with relief to see her looking so normal. "If they think you need to go to the hospital, maybe you should go."
"There's nothing wrong with me. They even admitted they couldn't find anything wrong with me. And I'm not going to the hospital just so they can observe me. You can keep an eye on m.e here, can't you?"
"I really think you should let us take you to the hospital, miss," one of the paramedics advised.
"Trace, please. I want to stay here. I want to be at home." Her eyes fixed pleadingly on his and there was just the hint of a quiver about her chin. He really should insist that she go to the hospital.
"Would it be really dangerous for her to stay here if I keep a careful eye on her?"
The older paramedic shrugged. "We can't find anything wrong with her but she'd be better off in a hospital just in case. If you want to keep her here, that's your decision."
"I've had some medical training." John's voice came from behind Trace. "I know what to watch for."
"It's your decision." The two paramedics packed their equipment back in their truck and left, their expressions making it clear that they didn't agree with the decision. Trace watched them leave, wondering if they weren't right.
*'Help me up. I'm going to catch pneumonia sitting on this cold grass."
Trace stood up and bent to take Lily's hand, helping her to her feet. She staggered slightly, putting her hand to her forehead. He bent, catching her behind the knees and scooping her up into his arms.
'Trace. I'm perfectly capable of walking. I just felt a little dizzy when I stood up.''
"I'm not taking any chances," he told her, his voice stem. **If you won't go to the hospital, then you're just going to have to do as you're told here."
*'Yes, sir." Her meek tone was at odds with the rather pleased look in her eyes, but she subsided against his chest and allowed him to carry her into the house and lay her on the sofa.
Half an hour later, the last of the firefighters were gone and the house had settled into a more or less peaceful state. If it hadn't been for the battered condition of the lawn, which had seen far too many feet tramping over its surface, and the burned-out hulk of Lily's car in the drive, it would have been possible to believe that the explosion had been a nightmare.
Trace leaned against the mantel, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand. John sat in Mike's old chair, his sore leg resting on a hassock, his coffee cradled against his chest. Lily lay swaddled in a blanket on the sofa, a cup of weak tea on a table near her head. If Trace had had his way she would have been upstairs in bed, but she'd refused to be moved. She wanted to know what Captain Jacobs had to say just as much as he did. Jacobs was settled into a chair across from John.
Though it wasn't particularly cold. Trace had set a fire in the fireplace, more out of a psychological need for warmth
than a physical one. The heat from the fire didn't seem to do much to warm the chiil he felt.
**At this point, the new infonnation we have just seems to confuse the issue more than clear it."
Jacobs stopped and took a sip of coffee, gathering his thoughts together before he continued. "We got the report back on your car, John. You said the brakes failed you."
"That's right. I was lucky they went out where they did. Running into a mountain was a lot better than running off a cliff."^
"They went out because someone put a hole in the hydraulic Hne. Every tim.e you stepped on the brakes you were losing brake fluid. It was pure chance that they went out when they did."
"So someone wanted me dead." It was more a statement than a question but Jacobs answered it as such.
"Maybe. It's a chancy way to try and kill somxeone. They had no way of knowing just where you'd go after they put the hole in the line. Brake failure isn't automatically fatal. You're living proof of that." He Hfted his cup in salute.
Trace frowned. "So where does this put us? The at-tem.pts on my hfe, the notes. Brake lines tam.pered with on John's car, Lily's car rigged to explode. Just who the hell are they tr>ing to kill? And why? And where does Mike's murder fit in to all of this?"
Jacobs shrugged. "I don't know. Like I said, it doesn't really clear anything up. The notes indicate that it's you they're after, Trace. But when you factor in what's happened to John and Lily, it doesn't seem to add up."
"It's scary to think that there's somebody out there who can't even make up his mind as to who he wants to murder." Lily's words held a macabre humor but no one was laughing.
"You know, I can't help but think that we're missing some piece of this puzzle," John said. "Something we're not seeing. Maybe something that goes all the v/ay back to my father's murder. There were things about it that just didn't add up."
"Like what?" Trace asked.
"There's no way anyone could have shot Dad thinking he was you. You're a good six, eight inches taller than he was, the hair color is wrong, the build is wrong. Even from the back, you don't look anything like him.
"Maybe we've been looking at this the wrong way. Maybe there's more to this whole thing than just somebody wanting you dead. What if it's someone who wants all three of us dead?"
"But why?" Lily asked, her brows drawn together in a frown. "Why would anyone want the three of us dead? What's the connection? You didn't even come home until after Mike was killed."
"The first note said it should have been you, not him, right?" John asked Trace.
Trace nodded, his eyes intent. "There didn't seem to be anyone else it could have meant but Mike. Besides, some of the notes since then mention Mike by name."
"This whole thing smacks of someone out for revenge." John frowned, rubbing his injured leg, his expression absent, as if he were working something out in his mind. "What if this is someone who wants revenge on my father, not Trace?"
Jacobs stared at him for a moment before nodding slowly. "I see where you're going with this and it could make sense. Twisted but possible."
"I don't see it." Trace's voice was sharper than he'd intended. He wanted—needed—to believe that Mike's death
was not his fault, but the very desperation of that need made him cautious.
''Think about it," John said. "What if someone meant to kill us off one by one and make my father suffer while they did it? Instead, they killed him first."
*'Why? As you pointed out, there's no way they could have mistaken Mike for me."
"Maybe they couldn't resist killing him when they saw him." Lily shuddered at John's blunt suggestion and he threw her an apologetic look. "We're obviously dealing with a very sick mind here."
"I know." She drew the blanket closer around her, her eyes dark. "Poor Mike. I wonder if he knew."
"He probably did." There was a long silence, each of them wondering what those last moments must have been like. Trace stared down into the fireplace, his features set. Was it possible that John's theory was right? If there was some truth in it, any truth... He stopped. Too much hope could be as painful as too little.
"That's another thing that's strange." Trace looked up as John spoke again. "Why did Dad spend his last seconds getting out his wallet? What was in it that seemed so important?"
Jacobs shook his head. "I don't know. I've asked myself the same thing. Mike would have tried to leave us a clue if he could have but I'm damned if I can figure out what kind of a clue his wallet is."
"What was in his wallet?" John asked.
"Not much. Some money. Credit cards, pictures of the three of you, a picture of your mother, John. A few old receipts. Nothing unusual."
"Nothing that would help us," John muttered in disgust.
"Still, there's got to be something here that we're not seeing." Trace's tone carried an element of frustration that they all shared. There was a long silence and then Jacobs sighed.
'*Well, I'm going to head home. My wife hates it when I'm late." He set his cup down and stood up. "I've got a squad car outside. They'll be relieved at midnight by another car so you should at least be able to get a decent night's sleep tonight. Tomorrow we'll put our heads together and check out this new angle. Maybe we can come up with something. There's got to be something here that we're just not seeing. Maybe a night's sleep will help."
No one had much to say after he left. The three of them sat watching the fire, each wrapped in his own thoughts. Dinner was suggested and dismissed. The events of the day had been enough to discourage anyone's appetite.
"I think it's time for you to go to bed. That's the second yawn in the last five minutes."
Lily looked up as Trace approached the sofa. If she had any thoughts of arguing, his determined expression must have changed her mind. Another yawn forestalled anything she might have said.
"Maybe you're right. It was a pretty rough day... Trace!" Her voice rose in surprise as he bent and scooped her up, blanket and all. "What are you doing?"