The Protector's Mission. Margaret Daley
tried to visualize the moments before the explosion. “Melinda, and I remember seeing another waitress. I don’t know how many cooks she had in the kitchen. They’re always in the back.”
“How about customers?”
She had to think. She didn’t want this person to get away with what he’d done. She fought the weariness that kept edging forward. “People were coming in and out. Some ordered takeout for lunch and didn’t stay long. I came out of the restroom, saw Melinda seconds before the laugh track played. I’d estimate maybe nine besides me. Most of them were regulars.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know their names. I just see them there a lot. I go get lunch there once or twice a week...” The thought that the bistro was totally gone inundated her. She dropped her gaze to her lap, her hands quivering. She balled them, but that didn’t stop the trembling sweeping through her body.
“If I bring you photos, could you tell me if they were there?”
Emotions crammed her throat. She turned for her water on the bedside table, but it was too far away without leaning for it. She started to and winced from the movement.
Jesse was at her side, grabbing the plastic cup and offering it to her.
She took it, their fingers brushing, and she nearly splashed the water all over her with her shaking.
Jesse covered her hand and steadied her drink, then guided it to her mouth. The feel of his fingers against hers for more than a second jolted her. “I know this isn’t something you want to talk about, but we want to recover all the bodies as quickly as possible.”
“Bodies? Did anyone else survive?”
“A waitress and two cooks. We found them in the kitchen area, the waitress just inside the entrance while the cooks were across the room.”
She didn’t want to ask but she needed to know. “Did Melinda survive?”
“No, we ID’d her body. So far we’ve recovered eight bodies, including Melinda. Four people are missing, according to their families, but we haven’t found them yet. The bomb squad thinks the bomb originated in the dining area where the customers were. They’ll know more when the bomb fragments are all found.”
“Eight dead.” How did she survive when the others didn’t? “I was in the hallway to the bathrooms when it went off, not in the main dining room. Do you think that protected me some?”
“Possibly. Do you know where the laughing sound came from?”
“Not sure.” She closed her eyes and tried to think back to that time. Nothing. She massaged her temple, forcing herself to dig deeper beyond the pain throbbing against her skull. “I don’t think from behind me. When I heard the laughter—” she shuddered “—I took two steps back. Then everything went blank.”
Jesse put the cup on the bedside table. “I know this isn’t easy, but anything you can remember could help us piece together what happened. We’ve got to stop this man.”
“Nobody wants that more than me. I... I...” Tears blurred her vision. She couldn’t voice what she felt, not even to herself. She remembered coming to in recovery, and all she’d wanted to do was surrender to the darkness. Stay there. But that wouldn’t help. She’d learned long ago she couldn’t escape from the truth.
“I’m sorry, Jesse. I’m tired. I’m sure I’ll remember more later.” She hoped she could. She needed to. If no one in the dining area survived the bombing except her, she might know something that could help find the culprit. But at the moment her head felt as if it would explode.
“I understand. I’ll come back later.”
Was that sympathy in his voice? She looked up. His expression was neutral. When she’d first returned home last year, she’d tried to talk to him about what happened all those years ago. He’d shut her down. He never acted angry or upset around her although she’d wronged him. Instead, he’d been more like a stranger. Even as a teenager, he’d kept his feelings to himself. That was part of the reason they broke up that first time at Christmas, and she began dating Aaron.
She watched him leave. But hadn’t she done the same as him? When her mother left their family she’d shut off her emotions entirely. Even now she wouldn’t think about the woman who had abandoned her family. She couldn’t deal with that on top of everything else.
The emotions she’d kept checked while he was there gushed to the surface. Tears ran down her cheeks for the people who’d died, for her foolishness as a teenager, for the rift between her and her father and for the times she’d missed her mother so much it had hurt deeply. And now, she couldn’t even remember anything to help the police.
* * *
Later that day, Jesse loaded Brutus into his crate in the back of his SUV and left the bombing scene. His dog needed a lengthy break if he was going to work late into August’s twilight hours for the third straight day, searching the rubble for victims or clues to identify the type of bomb used. There were still two people unaccounted for, and he was going to pay another visit to both Lydia and the waitress who survived. Maybe one or both of them could tell him if the two missing people were at the restaurant. Thomas talked with the cooks, but they didn’t know anything because they always stayed in the kitchen.
He drove toward the hospital, the bright yellow sun splashed across the sky in all God’s glory. Life went on in spite of the tragedy that occurred yesterday. The death count with the bombings was climbing and so was the fear sweeping through the city. The mayor was demanding answers, and he’d gladly give him some if he had any.
The closest surveillance camera had been disabled before the bombing. The others didn’t have a good angle on the entrance to the restaurant. Even if they had there were two other ways for a person to leave Melinda’s Bistro—the back door where the kitchen was and the emergency exit down the hallway to the bathrooms. There were no cameras on those two places. In fact, each building targeted didn’t have a lot of security. The police were urging businesses to increase their security.
When he rode the elevator up to Lydia’s floor, he tried to prepare himself for seeing her again. He didn’t want to think about their past, but as he neared her hospital room, he experienced relief and...joy all over again, like when he heard her through the rubble. She’d been alive. After finding several dead bodies, he’d started to think no one would be alive.
He’d thanked God he found her. He’d never felt that kind of relief. And yet, he had to keep his distance. Too much happened between them when they were teenagers. He’d grown up in a good foster home, but early on when he bounced from one family to another, he learned to keep himself apart from others. He would have to rely on that ability now.
He couldn’t afford to be hurt by her again.
Pausing at the door, he lifted his hand to knock and froze. He couldn’t go inside. I’ve got a job to do. Get in. Get out.
He rapped his knuckles against the wood, heard Lydia respond and pushed the door open. He’d prefer to stay at the end of the bed, but he had to show her the photos. He’d have to stand next to her, only a couple of feet away.
When he entered, a neutral expression fell over her features. Her brown eyes held a guarded look. She’d been pretty as a teenager, a little gangly, but now fifteen years later, she was a tall beauty, nothing awkward as she moved. What he’d observed at search and rescues was a self-assured woman who was aware of herself at all times. That had changed over the years. What else?
“Is this a good time to talk?” Jesse asked, almost wishing she would say no.
“Yes. Bree and Kate went to lunch. They should be back soon.” Her voice, husky laden, was the same, and its sound renewed memories best forgotten. “I haven’t remembered anything new. I wish I could. Everything is fuzzy. Maybe it’s the meds they have me on.”
“That could be. But it also may be the trauma. The waitress