The Thanksgiving Target. Laura Scott
“Mrs. Henderson!” Her hoarse voice sounded far away, as if coming from the end of a long tunnel.
“What?” Max’s steps slowed.
She forced her brain to think, to react. She pushed against him, turning awkwardly to glance behind them. “We can’t leave. Not without checking on Mrs. Henderson.”
He stopped, looking down at her. “No. We’re too exposed out here,” he said in a low, rough voice.
“Please. I can’t just leave her.” Sensing her distress, he set her down gently but kept a hand on her arm to keep her steady. She hadn’t realized she was swaying. Pulling herself together, she tried to make him understand. “The blast was on the side of the house closest to Mrs. Henderson’s. What if she fell? What if the fire spreads to her house? I can’t just leave her. She’s been like a grandmother to me.”
His fingers tightened, and she could tell he didn’t want to go. Finally he relented.
“Stay close,” he ordered in a harsh tone he must have used on his men under his command. He wrapped a steel arm around her shoulders as they retraced their steps, heading back toward her neighbor’s house. People were coming outside, standing and staring in horror. In the distance, she could hear the wail of sirens. “I don’t like this,” Max muttered. “Your stalker could be hiding anywhere.”
Her stalker? It took a moment for his words to sink in to her befuddled brain. First her car, then Beau and now her house.
Her stalker wasn’t just some man who was angry with her, looking for ways to get back at her, to inconvenience her, to frighten her.
Whoever this man was, he’d just blown up her house.
Tiny white dots swirled in front of her eyes, and the blood drained from her head. She bent over, bracing her hands on her knees, feeling like she might faint.
She never fainted. Ever.
There was always a first time for everything.
The idiotic thought came from nowhere. For a moment she feared she was losing her mind. She struggled to breathe, fighting a wave of darkness, and clutched a hand to her heart, seeking guidance.
Lord, I need You. Please give me strength.
“Tara? Come on, hang in there. Don’t pass out on me.”
“I won’t.” She wished she could sound more convincing, but finally she was able to take several deep breaths, pushing herself upright. “I’m fine. We need to find Mrs. Henderson.”
Max’s gaze clung to hers for several seconds before he glanced away. “We’ll find her.”
His confidence helped her to believe, and she forced herself to take several steps toward Mrs. Henderson’s tiny blue house just as her neighbor, wearing the familiar bright purple robe, appeared on the doorstep.
Safe. Sweet, elderly Mrs. Henderson was safe. Her thick glasses were askew, and her tight gray curls were disheveled, but she was moving under her own power, a welcome, reassuring sight.
Dear Lord, thank You. Thank You for keeping her safe.
Relief made Tara dizzy. Max’s arms tightened around her, and she sensed his attention was focused on their surroundings now that they knew Mrs. Henderson was unharmed.
“Tara?” Mrs. Henderson called, as they approached. “What happened to your house?”
“I don’t know.” She cast a warning glance at Max. She would not tolerate him frightening this poor woman with talk about stalkers. Gently, she took the elderly woman’s hand. “Are you all right? You’re not hurt?”
“I’m fine. Tumbled to the floor, but lucky for me,” she said as she smiled wryly and patted her round hip, “I have enough padding to cushion these old bones.”
She gently squeezed the woman’s hand. “I’m so glad you’re not hurt.”
Fire trucks and police cars pulled up moments later, and soon her quiet, sedate, family-friendly neighborhood was overwhelmed in chaos. As the firefighters turned their hoses to the blaze, the police ushered her and Max to the closest police car to take their statements.
She’d never been inside the back of a police car before, but she was too numb to appreciate the novel experience. Max climbed in beside her, amazingly still carrying their bags, which he stuffed on the floor at their feet. Officer Anderson, the taller policeman who’d come to see her earlier that evening, slid into the front seat.
He turned around so he could look at them through the metal grate separating the front from the back. “I guess we know why your stalker drugged your dog,” he said in lieu of a greeting.
She wrinkled her brow, not following his logic.
“He obviously drugged the dog so he could sneak inside her house without causing a ruckus,” Max agreed in a grim tone.
“Exactly.” Officer Anderson’s expression was intense. “The focal point of the blast seems to be centered on the back side of the house.”
“The back side?” Max echoed. “That’s where the bedrooms are located.”
“I’m sure he was hoping she’d be asleep when the explosion hit.”
“And she would have been,” Max ground out between clenched teeth, his anger palpable. “If I hadn’t dragged her out.”
They were talking about her as if she weren’t sitting right there with them, but she couldn’t find the strength to complain. Max was absolutely right. By forcing her to leave, convincing her to go to a hotel with him, he’d saved her life.
And while she’d often wondered why God had taken Ted’s life, instead of hers, she discovered she was profoundly grateful.
Because she very much wanted to live.
A jackhammer pounded behind his temples, anger reverberating through his system. He was furious. At God for allowing this to happen. At Gary for hurting his sister. At the police for not finding the source of the explosion sooner, before the bomb or the gas leak or the whatever had blown Tara’s house to smithereens, nearly killing them.
At himself, for not following his instinct to rip her house apart from top to bottom.
Even now, sitting with her in the cramped backseat of a squad car, he knew Tara was not safe. Her stalker was out there somewhere. The thought of such evil threatening her made his gut churn.
He wouldn’t be satisfied until they were far away from her house, somewhere where this guy harboring such animosity and hatred couldn’t find her.
Bands of fear tightened around his chest, making it difficult to breathe.
She’d almost died. Tara had almost died.
“I have to tell you, the captain isn’t going to pony up police protection,” Anderson warned. “Not without proof that this explosion wasn’t an accident.”
“Accident?” Tara’s trembling voice ripped at his heart. “How could blowing up my house possibly be an accident?”
“I’m not saying I believe it was.” Anderson lifted his palms up in surrender. “But there’s a possibility your furnace or your stove was leaking natural gas, causing the explosion.”
“Accidental explosions are rare,” Max pointed out, knowing the cop’s theory was ridiculous. “I didn’t smell any natural gas when I was inside, and neither did you. We were walking to the bus stop when it blew. I understand the need for an investigation, but with everything else going on—the tire slashing, the dog drugging—it’s obvious someone wants to hurt Tara.”
And they’d very nearly succeeded.
“We haven’t located Tyrone Adams yet,” Anderson admitted. “Have you had time to make a list