Part 12 (1/2)
”Why didn't you mention it?”
”You didn't ask.”
His expression grew darker. ”And somebody tried to run you down in a parking lot?”
”That's true, but it was just a teenager acting crazy.”
He noticed the fresh bruises on her forehead and moved closer. Lifting the strands of hair covering the marks, he said, ”These weren't there before, were they? These look new.”
”They are new,” she replied as she backed away from him.
”Did you fall again?”
”No,” she answered. ”I was just coincidentally in the wrong place at the wrong time. It happens,” she insisted. ”Nothing for you or Jordan to be worried about. There's a perfectly good explanation for all of it.”
Dylan turned a kitchen chair toward him and straddled it, resting his arms across the back. ”Okay then. Start explaining. Why don't you begin by telling me about this explosion,” he said.
”Which one?” she asked.
Chapter Seventeen.
”You're telling me there was more than one explosion?” Dylan looked incredulous.
Kate slowly nodded. ”That's what I'm telling you. Jordan didn't mention . . .”
”No, she didn't.”
”They're not related,” she explained. ”One was a bomb and the other was a gas leak. They weren't even in the same city,” she added. ”So you see? Nothing to worry about.”
”Start at the beginning.”
She groaned. ”All of it?”
”All of it.”
The set of his jaw told her he wasn't going to let it go until she gave him a quick summation, and so she went through her ordeals from start to finish.
”Okay,” he said. ”Let me see if I've got the sequence. Explosion in Charleston, hospital, Boston, attempted hit and run in the Charleston airport parking lot, another explosion in Silver Springs, hospital again, and home.”
”Don't forget Reece. He was a trauma, too,” Kiera said. She was waiting in the doorway for Dylan to finish his rundown.
”He was more of a challenge than a trauma,” Kate said. She then related what had happened when Reece had shown up at the door.
”Why didn't you call the police?” Dylan asked.
”What could the police have done? He didn't threaten me or Isabel or Kiera,” she said. ”And you can't arrest someone for being obnoxious or sinister.”
”Did he touch you?” Dylan quietly asked.
She shook her head but immediately contradicted herself when she said, ”He might have tried to push me out of the way so he could come inside. He was convinced Isabel was hiding somewhere in the house.”
”Touching you in any way is enough to get the police involved,” Dylan said.
”She did think about calling them,” Isabel blurted out. She had been listening from across the room. ”After she told Kiera and me what happened, she said there was still time for her to call the police and make a complaint, but . . .”
”But what?”
Isabel looked at Kate when she answered. ”I begged her not to,” she admitted. ”I felt sorry for him. I mean he's living in this fantasy world, and I thought that as soon as he sobered up he would realize he needed to move on. Besides, I'm leaving town for a long time, and he's in Europe. I'll just bet he comes home with a new girlfriend.” She nodded as she added, ”I think he'll give up on me, but I doubt he'll ever forgive Kate. He thinks she's making me go away to college.”
”Why don't you both go into the living room,” Kiera said.
”You're in the way, Kate. Kiera and I need to get dinner on the table,” Isabel said. She was thankful the conversation had turned away from Reece.
Dylan followed Kate out of the kitchen. She sat down on the sofa and said, ”Have a seat.”
She should have been more specific, she supposed. He sat down next to her and was so close their arms were touching. She quickly moved to the end of the sofa.
”Okay,” he said. ”Let's go through it again.”
”Why?”
”You might have forgotten something.”
”I didn't forget anything,” she insisted. ”Go back to Boston and tell Jordan to stop worrying.”
”She's convinced you're in trouble.”
”And you came all this way to save me?” She pointed her finger at him and stabbed at the air. ”I don't need anyone to save me. I can take care of any problems that come my way.”
He was trying to be patient. ”Kate, what is it I do for a living?”
She knew where this was going. ”You're a detective with the Boston Police Department.”
”Which is why Jordan asked me to help figure out what's going on. Now, who was in charge of the bomb investigation?”
”Detective Nate Hallinger. Why?”
”I want to talk to him,” he said, and before she could argue with him he continued. ”Is he convinced that the explosion was meant to kill the artist, Cinnamon?”
”She's in protective custody,” she said. ”So he must think she was the target.”
”Huh.”
”What's that supposed to mean?”
He ignored the question. ”What kind of explosive device was used?”