Zach’s soul. Would he think she’d betrayed Patrick’s memory?
A pair of warm hands touched her shoulders.
John turned her toward him.
Her breath caught as she met his gaze. This had been coming for a long time. She knew it. So did John.
He traced the curve of her cheek with his hand. “You’re nervous.”
The low timbre of his voice made her body tremble in a way it hadn’t in such a long time.
She tried to bow her head and look away, but John tilted her chin up. “We don’t have to do this. We can keep things the way they’ve always been. Old friends. Good friends.”
“Is that what you want?”
“You know it’s not.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. He pressed his body against hers. Though she knew she still had ample time to escape, she didn’t want to. In her heart she knew Patrick wouldn’t have wanted her to give up her life.
“I’m afraid,” she whispered.
“Anna Montgomery. The Irish terror of Arvada, Colorado?” he teased. “The woman who raised six sons and never blinked an eye at Gabe and Luke’s crazy antics. Not to mention Zach’s frequent stays in the Jefferson County jail.”
She smiled up at him. “You know them well.”
“Patrick shared more than one story.”
She sighed.
“It’s Patrick, isn’t it? You still love him.” John’s face closed off, and he looked as if he were waiting for a blow.
Anna gently eased from his arms and went to the sink, staring through the kitchen window into the night. “I’ll always love him.”
John grabbed her hand and pressed his lips against her palm. She shivered at the pressure of his soft touch against her skin.
“I know that, Anna. Is it too much to ask for a small piece of that heart? We’ve been dancing around each other for years.”
John straightened and toyed with an errant strand of hair. Then his expression grew dark, his gaze narrowed. He stared past her shoulder. “Stay here.”
She recognized the awareness of a warrior, the stance. So like Patrick. Too much like Patrick. The tingling in her temple screamed in panic. “What did you see?” She followed him to the back door. “It’s probably just a stray cat—”
“Shit!” John grabbed her hand and tugged her into the yard. “Run!”
Anna didn’t hesitate. She sprinted toward the back fence. John followed her.
She reached the perimeter and looked back.
The house stood, untouched.
“I don’t understand,” she panted.
“I heard the timer,” John muttered. “I know I did.”
She put her hand on his arm. “It wasn’t a flashback?”
He glared at her.
“Patrick told me about the post-traumatic stress disorder,” she said. “He worried about you. He knew no one else had any idea.”
“We’re keeping it that way,” John muttered and gave her his cell phone. “Call nine-one-one. I want the bomb squad out here now.”
Anna dialed. John eased closer to the house.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
A blinking light flashed where the gas line entered.
“John!” she screamed.
A loud explosion rocked her body backward. Plumes of fire shot to the sky. Rain of fiery metal and wood pummeled against her body.
A huge piece of siding flew toward her.
She raised her arms over her head as the metal slammed her to the ground.
She lay there stunned.
Oh God
. She rolled toward the house.
John lay there. Unmoving in the darkness.
She couldn’t have lost another man she…loved?
She loved John Garrison.
She struggled to her knees and crawled to him. Her head pounded; her ears rang. She touched his forehead. Blood ran from a wound near his scalp.
Somehow she’d held on to the cell phone. She raised the receiver to her ear. No sound came from it, only a high-pitched squeal inside her head.
Another explosion erupted. Fiery heat slammed into her temple.
“Oh Patrick,” she groaned. “Help us.”
----
Chapter Six
----
Z ACH STILLED ON the bed next to Jenna and studied her flat expression.
Brad Walters was an
A pair of warm hands touched her shoulders.
John turned her toward him.
Her breath caught as she met his gaze. This had been coming for a long time. She knew it. So did John.
He traced the curve of her cheek with his hand. “You’re nervous.”
The low timbre of his voice made her body tremble in a way it hadn’t in such a long time.
She tried to bow her head and look away, but John tilted her chin up. “We don’t have to do this. We can keep things the way they’ve always been. Old friends. Good friends.”
“Is that what you want?”
“You know it’s not.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. He pressed his body against hers. Though she knew she still had ample time to escape, she didn’t want to. In her heart she knew Patrick wouldn’t have wanted her to give up her life.
“I’m afraid,” she whispered.
“Anna Montgomery. The Irish terror of Arvada, Colorado?” he teased. “The woman who raised six sons and never blinked an eye at Gabe and Luke’s crazy antics. Not to mention Zach’s frequent stays in the Jefferson County jail.”
She smiled up at him. “You know them well.”
“Patrick shared more than one story.”
She sighed.
“It’s Patrick, isn’t it? You still love him.” John’s face closed off, and he looked as if he were waiting for a blow.
Anna gently eased from his arms and went to the sink, staring through the kitchen window into the night. “I’ll always love him.”
John grabbed her hand and pressed his lips against her palm. She shivered at the pressure of his soft touch against her skin.
“I know that, Anna. Is it too much to ask for a small piece of that heart? We’ve been dancing around each other for years.”
John straightened and toyed with an errant strand of hair. Then his expression grew dark, his gaze narrowed. He stared past her shoulder. “Stay here.”
She recognized the awareness of a warrior, the stance. So like Patrick. Too much like Patrick. The tingling in her temple screamed in panic. “What did you see?” She followed him to the back door. “It’s probably just a stray cat—”
“Shit!” John grabbed her hand and tugged her into the yard. “Run!”
Anna didn’t hesitate. She sprinted toward the back fence. John followed her.
She reached the perimeter and looked back.
The house stood, untouched.
“I don’t understand,” she panted.
“I heard the timer,” John muttered. “I know I did.”
She put her hand on his arm. “It wasn’t a flashback?”
He glared at her.
“Patrick told me about the post-traumatic stress disorder,” she said. “He worried about you. He knew no one else had any idea.”
“We’re keeping it that way,” John muttered and gave her his cell phone. “Call nine-one-one. I want the bomb squad out here now.”
Anna dialed. John eased closer to the house.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
A blinking light flashed where the gas line entered.
“John!” she screamed.
A loud explosion rocked her body backward. Plumes of fire shot to the sky. Rain of fiery metal and wood pummeled against her body.
A huge piece of siding flew toward her.
She raised her arms over her head as the metal slammed her to the ground.
She lay there stunned.
Oh God
. She rolled toward the house.
John lay there. Unmoving in the darkness.
She couldn’t have lost another man she…loved?
She loved John Garrison.
She struggled to her knees and crawled to him. Her head pounded; her ears rang. She touched his forehead. Blood ran from a wound near his scalp.
Somehow she’d held on to the cell phone. She raised the receiver to her ear. No sound came from it, only a high-pitched squeal inside her head.
Another explosion erupted. Fiery heat slammed into her temple.
“Oh Patrick,” she groaned. “Help us.”
----
Chapter Six
----
Z ACH STILLED ON the bed next to Jenna and studied her flat expression.
Brad Walters was an
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