Exposed by Suzanne Ferrell

offered so matter-of-factly took some of the starch out of her ire.
    “No, he did something even more dangerous. He’d gotten a job as a photographer tagging along with the troops on their first forays into Afghanistan. No weapon and no combat training. He was lucky he made it out alive.”
    “Many didn’t.”
    “I know.” She huffed out a sigh and shrugged. “It’s just you’re accusing him of willfully ignoring me, when he’s usually busy doing something important.”
    Castello finished putting the pans in the dishwasher, turned off the faucet and shifted to look at her. “I’m not making a judgement call on your brother. He may be off on assignment. I just believe if you care about someone, you do your best to respond when they try to contact you.”
    She narrowed her eyes at him. “And I suppose when you’re protecting someone or whatever it is marshals do, you answer your phone for your sister or mother?”
    Just as he opened his mouth to answer his phone started buzzing on the countertop.
    “Really?” She gave him a sarcastic smirk. “Did you plan that?”
    He lifted the corner of his mouth in a little grin and reached for the phone. “What’s up, Sami?” he said, helping himself to the last piece of bacon. “Yes. Sydney’s out of bed.” He cupped his hand over the phone. “Sami wants to know how you are.”
    “Physically? Okay. Emotionally? A little overwhelmed. Psychologically?” She just shook her head. “I don’t know.”
    “She’s as good as can be expected,” he said, staring right at her, his dark eyes sending heat and something strong coursing through her as he listened to the phone.
    It took a moment for Sydney to break the connection, but she finally did, grabbing the empty bacon plate and carrying it to the sink. She rinsed it and stuck it in the dishwasher, intentionally mucking up his organized pattern. He was way too calm for her liking.
    When she finished he was still watching her, even though he’d moved to stand near the back door. The phone turned off in his hand. “We need to go over to your place.”
    “You mean the giant pile of smoldering rubble I now have a mortgage on?” She couldn’t help the snarkiness in her voice. Two years into a thirty-year mortgage, and she was homeless.
    “You have insurance, right?”
    “Yes. It covers fire, but I don’t know if it covers explosions.”
    “And that’s why I want to go over this morning. I’d like to talk with the firefighters.”
    “You think they’re still working on it? Surely they’ve got it out by now?”
    He gave a shrug. “Pretty big—how did you put it?—smoldering pile of rubble for them to sift through and be sure won’t reignite. I’d like to see if they know what caused the explosion. Maybe looking at in the daylight they’ll have an idea.”
    “I see your point. Do I have time for a shower?” she asked, grabbing her purse and phone and heading towards the stairs.
    “Sure. That should give the arson investigator time to get on site, too.”
    She stopped and peered over her shoulder at him. “Arson investigator?”
    “They come to all suspicious fires.”
    “What makes you think it was suspicious?”
    “Explosion?”
    Again, she saw his point, but wasn’t going to admit it. Instead, she went to stand under some hot water and wish it would wash away this whole horrible mess.

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    A fire truck sat on the curb in front of the mass of beams, bricks and ashes that had been Sydney’s home when Frank pulled up an hour later.
    Dressed once more in the jeans, sweater and hiking boots she’d arrived at the wedding in, Sydney reached for the door handle, but Frank took her other hand, which was holding one of her cameras, stopping her.
    “What?” she asked, her eyes once more covered with those reflective aviator sunglasses she’d worn yesterday. He imagined they hid sadness.
    “You can stay in the car if you want. I can talk to the firemen.”
    She stared at him a moment, then