Sylvia shifted her attention from her iPad to her briefcase, beside the chair. “Relay what you can of the adoptions and I’ll track the rest. I have… resources.” She passed over a notepad. “Now you can make that list of the names and details you do know.” She smiled dryly. “Unless you have an issue with my hassling any of them with uncomfortable questions?”
“Hassle away.” Rachel scooped up the pen and paper, not in the least ruffled. Damn, she was amazing. “I’m not going to object to any heat you want to bring to an animal abuser.”
“But you don’t think it’s one of them.”
“I wouldn’t presume to do your job.”
“My job is to gather impressions.”
Rachel pressed the notepad to her knees. “Then my impression would be that this doesn’t fit the kind of retaliation I would expect. They would retrieve their dogs and put them back to work, not poison them. And the anonymous calls—”
“What exactly was said during the threatening phone calls?”
“Things like ‘back off’ and ‘you don’t know who you’re taking on’…” Her voice trailed away. “All threats that could have been said by anyone. The timing just seemed too coincidental.”
“I’m not discounting your fears. But we’ll still need to speak to the airman—once we can locate him.”
“He’s actually a first lieutenant.”
“Right, of course,” Sylvia conceded with a professional smile. “I can promise you the interview will be handled compassionately.”
“Thank you.” Her face didn’t broadcast confidence.
“Meanwhile, you need protection because someone, somewhere, for whatever reason, truly is gunning for you.” Sylvia pushed to her feet and stepped closer to the one-way mirror, staring straight through. She tapped her ear where her tiny earbud radio was hidden in case someone needed to feed her information during the process. Nothing had been left to chance.
“If you’ll excuse me, Rachel, I need to step out and have a word with General Sullivan.”
***
“Cat, are you ready to go back home?” Brandon asked, leaning against his truck.
The acrid stench of smoke still blanketed the air, even though the fire department had long ago doused the blaze on Rachel’s block. He’d read an article once that said smells evoked the strongest memories. Damn straight. With each smoldering inhale, images of bomb sites mushroomed inside his skull.
The burned-out hulls of town houses stared back at him with vacant black eyes for windows. Hollow. Charred insides weakened and vulnerable from a sucker punch they couldn’t possibly have seen coming.
He understood the feeling. His stomach rolled, acid eating away at the fast-food double cheeseburger he’d bolted down earlier.
And then on his next breath, a hint of honeysuckle mingled good with the bad. Settled his stomach. Chased away a couple of those crappy memories.
“Brandon?” she said softly. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m ready.”
It was nearly midnight now, and the neighborhood was winding down from the mayhem of fire trucks and newscasters. But still, Cat’s serenity wouldn’t have faded if a parade flooded the whole city block.
He appreciated her peacefulness. They’d just hung out together for most of the ride. She hadn’t pushed him to talk, talk, talk as everybody else did. Yeah, he knew his silences could be long. Creepy even, according to the therapist who had gently pointed them out. But he was working his way back. He needed time. Cat seemed to get that.
Right now he needed time to get over his frustration at not finding Rachel here. Most people would have called the cops, but that hadn’t gone so well for him lately. He didn’t know what to do next. She wasn’t here. And she wasn’t answering her phone. He shouldn’t have told her everything. Well, not everything, but all that he had. He’d been selfish. All caught up in the talk therapy bull crap his therapist pushed for. He’d been a jumbled mess, huddled up at home with his dog. Then Rachel had shown up to check in on Harley…
The next thing he’d known, he was spilling his guts.
Better from now on to keep his mouth shut. He pivoted toward the truck and reached for her door just as—
Pop. A gunshot split the air. The noise sliced through his brain and sent his body on autopilot.
He tackled Catriona, tucking to the side to catch the brunt of the fall with his body before rolling on top of her. His arms convulsed around her, his heart ramping up until he could feel it slam against her soft back. Concrete bit into his knees and his cheek as he stared under the row of vehicles and realized…
He wasn’t in Afghanistan anymore.
That noise hadn’t been gunfire. Just someone shutting a car door. God, he was a mess.