Jacobi’s voice was still coming over the radio.
He said, “Effective as soon as you turn in your report, you two are off duty. Boxer. Conklin. I’m proud of you. I love you both.
“Thanks from me and from Deputy Reardon and a lot of people who’ve never heard of you and never will. Many lives were saved. Stand down. Come home. The Feds are going to take it from here.”
I was shaking with relief when I turned the car keys over to Conklin. I got into the passenger seat. I leaned back and closed my eyes as he drove us back to the Hall.
PART ONE
ONE MONTH LATER
CHAPTER 1
IT WAS OUR wedding anniversary, also our first date night since Joe and I separated six months ago. Joe had surprised me, calling me up as I was leavin
g work, saying, “I reserved a window table. Say yes, Lindsay. I’m parked right outside.”
I’d given in and now we were at the Crested Cormorant, the hot new seafood restaurant on Pier 9, with a frontrow seat on San Francisco Bay. Candles flickered on tables around us as a pink sunset colored the sky to the horizon, tinting the rippling water as the mist rolled in.
Joe was talking about his youngest brother.
“So, at age forty, Petey finally meets the love of his life at a fire department car wash.” He laughed. “Amanda was powerwashing his whitewalls, and, somehow, that jump-starts his heart.”
“You think her T-shirt got wet?”
Joe laughed again. I loved his laugh.
He said, “Very possibly. We’re invited to their wedding in Cozumel next month. Think about it, okay?”
Looking into my husband’s eyes, I saw how much he wanted to bring us back to our wedding in a gazebo overlooking Half Moon Bay. We’d vowed in front of dear friends and family to love each other from that day forward.
It had been a promise I knew I could keep.
But I hadn’t been able to see around corners, not then. Now, in this romantic setting, Joe was hoping for magic to strike again. As for me, my innocence was gone.
I wished it weren’t so.
I was conflicted. Should I reach across the table, squeeze Joe’s hand, and tell him to come home? Or was it time for us both to admit that our Humpty Dumpty marriage couldn’t be put back together again?
Joe lifted his wineglass and said, “To happy days.”
Just then there was a sharp sound—as if the world had cracked open—followed by the boom of rolling thunder and a bright flash on the neighboring pier.
I screamed, “Nooooo!”
I grabbed Joe’s arm and stared openmouthed across the water to Pier 15, the site of Scientific-Tron, a science museum, called Sci-Tron for short. It was a massive, geometric glass-and-steel structure designed for human interaction with the past and especially the future. The structure was unfolding like a bud bursting into bloom right in front of my eyes. Metal panels flew toward us, a mushroom cloud formed over Pier 15, and an overarching hail of glinting glass shards fell into the bay.
Joe said, “Jesus. What the hell?” his expression perfectly mirroring the horror I felt. Another bomb.
Sci-Tron was open to the public seven days a week but to adults only on Thursday nights. This was Thursday, wasn’t it? Yes. People were inside the museum.
Was this a GAR attack? Had to be.
Joe threw down a credit card, then stabbed at his phone and called his job. Similarly, I called SFPD dispatch and reported what looked to be a mass casualty incident.
“There’s been an explosion with fire at Sci-Tron, Pier 15. Send all cars. FD. Bomb squad. Ambulances. And find Lieutenant Brady. Tell him I’m on the scene.”
Joe said, “Lindsay, wait here. I’ll be back—”