Driven by Fire (Fire 2)

“The house? I want an emergency room.”

“Wuss.”

“I want the police.”

“This is New Orleans, remember? The police aren’t going to be doing us any good, and it would give them a license to search the big house. I’m not letting any curious eyes in there. Bad enough I had to let you in.”

“My house . . .” The words choked in her mouth and her already-raw throat.

“I’ll find out who blew up your house, and Parker, I promise, I’ll even turn him over to your family. There’s a fate worse than death.”

There was almost a note of kindness in his voice, and for a moment she wanted to cry, but her eyes were dry and scratchy.

She tried to pull herself together. She wasn’t in shock—just because she couldn’t cry and apparently couldn’t feel pain didn’t mean she was such a frail creature. She drew herself up in the seat. “How do you think they knew you’d be there?”

“What?” He took a corner at a reckless speed, but all four tires hugged the road, and he seemed to have a preternatural ability to avoid the police.

“Why else would anyone bomb the place? No one would want to hurt me. You’re the one involved in international . . . whatever.” Words failed her. She wasn’t sure exactly what he did. “They must have been following you . . .”

“Sorry, sweetheart, but that bomb was set ahead of time. There was no way anyone would guess when I’d be there. It was meant for you or your little waif, just as that bullet was.”

Her conscious mind immediately rejected it, just as it rejected the fact that the house she’d loved and worked so hard on was gone in a matter of seconds. “But why?”

“You tell me. You’re the one who insisted Soledad was in danger. Maybe you were right after all. Or maybe there’s something you haven’t been telling me.”

Jenny’s stomach knotted. This couldn’t have anything to do with the cell phone lodged safely in her front pocket—no one but Billy knew she had it, and she wasn’t giving it back until she was convinced there was nothing incriminating on it. She could always destroy it, but right now it was the only hold she had over him. As long as she had it, he couldn’t be tempted to get mixed up in that disgusting business again.

“Why bother shooting at us if they were just going to blow us up a few hours later?” she said stubbornly.

He slanted a glance at her. “Maybe you’re not in shock after all. It’s a good question. Maybe they wanted to shoot you and then blow up any incriminating stuff left behind.”

“You saw my house—do you think there was anything incriminating in that chaos?”

He ignored her question. “Or maybe they needed time to set the charges, and shooting at you kept you away from the house for a while.”

“Two inches closer and I’d be dead.”

“Two inches farther and it would have been just a scare. It would have been a hard shot to make. You piss anyone off in the past few weeks?”

“Besides you and my father?” And my brother, she added silently. “I don’t think so.”

“Great company. You got any enemies? Disgruntled boyfriends?”

“You already said you knew my entire history.”

“Yeah, both of them would be disgruntled,” he drawled, and instinctively she hit him in the side, no more than an angry jab. She was shocked at his flinch and the sudden outpouring of very impressive cursing. “Hit me again and you’ll regret it,” he growled.

“That was nothing,” she said righteously.

“Usually.”

He was wearing black. A black T-shirt and black jeans, and the side of the shirt was shiny. With blood.

“You’ve been hurt,” she said flatly, guilt and shame swamping her. This man had saved her life and she’d only made things worse.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing. Just don’t punch me.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, stricken. “You carried me even though you were hurt, even though I probably could have limped along.”