“Front door,” Bobby shouted, and I cut in that direction. It was closer.
I glanced back, saw him hesitate near the body, knew exactly what he was thinking: He shouldn’t leave her behind. But the clock in my head was thumping to the same beat as the one downstairs.
“No.” I snatched his hand, and after a sharp yank on my part, and a shove from Genevieve, he followed.
We tumbled out the front door. Everyone in the yard faced us, eyes widening as he shouted, “Get back!” and I added, “It’s gonna blow!”
The crowd scattered; the house erupted upward and outward. I don’t know if Bobby dived and landed on top of me on purpose, or if he was propelled by the blast. Nevertheless, every last bit of air was driven from my lungs as his weight slammed me to the ground.
Silence blanketed the world, along with a fiery heat. Bobby rolled free. Only when he kept rolling did I realize he was trying to put out the tiny flames in his clothes.
He sat up, his gaze first going to me then the house. I was pretty sure it looked worse than I did.
“He will burn us all.”
Mrs. Noita stared at what was left of her place. I opened my mouth to ask about her pronoun confusion—she’d identified her attacker as a she, but he was going to burn us? Before I could say anything—and considering Bobby’s gaze had already returned to me that was probably for the best—Mrs. Noita behaved just like her niece. Her pure black eyes had a hint of flame at the center, smoke poured from her mouth in a stream, and then she was gone.
Bobby got to his feet, held out a hand. All around us, ash swirled like dirty snow, and the heat of the still-blazing house made my face feel as if I’d gotten my first sunburn of the summer. He helped me up, kept hold of my hand. “How did you know about this?”
“It’s New Bergin.” I indicated the crowd, which had swelled considerably since I’d gone inside. “The instant the sirens went off, everyone knew.”
He was still a little dazed; so was I. “I meant the bomb.” Suspicion flickered in his eyes. “You knew.”
“Did not.” My denial was automatic, and actually the truth for a change. I hadn’t known about the bomb until Henry had pointed to it.
Bobby rubbed his head. It probably hurt as badly as mine did. He was just about to question me further, and make both our heads ache even more, when Chief Johnson pulled up—where had he been before now?—and beckoned him.
“I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it,” he said, but he was already moving off to join the chief.
By then maybe I’d have a better explanation than …
I didn’t have an explanation.
“Raye!” Jenn threw her arms around my waist. Color me surprised; she wasn’t cuddly. Then I felt her shaking.
I set my hands on her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
She stepped back and punched me in the arm. “You almost got yourself killed.”
“I didn’t.”
“Not for lack of trying.” She hit me again. “What is wrong with you?”
More than I could ever say.
*
Bobby glanced back just as Raye’s friend punched her in the arm. He agreed with the sentiment if not the execution. What had she been thinking?
“Holy hell.” The chief stared at the pile of charcoal that had once been a very nice house. Oddly the trees that had spooked Bobby before swayed and jingled, virtually unharmed, despite the grass around them being severely overcooked. “What did you do?”
“Me?” Bobby asked.
“Christiansen said you ordered everyone out.”
“Because I thought the guy was still in there.”
“Was he?”
“If he was”—Bobby eyed what was now mostly a crater—“he isn’t anymore.”
The chief snorted.
“I’d nearly checked the whole place when Raye—”
“Raye was in there?” Johnson scowled, first at Bobby, then at Raye, who still had her hands full with her little pal.
When Jenn wasn’t punching Raye’s arm, and yammering at her like a yappy minidog, she had her arms around Raye’s waist, clinging to her like …
Bobby rubbed his side, which still ached as if a bullet had glanced off the skin. Genevieve used to cling to him like that when she was really scared.
Bobby shoved thoughts of his child from his mind the same way he always did whenever they came. He couldn’t function and think of her, so he refused to think of her at all.
He’d probably have to eventually—the thoughts were coming more often; the memories had invaded his dreams. He could swear he’d even smelled her a few times, and that was just— “Doucet!”
Bobby blinked.
The chief glared. “Am I keeping you awake? We got a situation here.”
Bobby ran a hand over his face, grimacing at the soot that crunched between his palm and his skin. “What did you say?”
“You ordered everyone out?”
“I did.”
“But you let Raye stay?”
“She came in after.”
“Why?”
“She found the bomb.”
“There was a bomb?”