Explosive Attraction

chapter Eight



Rafe drove past the turnoff to the motel where they’d stayed last night, and continued south on A1A.

“Where are we going now?” Darby reached into the beach bag Mindy had given her and pulled out her cell phone.

“We’ll find another motel, keep moving every day to a new location until the bomber is caught.” He glanced at her. “What are you doing?”

“Checking my cell phone battery. It’s low. I’ll have to charge it.” She reached down to see if Mindy had put a car charger in the bag.

“Turn it off. Now.” His deep voice cut through her musings.

She paused. “Why?”

“Because your phone can be traced.”

“You think the bomber is savvy enough to know my cell phone number, and to be able to trace it?”

“He’s sophisticated enough to create a bomb with a timer accurate enough to match a second timer he sends to the people he wants to torment, right down to the second. So, yeah, I think he could trace your cell phone.”

That feeling of doom settled over her again. She powered the phone off and dropped it to the bottom of the bag.

“What about your cell phone? Can he trace that, too?”

“I’m carrying a burn phone. Prepaid, no contract, which basically means untraceable.”

Desperate to do something mundane, something normal, she grabbed the stack of mail from the beach bag. Thumbing through it, she could already tell it was full of the usual—bills, correspondences from lawyers, a letter from her mom and a card—probably an invitation to her mom’s birthday party next week. Mom invited her every year, even though she knew Darby wouldn’t show. She dropped the mail back into the beach bag, and froze.

Another envelope wasn’t bundled with the rest, probably because it was too big. She started to shake as she stared down into the bag. The envelope was white, not manila. And it had a postmark.

But the handwriting was the same familiar scrawl she’d seen before.

“Rafe.” She’d tried to shout, but her voice came out in a cracked whisper.

“Don’t touch it.” He was already pulling over, the car’s wheels crunching on the narrow strip of crushed shells and hard-packed sand beside the highway.

He threw the car in Park and reached behind Darby’s seat. He drew his hand back, holding a small, black satchel. He pulled a pair of white latex gloves out of the satchel and tugged them on before easing the envelope from the beach bag.

Darby clutched her hands in her lap as she watched a repeat of when he’d been in her office a few days ago. He used a small penlight to examine the envelope, gently feeling the bump at the bottom, before peeling the flap back.

When Rafe reached inside, Darby was unsurprised that he pulled out a timer. The news couldn’t be good because he grimaced when he looked at the digital face. Palming the timer in his left hand, he reached back inside the envelope and pulled out the expected picture.

He let out a vicious curse, pitched the timer in the middle console and let the envelope and picture drop to his lap. The tires sent up a cloud of crushed shells and sand as he stomped the accelerator, turning around and racing back in the direction they’d just come from.

He punched some buttons on his phone, then barked a series of instructions and an address.

Darby’s insides went hot and cold when she heard the location. She grabbed the photograph.

Oh, please, no.

Mindy.

* * *

THE BOMBER HAD TAKEN the photograph from a distance, across the street from Darby’s office building, probably from the same warehouse where he’d killed the A.D.A. In the picture, Mindy was sitting in her car in the office parking lot, smiling, waving—probably at Darby—just as she did every day when she and Darby were leaving work, following their normal routine.

Nothing was routine anymore.

Rafe whipped through traffic back to the surf shop. Darby prayed harder than she’d ever prayed in her life.

Please let her be okay. Let Mindy be okay.

But she already knew, even before Rafe barreled back into the parking lot, what they would find. Or rather, what they wouldn’t find.

Because Mindy wasn’t answering her phone.

Ignoring Rafe’s earlier demand that she keep her cell phone off, Darby had frantically called Mindy over and over on the short ride back, while Rafe used his phone to talk to the police.

Two patrol cars, lights flashing, whirled into the lot just as Rafe screeched to a stop.

“Stay inside the car.” Rafe grabbed the timer from the middle console. He dropped it into his shirt pocket, and hopped out of the car to meet with the officers.

Darby hadn’t even looked at the timer. She’d forgotten about it in her desperate bid to reach Mindy on the phone.

How much time did Mindy have?

When Rafe slid back into the driver’s seat, the police cars took off in opposite directions. One of them peeled out, heading north on State Road 312 back toward town. The other headed south, where A1A looped around to Beach Road. Rafe hit the gas, his tires squealing as he turned right onto Anastasia Boulevard.

“How much time does she have?” Darby asked, clutching the armrest when Rafe swerved around a slow-moving car.

“Forget about the timer. Look for Mindy’s Corolla. You look right. I’ll look left.”

He cursed and swerved to avoid another slow car, which pretty much encompassed most of the traffic. The speed limit was barely above walking-speed in this heavy beach-goer, tourist area. Without the benefit of police lights or a siren, Rafe had to be creative about getting around the other cars without running into anyone.

Darby swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. “What if he didn’t take her car? What if she was driving her car and he forced her off the road or something? And then took off with her in another car?”

He didn’t look surprised by her question, which told her he’d already considered that possibility. “The Corolla is our only lead right now. Best case, he didn’t grab her yet and we find her in her car, unharmed.”

Darby’s chin quivered and she fought against the urge to cry. “What’s the worst case?”

His jaw tightened. “Worst case, exactly what you said. He followed her, forced her off the road and took her in another car. A detective back at the station is already working with the managers of the surf shop and the fast-food restaurant next to it to pull surveillance footage. Another officer will head to the scene to interview witnesses, see if anyone saw anything. In the meantime, there’s a BOLO on the Corolla.”

“BOLO?”

“Be on the lookout. Basically, every cop in St. Johns County is on the alert for her car, including the state troopers headquartered off State Road 16. That’s a lot of manpower.” He squeezed her fingers where they lay on top of her thigh. “We’ll find her.”

She nodded, staring out the window, looking down every little street they passed, studying every strip mall. Yes, they’d find her.

But would they find her in time?

The car swerved, throwing her against Rafe. Cars honked as he turned down a small two-lane road.

“That might be her.” He grabbed his cell phone and called the station. He barked at dispatch, telling them his location and that he’d spotted a “possible” on the car in the BOLO.

He zipped past a sign declaring they were entering Anastasia State Park.

Darby squinted and shaded her eyes against the sun, trying to see what he’d seen. But the long line of cars in front of them was slowing for the guard shack, each one waiting their turn to pay the entry fee. “Where’s her car? I don’t see it.”

He honked his horn and swerved back to his side of the road to avoid an oncoming car. “There.” He pointed to the guard shack. A blue Corolla had just paid the toll and accelerated away at a quick rate of speed.

“Are you sure that’s Mindy’s car?” The license plate was too far away for her to read.



“No, but I’ll know in a minute.” He stomped the accelerator and the Charger leaped forward, reminding her that he’d told his brother he wanted a car with muscle. He whipped around the guard shack, sliding on the slick, crushed-shell shoulder of the road before the tires caught and spit the car back onto the asphalt.

The Corolla was fifty yards ahead. It had slowed for another car, but zipped around it and disappeared around a curve in the narrow road.

“That’s her car,” Rafe said. “The numbers on the plate match.” He raced toward the curve then slammed his brakes, narrowly missing the bumper of a camper that pulled out in front of them.

He tried to pass but had to swerve back into his lane to avoid hitting a pickup head-on. He honked the horn, but the camper slowed instead of speeding up, probably thinking he was just a rude driver and they were trying to teach him some manners.

By the time Rafe got around the camper, there was no sign of the Corolla.

He slowed when they approached a turnoff to a side road.

“What do we do now?” Fear for Mindy had Darby twisting her hands together.

“This main drag is the only way in or out of the park. If I turn down one of these side roads, I could lose him if he comes back out a different side road.”

“We can’t just sit here, not when he’s got Mindy.”

His lips thinned as he pulled to the shoulder. “That’s exactly what we have to do. We don’t have a choice. We sit here until the park is sealed off.” He grabbed his phone again and called the police station, speaking in some kind of cop codes she didn’t understand.

Darby tried not to think about what could be happening to Mindy. She glanced at Rafe, then suddenly lunged over and swiped the timer out of his shirt pocket. He grabbed it back from her, but not before she saw the digital readout—00:19:04.

Nineteen minutes, four seconds.

Oh, Mindy, no.

She flung her door open and hopped out of the car.

“Darby, wait! Get back here.”

She turned around in the road to face him. He was leaning out the driver’s side window, his cell phone at his ear, motioning for her to get back in the car.

“Nineteen minutes,” she yelled. “He’s not taking her out of the park, not if he plans to kill her in nineteen minutes. The bomb is here somewhere.”

He got out of the car and shoved his phone into the pocket of his jeans. “Don’t you think I know that?” His face mirrored his exasperation when he reached her.

She stared at him in confusion. “If you know that, then why aren’t we looking for her?”

The sound of engines running and tires crunching had her turning to see a long line of cars pouring out of one of the side roads at a fast clip. A park ranger, riding a bicycle, emerged from the same side road, waving the cars forward.

Rafe pulled Darby to the side of the road.

“You’re evacuating the park,” she accused. “Instead of looking for Mindy!”

“Backup will be here soon. Until then, the rangers are at the entrance, checking every car for her. But, yes, the goal is to get everyone out of the park as quickly as possible.”

“What about Mindy? What are you doing to get her out?”

“There’s nothing we can do for her right now. The park is full of families, children and possibly a bomb. The bomb squad is on the way, but chances are the bomb will blow before they get here. We have to get these people out. And you need to wait in the car while I help with the evacuation, just until backup arrives.” He grabbed her arm and hauled her to the car. He shoved her back into the passenger seat, clipped his badge on his shirt and ran to meet the park ranger.

From what Darby could hear of their conversation, the ranger had gotten a call over his radio about the bomber and had started the evacuation of the people who’d been parked down the side road to their right. But there were other camping areas within the park, and not enough park rangers to warn everyone.

Rafe told him to go spread the word, get the other campers evacuating. The ranger took off on his bike, while Rafe stepped to the road, directing traffic to use both the east and westbound lanes to exit. He waved his arms in a rapid circle, encouraging them to move faster. Soon they were zooming by, back toward the entrance.

Understanding why Rafe was abandoning Mindy didn’t make it hurt any less. Darby had been where Mindy was before. She’d been the one who’d been abandoned. She’d been the one fighting for her life, when she’d fallen down a well at the age of seven.

For three days she’d screamed for help until her throat was raw, but help had never come. Her family—her mother, her father, her sisters and brothers—had never come looking for her. She’d gotten herself out of that well, and had learned a powerful lesson. Never trust or rely on anyone but yourself.

And don’t wait for help that will never come.

“You may have decided to abandon Mindy,” she said, watching Rafe through the windshield, “but I never will.”

She eased the door open and slipped out of the car, leaving the door ajar.

She backed away, moving as quietly as she could, slowly at first, so he wouldn’t hear her shoes crunching on the shells beside the road. When she was far enough away that any noise she made wouldn’t matter, she started running.