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The Target
Kay David


To some, the members of the bomb squad are more than a little left of normal. After all, when everyone else is running away from a bomb, they're heading toward it. In this line of work, precision, knowledge and nerves of steel are requirements–especially when a serial bomber makes the team his next target.Hannah Crosby and Quinn McNichol are perfect for each other–everyone thinks so. But sometimes being perfect isn't enough. Hannah wants more. Marriage, children, a future…Quinn doesn't think marriage–let alone children–is a good idea. He can never forget the dangers that people in their profession face every day. What happens if one of them doesn't come home one night? And now it seems as if a bomber is trying to help them answer that question.









“This is crazy, Quinn.

You can’t just crash in there.”


“But you can?” He found his jacket and turned to Hannah, holding it out so she could help him into it. She responded automatically, and he stiffened his arms as she put the coat on him, the protector hard against his spine, a trickle of sweat already rolling down his back.

She buckled him in, and he saw that her hands were trembling.

“We haven’t done enough recon yet….”

“Hannah! We don’t have time for that.” He plucked his helmet from the rear of the SUV and thrust it on his head. “We have to get those kids out first. Then we’ll deal with the bomb.”

“No,” she said, almost in a whisper. “This is wrong. All wrong…”

He stared at her in puzzled surprise. Her face was flushed and her blue eyes were glowing with alarm. She was the least prone to gut feelings. Why this? Why now?

He reached out and tucked a stand of hair behind her ear, the silk curl soft and fragrant. “Everything will be fine. We’ve got a date tonight, remember? I wouldn’t do anything to mess that up.” He bent and kissed her, the taste of her lips lingering on his own. Then he ran toward the building.

He was barely over the threshold when the bomb detonated.


Dear Reader,

After September 11, 2001, the people of America, including me, began to understand and appreciate many aspects of our lives that we had previously taken for granted. The heroics of the police, firefighters and rescue personnel who responded so selflessly to that tragedy moved to the top of my list of “things I won’t forget.” I simply cannot imagine the courage it would take to race toward a horrible disaster that everyone else is fleeing. Think about that…. Could you risk your life for a group of total strangers?

I don’t believe I could, but on that day, hundreds of men and women did that very thing. And many more do it every day.

From the cop who stops a speeder to the soldier guarding a foreign hill, there are people whose job it is to keep us safe. We can worship as we like, live as we prefer, travel where we want because of these incredibly brave individuals.

The men and women in The Target, the fourth book in my series THE GUARDIANS, are representative of these people. Quinn McNichol and Hannah Crosby are members of a national bomb squad. Both are prepared to give their lives for strangers, but neither is happy about the other doing the same.

Nothing I can write comes close to explaining the experiences of the men and women who make up our bomb squads. Tomorrow morning when you walk into the grocery store for a loaf of bread or into the drugstore to pick up some cough syrup, take a moment to think about what you aren’t feeling. You aren’t scared that the trash can by the door might blow up. You aren’t anxiously thinking that the car pulling in next to yours might explode. You don’t give a second thought to the package the woman ahead of you in line accidentally leaves behind.

You feel safe and secure because you know the men and women of our law enforcement agencies are on the job, ready to give their lives for you. Next time you see one, express how much you appreciate him or her.

Sincerely,

Kay David




The Target

Kay David





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


I’d like to take this opportunity to acknowledge some very special people: Dr. Lynch, Dr. Ripepi, Dr. King and the “real” Dr. Barroso. All of you will forever have a special place in my heart because of your dedication and kindness, which no words can possibly describe.

To Rhonda Whitton, Pat Herendon and Debra Fyles, my deepest gratitude for your continued understanding and help.

And finally to Reba. Your love and support mean more to me than I can say. Thank you for everything.




CONTENTS


PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN




Prologue


HANNAH CROSBY LIFTED her head from the pillow and stared at the man beside her. After their lovemaking, he’d dropped into a light sleep, his chest rising and falling with a rhythm that matched the lengthening afternoon shadows. They’d been in the tangled sheets for almost two hours, and the rays now dipped low enough to bypass the blinds and raise the temperature of the bedroom. The overhead fan did little to help, but then again, Hannah wasn’t sure anything could cool the heated blood that still coursed through her body.

Quinn McNichol had that kind of effect on her.

How did he do it? What secret did he know? Where had he learned to make her feel the way he did?

She’d pondered these questions for more than two and a half years—since the day, in fact, that she’d joined the federal bomb squad he’d already belonged to. A firefighter for several years before that point, Hannah had wanted to become a member of EXIT—the Explosives and Incendiary Team—for a long time, but what she remembered most about her first day at work was meeting Quinn, a senior tech in the New Orleans group. She could still recall shaking his hand that morning. His strong grip had set up a chain reaction inside her body unlike anything she’d ever felt before.

And it was still going on.

Sometimes he managed it with just a look. Sometimes he did it with a kiss. Usually, it was just a simple touch—his finger against her cheek, his hand on her arm, his mouth on her neck. Whatever it was, the result was always the same: she would lose control. Another woman would take over Hannah’s body and do things with it that the normal Hannah would never consider. Quinn unleashed something in her that no one else had ever been able to even find, much less set free. She’d throw herself into his arms and within seconds, their clothes would be gone. They’d made love in so many strange places, she’d lost count.

She edged closer to him, the scent from their bodies lingering between them. Quinn was a tall, striking man, his skin bronzed from the time they spent outside, the richness of the color spiced by his Cajun blood. His dark hair and even darker eyes garnered looks from women everywhere they went, no matter the circumstances. His looks alone couldn’t explain his effect on her, though. She’d been around goodlooking, macho men her entire career, from firefighters to cops. None of them had made her crazy.

Maybe it couldn’t be explained, she thought suddenly. Maybe it was simply magic. She looked at him a moment longer, then rolled to her back and sighed in frustration. Why did it matter what she called it? He had it and she fell for it. Every time.

Otherwise, she would have left him long ago.

The bed moved and she felt his gaze on her profile. He was a light sleeper—they both were, a habit born from years of dangerous work.

“What are you thinking about?” He reached out for a strand of her hair and twisted it around his finger. His question was rhetorical because he could read her mind as well as her body.

Her eyes met his and she felt their intensity all the way down to the bottom of her feet. “You.”

He grinned lazily and another zing shot through her. Using the tip of the curl he’d made, he brushed the ends of her hair over the tops of her breasts. “That’s good,” he said. “I like it when you think about me.”

“You do?” She turned to face him, their lips now inches apart. “Why is that?”

“It makes me think you love me.”

“You know I love you.”

“That’s true, but a little reinforcement goes a long way. Everyone likes to know they’re on the right track.”

She feathered her fingers over his stubbled jaw. The words she wanted to say would spoil this moment between them, but Hannah couldn’t stop herself.

“You’re right,” she agreed slowly. “Everyone likes to know that, including me.”

Their eyes locked and his gaze hardened, his voice becoming deceptively soft as he warned her. “We’ve had a really great day, Hannah. Don’t do this…”

She shook her head, her hair whispering against the pillows. “I have to, Quinn. It’s too important to me—to us—not to talk about it.”

He sat up and swung his feet to the floor. “But it’s all we talk about.” The muscles in his back tensed and rippled tightly. He stayed silent for a moment, then he twisted around to look at her. His jaw was a single line of anger, his lips pursed tightly. “How many times do we have to go over this, Hannah? It just isn’t possible right now….”

In the quiet that followed, she could hear the excited cries of the kids down the street. There was an empty lot on the corner, and the evening stillness often rang with the noise the neighborhood children raised as they played tag and red rover and whatever else they could dream up. Hannah loved to listen to them, but right now, the sound was almost painful.

“It isn’t possible only because of you. I won’t see thirty-two again and time is passing. I want a family. I want a husband. I want—”

He stood abruptly and stalked to the window. “I know what you want, Hannah. Believe me, I know.”

With a catch in her throat, Hannah sat up and pulled the sheet around her. Because her own childhood had been just the opposite, she’d always wanted a houseful of children and a special place to call home. Her father’s job had demanded constant travel. He’d never been home. Her mother, Barbara, had finally divorced him, saying he was never there, anyway, so why should they stay together?

The answer had become quickly apparent. Without his income, Barbara had had to return to work to support the two of them. They’d sold the home where Hannah had grown up and moved into an apartment on the other side of town. Hannah and her mother became even closer in their adversity—and were still—but with no siblings and none of her friends nearby, Hannah had ended up spending more time than ever alone and she’d been miserable and lonely.

To compensate, she’d made up another family for herself, complete with a set of twins and three other brothers, a mother who stayed home and baked cookies and a father who went to work at eight and came home at five. It’d been a fantasy, but it’d sustained her for a long time, even leading her, she was now convinced, to her earlier career as a firefighter. Living in the firehouse with all the other firefighters had made her feel like part of a huge family and she’d loved it. Until she’d heard about EXIT. Nothing less than the excitement that assignment had promised could have taken her away from her substitute brothers.

She took a deep breath and continued the running argument. “Then if you know what I want, when are we going to do something about it?”

“People who have children have to be responsible for them.” He faced her. “As long as we do what we do, I’m not going to bring a child into this world. It’s too risky.”

Grabbing the sheet, Hannah rose to her knees and shook her head. “I disagree! And even if that was true, I’ve told you—”

“I know what you’ve told me—you’d quit. But a kid needs two parents, a mother and a father—”

“I’m well aware of what—”

“No, you aren’t aware of anything or you wouldn’t be asking for the kind of commitment you are. It’s not fair. To me or to the poor kid we’d leave behind if one of us got blown to hell and back!”

This certainly wasn’t the first time she’d heard Quinn say something so harsh, but for some reason, the words cut deeper than usual. Hannah stayed where she was a second longer, then she got out of the bed. Her legs were shaking with anger, but she remained silent. If she spoke right now, she’d say something she’d regret later.

Quinn crossed the room, reaching for her. Knowing it was pointless, but trying anyway, she ducked his embrace. He took another step and captured her, his hands on her bare shoulders, his eyes cajoling as he stared down at her.

“You know I’m telling you the truth.” He moved his fingers as he spoke, his thumb rubbing her collarbone, his other fingers massaging her shoulders. Hannah fought to ignore the sensation he was creating.

“I know you’re telling me what you think is the truth,” she said. “But you’re wrong, Quinn. Very, very wrong. Our jobs are only dangerous if someone screws up.”

“Which does happen.”

“But not often.”

“It only takes once.”

“Then we’ll both quit.”

A tense moment passed, then he bent his head and kissed her, the feel of his mouth blanking out everything else. She swayed in his embrace, but he held her tight. When the kiss was over, he raised his head and looked at her, his breath soft on her cheeks. “I’m not going to quit. And neither are you.”

“But—”

“That’s not the answer to this problem. You’d resent the sacrifice every day for the rest of your life. You’d end up hating yourself…and me.”

She tried to think of a counter to his logic, but thinking was impossible with his body pressed to hers and his hands stroking her back.

“You have to be responsible for the children you bring into this world, Hannah. Kids can’t raise themselves, and when they try, they get piss-poor results.”

Hannah had always thought she could change Quinn’s mind—she’d changed everything else in her life she didn’t like—but she was beginning to despair. With dogged determination, she tried one more time.

“But we’ll be here,” she said. “We’ll raise them ourselves. We can be responsible for them—”

“Hush, Hannah, hush…” he murmured, bending down to nuzzle her neck. “We don’t need kids at this point in our lives. Maybe sometime in the distant future—but not just yet. I can be enough for you now if you’ll let me—”

“But, Quinn—”

He cut off her protest with a kiss, pulling her down with him to the bed they’d just abandoned.

She cursed herself and her weakness, then she gave in—once more—and closed her eyes. Quinn’s magical touch banished the argument from her mind.

But not from her heart.




CHAPTER ONE


Three months later—January

“YOU STILL HAVE THAT little black dress hanging in the back of the closet?”

Quinn paused beside Hannah’s desk and she looked up at him. Her eyes were a startling shade of light blue. Sometimes when they were in bed, they almost looked translucent, but right now, as she glared at him, they went dark with suspicion. They’d had another “discussion” about a family the night before and she was still angry. But he hadn’t budged and he wouldn’t. He’d been around a lot longer than Hannah, and he knew their profession much better than she did.

In the flash and heat of a single second, he’d seen friends—people he cared about—disappear in a pink cloud. She didn’t understand, and frankly, he hoped she never would. The knowledge was costly, to your body and your soul.

“I think it’s in there somewhere,” Hannah answered. “Why are you asking?”

“I want you to wear it tonight.” He forced aside his grim thoughts and concentrated on the present. “We’re going to Galatoire’s.”

The name of her favorite restaurant brought an involuntary smile, but then her lips tightened. “If you think taking me somewhere fancy is going to make things okay, you can forget about it. Crab cakes and deviled oysters won’t do the trick this time, Quinn.” She shook her head. “And I mean it.”

She’d said these words last night and he’d heard them before, as well, but a new resolve seemed to be growing behind them. Someone else might not have noticed, but Quinn had picked up on it instantly.

Sometimes he hated his instincts.

Life would be much simpler for him if he was more like Hannah. She didn’t intuit things or emotions—if it wasn’t before her in black and white, it simply didn’t exist. Everything had hidden nuances for Quinn; he could read the tension in a room by simply walking into it. Hannah’s way was better. What she didn’t know, she didn’t worry about. What she didn’t accept, she changed.

Until she’d hooked up with him.

He leaned close enough to smell her shampoo and see the freckle on her right cheek that she always tried to hide with makeup. Being this near was all it took to make him want her. His concern over their fight evaporated.

“This is more than just dinner. A lot more.”

She arched one blond eyebrow. “Like what?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises,” Hannah said flatly. “And I think we need to talk about last night. I’m not going to let this drop, Quinn—”

“No talking.” He stopped her words with a light kiss and shook his head, saying, “Tonight. Dinner.” Then he walked away, his surprise intact.

He’d given the evening ahead a lot of thought. When Quinn told Hannah his news, he wanted to do it right, not blurt it out in the middle of the bullpen. Bill Ford, their boss, had told Quinn that morning he’d been selected to be the new team lead. Bill was moving on to Washington. The announcement would be made next week, but for the moment, no one knew about the promotion except Quinn. And Bobby Justice.

Quinn made his way down the hall to his office, the tall, black tech on his mind. Bobby had been the only other serious candidate for the job. Well-respected and just as competent as Quinn, Bobby had been on the team even longer, fourteen years to Quinn’s twelve. He was a quiet, steady man whose life revolved around his wife and children, but he—and everyone else on the team—lacked the one essential Quinn had in abundance.

He had a mysterious, indefinable touch. However much he downplayed the ability when others mentioned it, Quinn couldn’t deny the truth to himself; he had a sixth sense about bombs. The others on the team were all terrific, especially Hannah, whose strength was analysis. But Quinn’s skill was unique. Consequently no one really understood it. Including him.

He reached his office, stepped inside and went to work. The mundane details always piled up—reports to read and file, examinations to be studied, fragments to examine… This was his least favorite part of the job and he tended to put it off. That technique might have worked in the past, but as the boss, he’d have to be better at dealing with it all. He worked steadily until noon, then stopped for lunch.

The call came in right after one.

Bobby appeared at Quinn’s door, every line in his face drawn with worry. “There’s a problem off the Central Business District,” he said. “CBD dispatch caught a suspicious package and sent out a coupla uniforms. It looks bad.”

“They all look bad,” Quinn said.

“Not like this. It could be Mr. Rogers….” Bobby paused. “That’s why they called and gave us a heads-up.”

“Oh, man…are you sure?”

“The box is propped up against the back door of a day-care center, adjacent to a school. Kids everywhere. Metro’s dogs alerted on it…all the pieces are in place…”

At Bobby’s words Quinn felt his stomach roll over. EXIT had been tracking a serial bomber for what felt like ten lifetimes. They’d linked him to three bombings across the South, each occurring every two years for the past six; one in Georgia, one in Mississippi and one in South Carolina. Day-care centers in run-down neighborhoods were his targets, hence the “Mr. Rogers” nickname. The team had been on edge for the whole month. The bomber didn’t always strike on the exact same day, but the month—January—never changed. His devices were frighteningly potent, and it’d been a miracle that no one had been killed. Yet.

Hannah came up behind Bobby. She already had on the black leather jacket they wore when they were called out, with EXIT embroidered across the back in bright yellow letters. Right behind her was Mark Baker, the newest member of the team. Baker grated on everyone’s nerves, making up for his lack of experience with bluster. Without conscious effort, at least on Quinn’s part, a rivalry seemed to be developing between the two of them.

Bobby ignored the other techs and focused on Quinn. “I’m going over there. If it’s him, we need to know. I can take a quick look, then tell the rest of you what’s up with it.”

Quinn understood the reaction—he’d like to do the same, but he held up his hand. “Hold on. Did Central request our help? I thought you said it was just a heads-up call.”

A federal agency, EXIT primarily dealt with two situations: explosions at government facilities or cases that proved to be unusual in some way, such as the serial bomber. With five offices nationwide, they only went to local sites as a courtesy, and even then, their expertise had to be formally requested.

“Well, it was but—”

“Then it’s their baby until they want to give it up.” Quinn spoke calmly, sending Bobby a look that only the two of them understood. Before now they’d worked by loose consensus, Ford more intent on getting to Washington than forging a team. Quinn wanted something different. “Let’s wait. I don’t want to piss off the guys over there—”

Hannah spoke up, disregarding them all. “We’ve never had a potential site this fresh. I’m going now.” Interagency rivalries were meaningless to her. She only wanted to get the job done. She zipped her jacket, then looked at the men expectantly. “Who’s coming with me?”

Baker spoke instantly. “I’m ready.”

Bobby hesitated. He obviously wanted to go, but he just as clearly didn’t want to upset Quinn.

Hannah headed for the door, then paused at the threshold. “You in or out, Bobby?”

The big man sent Quinn an apologetic look and shrugged. “She’s goin’, I’m goin’.”

Quinn cursed, then he jumped up from his desk and grabbed his own jacket. What the hell, he thought. Monday I’ll be a big-shot manager. I’ll make this call and it’ll be my last one.

He had no idea how right he was.

FIVE MINUTES LATER, striding through the parking lot of EXIT’s headquarters, Hannah asked herself the question that had plagued her ever since she’d joined the team.

What kind of sicko would leave a bomb at a day-care center?

The very idea made her want to simultaneously throw up and shoot someone. They were just little kids, for God’s sake! How could anyone be so twisted, so evil? And now it’d happened here in New Orleans, right under their noses. The fact that one day she might have to put her own children in a facility like the one they were headed for made the whole situation even more difficult for Hannah.

If she ever had any children of her own…

Quinn jumped behind the wheel of the response vehicle, and Hannah climbed in the back with Mark, leaving Bobby to go up front. She didn’t want to be any closer to Quinn than she had to be. At the moment, he also made her feel like throwing up and shooting someone, preferably him.

Their fight still stung. Why in the hell couldn’t he commit? She was too damn old for the hot-and-cold, up-and-down, crazy connection they shared. They’d argue, then he’d charm his way back into her good graces. A month or so later, they’d repeat the cycle. Their romance was becoming as unstable and erratic as the bombs they encountered, and she was getting tired of it. The only constant between them—their lovemaking—had yet to suffer, but that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? When Quinn touched her, Hannah put everything else aside, including, she’d determined lately, her brain.

Buckling her seat belt, she recalled the previous night’s argument. It’d been the same as always: she wanted kids, Quinn didn’t. He’d used the old excuse of their jobs, but other techs had families—look at Bobby.

It was time to make a decision.

And this time, she actually meant it. She’d had her fill. She wouldn’t succumb to Quinn’s lingering kisses and slow hands anymore. After dinner tonight, she’d tell him exactly what she wanted and if he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—change, then she had to move on. They’d been together two years and she loved Quinn so much it frightened her, but she refused to continue this way. She wanted a husband, a home and children.

The decision to abandon the relationship made her world sway. All at once, she remembered something Quinn had told her…how when a bomb exploded, the universe shifted, and things were never the same again. Ever.

She usually didn’t get Quinn’s mystical pronouncements and this one had been no different, but she suddenly understood. Turning as if to stare out the window, she blinked rapidly and told herself she was doing the right thing. She had no other choice if she wanted to keep her self-respect and have the family she’d always dreamed about. After a few painful seconds, she forced everything to the back of her mind—she had to concentrate on the moment. Nothing could take away her focus from what was ahead.

That’s how bomb techs got killed.

They headed northeast, speeding up South Broad, toward the rough side of New Orleans and the Central Business District, Quinn taking the corners on two wheels, the sidewalks still busy with a late-lunchtime crowd of locals who flashed by the window in a blur. Ten minutes later, as the truck neared the site, they were forced to a crawl on a street already packed with TV cameras and excited reporters, each hoping for some blood for the five o’clock news. Hannah cursed the milling crowd under her breath—half the thrill for the bomber was witnessing his chaos on television. She was convinced EXIT’s number of calls would be drastically reduced if the nuts who made the bombs were deprived of their publicity.

With Quinn blasting the horn, they finally got past the media, and Hannah spotted the Metro Bomb Squad’s rig, two blocks down. The two-ton truck carried the local team’s equipment: their suits, X ray equipment, the PAN disrupter and demo kits among other things. It also pulled the TCV—the high-impact steel globe could suppress an entire explosion inside its inch-and-a-half-thick walls. All the techs had to do was pick up the bomb with their Andros robot, put the package inside the basket, then move the TCV to a safe place for controlled detonation. Contrary to the movies, no one grabbed the device at the last minute and tossed it out a window to save the day.

Unless, of course, they had to.

Mark cursed loudly and Hannah turned. He pointed to the neighborhood and she nodded slowly. It was a dismal and depressing place. A elementary school in need of paint sprawled directly across the litter-filled street from the TCV. The buildings were ringed by a chain-link fence, but in too many places to count, the wire had been pulled away and folded back to create gaps and holes. Gang graffiti decorated the walls.

On the other side of the ragged pavement, an even sadder building sat, fronted by a lopsided sign that announced Tiny Town for Tots. Built of concrete blocks with a low flat roof above, the day care gave off a shimmer of almost visible hopelessness. The windows were locked and barred, the empty playground filled with dilapidated toys. Hannah felt a wave of sympathy for the “Tots” who visited this “Tiny Town.” Their mothers must have felt the same way, but with no other options nearby what could they do? Another pang hit Hannah, this one even harder, but again she pushed it aside.

Spotting the commander of the local city team, she jumped from the SUV before Quinn had time to fully stop. Tony LaCroix had a little too much testosterone floating through him for Hannah’s taste, but he did a good job. She decided he looked relieved when he saw the team this time, though. With EXIT there, he was no longer responsible for the situation; they were the feds. The other techs caught up with her as she reached Tony’s side.

“Am I glad to see you guys,” LaCroix confessed, confirming Hannah’s suspicions. “I think this might be the guy you’ve been tracking. I was just about to put in a request for assistance.”

“Give us the rundown,” Quinn ordered.

NOPD-Central had caught the call about the suspicious box first, LaCroix explained, then a second telephone warning had come into the Metro bomb squad itself. The messages were the same, short and to the point. There’s a box by the back door of the Tiny Town Day Care. It’s got a bomb in it. Tell them to leave from the front and do it now.

The uniforms who had responded confirmed the caller’s story. In the alleyway, leaning against the rear entry of the center, was a shoe-box-size container. Wrapped in stained brown paper, the unlabeled, lopsided package definitely looked suspicious.

“Everyone’s out?”

LaCroix looked at Hannah as if she’d lost her mind. “Yes, Hannah. Everyone’s been evacuated.”

Quinn spoke. “Have you X-rayed yet?”

“There’s not enough room to get the machine in there.”

“So Arnold’s too big, too.”

LaCroix nodded at Quinn’s assessment of the robot they used. “Way too big. Our mini’s out of service and the four-by-four won’t fit. The alley’s less than three feet wide.” A pained look crossed LaCroix’s face. “We can’t ray it and we can’t bring the damn thing out.”

“How about BIPing it?”

LaCroix shook his head at Mark’s idea. “We blow that puppy in place, and the shit’ll hit the fan.” He jerked a thumb toward the back of the building. “There’s low-income housing behind that fence. The mayor would have a cow.”

Everyone’s stress level increased. “Have they been evacuated, too?”

He nodded at Hannah’s question.

“Then we’ll have to try the PAN,” Bobby said. “It’s all we’ve got left.”

Bobby was a specialist with the bomb disrupter. The device fired a variety of projectiles and was designed to disarm bombs without detonation. So far, they’d had no luck with it on any of Mr. Rogers’s bombs.

“I don’t think we can get it in there, either. The damn alley is so full of trash and crap—” Before LaCroix could continue, a minor riot seemed to break out near the perimeter of the cordoned-off area, then someone screamed—a piercing shriek that sent a sharp chill down Hannah’s spine. She turned in time to see a black woman in a flowered housedress push past a uniformed officer, her face contorted with agony.

Mark cursed again, and Hannah cut her eyes to Quinn. He was staring, too, but of all the people there, he would know what to do. He was great at his job, but he was even better with people. His ability to connect with them amazed her; Hannah would rather deal with a live bomb than an upset civvie.

The woman half ran, half stumbled to where they stood. Quinn stepped out to meet her and she collapsed in his arms, tears and sweat streaming down her face, her words coming so fast they were unintelligible. Hannah stood by helplessly, the same way, she imagined, Bobby felt as he looked on, his dark eyes rounded with concern for the clearly distraught woman.

“My babies!” the woman screamed, clutching Quinn’s arm. She jerked a trembling hand toward the center. “My grandbabies are in there! They’re in there! They’re gonna be blowed up—”

Quinn’s voice was low and calm. “We got everyone out, ma’am. The children have all been evacuat—”

“No-o-o-o,” she cried. “They didn’t get ’em. They forgot they were there. They didn’t count ’em when they brought the rest of ’em out! Charles Junior and Sister. They forgot ’em both!”

Bobby sucked in an audible breath as Hannah felt her stomach constrict, a hot sickness suddenly turning her inside out. Above his beard, Mark’s face actually paled.

Quinn held the woman’s arm and spoke gently. “Are you sure, ma’am? Are you positive they didn’t just slip out—”

“Yes, I’m sure!” She flapped her hand behind her and the four of them looked over her shoulder. Another woman, this one younger and better dressed, stood by the uniform, obviously arguing with him. “Ask her! She’s the one done left ’em there!”

Quinn called out and motioned to the cop to let the woman through. She ran to them, then spoke breathlessly, her eyes full of fright. “Two of the children are missing! We counted all of them twice, but Louetta—” she nodded toward the older woman in the flowered dress “—she came in late and I forgot to log them in.” She shivered visibly in the cool January sun, her fingers knotting together. “They must have hidden when we left.”

“How old are they?”

When Hannah asked the question, the woman glanced at her in a daze. “Charles Junior—he’s five—and Sister.” She gulped. “Sister’s only two. She does everything he does. He—he probably told her they were playing a game or something and they hid. They’ve done it before.”

“Where do they go?”

She turned back to Quinn, her eyes swimming with guilt and fear. “Th—there’s a closet by the back…back door. They like to climb inside. It’s where we keep the nap pads and blankets.” She started to shake, then she gathered herself with a visible effort and reached out to clutch at Quinn’s arm. “You’ve got to go in there, mister. You’ve got to go in there and save those babies.”



LACROIX SENT FOR ONE of his team members. She came quickly and led the two women away, making sounds of sympathy and doing her best to calm them. As they stumbled off, even more tension filled the space where they’d been, narrowing the choices the team had of how to proceed. Everything had changed. It was one thing when a building could suffer damage—it was a different situation when lives were at stake. Especially children’s lives.

Bobby spoke first. “I’ll go. This—”

Quinn interrupted. “No.” His voice was firmer than usual and both of them knew why. “I’ll do it.”

“C’mon, man,” Bobby persisted. “I know the area. I think I can get the PAN in there and then—”

“No. I’ll go and get the kids, then I’ll decide how to proceed.”

Quinn felt the curious looks from Hannah and Baker as his authoritative words registered, but he couldn’t take the time to explain. He hurried toward the SUV.

Hannah caught up with him as he swung open the back door. She grabbed his arm. “Let me go, Quinn! Those kids won’t leave that place with a man. I’d have a much better chance—”

“No way.” He pushed aside his heavy protective suit. It took too long to get into. He’d throw on his SRS-5—a lighter outfit—and hope for the best. “They won’t know the difference once I’ve got on the helmet.”

“This is crazy, Quinn,” she cried. “You can’t just crash in there—”

“But you can?” His fingers found his jacket and he turned to her, holding it out so she could help him into it. She responded automatically, and he stiffened his arms as she put the coat on him, the protector hard against his spine, a trickle of sweat already rolling down his back.

She buckled him in and he saw that her hands were trembling. “We haven’t done enough recon yet—”

“Hannah, for God’s sake! We don’t have the time for that.” He plucked his helmet from the rear of the SUV, gave the plastic shield a swipe, then thrust it on his head. “We’ve got to get those kids first. Then we’ll proceed.”

“No,” she said, almost in a whisper. “This is wrong…all wrong….”

He stared at her in puzzled surprise. Her face was flushed and her blue eyes were glowing with alarm. She was the least superstitious, the most logical of them all.

Why this? Why now?

Lifting the visor, he reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, the silk curl soft and fragrant. “Everything will be fine, baby. We’ve got a date tonight, remember? I wouldn’t do anything to mess that up.” He bent down and kissed her, the taste of her lips lingering against his own. Then he ran into the building.

He was barely over the threshold when the bomb detonated.

The blast was deafening, the force incredible. A shock wave of heat and light sent the back door flying, and then the walls. They exploded upward in a choking cloud of dust and debris, the roof immediately following with a shriek. Wood and metal, concrete and glass, toys and furniture—everything inside the building and outside for a twenty-foot radius was sucked up by the pressure. A moment later, a deadly shower of shrapnel rained down. The noise was unimaginable, then everything went quiet.




CHAPTER TWO


THE DOCTORS TOLD HER he might not live.

Describing Quinn’s wounds in detail, they explained to Hannah how badly he’d been hurt. His right leg had been violently broken and a piece of metal had pierced his chest. The burns weren’t too bad, but the blast injuries were severe. His hearing would probably return, then again, it might not—they weren’t sure at this point.

For a week, she didn’t leave the hospital. The nurses would occasionally try to get her to go home, but most of the time they left her alone, unwilling to face the battle she always put up and usually won. In the waiting room outside the ICU, she’d fall asleep sitting up on one of the chairs and have nightmares about the two children who’d died. The images haunted her and she suspected they always would.

Disregarding their own safety, she and Bobby and Mark had rushed in to pull out Quinn while Tony’s team had searched the rubble for the children. Trying to stem the blood flowing from Quinn’s chest, she’d looked up in time to catch a glimpse of LaCroix running out of the now-flaming building, a limp form cradled in his arms, another tech behind him carrying an identical burden. Bobby had followed her stare. When their eyes met a second later, his had been full of tears that spilled out and made two dark paths down his dust-covered cheeks. Hannah had wanted to scream at the heavens and curse, but instead she’d held her sobs inside and turned her attention back to Quinn. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw those babies again.

In the end, she left the hospital for them.

Hannah’s mother had told her she should go to the double funeral, and because Barbara Crosby was usually right about things like this, Hannah went, stopping at home first to dress. It felt strange to walk inside her house and take a shower and put on a suit. She went through the motions like a zombie, eating the hot lunch her mother forced on her, then heading for the service.

The church was two streets over from the day-care center. Hannah drove by the devastation with her eyes averted, finally locating a parking spot down the next block. After turning the engine off, she sat quietly and tried to gather her composure, breathing deeply and counting backward from ten. It was a trick she’d taught herself years ago and it usually worked. But not this time. She hadn’t even whispered “eight” when a couple walked by, obviously on their way to the service. The woman was already dabbing her eyes and the man had his arm around her protectively, his expression fierce with an angry grief.

If her mother hadn’t been waiting at home, Hannah would have fled.

Instead she closed her eyes and finished counting. Entering the church a few minutes later, she took a seat and then lifted her gaze. The first thing she saw, at the front of the church, were the two tiny caskets. All at once, she wished even more desperately that she’d escaped when she’d had the chance.

Now it was too late.

Hemmed in by more than just the other mourners and a palpable grief, Hannah was trapped by her own emotions. There was nothing in life she wanted more than children of her own. Put in the place of the desperately grieving mother, Hannah thought she might have simply taken out her service revolver and ended her agony.

A wave of rising murmurs signified the entrance of the family. Hannah’s initial view was blocked by others in the pew, but she could feel the heartache surging from the family members now moving down the aisle.

She got her first glimpse of them when they sat down. Like most of the mourners, they were dressed totally in black. They filled two pews and part of a third, the grandmother in the front row. Hannah wanted to close her eyes against the sight. The poor woman had aged ten years. Tears streaming down her face, she slumped against the two young men, grandsons, maybe, who sat on either side of her. Beside those three, a mute, shell-shocked couple, the children’s parents, waited in silence for the service to begin.

She’d learned the details of their lives from Bobby. Beverly Williams, the mother, worked the second shift as a printer’s assistant at the Times-Picayune. The father, Aloysius, ran a bakery, his hours starting as hers ended. The grandmother, a shampoo assistant at a local hairdresser, helped out by taking the children to the day care before going to work herself. They ate dinner together in the evenings before the torturous schedule started over again the next day.

Hannah could only wonder at the agony they must be experiencing. The Williamses wore the stunned expressions of people who’d been through an explosion themselves, their eyes blank, their faces empty. Their world was gone.

The service began with a woman stepping up to the dais behind the coffins. Quietly dignified and impeccably groomed in a spotless suit, she introduced herself as the mistress of the ceremony and welcomed everyone to the homecoming of the two children. After that, a young man seated at the piano began to play. A soft melody filled the church and Hannah instantly recognized “Amazing Grace.” But to her ears, the people around her seemed to be struggling to sing, their voices straining to maintain the song’s hopeful message.

She couldn’t even try. Instead she bent her head and stared at her shaking hands. One minute, those babies had been playing a game of hide-and-seek, and the next minute, they were gone. All the hopes, all the dreams, all the plans for the future that this family had for them…destroyed in one terrible moment. A moment designed by a madman.

She lifted her eyes to the caskets once more, where their shape shifted and grew. The white changed to mahogany, and instead of the Williams family sitting in the front pew, she saw herself.

Quinn’s death or theirs? Who had decided? The minute she formed the question, Hannah knew the answer. There was no plan to any of this, no fairness, no justice. Those children died, but it could have just as easily been Quinn. Or her. Life offered no guarantees. All you could do was go out there, pray for help, then give it your best. Nothing else was under your control.

Hannah covered her eyes and fought her emotions. If she didn’t begin to seek the things she held so dear—a family, children, a man to love—they weren’t ever going to be hers. Things like that didn’t simply arrive on your doorstep. They didn’t come to you of their own accord. You made them happen.

Or you didn’t. It was up to no one else.

Lost in thought, Hannah didn’t realize the service was over until the pew began to empty. A few minutes later, she found herself outside, standing on the fringe of the grief-filled crowd now moving en masse toward a white-striped canopy. The cemetery shared the church grounds, she saw suddenly, and they were heading for the grave sites. She stopped, turned and walked against the flow. She couldn’t handle any more. No one seemed to even notice; they continued toward the graves, moving around her like water surging past an island. She kept her composure until she reached the car, and then she broke down completely.

Back at the hospital, she longed to talk to the still figure beneath the covers, but she ended up saying nothing about the funeral. The following week, Quinn was moved into a private room. Staying beside him during the day, but sleeping in her own bed at night, Hannah walked a thin line of anxiety, torn between guilt and love. She knew she should leave Quinn—she needed to move on—but something she couldn’t deny held her in place. Besides, he had no one else. She had her mother, but Quinn had already lost both his parents, and like Hannah, he’d been an only child. Hannah couldn’t abandon him.

Quinn remained remote; drugged for the pain and deaf to all sounds.

She had no idea if he knew she was there.



HE KNEW SHE WAS THERE.

But little else registered. The days and nights merged together, and Quinn marked the passing of time by the level of his agony. His consciousness was a transitory thing, the pain a wave that pulled him into alertness, then sent him tumbling back out again. When he could think, he was sure he was going to die; when he couldn’t, all he did was wish he would. He knew he had failed and the children had been killed. He slept as much to escape that fact as anything else.

After a while—minutes, hours, days—he wasn’t sure, his awareness began to return. Slowly at first, then more quickly, images and sensations came to him. He smelled the smoke and saw a tiny shoe, he heard a woman’s grief-filled scream and felt the heat. His body would eventually recover, but the grief he felt for the children was a wound that would never heal.



A MONTH AFTER THE BOMBING, Quinn was moved to a rehabilitation hospital.

Hannah continued to come every day. Always laden with messages from the other team members, she kept him abreast of their work and everything that continued to happen in the real world, including the fact that Bill Ford had left and appointed Bobby Justice as the new team leader. Quinn acknowledged the news with a nod and nothing more. Hannah had never learned of Quinn’s promotion, but what did it matter now? He concentrated on her, instead. Beneath the mundane conversations, Quinn had begun to sense a growing withdrawal. Hannah was pulling away from him, and he suspected he knew why.

The team had suffered losses before this, but not since Hannah had joined. Ever since the funeral, she’d been quiet and subdued. She was grieving for the children, just as he was, and in true Hannah fashion had decided to keep her feelings to herself. He’d reached the point where he simply tried not to think about them at all. It wasn’t a healthy way to deal with the situation, but it was the only way he could cope. The children stayed alive in his nightmares and that was more than enough for him.

But a week later, he decided the time had come for them both to confront the issue. Their emotions about the incident would only grow and eventually consume them if they didn’t bring everything into the open.

He was reaching for the phone to call her when his doctor entered. Six foot plus and built like a linebacker, Jorge Barroso was the best orthopedic surgeon New Orleans had ever seen. Born in Brazil, he looked as if he’d be more at home on a soccer field than in an operating room, but his hands were delicate and slight. They’d saved Quinn’s life.

Dr. Barroso asked his usual questions, then made notes on Quinn’s chart. After a few minutes he tossed the clipboard down and examined Quinn’s battered body. When he finished, he pursed his lips. “I think it’s almost time to kick you out of here, McNichol.”

“Sounds great. I’m ready.”

“No, you’re not,” the doctor said. “But we need the bed.” He grinned at his own joke, then his demeanor went serious. “You still planning on going to St. Martin?”

Quinn’s complete recovery would take months and they’d already discussed the fact that he needed somewhere quiet to recuperate. He’d decided that place was where he’d spent his childhood. An hour from New Orleans, St. Martin was a small town, up the river from where he still owned property that had been in his family forever. On temporary medical leave, he could retreat to the bayou and exercise until he dropped. Then Barroso would examine him again and reinstate him. Or at least that was the plan.

“Absolutely. In fact, I’ve already talked to the physical therapist who lives there,” Quinn said. “He sounds pretty good.”

“He’ll be able to help you quite a bit.” The doctor’s eyes met Quinn’s, his brown gaze as direct as his words. “But he’s not going to make you into the man you were before this, Quinn. He’s not a miracle worker.”

They’d discussed this before, too. Quinn tensed. “I’m going to return to the team. I’m going to recover.”

“That’s certainly a possibility. But you and I both know there’s another one. You might not be able to work again. Don’t pretend that chance doesn’t exist, my friend.”

“That’s not going to happen.” Quinn’s voice was level. “I won’t let it. If I work hard enough, I’ll be—”

“You’ll be fine,” the doctor interrupted smoothly. “But you might be fine while having a different career.” He reached across the bed and tapped Quinn’s leg. “Your injuries were very severe. Your recovery, complete or otherwise, is not going to happen overnight. I don’t want to see you in here again because you’ve hurt yourself trying to do something you can’t.”

“Can’t means won’t, Doc.” Quinn paused. “I will return to my team.”

The doctor sighed then nodded, picking up the clipboard to make a final note. “I guess you can tell your lady friend you’ll be all hers after next week.” He shook his head and walked to the door. “Qué mala suerte! May God be with her…”

Quinn chuckled at the suave doctor’s drama, but when the door closed and he thought about what was ahead, his laughter died. He had to come back to the team. His plans did not include staying at home and letting Hannah support him. Quinn didn’t care what the doctor said—there was no other option.

His daily routine of meds and therapy began shortly after that, and he didn’t return to his room until after lunch. Hannah’s chair was still empty.

At six that evening she still hadn’t arrived. He was trying to decide if he should call her when the door to his room opened. Assuming it was her, he smiled in anticipation.

Mark Baker and two more techs stepped inside instead.

“Hey, guys…” Quinn struggled to get up, but they all waved him down, each coming closer to shake his hand and say hello. Since his hearing had returned, the whole team had been in at one time or another, but surprisingly, Baker had been his most frequent visitor. They’d developed an uneasy friendship, partially, Quinn surmised, because he was now off the team, at least temporarily. His expertise and experience no longer posed a threat to the young tech.

Quinn watched the men situate themselves around the room, then he noticed they all looked tired and dirty. They’d obviously been on a call, but the usual, boisterous aftermath that followed a situation was missing.

“You guys been out?”

Mark sat down in the nearest chair and answered Quinn’s question with a nod. “Yeah—some kids over on Toulouse got their school computers cranked up and learned how to build pipe bombs. They planted five of them in and around the mailboxes in their neighborhood and Metro called us. We went crazy trying to retrieve the damn things before somebody found one and blew off their freaking hand.”

Quinn shook his head in commiseration as the other techs added their comments about what had happened. He listened, but all Quinn could really think about was Hannah. Where was she? Did her absence have anything to do with the men’s subdued attitudes?

When the conversation lulled, he spoke casually. “Hannah go out on this?”

They took too long to answer. A warning bell sounded inside Quinn’s head.

“She was there.” Mark shot a look toward one of the other men and a silent communication took place. Quinn had sent enough signals like that himself to know something was up.

“What happened?” he asked. “Is she hurt?”

“She’s fine,” Mark said quickly. “Just fine. But we had a little problem….”

“What kind of little problem?”

Mark glanced again at the others.

“Just tell me what happened, dammit.” Still in his bed, Quinn managed to make the younger man jump.

“She dropped one of the pipe bombs,” Mark blurted out. “But she’s okay—she’s okay, I swear.”

Quinn’s heart stopped for a single moment, then it restarted, the rhythm faster than it should have been.

“I take it she wasn’t holding it at the time?”

Mark shook his head. “No, no… The Andros had it.”

The men looked at each other uneasily. They were a team, and teams had rules, one of which stated you supported the other members, regardless. But this was different. Quinn had to know more, whether they wanted to tell him or not. He swung his legs to the edge of the bed, but as he stood, a quick knock on the door startled them all. It opened and Bobby was poised on the threshold, his expression grim, his demeanor unhappy. The men took one look and started edging past their boss, their muted goodbyes ignored by Quinn and Bobby both.

With the room empty except for them, Quinn stared at the other man, his mouth suddenly dry. Obviously there was more to the story than Mark had revealed. “What is it?” he asked without preamble.

“Sit down,” Bobby said, pointing to the bed. “We gotta talk.”



HANNAH SAT IN THE DESERTED bullpen, her head on her desk, her eyes closed. She was completely alone and the lights were off because everyone else had gone home to hug their kids and make love to their spouses.

She knew that’s what they were doing because that’s what she wanted to do. Almost getting blown up tended to bring out that need in a person.

She’d made a very stupid mistake tonight, and if things had ended even slightly differently, someone would now be knocking on her mother’s door to tell her that her daughter was dead.

Hannah lifted her head and slowly banged it against the scarred and pitted wood. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have been so blind? In her time as a tech, she’d never come so close to making such a major blunder.

After the first bomb had detonated, she’d looked at the pieces and assumed the devices were all identical. X-raying the homemade disaster, she’d seen the same thing she’d seen in the initial bomb, which confirmed—or so she’d thought—her assessment. She’d explained the setup to the other techs, then sent in the Andros to pick up the sawed-off aluminum baseball bat, lying next to the mailbox.

Unfortunately two different kids had made the bombs, and the second teenager had been smarter than the first. He hadn’t inserted an ordinary fuse; he’d used negative pressure instead.

She’d misread the X ray. And then she’d mishandled the robot, her hand shaking from exhaustion. The machine had dropped the device. If the bomb had been a fused one, as she’d thought, it probably wouldn’t have mattered. But it wasn’t—the fuse was a decoy. The metal cylinder had landed on its edge and the plastic cap had flown off. The bomb had been aimed away from them, but by then it had hardly mattered.

It wasn’t the kind of mistake someone with her level of expertise should make. It wasn’t even the kind of mistake a rookie should make. One of the first things even a kid just out of bomb school knew was that each device had its own render-safe procedure. If he wanted to, Bobby could fire her and she wouldn’t blame him, either. She couldn’t believe it. What a mess…

She was too tired. Too worried. Too crazy. She’d been lucky as hell not to have injured herself or someone else on the team. She’d lost her focus.

She could have blamed tonight on the fact that she was grieving for the kids, but she would only be partially right. She was grieving—but not just for them. Tonight’s emotions—and the sorrow she’d been feeling since the funeral—were also for herself and Quinn. Their relationship was over, and the day she’d fled the cemetery she’d known that. She’d only been staying with him because she couldn’t leave. Not while he was still in the hospital. Distracted by that reality and full of sadness because of it, she’d nearly gotten in serious trouble tonight.

Dropping her head back down on the desk, Hannah closed her eyes and cursed.



“I DON’T WANT TO SIT DOWN,” Quinn said. “I want to know what’s wrong.”

“Hannah screwed up tonight,” Bobby said bluntly, falling into the chair beside the bed. “She hasn’t got her mind on her job and she damn near blew us all to kingdom come.”

Quinn sat down.

“Metro called us because the bombs were all inside or close to mailboxes. It seemed like a simple enough problem and we went straight out.” Bobby shook his head. “Hannah was on her way here but she insisted on going with us first. The other guys have been trying to take up the slack, but with you gone, too, it’s been hard.”

Quinn nodded. “Go on.”

“I intend to, but let’s get one thing straight before I do.” He waited until Quinn nodded again. “What I have to tell you never leaves this room. And I mean any of it. This is just between you and me, and if you ever tell anyone we had this discussion, I’ll call you a liar.”

“Fine, fine,” Quinn said impatiently. “Just go on—”

“Give me your word.”

“You have it, okay? I swear I’ll never tell anyone. Now, what in the hell happened?”

Bobby gave him the details the men had left out, his face etched with anger and worry. “It shouldn’t have gone down like that, Quinn.” He shook his head. “She botched it, man. Big time.”

Quinn defended her automatically. “Working the robot isn’t Hannah’s usual thing, Bobby.”

“I know that, but Sid’s out this week, too. His wife’s in the hospital with kidney stones and he’s stuck with his kids. Grandma’s on the way, but in the meantime, we had five pipe bombs to deal with. I needed all the extra hands I could use, so when Hannah said she’d help, I said fine. But she aimed that Andros right at us, man.”

They sat in silence for a moment, then Quinn spoke, his emotions in a tangle. “This isn’t good.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not good at all.”

Hobbling slowly, Quinn crossed the room to stare out the window at the parking lot. He was on the fourth floor, but the fog was so thick he couldn’t see the cars.

“This isn’t the first time she’s screwed up, Quinn.”

Something tightened inside Quinn’s chest. He spoke without moving. “What do you mean?”

“She missed a detail last week in a report for Washington on one of those church bombings last summer. I caught it, but that’s just not like Hannah. When I mentioned it to her, she got real defensive.” He hesitated, then added, “She lost some evidence the other day, too.”

Quinn turned around.

“It was just some minor stuff, but next time, who knows?” Bobby’s dark eyes were filled with concern. “The truth is, I’m worried about her, Quinn…. I’m worried for her, too. Her mind’s not on her job.”

“It’s on me.”

“That’s right.” The other man came to Quinn’s side. The light from the window glistened off his dark features. They stood together in silence and stared out at the fog.

After a while, Bobby spoke. “I was real upset when you got that promotion instead of me. I thought I was the better tech and I deserved it more. I even told myself there was some kind of racist crap going on.” He shook his head. “But right now I’d dump the damn promotion any way I could. To the first man who’d take it.”

Quinn spoke calmly, but he didn’t feel it. “Why is that?”

“Because I gotta do something I don’t want to do.”

“And that is?”

“I’m thinking of firing her, Quinn. At the very least, suspending her.”

Quinn tried to hide his shock, then gave up. He stared at Bobby in amazement. “Don’t you think that’s a little extreme? She made a mistake—we’ve all made them at some time or another. That doesn’t mean she’s not a good tech.”

Bobby ignored his comments completely. “Are you going to quit or are you coming back?”

The question was abrupt and put Quinn on guard. He’d told no one, not even Hannah, that Barroso had warned him he might not be able to return. To tell someone, to voice the words, gave credence to the option and Quinn couldn’t do that. “I plan on coming back,” he said carefully. “Absolutely.”

“Then both of you will be on the team again.”

Quinn had no idea where Bobby was going with his questions. His uneasiness grew. “Yes, but—”

“There are no buts about it. Lives are on the line, here, Quinn, and Hannah’s put them there.”

“She made a mistake, for God’s sake. A big one, yes, but she’s only human. It’s not like she dropped a pound of RDX in the middle of the bullpen—”

“And that damn well might be what happens next!” Taking a deep breath, Bobby started over, his voice softer. “Look, Quinn, the truth is she’s never going to watch you go into another building without expecting it to blow.” He held out his hands. “Put yourself in her place. Would you be able to let her go out again and not worry? Could you focus on your business and not hers?” His eyes narrowed and he shook his head. “It’s only a matter of time, Quinn, before disaster strikes again.”

Bobby didn’t know it, of course, but Quinn had already put himself there. Hannah could have ended up in the hospital instead of him and that frightened Quinn terribly. The realization had made him even more determined not to leave orphans should that happen.

But he hid all that. She needed defending. “She’s a professional,” he said. “Once I get out of here, she’ll be fine. Things will be just like they were before. We managed okay then.”

Bobby kept his expression under control, but his fingers gripped the windowsill so tightly his knuckles paled. “It’s never going to be the same, Quinn. You’ve been injured severely and that changes things. As long as she loves you, she’s going to worry, and as long as she’s doing that, her life—and everyone else’s—is in danger. If you don’t care about that—”

“You’re out of line,” Quinn warned quietly. “You know I care—”

“Maybe, but I also know how these things work….” Bobby’s eyes locked on Quinn’s, regret filling their depths. “I value both of you, Quinn. You and Hannah are the backbone of this team, but I’ve got to take some action.”

“Then suspend her if you have to, but don’t fire her.” Quinn clenched his jaw. “She worked hard to earn her position and she’s damn good at it. The team needs her.”

“They need the Hannah they had before you were injured. Not the one they have now. I was hoping you could help me fix this, but I see now that’s not going to happen.”

Bobby’s attempt at manipulation ignited Quinn’s anger. “If you expect me to do your dirty work, you can forget about it,” Quinn said. “I’m not asking her to leave. She’d hate me forever. Besides that, she doesn’t deserve to be fired. She’s an excellent analyst and you know it. You’d never be able to replace her.”

“That may be true. But I’m in charge of the team now—the whole team—and I have to make decisions that are the best for everyone. C’mon, Quinn, can’t you at least say something to her?”

Quinn shook his head. “No way. It’s not a good decision.”

Bobby started to speak again, then he broke off, clearly seeing the uselessness of his words. Quinn said nothing at all. Bobby stared a little bit longer, then left.

Quinn stood by the window, frozen with anger and confusion. A few minutes later, he watched Bobby exit the hospital downstairs and cross the parking lot to climb into his SUV.

Quinn’s muttered curse filled the hospital room as he swung away from the window. Late that night, when everything was quiet again, another emotion replaced the defensive anger he’d felt for Hannah. Quinn lay in bed and felt fearful.

What if he was wrong?

What if Bobby was telling the truth? What if Hannah continued to work and someone got hurt or even killed?

The same guilt Quinn felt now—for failure, right or wrong—would then be hers, as well.



THE NEXT MORNING, QUINN made his way down the hall for his physical therapy, his mind on what had happened the night before. He’d still heard nothing from Hannah and that worried him as much as anything. An hour into the session, he was almost finished on the treadmill when suddenly his leg went out from beneath him. He was suspended for two seconds, then he crashed down—hard. The moving belt grabbed him and tossed him onto the floor. He gasped and swore as pain flooded his body. The last thought he had before fainting was that he’d dislodged the pin in his thigh.

Thirty minutes later, back in his bed, bruised and sore, he tried to rationalize the accident. He’d lost concentration and fallen down. Big deal. It didn’t mean anything.

Did it?

Hannah arrived late that afternoon. He waited for her to say something about the call-out that had gone so wrong, but she kept her silence, her demeanor more subdued than ever. By the end of the evening, when she’d still said nothing, Quinn knew that could only mean one thing: she didn’t want him to know what had happened. He couldn’t press her and embarrass her more. When he urged her to go home and rest, she kissed him and left without argument.

Quinn watched the door swing shut behind her, one question filling his head—what in the bloody hell was he supposed to do?

If he asked her to quit the team and she did, she’d resent him the rest of her life. If he’d ever had any doubts about that, they were gone. Seeing the guys and hearing about their call-outs over the past few weeks had taught Quinn that lesson. Hannah wouldn’t be able to send him off to work every day and not go herself. She’d end up hating him.

He could say nothing and let Bobby fire her, but what kind of man would do that? Hannah had worked as hard as Quinn had to get where she was. If she ever learned he’d known about this and didn’t warn her, she’d leave him.

Of course, if Quinn couldn’t go back, none of this mattered one way or the other. He’d be forced to stay at home and watch her go to work every day. His only contribution would be his disability checks. Would they even be enough to support her and the children she wanted so badly? How would Hannah feel being tied to a man who couldn’t do his job? Would her love turn to pity? He had no intention of seeing that happen, but what if…

It was a lose-lose situation. An answer didn’t exist that wouldn’t hurt one of them.

An ache went through Quinn’s heart that made his physical pains feel like mere twinges. One of them had to give up the job.

The weekend came, and he still hadn’t told Hannah he was scheduled to be released. As she prepared to leave Sunday, he pulled her to him and held her close. The smell of her skin was as heady as always. For a moment, all he could think about was how to prolong the inevitable. Then he accepted the fact that he had no choice, he had to say something. He looked down at her and tried to etch the moment into his mind, telling himself the words to convince her would come to him. He’d been able to find them a thousand times in the past—why wouldn’t he find them now?

“I love you, Hannah.”

He wondered about the sadness in her eyes, but dismissed it when she reached up and put her hands on his cheeks. “I love you, too, Quinn. And that’s why we’ve got to talk….”



QUINN AGREED INSTANTLY and led her toward the edge of his bed, tugging her hand until she sat down beside him. Hannah’s heart stung with a physical pain. In the past, she’d thought people were exaggerating when they talked about heartbreaks, but now she understood.

Lying in her bed the night before, listening to a hard rain pound the roof and thinking about the funeral, she’d decided the time had come. She had a dream, and if she wanted to fulfill it, then she had to set the plans in motion. She had to. No one else was going to do it for her. Not even Quinn, as much as he loved her and she loved him.

As she wondered how to explain this to him, he surprised her by speaking first. “I’m glad you want to talk because I want to, too. I’ve been thinking a lot about everything that happened. We have dangerous jobs, Hannah, and this has made me aware of that fact even more than I was before.” He flicked his hand toward the hospital bed and all the medical equipment. “I ended up here…but it could have just as easily been you.”

“I know that,” she admitted. “In fact, I had my own realization…at the funeral. When I was sitting there, staring at those little coffins, I saw the truth. It could have been you lying up there at the front of the church instead of those poor kids.” She took a deep breath. “I knew what I was getting into when I joined the team, but…” She shook her head. “I don’t think I really understood until that moment.”

He had twined their fingers together, and in the silence that followed he looked down at their hands. When he didn’t answer or say anything, she reached over with her free hand and gently touched his cheek. “Quinn?”

He raised his eyes to hers, and something tightened inside her. She recognized the feeling as a warning, but for what, she had no idea.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for the past two years, Hannah. Our careers aren’t like anyone else’s,” he said. “And I’m not just talking about danger. What we do is incredibly intense. We have to be one hundred percent ‘on’ all the time. We can’t accomplish what we need to with our brains half engaged—I’ve had friends who did that, and they paid for it with their lives.”

“I understand that…now,” she said quietly.

Since the accident, his voice had become harsher. The new tone made his next words sound all that more ominous.

“You say that, but do you really? I’ve been told your mind isn’t on the job. You’ve been distracted by me and everything else.”

She knew immediately where he was going and flared, not because he knew but because someone had taken it upon themselves to inform him. “You’re talking about the pipe bombs, aren’t you? Who told you?” When he didn’t answer—and she knew he wouldn’t—she went on, hiding her anger. “I made a mistake, Quinn, and I know it. I was waiting until you got stronger and then I was going to tell you about it myself. But I can promise you it won’t happen again.”

“You can make that kind of promise, sweetheart, but bad things can still happen.”

She’d given the accident a lot of thought, and when she’d calmed down, she’d come to see that was exactly what it had been—an accident. Everyone made them; she’d just have to be more careful. She looked at him levelly. “I was tired and I screwed up. I made a mistake, but that’s all it was.”

He stood suddenly. She did the same, and he reached out to grip her shoulders. Normally his touch would have brought heat with it, but this time a cold distance rose between them. Hannah shivered as another bad feeling rippled down her back.

“It was more than a mistake, Hannah. You could have been badly hurt…or even worse. If we’re going to make this work, then something has got to change.”

“Like what?”

He hesitated, then spoke carefully. “Maybe it’s time for one of us to leave the team.”

Her vague anxieties suddenly crystallized into something hard and cold. It lodged itself in her chest as she understood what had happened. Bobby was the one who’d told Quinn about the incident and Bobby was the one who’d put this thought in Quinn’s head. That fact registered, then fled. Bobby wasn’t the important one here. “Is that what you think should happen?”

“We’ve worked together for two years,” he hedged. “I’d like to think we could continue. But…”

“But this makes you more sure than ever that we shouldn’t have a family.”

He didn’t have to answer. The truth was in his eyes.

In the hall outside, a cart rumbled past. Dinner had arrived and was being distributed. Hannah felt nauseous as the smell of food wafted into the room.

Quinn stared and waited for her to say something.

“I can’t do this any more,” she said abruptly, rising and stepping away from him.

“That’s fine,” he said. “We can talk later if you like—”

She shook her head. “That’s not what I mean.” She waved her hands between them. “I’m talking about this. I’m talking about you and me. I can’t do it any longer.”

A stunned expression came over his face. “What are you saying?”

“It’s over between us, Quinn. I want out.”

He tried to reach for her, but she dodged his touch. He blinked, then spoke. “I understand you’re upset. We’ve been through hell, but Hannah… C’mon. You’re not thinking this through. We love each other. I need you and you need—”

She interrupted him, her voice like broken glass. “I know what I need, Quinn. And it’s not the same thing you do. The real issue isn’t about what we do or where we work, it’s about who we are. And we’re two very different people who want very different things. I knew that a long time ago, but I loved you so much I thought I could change you.” She took a deep breath. “I was wrong.”

“This isn’t about our differences. This is about life and the realities that are out there. I’m not talking about having a family or children—”

“It’s all connected, Quinn.” She looked at him, pain filling her entire body. “I can’t believe you don’t understand that, as smart as you are about people.”

“Hannah, you don’t understand—”

“You’re right,” she agreed calmly. “I don’t understand. And I probably never will. But I can’t let that stop me from doing what I want to do. This life is the only one I’ve got. I want to live it.” She swept her hand down his cheek, as her eyes filled with tears. A moment later, she was gone.



STUNNED BY HANNAH’S WORDS, Quinn felt the strength drain from his legs.

This was crazy.

Quinn loved Hannah. She loved him. How could she do this to them? How could she just walk away?

Even as he asked himself those questions, Quinn acknowledged he’d known all along this possibility existed. They’d argued too much for him to think otherwise. But dammit it to hell, children weren’t a possibility for them. He’d lost too many comrades to think it couldn’t happen to him, too. He wouldn’t bring a child into the world just to abandon it. That kind of irresponsibility went against everything he believed in.

The door swung open again, and for one heart-stopping moment, Quinn looked up, thinking she might have returned. But it wasn’t Hannah. One of the aides stood in the doorway, a dinner tray in her hand. She started to argue as he waved her off, then she looked at his face. Without saying a word, she backed quickly out of the room.

His heart felt as if it’d been winched from his chest and hoisted high. He’d never loved another woman as he loved Hannah. And with absolute certainty, he knew he’d never love anyone that way again.

But what choice did he have?

A clean break could set her free. Hannah didn’t deal with shades of gray, so a black-and-white resolution—right or wrong—would give her the ability to move on. She could find a nice accountant, keep her career, have her children and never worry. She’d write Quinn off and everything would fall into place for her. She’d forget all about him.

He lied to himself and said it was for the best.

Her happiness was what mattered most. She could have her career and her family, too. Quinn closed his eyes, more pain—despite his resolution—flooding his heart. She’d share her life with someone who saw things as she did. Someone who could be there for her and her children. Forever.

Someone who wasn’t Quinn.




CHAPTER THREE


Nine months later—October

“I DON’T HAVE TIME TO talk about this.” Hannah stared across her bed at her mother. “I have to pack. I have to catch a plane to Florida, and once I’m there I have a bomb to examine. I don’t have time for this.”

Barbara Crosby’s expression immediately closed, but not before a hint of hurt passed over it. “I’m only thinking of you, Hannah. And I’m only doing that because you never do. Ever since Quinn went back to St. Martin—”

“That’s enough.” Hannah threw a pair of black pants into her suitcase and slammed it shut. “Stop right there.”

If Barbara had snapped off an equally angry reply, Hannah would have been pleased. Instead, her mother’s eyes filled with something Hannah didn’t want to see and she left the room. Hannah loved her mother deeply, but she had the feeling their experimental living arrangement might be more temporary than either of them had planned. It’d seemed like a good idea for Barbara to move in after Quinn had left town, but it also seemed as if they stepped on each other’s toes a lot.

A strong urge to stick her head out the bedroom window and scream came over Hannah. Nothing in her life was going right. She let the reaction roll over her and then she pulled herself together, shutting out the self-pity. With Quinn gone, she’d come to the conclusion that emotions didn’t pay. She had more important things to do with her time.

Like getting to Florida. Bobby had come into her office that afternoon and told her she was booked on a late flight to Destin. The name had barely registered in the aftermath of his explanation of why she was leaving.

Another day-care center had been bombed.

Hannah had kept her face a mask at Bobby’s news. When Quinn had left her life, Mr. Rogers had moved in. And unlike Quinn, he was here to stay. Hannah had become obsessed with the serial bomber. She could put him out of her mind when she was working on other cases, but he was always waiting for her when she finished, teasing her, taunting her, just outside her reach. When the lights were out and she should have been sleeping, she dreamed of finding the sick bastard and dragging his ass to jail. Arresting the killer of those two children had become her goal in life. In a strange way, those babies had become her own. She suffered for them and she wanted revenge.

She’d find him or die trying.

Grabbing her suitcase, Hannah banged her way into the kitchen, the bag hitting every corner possible. At Hannah’s noisy entrance, Barbara looked up from the stove where she was stirring a pot of bean soup that would have fed fifty. “Do you want something to eat before you go?”

“I don’t have time.”

Without comment, Barbara nodded and turned back to the range. Hannah waited awkwardly, unable to apologize but unable to leave. After a second, she sighed heavily, abandoned her suitcase and walked to where her mother stood. She put her arm around Barbara’s shoulders, then spoke with contrition, some genuine, some forced. “Look, Ma…I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean to jump on you back there and I know you have my interests at heart, really I do. It’s just that…”

Barbara stared at Hannah with eyes as blue as her own. She didn’t remember her Norwegian grandmother, but Hannah was pretty sure the same bright gaze had come out of that face as well.

“That what?” Barbara asked. “That you want to never go out again? That you can’t get over Quinn? That you still love him and always will?”

Hannah dropped her arm and stepped back, her voice as blunt as her words. “Quinn is out of the picture, Ma. I would have thought you’d be happy about that. Don’t you want grandchildren?”

“Your disagreement about children isn’t the issue and it never has been. It’s just an excuse.”

“I happen to disagree, but if you insist on believing that, then how about this? I don’t love him anymore. That’s not an excuse.”

“You’re right.” Her mother paused significantly. “That’s a lie. Otherwise, you’d go out. Lots of men have asked but you never accept. Mark Baker has invited you to dinner a thousand times—”

“And he can ask a thousand more and I’ll still turn him down. He’s not my type.” She paused. “And I don’t still love Quinn.”

As if to reinforce the sentiment, Hannah made herself remember the night they’d broken up. Driving blindly, she’d made it to the end of parking lot of the hospital, then she’d fallen apart. Hot tears running down her cheeks, she’d pulled over and filled the car with deep, racking sobs, her misery too huge to contain. Everything she’d wanted, everything she’d dreamed of—all of it had evaporated in a flash. When she’d recovered enough to see, she’d made it home, but for months she’d felt empty and cold. Now that was her normal state of being. There would be no more tears. Not for Quinn.

Barbara returned her attention to the soup, staring into the simmering mixture. If she didn’t agree with her daughter’s pronouncement, she kept it to herself. Hannah leaned over and kissed her mother’s cheek, then she picked up her suitcase and left.



QUINN ATTACKED THE FRESHLY turned dirt as if he was digging a hole to bury his thoughts. His physical therapist had recommended gardening as a Zen-like activity to aid Quinn’s recovery and calm his mind.

The man didn’t know Quinn very well.

Gripping the shovel with both hands, Quinn forced the edge deeper in to the sticky black dirt. Locals called it “gumbo,” and it was an apt description. Wet, heavy and hard as hell to work, the soil rewarded those who persevered. When he’d first arrived, Quinn had gone to the feed store and grabbed a handful of seed packets and several flats of plants without even looking at the labels, then thrown the seeds into the ground with little attention and done the same to the plants. To his surprise, turnips had sprung up alongside pansies and radishes. Snap beans and green onions had taken root by the fence. In a few more days, he’d have fresh lettuce, too.

Eyes followed his movement up and down the weedless, perfect rows. There were renters now living in the home where he’d grown up. An older couple with grandchildren, they’d assumed he would ask them to leave, but that had been the last thing on Quinn’s mind. He’d settled into the small over-seer’s cabin out back and asked only for solitude. Relieved but somewhat puzzled, they’d tried to visit with him in the beginning, but when he’d never cooperated, they’d finally understood he’d really meant what he’d said.

He wanted nothing but to be left alone.

Reaching the end of the last row, Quinn straightened his back and stretched painfully. From the bayou on his right, he heard the sounds of a quiet country evening. The lazy buzz of the cicadas, the distant caw of a crow, the soft slap of water against the dock. He was grateful he could hear them. Just as he was grateful he could almost run two miles, even though it left him gasping for air.

He had countered his isolation and pain with a storm of activity, spending the first months after the explosion either exercising to distraction or working the same way, pushing both his physical and mental limits. The EXIT team had conducted their own probe of the bombing, but they were busy and over-burdened. Quinn had decided to help them out, even though they didn’t know it.

And why not? he’d thought. What in the hell else did he have to do? His relentless pursuit of regaining his strength hadn’t gone as smoothly or as quickly as he would have liked; in fact, it’d been a damn hard struggle with little to show for it. Investigating the bombing on his own had distracted him.

But over the months, he’d found absolutely nothing more than EXIT had, and in the past few weeks, he’d decided he wasn’t going to find anything, either.

Since then, his only objective had been to stay awake. The minute he closed his eyes and went to sleep, the nightmares began. He had never seen the children after the bomb had detonated, but his imagination didn’t care. Horrible images haunted him, anyway. The silent, open gaze of a toddler. The too-still arms of a little boy. A grandmother’s wails.

He straightened and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a callused hand. Another memory haunted him, too. If he lived to be a thousand, he’d never forget the way Hannah had stared at him the day she’d left. She’d worn a blue blouse the color of her eyes, and the pain in her voice still echoed in his head. Along with the stupid little speech he’d told himself that night about their breakup being for the best. Who had he been kidding?




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