Blonde Demolition Page 5

  She bit his lip.

  He yanked away. "Will you listen to me?"

  "Why? So you can lie to me?"

  "Mallory, you'll have to trust me on this."

  She narrowed her eyes. "That's funny."

  He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Mal, please. Let me make some calls."

  She crossed her arms hating herself for the defensive posture. She'd been on the offensive. She had liked the advantage. "Why?"

  "For your country. For national security." He sighed. "For me."

  She stepped back, but the pull remained strong between them. His gaze pierced her soul. She broke eye contact.

  "I've never lied to you."

  She snorted. "That's debatable."

  "When? When exactly did I lie to you?"

  I really don't want to go down that road…

  His face lay open before her. She'd been fooled by that too many times, given her heart to a man who was ice cold.

  There was only one thing she could do to avoid this conversation right now. Listen. "Go ahead."

  CHAPTER 7

  Trey closed his cell phone, a look of pure disbelief on his face.

  Mallory put up her walls, sure this was another act. "What'd he say?"

  He put his phone back on his belt. "He's so young, Mal. He's so cocky."

  "I didn't ask for a personality assessment of your boss. Did he order this?"

  "Yes. At least, he says he did. I'm not completely convinced."

  His face spoke volumes. Confusion, disbelief and what? Regret? No, Trey didn't have regrets. "Can he call them off?"

  Trey smacked his forehead. "He doesn't even see that he may have tipped off the mole. He doesn't get that what he did could have jeopardized the whole operation. Months—years of work."

  His butt landed on the edge of the bed as if his legs could no longer hold him. She wasn't sure he was that good an actor. Maybe he really didn't know anything.

  She shook her head. "So what do we do?"

  "We?"

  "I need the workers back and you need to get the case back on track."

  "Most of the workers are being released. One has an expired visa."

  "Could he be your man?"

  "No. I'm sure whoever the culprit is, he has everything up to date. Those forgeries are good nowadays." Trey stood.

  Mallory's task was done. Her fair would start on time and go well. But she had a bad feeling.

  She moved toward the door.

  "You know why he did it?" he asked.

  "Why?"

  "He thought it would convince you to come back."

  Cal stopped at the local library on his way to the firehouse.

  He looked up the name of the woman who had come to him in his dream. Marsha Tanner.

  With the knowledge that it might be a wild goose chase, he put her name into a search engine anyway. Google didn't let him down.

  His jaw almost hit the floor. He got 500 hits. They couldn't all be the Marsha Tanner he knew.

  She'd moved to New Jersey from Pennsylvania. Maybe she'd moved back there.

  One entry made him stop.

  An obituary with a picture. That was his Marsha Tanner—he last girlfriend he had before he met his wife.

  "Marsha Tanner died after a valiant fight with breast cancer." The date was from two years ago in a South Jersey paper.

  The idea that she was dead took his breath away. I wouldn't have thought I still had feelings for her.

  He drummed his fingers on the computer desk and then decided to print out the entry.

  With the copy of the obituary in his back pocket, Cal headed to the firehouse while conflicting thoughts swirled in his head.

  Mallory parked her car behind the firehouse. The place buzzed with action as workers tested the rides. Bud Cone gave her a wave, then barked orders from his decked-out golf cart. All seemed to be going as it should.

  Jesse hurried to her, his arms open. "You are magnificent." He wrapped her in a bear hug and kissed her cheek.

  "They're all back?"

  "Except for one who's being deported. Her visa just expired a week ago. Supposedly, she'd forgotten to get it renewed."

  Mallory disengaged herself from Jesse. "That seems harsh."

  He shrugged. "Don't care. We're a go for tonight. We just have to get the paper products out to the food tent. The ladies auxiliary is prepping the peppers and onions."

  "Guess it's all under control."

  Jesse handed her a walkie-talkie. "I filled in while you were gone. What did you say to them?"

  At that moment, the walkie-talkie squawked. "I better get that." She put the microphone attached to the device to her mouth. "Sage."

  "Mal, we have a small problem. The sausage we got yesterday is lump, not links for sausage and peppers."

  "Bring them back to the wholesaler in Middlesex." She looked at Jesse. "The chief will help you load them into his truck. I'll call and warn them you are coming. How many pounds?"

  "Fifty pounds. I'll make sure they know that links are the rest of our order."

  "Good idea."

  Jesse cocked an eyebrow and a wry grin slit his face. "You're taking liberties with the chief. I like that."

  A thrill went through her. There was a certain power in the knowledge someone found you attractive. She pretended to sober. "You're only the chief on the fire ground." She pointed to herself. "This fair is my domain."

  He chuckled, ran a hand over her head, then tugged on her ponytail. "I have sausage to load."

  Jesse could make a nursery rhyme sound dirty.

  "Go load it."

  He stared into her eyes for a moment more. Then he shook his head and left.

  She traversed the length of the midway and entered the food tent, a large striped awning where all the usual fair food was cooked.

  Some of the firefighters had teenage children that were helping. They wiped down planks covered with contact paper and had ignited the pizza oven, which needed four hours to heat.

  The place had the usual hum about it like a show on opening day. She fed off that buzz. Her adrenaline spiked in anticipation of the night ahead.

  In a few hours, hordes of families would come to spend their cash for a good cause and have a good time. She paused and drank in the atmosphere. Her body thrummed as if she'd just had good sex. The feeling was more real in some ways and so much better than the adrenaline hum of a stakeout.

  It was positive energy—not the edginess that comes with waiting for something bad to happen. There was good karma here.

  Then she heard the explosion.

  CHAPTER 8

  Trey could tell the firefighters from the carnival people in that split second.

  Bud Cone's workers did what any sane person would do. They ducked and ran for cover. The firefighters looked to see what happened, assuming they could help.

  Trey shook his head. He understood the firefighters and realized in that moment what had drawn Mallory here. No matter what the situation, she had to help. So why didn't she want to help on a grander scale? Does she hate me that much that she can't work with me?

  His ego wouldn't let him think that.

  "Sorry," came from a field across the street.

  All eyes turned that way. "Just testing," the man from Fabulous Fireworks said. "It went off too low."

  The buzz from the crowd returned. Rides tested, food hauled out to the tent and tickets given out to those who would vend them.

  No one took notice when he walked into the food tent. Mallory was off to one end. She sat at a table with papers in front of her. She looked as if nothing had happened.

  Except her foot tapped out The Flight of the Bumblebee.

  She glanced up when he approached. His gaze went around the tent. No one paid him any attention. He was one of the invisible ride workers.

  "You okay?" he asked.

  "Fine."

  "Sure?"

  She gave him her full attention. "Yes, I am fine. But if I weren't, you wouldn't
be the first one I'd turn to."

  Ouch. "Don't I get any brownie points for getting the workers back?"

  "Why do you need brownie points? This isn't a contest. No prize at the end of the week." She returned to her papers. She held a list of names.

  He changed the subject. He would get nowhere with her this way. "Volunteers. Anyone unusual?"

  "Nope, all the same people who have been here for years...at least the last five."

  "Why is the furrow in your forehead so deep?"

  She rubbed her hand over her face as if she could wipe away the tension. "Nothing. Go away. Don't you have a ride to check?"

  "I'm relief tonight," Trey said.

  He hauled a leg over a bench opposite her and dropped to sit.

  "I didn't invite you here."

  His gaze swung around the fairgrounds. "Looks like a public place."

  "Trey, leave me alone. I'll have you arrested for stalking."

  He chuckled. "You may not want to join us, but you won't jeopardize our operation."

  She slammed her hand on the table and stood. "I will if it screws up this fair for these guys. You may think what they do is nothing, but to many people in this town, they are the heroes. By noon on nine-eleven most of these guys had left work and were in Jersey City waiting to help their brothers in New York."

  He held up his hands. "Whoa. I've never belittled what they do." He stood.

  She stood with hands on hips and widened her stance, waiting for his attack.

  "I just think that you, with your skills, should be doing way more for the war on terrorism."

  Trey knew how to cut to the bone. She stood there, her breath heavy, watching him saunter away as if they'd just talked about the weather.

  The worst part was that he echoed some feelings she'd been having—feelings that had kept her awake days before he came back into her life. His presence wasn't to blame.

  Fighting fires had seemed an obvious way to make a difference. Maybe not as exciting as, but less dangerous than, defusing bombs. She took to the task, made friends and a life for herself.

  So why am I feeling discontent? Why do I question whether I should go back to DHS? Why am I thinking about Trey?

  "Mal?"

  Cal Stedman looked at her as if she had grown horns. "You okay?"

  She smiled widely. "Sure, just last minute jitters. What do you need?"

  "Paper products."

  "In the storage trailer."

  "No, a case came in, but we don't know where they went. I loaded them myself." His tired gaze met hers.

  Something about his eyes...

  She shook away the sensation. Ever since she decided to look for her parents, she saw familiar features in everyone.

  "We have enough for tonight," he said.

  "You sure?"

  "Yes, I think we can make it."

  "Did someone not lock that trailer?"

  Cal shrugged. "Why would someone steal paper products?"

  "Anyone having a party?"

  "No, not that I know of, but I'm an old-timer. I'm not invited to those."

  She didn't like to think it was one of the firefighters. The ride company workers were in a hotel, so why would they need them? "Any ideas?"

  "One or two, but I'll ask around before I accuse anyone."

  "Thanks, Cal. Send someone to Costco tomorrow. If no one can go, let me know and I will."

  He nodded and walked away. Mundane tasks had rooted her to her new life. This was what she wanted. No more tilting at windmills.

  Satisfied she'd convinced herself of the right path, she headed to the firehouse for one last moment of peace.

  That wouldn't happen.

  Cal walked away and he glanced back at Mallory. He wanted to say more to wipe the furrow out of her brow, but ever since his search for his child, he felt disconnected. His world was no longer what he expected.

  Fatherhood.

  The person would be grown and he'd have had no influence on him or her. His tired bones moaned as he trudged back to his domain under the beer tent.

  Doctor's appointment tomorrow. Very important. He tapped his temple as if programming the reminder.

  Mallory was lost in thought when Trey came out from behind a truck and grabbed her arm. She resisted, although his grip held like a vise.

  His voice brought her back to the present. "We suspect there will be more. Maybe even here."

  "I'll hire security," she said.

  He tried pulling her back in. She dug in her heels, her mind desperate to go back to the questions running through it. Who am I? Where did I come from? And why was I given up for adoption?

  "Mal, are you listening? The person is already among us. Maybe the bomb has already been planted. You need to walk around the fairgrounds."

  "I don't have that knack anymore."

  "You're just shutting it out." He fixed his eyes on her, the charm, gone.

  "Trey, I can't. If you really think there's a bomb here, we won't open tonight."

  "I don't know for sure."

  She rubbed her forehead. "Let's get the professionals in. Call the bomb squad."

  "We don't have time. What if the timer is set to go off just as you guys open?"

  "Okay, but let me do it alone. Fewer questions."

  "I'll be lurking in the shadows." He walked away on silent feet. "It is what you do best." He smiled back at her as if he were proud of that.

  She took a few deep breaths to get in touch with whatever voodoo part of her could track these things. Her fire company brothers depended on her as never before. Jesse came into her line of vision.

  "Mal, I need―"

  "Jess, I need some time." She walked away.

  Jesse backed off, which was a good thing. She had no time to contemplate him. He'd understand if she found a bomb. If she didn't, she'd make it up to him. She was on a mission now.

  She turned back to the carousel—colorful horses frozen in midstride, their straps dangling in front. In less than an hour, kids would clamor to get on the animals. Cries of joy would fill the air.

  She had a vision of those cries turning to screams. Body parts on the ground. She closed her eyes and tried to block the images. She couldn't let that happen.

  Shaking herself, she climbed past the couch and moved near the middle. The mechanism that moved the horses lay beneath the mirrors and white lights. She'd watched them put it together, still her favorite ride from childhood.

  Trey materialized next to her. "Let me help."

  She'd never been so glad to see him. The burden was not just hers alone.

  "Hand me the tools when I ask. You do know a screwdriver from a hammer, don't you?"

  His grin relaxed her. He'd been clueless about tools when they'd been paired. She'd had to teach him from scratch what everything was in her toolbox. They had joked about it before every bomb, just to lighten the tension.

  She eased her shoulders back to loosen them, without success. As if she'd done it before, she unlatched and opened a swinging door to reveal the motor for the carousel. The ticking seemed loud for the little bomb, which was wrapped with nails and some powdery substance.

  "I need my rubber gloves and my work gloves."

  Trey set her toolbox down and flipped it open. The gloves appeared at her side. She slipped them on, her gaze fixed on the bomb. She had time, but would cutting the wires make the timer go faster?

  Mallory breathed in. She became one with the device. She identified each wire. Sweat pooled on her upper lip. "It isn't sophisticated. There must be more."

  "What do you think the powdery substance is?"

  "Anthrax...or rather, meant to look like it. It's a warning bomb."

  "Or a decoy."

  His words chilled her. Her hands remained steady. She clipped a blue wire. The timer didn't stop. There was no explosion either.

  "You should have worn your turnout gear."

  She massaged the back of her aching neck. "Now you tell me. That's useful, Trey."


  "Sorry."

  "Nervous?"

  "Maybe. You might be rusty."

  "Don't put doubts in my mind."

  Two more snips and the timer stopped. She checked that it was disarmed and that she hadn't just disconnected the timer. Sweat soaked her shirt. I'll have to shower and change before the fair. What am I thinking? This fair won't open tonight.

  Booth watched Mallory traverse the fairgrounds. "Shit." He didn't want to get blown up, didn't want to say goodbye to his life or the beach house in the Caribbean.

  He smacked his forehead and resisted the urge to make a call. If he didn't kill Mallory, he wouldn't get paid. He wanted the money. He wanted to make the last kill too. Just to see if he still could. The idea of proving something to himself warred with his heart. That organ had other ideas about what he should do with Mallory.

  In the meantime, he did not intend to be blown up.

  Mallory and Trey had left the carousel and found firefighters in turnout gear with all of the trucks ready to go. The sight warmed her heart. Jesse had told them what she was going to do. He'd believed her.

  Her pounding heart leapt. She saw him backing up one of the trucks.

  The bomb squad removed the bomb from the carousel. They had dogs to sniff the rest of the equipment.

  Trey left.

  Mallory waited until Jesse had the pumper truck back in its bay. He jumped down with a small smile on his face.

  "Thanks for believing me," she said.

  He took her in his arms and hugged her as if he hadn't seen her in weeks instead of just minutes. "We can't lose you." He pushed her back so he could look into her eyes. "You are too important to this fire company."

  "Jesse, you're being dramatic. I'm okay. I haven't been blown up yet."

  "But the first time ain't gonna be on my watch."

  "We need to talk, but not now when I smell like a gym."

  "I'll drive you home. You can get a shower."

  "That would be fantastic. The adrenaline will drop soon and I'll be no good to drive."

  They walked to her car. Jesse opened and closed the door for her.