A Time to Die

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Ms. Bedell moved forward, her hand outstretched. “You’re from Dundee Security?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Deke shook her hand. “I’m Deke Bronson.” He hitched his thumb in Geoff’s direction. “This is Geoff Monday.”

“I assume that Sawyer explained the situation, and you understand that I want you two on the job until we find the person behind today’s bombing,” Cara said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Deke replied.

She turned to Desmond. “I expect daily updates from the police department. And I want any information you can legally share with Dundee Security to be shared with Mr. Bronson and Mr. Monday. Understood?”

“Yeah, I understand,” Desmond said, a flash of irritation in his gaze.

Cara Bedell turned to the tall, slender African-American woman with curly black hair and striking hazel eyes. “Take tomorrow off, Toni. I don’t want anyone coming to work here until we get heavier security in place.”

“No problem, Ms. Bedell. After what happened, I’m not eager to come back.” Toni turned to the seated woman. “Jafari is waiting for me downstairs. I’ll call you at home later. Are you’re sure you’re all right? You don’t need to go to the ER or…?”

“The medics checked me out,” the woman said. “I’ve got a bruise on one knee and a slight bump on my forehead. I’m fine. Go home. Call me tomorrow. I should know by then if we can return to work Friday.”

Deke and Geoff watched Toni as she exited the office, both quite aware of how attractive she was. Then Deke faced the seated woman. Beautiful didn’t quite describe her. Exquisite might come close. Blond hair hung below her shoulders in soft, loose curls. Blue eyes were framed by thick, dark lashes. A peaches-and-cream complexion was touched with a fading summer tan. He blinked once, twice and then closed his eyes for a couple of seconds, certain his vision was playing tricks on him.

When he reopened his eyes, his gaze connected with the lady’s. Momentarily robbed of breath, he stared at her. It had been ten years, but seeing her again, he felt as if it had been only yesterday. Hers was the face that had haunted his dreams ever since that bloody day in the capital of Gadi when she had gotten caught in the crossfire between his team and Babu Tum’s guards.

She rose from the chair, leaning heavily on a decorative wooden cane with a bronze handle. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. She took a step toward him, then held out her free hand.

“I’m Lexie Murrough, the president of Helping Hands.”