LITMIR.BIZ

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was possible. It was possible that Vanessa Grant was being used by Nicole all this time and never knew it. Perhaps now, Nicky was done with her, or considered her a threat. A loose end.

      It would explain why someone wanted to blow her up. That meant she was still in danger. He ran the theories by Garrett.

      “That’s possible. So what are you going to do?”

      “I’m not sure. Wait. Follow her. See what happens. If she’s Nicole, she’ll slip up. If she’s not, the people who are after her will make another play, I imagine. Then I can find out who they are and maybe find Nicky in the process.”

      “Be careful, Luke.... This job is hard enough when we know where the threats are coming from.”

      “Gotcha. I’ll be in touch,” he said, ending the call.

      Luke knew his cousins still had some doubts about if he was over his past troubles yet. He was. Mostly.

      He’d once ruled the tech world, owned a massively successful software company and had more money than he’d ever need—until everything had fallen apart, thanks to Nicky. He didn’t miss the work or the wealth. It had taken Luke a long time to get his head on straight, but he’d done it. He liked his life now, and he enjoyed working with his cousins.

      But he needed to do this one, final thing to really be able to move on with his future.

      He needed to bring Nicky to justice—and that was even more the case if she had put yet another innocent in the line of fire. Whether Vanessa Grant was really innocent or not, he still had to find out for sure.

      * * *

      VANESSA STARED AT the dingy cell wall. Every bone in her body ached, and she was dirty and tired. They kept saying she could leave soon, but she’d been here all day. Probably because of Luke Berringer, who was now free as a bird while she was still locked up like a criminal. It made no sense.

      It was all very unreal and dreamlike, except for the scrapes and bruises she received from being pushed out of the way of the explosion by Berringer. He was clearly deranged, pursuing some imaginary woman who had ruined his life. Yet the police had let him out the door. A bodyguard? She couldn’t believe it.

      But then again, she’d read an article once about people with “hero complexes” who would stage a disaster so that they could save someone and get attention. However, this man didn’t want her thanks; he was trying to get her arrested. He said they’d been intimate.

      She wrapped her arms around her middle to repress a shiver. He was a very good-looking man, but how he looked at her had been far too personal for her comfort. The things he said to her were also inappropriate, at the very least.

      Vanessa turned her thoughts to the practical. In spite of her entire life blowing up, she had classes to prepare and errands to run. She had to attend the new teacher and student orientation that evening. Only two hours from now. She needed a shower and new clothes. She hadn’t died in the explosion, and she wanted to go on with her life. That was a healthy attitude, right?

      She started to shake all over again when she realized she couldn’t take a shower. She didn’t have a shower anymore. Her pretty new shower—that she had retiled herself last summer—was in scattered bits around her lawn. She had no home, no...anything.

      She had nothing but the clothes on her back and what was inside her purse. And her car. She’d been taken down to police headquarters after the EMTs had checked her out, and she wondered if anything much was left of her car, as it had been in the driveway right next to her house.

      The small cell spun a bit, and she lowered herself to the cot. Where would she go? She couldn’t afford a hotel, not for more than a night or two. How long would it take the insurance to help her with her house? Her car? Did they even cover a bombing? Would they pay for a place for her to stay?

      She’d have to call her family and do a million other things that she couldn’t even think about right now. She just had to get out of here.

      She was so overwhelmed. To onlookers, she could only imagine they thought she was catatonic. She took a deep breath, trying to focus.

      “Hey, are you doing okay?” the detective asked as he approached the cell. “I’m sorry this took so long, but we had to make sure, the way you two were both accusing each other.”

      He opened the cell, gestured for her to follow. Vanessa hesitated. Where would she go when she left?

      She straightened her back and exited the cell. The detective was a nice, older man with kind eyes that were weathered by having seen too much over what she assumed was a long career. He put a light hand on her shoulder, and she nearly jumped out of her skin, turning on him and moving to grab his hand in a defensive reflex.

      Her adopted dad had taught her how to defend herself so that she could feel safe wherever she went. She hadn’t practiced her self-defense in years, not formally, but her instincts still kicked in when she needed them. When she felt threatened.

      Her difficult childhood—being moved from house to house, one state facility to another—had trained her to be hyperaware. It was how she survived, but it was also a habit that never quite wore off. Being touched by a stranger, even a well-meaning one, was unwelcome.

      “I’m sorry,” she said, pulling her hand back. “I’m really on edge.”

      “I can understand that. You’ve been through a shock today,” the detective said patiently. “Just to be clear on the details, you said you had a few small incidents recently? Some harassment? Did you report it?”

      She’d already written all of this in her statement, but took a breath and responded.

      “No. There were a few weird phone calls, that kind of thing. But nothing like this. I thought the calls were a crank.”

      “Okay. Would you mind if we took a look at your phone records? We need your permission for that.”

      “That’s fine.”

      She had nothing to hide.

      “Thank you. That should wrap things up. Do you have a place to stay tonight?”

      “I’ll work something out.”

      The set of the detective’s mouth was grim.

      “Considering the circumstances, we should probably put you in protective custody for at least a few nights, until we can track down who planted the explosives. And why.”

      “I can’t do that. I’ve lost...everything. But I still have a job I’d like to keep. My administrators are expecting me to run sessions for new teachers and students before classes begin in two weeks. I have to get my lessons in order, send letters to parents...there’s so much to do. I can’t hide away.”

      “I think they’d understand, given the situation.”

      “No, thanks. I’m sure this was some kind of mistake. No one is after me. They’d have no reason. I don’t want to be in protective custody. I don’t want to be in any...custody.” She gripped her suddenly shaking hands together. “Anyway, how do you know that Luke Berringer didn’t do it? How can you be sure?”

      “I can assure you, he’s been cleared as a suspect,” the detective said. He didn’t volunteer more than that.

      “Why was he hanging outside my house if he had nothing to do with it?”

      “He simply mistook you for someone else. We checked out his credentials and references. He was head of a major software company, and now he’s a professional bodyguard with a notable firm up in Philly,” the detective explained. “He has no criminal record and was there to talk to you about another matter. He recognized what he saw through the window. He acted fast. It might seem funny to say so, but I think it was your lucky day, Miss Grant. If he hadn’t mistaken you, you’d be dead right now.”

      Lucky. Right.

      “Do you know why he

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