“John, I know it’s early. Can I come over?”
Something in her tone makes me sit right up.
“Sure. What’s going on?”
“I’ll explain when I get there,” she says. “Face to face from now on, remember?”
“How soon?”
“Ten minutes out.”
I throw my covers off and swing my feet onto the floor. “I’ll put the coffee on.”
After a speed-shower and shave, I get dressed, then walk down the hall to peek into Willow’s room. Still asleep, legs dangling over the side of her bed.Let her sleep.I’ll take her back to the Cross house on my way to work.
I walk downstairs to the kitchen and start up the coffee maker. After a few seconds, it’s hissing and gurgling. I inhale the first glorious whiff of dark roast.
I reach into a cabinet, pull out two coffee mugs, and set them down on the counter.
I hear a car turning into my driveway. Then—
Boom!
All I see is a flash of light. I’m thrown across the kitchen and slam into the refrigerator. When I lift my head, there’s broken glass everywhere. The coffee mugs are shattered on the floor, and the coffee maker is oozing wet grounds onto the counter. My ears are ringing and I feel blood coming out of my nose.
Smoke fills the kitchen. The smoke detectors are beeping like crazy.
I hear Willow screaming upstairs:“Daddy! Daddy!”
I stumble to my feet and wipe my nose on my sleeve.
The door that leads out to my driveway is lying broken on the floor. I can see flames and gray smoke through the opening. I smell burning rubber.
I run upstairs, taking them three steps at a time. Willow is standing next to her bed, trembling in her pajamas. “Daddy! What happened?”
“Don’t worry, baby, it’s okay.” I scoop her up in my arms, not even feeling her weight. I carry her into the bathroom, throw a towel onto the bottom of the tub, and lay her inside.
She’s sobbing. I can see the fear on her face.
“Stay right here,” I tell her. “Keep your head down. Don’t move until I come back.”
She nods and shrinks against the curve of the tub, arms clutched around her knees.
I run back into my bedroom and grab my Glock and my Motorola radio. “Dispatch, Dispatch, this is Sampson, D-five!”
I’m already jumping down the stairs, back into the thick of the smoke.
“Sampson, D-five, this is Dispatch, go.”
“I need fire and police units at my address. There’s been an explosion. Roll a bus too! I’m not sure what we’ve got!”
“Say again.Youraddress?”
“Yes!” I’m shouting into the mic. “My address!My damn house!”
I tuck my pistol in my waistband and grab a small fire extinguisher from a clip near the stove. I step over my broken door and start shooting the foam into the burning shell of a car, which is billowing with smoke; it’s so dense that I can hardly see what I’m aiming at. The hood is ripped off and lying in the yard. The windows are shattered. The tires are all blown and burning. I’m choking on the stench.
I can hear sirens in the distance heading this way.
