“Fine. Aaron.”
I motion for her to continue.
“A terrorist who I thought was dead - isn’t. He blames me for - well, a lot of things - and may or may not be coming after me,” she shrugs as if this is another regular day in the life of Camellia.
I sit straighter in my chair. Ice forms down my spine. “A terrorist is after you?”
Another half-shrug. “Yeah.”
“When did you find out?”
“Yesterday, right before the explosion.”
“So, you didn’t know a terrorist was trying to kill you when you came to my house. My house where my daughters visit!”
I realize the mistake the minute the words are out of my mouth. Camellia levels a death-stare at me.
“Sorry,” I begin to apologize, then I get mad. “No. I’m not sorry. You can take care of yourself. As you’ve told me on more than one occasion. But by coming to Flamingo Cove and spending time at my house, you’ve put a target on my family! I’m not going to apologize for that.”
I push out of the chair and walk over to the back windows that look out on Legacy Lakes’ golf course. It’s a beautiful day in Florida. The sun is shining. The grass is a vibrant green. Retirees argue about the lie of their balls on the course, blissfully ignorant to the shit that rained down on my world.
“I’m sorry,” Camellia’s voice is barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know he was still alive. I thought he died in a house explosion. Well, I thought he might have died from a gunshot first.”
I whirl around. “What are you talking about?”
“Sit,” Camellia points to the chair in front of her. “I don’t want to tell your back the story.”
I comply, leaning toward her with my elbows on my knees.
“Before I came back, I was undercover for three months. I was tracking Dakota Hell. Well, his real name is Dakota Helfinger, but you know how cult leaders are. They all want the catchy title,” she adds air quotes and snort-laughs. “Anyway, I made it to the inner circle. Mellie, my undercover identity, was a disgruntled Marine who was skilled in explosives.”
“Pretty intricate backstory,” I counter.
“There’s some truth in it,” she responds. “Not that I can go into that. And not that I was in the Marines, but I know someone who was.”
My blood pressure shoots up.It’s probably That R.M. Asshole.
“Dakota was looking for a new explosives expert, and we believed that was our way in. And we were right. After three months of deep cover, that shitstain finally tapped me for my test. He tasked me with building a bomb to blow up a local sheriff in Indiana.”
She must see the surprise on my face because she nods. “He’s not fucking around. If he has an enemy, he takes them out - big time. Nothing subtle about that cocksucker.”
“The sheriff?”
“Protective custody, along with his family, or at least he was,” Camellia continues. “Someone tipped off Dakota. He found the sheriff and lured me to what I thought was his base of operations. He had the sheriff tied up in the basement, and me over a barrel, because he knew the bomb I set off at the sheriff’s house was a decoy.”
I suck in a breath. “You were trapped in a basement with a terrorist?”
“Just another day at the office,” Camellia laughs.
“This isn’t funny.”
She rolls her eyes. “So dramatic. Whatever. Long story short, I tussle with Dakota, knock him down, and free the sheriff. That’s when we notice a bomb in the corner of the basement, about to go off. I told the sheriff to grab Dakota so we could clear the building, but the sheriff shot him instead. We couldn’t bring the body with us, so when the house blew up, I figured Dakota’s remains blew up too.”
“But that wasn’t the case?”
“Nope. ATF found a body inside, but it was a missing businessman from Chicago. The man was supposed to be in Indianapolis for a meeting but never showed. He was missing two weeks before his remains were found in the basement of that house.”
I frown. “So, the sheriff?”
