Now the building had been halved. The first bay had exploded, and the second bay had gone down in the aftermath. The lobby and office hadn’t suffered from the impact but the small fires that had broken out had eaten through most of the former. The fire department’s hoses had brought on the final damage, water destroying the bulk of what the fire hadn’t.
Only a few items had survived the impact, the aftermath and the rescue.
Those were in a plastic tub sitting in the back of Mr. Donahue’s RAV4.
He was wholly apologetic. Every part of his face seemed to fall all over again as he patted the top of the container.
“One of my nephews was on the fire crew,” he started, motioning with his other hand to the fallen Keller Auto. “He knew how important this place was to your and your daddy’s history, so he thought quick and managed to grab a few things. Sorry it isn’t more.”
It had been three days and two nights since the bomb had gone off. It felt like nothing and a whole lot of everything all at once. James didn’t think he was overwhelmed yet. Maybe, instead, he was still circling shocked.
He didn’t feel much at all when he gave thanks to the older man.
“The fact that anything was salvaged is a goodthing,” he said. “I’ll have to thank your nephew in person some time. And thanks for coming out to give it to me. I can’t say when we’ll have a place for you to come around for a chat again, though. Dad’s been dealing with the insurance people, but we can’t do much until the investigation is over.”
Mr. Donahue was all solemn.
“It’s tiring enough to be a walking miracle. You don’t need to add apologizing to it too.”
They stood for a moment, not saying much. James had been surprised that Mr. Donahue hadn’t joined the masses trying to get gossip out of him since leaving the hospital. It had been a jarring experience. Mostly because all the people who had come asking after him had actually just been trying to get information on the woman at his side.
Wildcard Rose had made the news again.
And everyone wanted a piece of her.
Even now, it irritated James.
“What happens next, then?” Mr. Donahue asked, forgoing the questions he probably really wanted to ask. James was grateful for his restraint.
“Dad’s still at my uncle’s, so I told him to just stay there, and I can handle anything that pops up here.” James shrugged. “As for everything else, I guess I’ll take it a day at a time. There’s not much else I can do.”
Mr. Donahue nodded, but after James said it, he thought of the deputy.
There had been one question he had asked the sheriff, more than one time.
Keller Auto might have taken damage, but it was Rose Little who had been the target. And, if the bombhadn’t been proof of that, the men who had disappeared between the explosion and the sheriff’s department showing up certainly had been.
Jamesdidwant to know what happened next, but not for himself.
Chapter Five
Rose didn’t know what to expect in life anymore, but she did guess that during her three-day stay in the hospital, a reporter or two might eventually find her. To the hospital’s credit—and the sheriff’s department’s best attempts—no one made it past the invisible line outside of her room. At least not until the last day there.
Rose was sitting next to a vending machine, hand wrapped around a water and an empty candy wrapper on her lap, when a man sat down next to her wearing a smile. There was a cast on his arm and hand. She recognized him with a deep sigh.
“It sure is a small world, isn’t it?”
The reporter from the parking lot the morning of the explosion gave her a smile and a small wave of the arm in a cast. He wasn’t in a hospital gown but was instead sporting a collared shirt tucked into professional-style dark khakis. His hair was shaved close to the scalp and helped confuse her about where exactly his age fell within the thirties or forties bracket. Helookedyoung but oddly felt older. The hospital’s horrible fluorescents probably weren’t helping that sentiment either. No one looked good beneath them, she had woefully decidedafter seeing her reflection in the bathroom mirror that morning.
Rose didn’t feel the need to pull up a polite smile yet. It wasn’t like they had met on the street again, after all.
“Living in McCoy County means always living in a small world,” she said. “I could throw a rock in the lobby and probably hit one or two people I grew up with, whether we like that fact or not.”
The man bit out some laughter. It didn’t feel forced, but it somehow didn’t feel genuine either.
Rose realized then that she had never actually learned the reporter’s name. The business card he had slipped into her hand she’d placed into the pocket of her jeans. Those jeans had been stripped off and thrown away by hospital staff after the explosion.
Now, at her second meeting with this man, she had no name to anchor him.
