“On Emily Shaw?” I asked.
“On a lot of things,” Eli said, cagily. “Some of which intersect with Emily Shaw. They’re also trying to see what they can find out about your van.”
At the mention of my van, a little of the starch went out of my spine. “Yeah,” I said. “Did they figure anything out?”
“The preliminary tests found explosive residue. Strongest coming from below, from the undercarriage.”
“Whoever I saw coming out from under the van planted the bomb and then took off.”
“Probably,” Eli said.
I let out a long breath. “I feel like such an asshole,” I said. “Because I should be focusing on how lucky we are that no one got hurt.” I reached up to touch the scrapes on my cheek. After a shower and some moisturizer, they weren’t that bad.
Eli watched the movement of my hand. “It could have been a hell of a lot worse. You’re right. You and a lot of other people are very lucky that all the bomb did was gut your van.”
“I’m grateful,” I said, picking up my iced tea.
“But?” he asked.
“But goddamn, I’m so bummed about my van,” I said, my voice choking a little at the end. I shook my head, trying to cast off the emotions tangling in my chest—grief, anger, loss.
Fear too. But it was after all the rest. I still couldn’t really believe my home was gone.
“You said you built it yourself?” Eli asked, raising an eyebrow.
Had I? I thought I remembered something like that from the police station, or maybe the ride there. It didn’t matter.
“Yeah, I did,” I said. “I watched a lot of videos. My dad helped me find the Sprinter van. It was just a shell, but he told me, ‘Invest in a good engine. It’ll take you farther.’ He helped me with a lot. He likes woodworking and carpentry. Neither of us are experts at all.” I rolled my eyes, remembering how many things we’d screwed up and torn back out, then put in again. “But we had fun, you know? I was still working my regular job while we built the van, anddoing the podcast in my spare time. It was just fun. There was a lot of love in there. And everything was exactly how I wanted it. I worked my ass off to get it right.”
“Tell me about it,” Eli said, picking up a rib and biting in.
I could tell he was genuinely interested, so I did, describing the cool Murphy bed fold-out desk setup I’d created and the small but functional shower-bath.
“Wait, you had a toilet and shower in that thing? It didn’t look big enough. You had it parked on a downtown street.”
“I know,” I said with a grin. “It wasn’t big.” I eyed him. “You probably would have struggled with it, to be honest. Though there was an outdoor hose hookup, if I was somewhere not in the middle of a downtown area and wanted to stretch my arms while I showered. But yeah, we put in kind of like a waterproof closet and had a portable incinerating toilet set up. I could pick that up, put it outside in the”—I raised my hands to do finger quotes, “hall by the kitchen, and take a shower.”
Eli gave me an appraising look. I’d impressed him.
“That’s pretty sweet,” he said. “I’ve slept in some rough places on the job. There’s something to be said for being able to take your home with you.”
“It saved me a lot of money on hotels, that’s for sure. Plus, when I was somewhere a little quieter than the middle of a city, it was a great recording studio.” Abruptly, the weight of loss hit my chest again, and I let out a gust of air. “Ugh, I had the best fucking equipment too. I’d finally upgraded to the mic I really wanted. When I find the asshole who blew it up…”
I trailed off, and Eli let out a little laugh. “You’re going to what? Shootthem?”
I glared at him. I couldn’t argue. I didn’t even have a gun, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t completely pissed about what they’d taken from me.
“It’s very possible we’re not going to find them,” he said with more kindness than I would have expected.
I let out the breath I’d been holding. “I know, but a girl can dream, right?”
“Of revenge and murder? Sure,” Eli said, the side of his mouth quirking up in amusement. “Considering whoever did this blew up your home and froze your accounts, that seems reasonable enough.” He picked up another rib. “When this is over, are you going to rebuild the van?”
“Definitely,” I said. “And it probably won’t take as long this time. There are things I’d do differently, so now I’ll have the chance.” I shrugged, struggling to hold on to the bright side.
It wasn’t in my nature to let obstacles get me down, but the last twenty-four hours felt like a pretty big fucking obstacle, and my supply of optimism had a limit.
“How long have you been working for Sinclair Security?” I asked, curious about the man whose side I’d be glued to for the foreseeable future.
