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A tinkling melody penetrated Michael’s sleep. His left arm was numb and his chin nestled in a mass of soft hair smelling of strawberries, comfort and home. His right arm cradled a blanket-draped, soft, warm woman. He pulled her closer.
She rolled away, smacked her phone and then snuggled back into his embrace, so he closed his eyes. Then they snapped open so hard his eyelids ached. Deb—he was holding Deb. She’d wake up any second and scream. He desperately wanted to keep her close, but once she realized what he’d done, she’d be up and yelling. He had move before her alarm went off again. He rolled to his back, letting his upper arm fall off her waist, then stealthily slid his right arm out from under her head, pushing her pillow into place, and then rolled onto his left side. Pins and needles jabbed his arm, and his back protested, but the greater pain came from the loss of Deb’s supple heat.
As she’d said, they were both adults. Unfortunately for Deb, his body wasn’t so mature, reaching out for comfort, warmth, and more. Not wanting to wake her, he held back an exasperated snort at his excuses. He couldn’t blame his body or subconscious for his behavior. No, that was all him, wanting what he couldn’t have. She deserved better. He waited for her alarm to sound, then rolled off the mattress, moving slowly so she didn’t bounce or sway.
Deb slapped at the cell, sighed and returned to sleep, full pink lips pursing in a purring snore. Michael would give almost anything to get back into bed with her, but it couldn’t happen. He’d already taken liberties he wasn’t allowed and couldn’t justify. He gathered the few things he’d brought upstairs, slid his weapon into his holster, then stepped silently to the door, checking the surveillance on his cell before unlocking and turning off the stairwell alarms.
Downstairs, he washed his face, brushed his teeth, put on a fresh set of work clothes, and took all his morning meds, grateful his interrupted sleep didn’t spark a migraine. Knowing Deb would be down shortly, he flipped the coffee pot on, and turned on the ovens to save her a little time. Then he packed his gear and got out of the bakery before he scarfed down a half a dozen cupcakes. Tomorrow was Friday; he’d allow himself one then, and maybe one during the Farmer’s Market. Deb didn’t know it, but he’d be watching, along with many of her friends.
Hauling his gear to the back door, he opened it and almost crashed into a stranger. He dropped his gear and grabbed the man’s arm. “Who are you? What are you doing?”
The man wrenched his arm out of Michael’s grip. “I’m going to work. Who are you?”
Michael’s head jolted back, trying to avoid the man’s horrific breath. “Deb’s brother-in-law. I’ve never seen you before.” He couldn’t imagine Deb hiring a guy who let something die in his mouth.
The man swore and ran. Michael ran after him, but stopped after a few paces. More important to find out what the guy had done to Deb’s business, if anything. He pulled up the video surveillance and rolled the cameras back to the stranger’s first appearance. The man, about his height, a black knit cap covering greasy brown hair, a scraggly beard trying to hide the sores of a meth addict, wearing blue jeans and a dirty black jacket, sauntered up to the back door and tried the handle. When it didn’t budge, he inspected the seams of the double-wide doors, then moved on to inspect the rest of the back of the building. He returned to the doors, crouched and jammed something long, thin and white into the gap between the door and frame. He jumped to his feet, and on the video, Michael walked out the door and grabbed the man’s arm.
Michael moved to the edge of the door, dropped to one knee and peered at the gap. Something that looked like putty had been forced into the gap. He sniffed, snapped a picture with his cell, stood and backed away, calling Deb. Even with the bakery’s delicious scents, up close, the smell of C-4 was obvious.
“Yes? I know, I’m late.”
“Deb, you need to evacuate, now. Go out the front. Wait, check the cameras first. I’m calling 911 next, because I think someone was trying to use plastic explosives to blow open your back door. Get your keys, coat, cell, ID and get out, now!” He didn’t mean to yell, but couldn’t help it. The stairway was way too close to the back door.
“Explosives? Seriously?”
“Deb, move, now!”
“I’m going. There’s no one out front I can see in the cameras.”
There could be a car, waiting to grab her. “Wait just inside the door. I’ll come around and pick you up.”
“Okay.” Her voice trembled.
Good; she was taking the threat seriously. “Get your stuff and wait for me. I’m calling 911.” He grabbed his bag, threw it in the truck, shoved his pistol between the seats so he could draw it fast, and dialed 911 before he started the vehicle.
“Marcus County Emergency, what’s the nature of your emergency and the location?” A male voice drawled.
He started the truck, hoping he didn’t blow up. “I’m at Deb’s Bakery on Main Street, and I need the bomb squad. Someone shoved a putty-like substance into the back door and I think it’s C-4 explosive. I’m ex-Army; I’ve seen and smelled it before.” Putting the truck in gear, he drove around the bakery, surveying the area carefully. No running vehicles, no vans without windows, no fancy cars, just Deb’s outdoor tables.
“Understood. Is there anyone in the building?” The voice was no longer bored, and held a distinct snap.
“I’ve told Deb Boulanger, the owner, to evacuate. I’m picking her up, then we’re going to a secure location. We’ll coordinate with you via phone.” He stopped in the bakery’s front parking. Leaving the truck running, he put in one ear pod, shoved his phone in a pocket, pulled his weapon and stepped out. He walked to the door, his head on a swivel, inspecting everything around, above and below his position.
“Deputies and city are on their way, and I’ve notified the bomb squad, but they have to come from Missoula. Law enforcement would prefer you remain nearby for questions.”
He crooked his fingers at Deb, then turned away from her, scanning for threats. Sirens wailed in the distance. “Understood but refused. The substance is shoved between the frame and the door on the north side of the back doors. I scared off the guy doing it. Looked like a meth head. We’ll get you a picture from the surveillance. I’ve got to get Deb now.” He turned his head. “Deb, stay right behind me, one hand on my back. If shooting starts, we’ll retreat to the side of the building. Understand?” He jerked his head towards the abandoned lumberyard.
“Got it. Go.”
Her hand landed on his lower back. He strode through the outdoor tables to the street, watching everything, and opened the truck’s passenger door. Deb climbed in. He circled around the front of the truck, got in, and slammed the accelerator down while shoving his pistol between the seats again. Being a work truck, the tires didn’t bark, but they flew down Main Street. The flashing lights of the cops passed them going the other way. He pulled his cell out and threw it to Deb. “If 911 is still on, can you talk to them? If not, call Wiz. Even if they are still on, call Wiz. We need to get you someplace secure.”
Deb’s phone rang and she pulled it out of her jacket pocket. “Hey, Wiz. We’re heading your way. I’ll put you on speaker so Michael can tell you.” Wiz must have an alert set for anything concerning Deb’s address. Deb fumbled with her phone, then his. He repeated what he’d already told law enforcement.
“Get up here ASAP. I’ll open the gates for you. Drive into the garage. I’ll send copies of the surveillance to the city and county. Running facial recog, but you’re right, Michael, this guy looks like a meth head. Probably just an errand boy who knows nothing.”
“Dead man walking.” Deb gasped and Michael wished he’d kept his mouth shut. “I know you live in the Sapphires, Wiz, but can you direct me?”
“Deb can. She’s been here. But wait,” Wiz said. “Crash on the highway. I’m not sure you can get here safely directly from Marcus, and going around will leave you vulnerable without a good alternative. Go somewhere else.”
