Explosive Attraction - By Lena Diaz Page 0,33

the bag on the floorboard between her feet. “You take care of yourself. Give those beautiful babies of yours a kiss for me. I’ll see you soon.”

As Rafe drove her away, and Darby watched Mindy’s face fade in the distance, she couldn’t seem to shake the feeling of doom that settled over her.

Chapter Eight

Rafe drove past the turnoff to the motel where they’d stayed last night, and continued south on A1A.

“Where are we going now?” Darby reached into the beach bag Mindy had given her and pulled out her cell phone.

“We’ll find another motel, keep moving every day to a new location until the bomber is caught.” He glanced at her. “What are you doing?”

“Checking my cell phone battery. It’s low. I’ll have to charge it.” She reached down to see if Mindy had put a car charger in the bag.

“Turn it off. Now.” His deep voice cut through her musings.

She paused. “Why?”

“Because your phone can be traced.”

“You think the bomber is savvy enough to know my cell phone number, and to be able to trace it?”

“He’s sophisticated enough to create a bomb with a timer accurate enough to match a second timer he sends to the people he wants to torment, right down to the second. So, yeah, I think he could trace your cell phone.”

That feeling of doom settled over her again. She powered the phone off and dropped it to the bottom of the bag.

“What about your cell phone? Can he trace that, too?”

“I’m carrying a burn phone. Prepaid, no contract, which basically means untraceable.”

Desperate to do something mundane, something normal, she grabbed the stack of mail from the beach bag. Thumbing through it, she could already tell it was full of the usual—bills, correspondences from lawyers, a letter from her mom and a card—probably an invitation to her mom’s birthday party next week. Mom invited her every year, even though she knew Darby wouldn’t show. She dropped the mail back into the beach bag, and froze.

Another envelope wasn’t bundled with the rest, probably because it was too big. She started to shake as she stared down into the bag. The envelope was white, not manila. And it had a postmark.

But the handwriting was the same familiar scrawl she’d seen before.

“Rafe.” She’d tried to shout, but her voice came out in a cracked whisper.

“Don’t touch it.” He was already pulling over, the car’s wheels crunching on the narrow strip of crushed shells and hard-packed sand beside the highway.

He threw the car in Park and reached behind Darby’s seat. He drew his hand back, holding a small, black satchel. He pulled a pair of white latex gloves out of the satchel and tugged them on before easing the envelope from the beach bag.

Darby clutched her hands in her lap as she watched a repeat of when he’d been in her office a few days ago. He used a small penlight to examine the envelope, gently feeling the bump at the bottom, before peeling the flap back.

When Rafe reached inside, Darby was unsurprised that he pulled out a timer. The news couldn’t be good because he grimaced when he looked at the digital face. Palming the timer in his left hand, he reached back inside the envelope and pulled out the expected picture.

He let out a vicious curse, pitched the timer in the middle console and let the envelope and picture drop to his lap. The tires sent up a cloud of crushed shells and sand as he stomped the accelerator, turning around and racing back in the direction they’d just come from.

He punched some buttons on his phone, then barked a series of instructions and an address.

Darby’s insides went hot and cold when she heard the location. She grabbed the photograph.

Oh, please, no.

Mindy.

* * *

THE BOMBER HAD TAKEN the photograph from a distance, across the street from Darby’s office building, probably from the same warehouse where he’d killed the A.D.A. In the picture, Mindy was sitting in her car in the office parking lot, smiling, waving—probably at Darby—just as she did every day when she and Darby were leaving work, following their normal routine.

Nothing was routine anymore.

Rafe whipped through traffic back to the surf shop. Darby prayed harder than she’d ever prayed in her life.

Please let her be okay. Let Mindy be okay.

But she already knew, even before Rafe barreled back into the parking lot, what they would find. Or rather, what they wouldn’t find.

Because Mindy wasn’t answering her phone.

Ignoring Rafe’s earlier demand that she keep her cell