"Nothing. Just a blown fuse."
"The kitchen has more than one light. Try the others."
"Gee, why didn't I think of that,” she said sarcastically.
Footsteps echoed, coming towards her. “You mean they're not working, either?"
"Nope."
"Where is the circuit board?"
"Near the store room at the back—” She hesitated as she caught the flash of a light under one of the benches. Red light, like something had been left on.
Nothing unusual in that, as her dad had a habit of not turning off the appliances he used regularly—like the toaster. But why hadn't she noticed it before?
"What?” Cade said, his hand touching hers briefly.
"Something's been left on, I think.” She took a few steps closer and bent to get a clearer look.
Something inside her froze. It wasn't a warning that an appliance had been left on, but rather numbers, counting down.
Fifteen...
Fourteen...
Thirteen...
Realization clicked in. It was a bomb, primed and ready to go off.
"Oh, f**k,” Cade said. He grabbed her hand, pulling her out the kitchen door and towards the front door. The locked front door.
She thrust a hand into her packet, fumbling for her keys and dragging them out. But she wasn't fast enough. They weren't fast enough.
Even as she reached for the door, there was a rumble of sound that became a blinding flash and suddenly there was nothing but heat, terrible, terrible heat, as the world went red around her.
Chapter Ten
Cade grabbed Savannah and thrust her under one of the booths, knowing the three-sided protection provided by the table and the seats might be their only chance of survival. He dove in on top of her, covering her body with his as the roar and the heat and the sheer wind force of the explosion hit. It was accompanied by debris and thick, unbreathable dust that was jettisoned through the air by the power of the blast. Bricks, glass, and God only knew what else, become deadly missiles. The table above them shuddered and cracked as it was hit time and time again with debris and metal and remnants of furniture. He cocooned Vannah against him, her body shuddering against his, her heart racing as fiercely as his own. Yet she didn't make a sound, keeping the fear he could almost taste tightly leashed. Several large chunks of glass speared into their small space, one so close to his arm it sliced his shirt and skin. Another cut past her cheek, drawing blood before embedding itself into the cushioned vinyl seat.
Then silence fell. Only it wasn't really silence, because it was filled with the crackle of fire. For a long moment, he didn't move, wanting to be certain the main explosion was over, that it was safe.
Savannah was struggling and coughing beneath him. “It's okay,” he said, smoothing her dust-covered hair. “We're okay."
She shook her head, her body wracked by coughs. “The gas,” she said hoarsely, twisting around. Her eyes were filled with fear as she pushed bloodied hair from her face. “The explosion might have ruptured the lines. We have to get to the cutoff valve."
Fuck. He hadn't even thought of that. Kneeling, he scrambled out from under the table and held out a hand to help her. “Where is the valve?"
The fingers she placed in his were bloody and trembling. Yet there was nothing resembling fear in her voice as she said, “Out the back, near the generator."
He looked that way. Half of the inner wall had come down in the explosion. They'd be scrambling over it to get to the valve. He rose and helped her to her feet. “Lead the way, before that fire gets any worse."
She nodded, her green eyes shocked as her gaze skated around the restaurant. “Oh God—"
"Savannah.” he prompted softly.
She glanced at him, nodded and half ran, half scrambled, over the bricks and rubbish, through the twisted remains of tables and chairs.
Yet despite all the damage, they'd been lucky. This section of the diner remained relatively untouched, even if all the windows had blown out. Most of the booths, while covered in debris, still stood, and even several tables near them were relatively unscathed. It was the booths, tables, and the counter on the kitchen side that had taken the force of the blast and, therefore, had the most damage.