The sting of her anger hit Brice with as much force as the damp spring humidity on the warm Atlanta streets. A quick spring shower had assaulted the city earlier, but the rain had stopped, leaving everything steamy and soaked. Searching, he saw her heading toward her hybrid mini SUV, her long golden-red ponytail set swinging with her frustration, her lightweight white button-up sweater sweeping away from her slender body.
“I guess that means she’s not coming home with me,” he mumbled. Selena, you do my head in, you know that?
He almost walked away, but he looked back up as she hit the remote key to open the SUV. When nothing happened, she hit the key again, then frowned.
Brice stood frozen by the door of the Haven Center, his instincts ramping up, his muscles clenching. Something wasn’t right.
Selena stepped toward the car, still clicking the remote. Again, nothing happened. Her aggravated groan echoed down the street as she continued to hit the remote lock attached to her key chain. Finally, she looked up the street toward Brice, a determined frown on her face.
“Selena?”
Brice hurried toward her, a pulse booming inside his temple. “Selena?”
“Leave me alone, Brice! This thing hasn’t worked right since I bought the car before I left for Argentina. So much for going green.” Intent on finding out why her car wouldn’t unlock, she reached toward the door, her fingers brushing against the lock button.
Then Brice smelled it—a strong scent of gasoline and oil. He screamed her name again, then sprinted toward her and grabbed her from behind, lifting her up as he ran with all his might away from the car. About thirty feet away, he pushed her down onto the sidewalk, knocking her files all over the concrete, his body shielding hers as he tried to cover her.
Seconds later, the explosion hit and the inside of Selena’s car became an inferno of molten-hot metal and chrome.
His voice was close to her, but the buzz inside her ears made it sound so far away. “You’re bleeding.”
Selena looked up at the man holding her, her breath coming in deep, slashing gulps. “So are you.”
She tried to sit up, tried to touch a finger to the scratch running across Brice’s cheekbone. But his hand on hers brought her back down. “Don’t move, cara. Let me make sure you’re in one piece.”
“I’m fine,” she said, his nearness as heated as the fire from the burning vehicle. Pushing at him, she managed to shift away. “What happened?”
Brice sat her up against the clinic wall as people came running out of nearby buildings. “Your car exploded.”
“But…why?” Then she looked up at him and saw it there on his face. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me. This can’t have anything to do with Argentina, with La Casa de Dios?”
The grim set of Brice’s mouth told her he certainly believed it did. La Casa de Dios—the house of God—was what the locals had called the clinic where she lived and worked. “I told you these were very dangerous people, luv. If you’d gotten in that car—”
Selena pushed up the wall. “No. I don’t believe you. My key pad didn’t work. Something malfunctioned inside the vehicle. A spark—”
Brice squatted in front of her, blood running down his face. “A bomb, Selena. A bomb happened inside that car, or at least underneath the car. You smelled the fumes, didn’t you? I don’t know what went wrong—maybe they weren’t as expert as they thought or maybe their timer wasn’t set correctly. But your key pad messing up saved you. It went off before you cranked it. Before you got inside—”
Selena took in the scene, realizing the magnitude of what he was saying. Her car was totaled, a burning heap of gas fumes and scorched metal and chrome. Thank goodness no other cars or people had been nearby. Not many ventured on this street this late in the day, so no one else had been hurt.
And she was still alive. And Brice. Brice was still alive. She thanked God for that.
He held his cell phone while he looked up and down the street. Sirens sounded in the distance. “Listen, I called 911 but we don’t have much time. We have to get you away.”
“Away from what?” she asked, her thoughts all jumbled up like mixed wires.
“Away…before the newspeople get here. Your face doesn’t need to be plastered all over this city. They’ll try to come after you again.”
“But if they know where I am already—”
“We don’t need to give them any more firsthand information, though, do we, luv?”
A clinic worker came running out then. “Selena, are you all right?”
Brice lifted her up. “She needs to be checked out. We don’t want her going into shock.”
The worker, whose nametag said Meg, looked frantic. “Dr. Jarrell left early for an out-of-town meeting, but I can call him back.”
Selena slapped at Brice’s hand. “I’m fine. I just want to go home.” But her legs trembled like twigs.
“Not just yet,” Brice said. His voice sounded far away, vacuumed, while his arms around her became a source of strength. “Meg, take her inside. I’ll talk to the police and explain what happened and then I’ll be in. They’ll want statements from Selena and any other witnesses, but I’m going to try and deal with them first. Lock the doors and do not open them unless you see my face.” When she didn’t answer, Brice leaned close. “Meg, this wasn’t an accident, understand?”
Meg bobbed her head, her dark eyes going wide. “I hear you, Mr. Whelan. Mercy, what’s this old world coming to—a car exploding right here on the street.”
Selena had to agree with her friend and coworker. Maybe this had just been some sort of random neighborhood retaliation. Maybe they’d gotten the wrong car. “Brice, are you sure?”
Brice held her close, wiping smut and grime from her bloody face. “Don’t argue with me. This is why I had to get you out of that village. They know you didn’t die in that attack and now they’ve found you. It’s not safe in Día Belo.”
“And this place is?” she retorted.
He couldn’t answer that, so he dropped his hand and motioned for Meg to take her. Then he turned to go and talk to the two Atlanta police officers stepping out of a patrol car. Behind them, an ambulance and two fire trucks pulled to a skidding halt.
But when Selena looked back, Brice had his hands braced on his hips and he was watching her all the way to the door. And for the first time since she’d known him, she saw something there in his eyes that she’d never seen before.
Uncertainty and fear—for her.
TWO
“She is not going to be happy.”
Brice took a swig of mineral water, then put the goblet down on the coffee table. Selena’s debonair father, Delton Carter, sat across from him, his fingers placed together temple-style on his lap. Mr. Carter was a prominent Atlanta businessman and he was also a long-standing senior member of CHAIM—Christians for Amnesty, Intervention and Ministry. He wanted his daughter protected and he’d assigned Brice to the job. Twenty-four seven. This just might prove to be Brice’s toughest assignment yet.
“We’re not trying to make her happy, Shepherd,” Delton said, using Brice’s code name. “We’re trying to keep her alive. And until we find out what kind of bomb that