9

M. J. was too stunned to make sense of what had happened; she could only lie on her back in the grass and stare dazedly at the sky. Then, gradually, she became aware that someone was calling her name, that someone was brushing the hair from her eyes, stroking her face.

"M. J. Look at me. I'm right here. Look at me." Slowly, she focused on Adam. He was gazing down at her, undisguised panic in his eyes. He was afraid, she thought in wonder. Why?

"M. J.!" he yelled. "Come on, say something." She tried to speak and found all she could manage was a whisper. "Adam?"

The tension in his face melted into a smile. "Thank God. You're going to be all right…" He bent down, pressed kisses to her forehead, her mouth. "Just lie still. Everything's going to be fine…"

Through her confusion, she heard the sounds of running footsteps, shouting voices, calls of "Is she okay?"

"What happened?" she asked.

"Don't move. There's an ambulance coming-"

"What happened?" She struggled to sit up. The sudden movement made the world lurch around her. She caught a spinning view of bystanders' faces, of debris littering the lawn. Then she saw what was left of her house. With that glimpse, everything froze into terrible focus.

The front wall had been ripped away entirely, and the inner walls stood exposed, like an open dollhouse. Shreds of fabric, couch batting, splintered furniture had been tossed as far as the driveway. Just overhead, an empty picture frame swung forlornly from a tree branch.

"Jesus, lady," murmured someone in the crowd. "Did you leave your gas on or something?"

"My house," whispered M. J. In rising fury she staggered to her feet. "What did they do to my house?"

Then, as if there hadn't been enough destruction, the first flicker of fire appeared. Flames were spreading from what used to be the kitchen.

"Back!" shouted Adam. "Everyone back!"

"No!" M. J. struggled forward. If she could turn on the garden hose, if the pipes were still intact, she could save what little she had left. "Let me go!" she yelled, shoving at Adam. "It's going to burn!"

She managed only two steps before he grabbed her and hauled her back. Enraged, she struggled against him, but he trapped her arms and swung her up and away from the house.

"It's going to burn!" she cried.

"You can't save it, M. J.! There's a gas leak!"

The flames suddenly shot higher, licking at the collapsing roof. Already the fire had spread to the living room, had ignited the remains of her furniture. Smoke swirled, thick and black, driving the crowd back across the street.

"My house," M. J. sobbed, swaying against Adam.

He pulled her against him and wrapped his arms tightly around her as though to shield her from the sight and sounds of destruction. As the first fire trucks pulled up with sirens screaming, she was still clinging to him, her face pressed against his shirt. The roar of the flames, the shouts of firemen, seemed to recede into some other, distant dimension. Her reality, the only one that mattered, was the steady thump of Adam's heart, the unyielding support of his arms.

Only when he gently released her and murmured something in her ear was she wrenched unwillingly back into the real world. She found two uniformed men gazing at her. One was a cop, the other had an Albion Fire Department patch on his jacket.

"What happened?" asked the cop.

She shook her head. "I don't know."

"She'd just gotten home," said Adam. "We went inside, came back out again for a minute. That's when the house blew up. She caught the worst of it. I was standing behind her-"

"Did you smell gas?"

"No." Adarn shook his head firmly. "No gas."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely. The fire started after the explosion."

The cop and fireman looked at each other, a glance that M. J. found terrifying in its significance.

She said, "It was a bomb. Wasn't it?"

They didn't say a word. They didn't have to. Their silence was answer enough.

It was after midnight when they finally pulled into Adam's driveway. They'd spent two hours in the ER getting their cuts and bruises tended to, two more hours in the Bellemeade police station, answering questions. Now they were both on the far side of exhausted. They barely managed to stumble out of the car and up the front steps.

Thomas was waiting at the door to greet them. "Good heavens, Mr. Q.!" he gasped, staring in horror at Adam's torn suit. "Not another brawl?"

"No. Just a bomb this time." He raised his hand to cut off Thomas's questions."I'll tell you all about it in the morning. In the meantime, let's get Dr. Novak to bed. She's staying the night."

"Would that be, er…" Thomas paused delicately. "In the guest room?"

The question hung unanswered, like a suggestive perfume.

Adam looked down at M. J. and saw her dazed expression. He realized that she was poised on the edge of collapse, and more vulnerable than he'd ever seen her. Tonight is not the night, he thought. Not if I care about her. Which I do.

"The guest room will be fine," he said to Thomas.

Thomas nodded, utterly unruffled. "I'll prepare the room," he said, and went up ahead of them.

Slowly Adam guided M. J. up the stairs. Her body felt so small, so fragile under his arm. It was a word he'd never thought would apply to M. J. Novak-fragile. But that's how she felt to him that night, climbing each step as though it were an impossible hurdle. Perhaps the blast had done more damage than he'd realized. This wasn't the M. J. he knew, the woman whose courage he'd held in awe. This was a woman who needed him.

He pulled her closer, felt those old masculine instincts stir to life. Not just desire-that had always been there-but something new. Protectiveness.

He helped her up the last step, and down the hall. By the time they reached the south guest room, Thomas had already turned down the covers, placed fresh towels on the dresser, and closed the drapes. "I'll see to your room now, Mr. Q.," said Thomas, and discreetly withdrew.

"Come. Into bed with you," said Adam. He sat her on the covers, knelt down to take off her shoes.

"I'm such a mess," she murmured, staring down at her clothes.

"We'll clean these in the morning. Right now, you need some sleep. Can I help you off with your clothes?"

She looked up at him with a faint expression of amusement.

He smiled. "Believe me, my intentions are purely honorable."

"Nevertheless," she said, "I think I'll manage on my own."

So the old M. J.'s still in there, he thought, meeting her quiet gaze. Even a bomb blast can't kill that spirit.

He sat down beside her on the bed. "It's gone too far," he said. "Doing your job is one thing, M. J. And I admire your persistence, I really do. But now it's turned ugly. This time you were fortunate. But next time…" He stopped, unwilling to finish the thought.

She looked at him, her eyes wide and bright with the threat of tears. "At least-at least I can be certain of one thing," she said softly.

"What's that?"

"You were there with me, and trying to get me to go out. Obviously you had nothing to do with it."

"How could you even begin to think I'd-"

"I couldn't help it, Adam! This has me so confused. I don't know who to believe, to trust. I wonder about Ed, about Sampson, about all the people I ever ticked off. And they must number in the thousands. But I don't wonder about you anymore. Because that bomb could have killed us both."

He gave a sheepish laugh. "I'm glad to hear there's a silver lining somewhere in this mess. Now you'll trust me one hundred percent."

"Ninety-nine point nine percent."