Page 5 of Chain Reaction

Sometimes the placement of debris told an investigator a lot about what had happened.

As the chief talked to another officer on the scene, Raven stepped carefully through the debris. Her heart panged at the reality of the loss.

She knew loss all too well.

Her own mother had been killed in Syria when a terrorist planted a car bomb under her father’s vehicle—her father who was a US ambassador in the middle of negotiating a contested peace deal. Her mom had climbed inside instead and . . .

Raven’s throat burned.

Thirteen years had passed since then, but sometimes the pain still felt so fresh . . .

As she stepped toward ground zero, she paused and closed her eyes. Took in a deep breath.

Waves crashed in the background. Seagulls swooped overhead.

Sounds that should be peaceful.

Certainly, Eleanor Clark had appreciated them.

Until she died in an explosion.

Raven’s lips pulled down in a frown.

She opened her eyes again and continued to walk through the destruction. Somehow, a couch cushion had survived as well as several pots and part of a headboard. Broken dishes lay at her feet with clothes strewn around. But mostly she saw splintered wood and melted decking.

She heard another vehicle pull onto the scene behind her, but she didn’t turn to look. Officials would be coming and going all day—probably all week, for that matter.

A scene like this didn’t get investigated in a day.

As Raven searched the area, she squinted as something between the boards caught her eye.

Squatting down, she moved some rubble aside.

A photo underneath had survived the blast.

As the image came into view, her breath caught.

It was a picture of the US Embassy in Syria. Raven knew the place well—she’d lived there at one time.

But why in the world would Eleanor Clark have this photo in her house?

Jake Laudner pulled to a stop at the scene of the blast. He’d already been here this morning, but he wanted another look.

Chief Chambers had called and asked him for his opinion on what had happened.

As a former explosives expert for the Navy, this was his area of expertise. He now worked for a private security group called Blackout. Almost everyone at the company was former military special forces.

He’d only started three months ago, and he was enjoying the job so far. Except for . . .

His throat tightened.

He didn’t want to think about those issues now. Didn’t want to think about how he and his new colleagues—the ones hired with him—weren’t all seeing eye to eye. How he was nearly certain one of them couldn’t be trusted.

Right now, however, Jake needed to focus on the disastrous scene before him.

He climbed from his truck and stared at the massacred beach house. Part of the sand dune that had once stood in front of the house was missing, along with the walkover leading from the home’s deck to the ocean.

His jaw twitched with compassion. This should never have happened. Senseless tragedies could sometimes be the hardest.