Page 101 of Shrapnel

“Jamie,” Owen pulled his hands away. “You saved me. I put the box on the kitchen counter, and you told me to go lock the door. Because I went around the corner to lock the door, I was saved from the explosion.”

He gestured to his arm in the sling. “That’s being saved?”

“Yes,” Owen answered, exasperated.

“You probably have a concussion. You need to go to the hospital. Now. Where’s the EMT?” he looked around, suddenly unable to look at Owen or sit still. He was smiling. Why was he smiling? It wasa bomb.He could have died. Owen could have died, and Jamie wasn’t there.

It was surreal. Jamie felt like this was an out-of-body experience. He was watching himself from above like a bad TV show. Fires and bombs were his wheelhouse. He should be obsessed with the flames, loving the way the flames destroyed concrete and steel like they were nothing but kindling. Instead, he hated them. He wanted to snuff them out in his hands so Owen could go back to his home, to his computer, and back to his safe life.

“Since when do we go to the hospital?” Owen teased with a tone far too light for someone who had justexploded.

“We don’t. You do.” He made eye contact with a very sour-looking EMT. “He’s ready to go.”

“Oh? Is he?” the EMT snarked, grumbling about ‘assholes not letting him do his job’ before going to get the truck going.

“I don’t need to go to the hospital. I need to get that information about Mateo for you. I just need a computer.”

Jamie shook his head. “No, no I shouldn’t have gotten you involved in the first place. This is too much. You’re not in this life anymore.”

Owen rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve been hurt way worse than me and kept going.”

Setting his jaw, Jamie pinched Owen’s cheeks. He leaned into his face so close their noses were almost touching.

“That’s me, Owen. I don’t give a damn what happens to me. But you? You’re fucking precious.”

Owen inhaled sharply, his eyes widening. Before he could say anything else, the Paramedic arrived and ushered Owen onto the stretcher. Jamie nodded to Owen as he was strapped in.

The doors slammed and Jamie watched the ambulance ease over a curb so they could get out of the packed parking lot. Behind him, something in the burning building crashed. Judging by the sound it was the rebar finally giving out under the heat. The insulation should be flame retardant but the heat from this blaze would be too much. The firefighters were fighting a losing battle. This apartment complex was a cheaply made mess. Jamie could see that the moment he looked at it. The building might have been up to code, but just barely. Right now their efforts would be on keeping the damage contained to this one building.

By the time he turned around the Red Cross had already set up a tent. The displaced residents were getting coffee and hot cocoa. Plastic baggies of necessities like toothbrushes and shampoo were handed out while everyone figured out where they could stay for the time being.

Elijah joined him. “Grant took care of it.”

Jamie was still staring up at the building. Even from where he was standing, he could feel the heat. It seared his face.

“He wants to talk to us.”

“He wants to talk to me,” Jamie corrected.

Elijah didn’t say anything else, but he was staring at Jamie. His eyes were dark and for once, unreadable. Or maybe they would be if Jamie wasn’t so out of sorts. At the moment, he couldn’t focus on anything except the limp way Owen’s fingers were hanging in the sling or the dried blood on his skin.

“EOD guys said it was a small pipe bomb. Fire started slow but once it got a hold of the couch it was all over. They recovered some box—”

That woke him up. “A box? Where?”

Elijah gestured to the EOD vehicle. “It was nothing. Half a singed cardboard box. No return address.”

Jamie strode over to the vehicle. He had to know who sent the bomb. It didn’t matter if Owen was the target. He was injured, and Jamie couldn’t allow that. He was going to find the bastard and show them what it was like to watch their skin blister and burn. Jamie would make sure the smell of burning hair and flesh followed them to hell.

The remains of the box were tucked away in plastic evidence bags. Elijah kept a lookout while Jamie picked the lock on the SUV’s trunk. He ducked into the vehicle and began sorting through the plastic bags. Most of it was charred cardboard and some plastic bits—the remains of a PVC pipe and the adhesive used. Jamie recognized the components. Rudimentary but effective.

He found something in the second to last bag. Even through the plastic, he could smell gasoline coming off the evidence. Pulling it into the light from the overhead light, he shifted the contents until he got a good look.

A burnt stuffed fox rolled around the bag. Its orange synthetic fur was singed and congealed together. The fluffy tail was a stick of plastic, the heat adhering the plastic fibers together. One leg was missing, and its eyes were ripped out.

Jamie stared down at the threads sticking out from where the plastic eyes had been sewn and stopped breathing. Every hair on his body stood on end and his stomach dropped. The bag fell from his cold fingers, and he stumbled backward. Everything went dark.

I don’t think your smile is ugly. It looks like a fox!