Fatal Response. Jodie Bailey

wasn’t sure which of the two he was talking to.

      Wyatt nodded. Erin didn’t respond.

      Not that he’d expected her to. The way the conversation had gone earlier, there was still a large gulf between them. One he had no idea how to bridge.

      When he shoved through the door, the temperature was noticeably colder than it had been an hour or so earlier. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and strode toward the barriers at the road, where a handful of cars sat parked along the side of the road.

      Only one person was in sight.

      Jason ducked under the barrier and came up next to Staff Sergeant Alex “Rich” Richardson, who was leaning against the side of his pickup truck. Rich hardly acknowledged him as he scanned the wood line on the other side of the station. The vigilance never went away, even on home soil and especially tonight.

      It might never go away again. He’d seen the woman who’d once been the love of his life for the first time in years. Had witnessed a speeding vehicle take aim at her. Had seen blood-soaked boots on pavement.

      None of this should be happening here.

      He stepped into Rich’s line of sight. “Where is everybody?”

      “They went with Seth. A couple of local cops took him up the road a little ways, around the curve. Probably have him sitting in a patrol car. He was pretty...you know.”

      Belligerent? Desperate? Scared? When they’d lost Fitz, Seth had been one of the worst wounded, nearly bleeding out from shrapnel to the neck. His fight, his determination, his will to live...everything had centered on Angie.

      And now she was gone.

      Jason tensed, his knee and shoulder protesting with another reminder of the ways life didn’t always make sense. As he stood beside Rich, he studied the driveway leading to the back of the fire station. Seth was going to need them all, but he had no idea what to say. If they were facing armed terrorists, he could take them down. A bomb factory? Been there, done that.

      But a buddy who’d lost his wife?

      He hadn’t felt this inept even in basic training. There weren’t courses for how to comfort a guy whose wife was dead. A wife who had been killed in a hit-and-run ten miles from home with an envelope full of meth in her hand.

      Rich pounded the side of his fist against the truck. “I feel useless standing here. I’d rather be hunting the guy who did this, bringing him in so he can face what he’s done.”

      “Same.”

      “Lisa’s with him. She’ll know what Seth needs.”

      Lisa Fitzgerald would definitely do a better job than any of the guys would. When they’d returned from Iraq and Lisa had come to meet them, Jason had tried to offer sympathy to Fitz’s wife. He’d watched her husband die. He owed her.

      But he’d blown it. Had stammered a few clichés that had made her soak his shoulder with tears.

      “I think—” Rich’s words dropped as a figure stepped around the back of the truck.

      Jason’s muscles tensed, his fingers reflexively reaching for the weapon he no longer carried. People melting out of the darkness never meant anything good.

      But as the shadow drew closer, the tension eased.

      Sergeant First Class Tony Augustus lowered a soda can from his mouth, casting a guilty look at Jason.

      “Caesar.” The nickname had been bestowed on Tony by a drill sergeant who’d called him Caesar Augustus. “You let your wife catch you downing caffeine, she’ll come after you. Then she’ll come after us for not stopping you.” After the incident that killed Fitz, the men had reacted in different ways. Caesar’s post-traumatic stress had nearly incapacitated him and, in an effort to curb his anxiety, his wife, Caroline, had talked him into cutting his caffeine intake.

      “Yeah, well...” Caesar scrubbed his hand across his closely cropped dark hair. “Tension’s thick and I just needed...something.”

      Jason could sympathize with the need for something. He’d found something at the bottom of a bottle after the incident, but while it had bought him temporary freedom from the pain, it had left him helpless to fight his thoughts when the nothingness wore off. Not only did he relive Fitz’s death and his own injuries, but he was thrown back to life in Mountain Springs before he took an oath to serve his country, to the what might have beens he’d left behind.

      A few moments of oblivion weren’t worth the aftermath.

      Rich thumped his fist lightly against the side of his truck, a rhythmic beat that was almost reassuring. A drummer when he was in high school, he was always tapping a rhythm. The habit had led to a lot of late-night impromptu bad karaoke sessions. His engagement to his fiancée, Amber Ransom, was a few days old. He was probably internalizing all of Seth’s reactions, knowing he’d do the same. He needed time. They all needed time.

      Caesar leaned back against the truck. “Two cops were out front, talking earlier.” He tipped his head to the sky. “They’re looking at Seth.” He addressed the stars. “Not sure they’re wrong.”

      Wait a second. “You don’t think...”

      “Stranger things have happened after guys have seen the things we’ve seen.” Dropping his chin, Caesar pinned Jason with a hard gaze. “Don’t tell me your thoughts haven’t whacked out on you before.”

      Jason’s jaw tightened. He’d had memories he wished he could erase, nightmares he’d give anything to stop...but violence? No.

      Caesar shoved off of the truck and stared at the front of the fire station. “It’s not important.”

      But it probably was. While a couple of guys had talked to the chaplain when they’d come home, most had opted out. A diagnosis of post-traumatic stress could wreck careers, so they buried the pain deep.

      Or they blew up.

      “What’s not important?” A familiar female voice drifted around the truck, followed by a tall, trim woman with blond hair and green eyes that held the weight of the world.

      Lisa Fitzgerald.

      “Nothing.” Jason let her pull him into a quick hug. Then she drew him away from Caesar to the front of the vehicle.

      If she was seeking comfort, she was in the wrong place.

      Instead, she kept her hand on his arm, her expression speaking fear more than pain.

      “What’s wrong?”

      “It’s Crystal.”

      “Palmer’s wife?” Jason leaned around her. A small knot of people had gathered while he’d been talking to Caesar, but he couldn’t see Drew or Crystal. “Where are they?”

      “He called about five minutes ago.”

      “Okay...” With a gut-wrenching dread, he knew nothing good was coming.

      “She had an asthma attack and...” Tears threatened to spill from Lisa’s eyes.

      Jason stared across the small distance at their incomplete group. Lisa didn’t need to say any more.

      Crystal Palmer was dead.

      There was no way this was a coincidence. Someone was targeting his team.

      Which meant Erin could be next.

      * * *

      Erin climbed onto the brush truck and inspected the handrail she’d been polishing when Jason interrupted her. It was tough to tell where she’d stopped and, honestly, she was too tired to care. As the sun brought a different light to the windows in the huge doors, she was glad to see the single most horrible night of her life end.

      Chief Kelliher had released her hours ago, but she’d waited for the techs outside