Neither had she.
Dread settled in her gut, her pulse picking up at the worry she wouldn’t know how to manage this properly. Houston was a big city, but even there, she’d never been on the scene of a bomb. The closest she’d come was seeing the aftermath of the Luna explosion.
“Right now we don’t know anything.”
“We know it was a bomb outside, maybe on the street,” Charlie interrupted, his voice deeper than usual with tension. “Lorenzo and the Rook are out there.”
At his words, everyone started moving again.
“Stop!” Keara demanded. “Listen. We need to be careful. What we don’t know is if there are more bombs set. Sam, I need you to stay here and manage the station. Field calls, deal with anyone who comes in off the street and get paramedics on scene. Then call the hospital in Luna and tell them to expect injured. We might need their medevac helicopter. Line it up.”
Sam Jennings nodded. He was a five-year veteran who was typically cool under pressure and great at multitasking, especially when it involved tech. But his movements were shaky as he headed toward the front of the station.
“Everyone else, keep your eyes open and stay in contact with each other. Let’s go.”
As her officers started running for the door, Keara turned back toward her office to ask Jax to inform the FBI.
He met her gaze immediately, and there was worry in his eyes, even as his attention seemed to be half on the phone at his ear. Moving the mouthpiece backward, he called to her, “I’m on with Anderson. The FBI is on the way. They’re coming with agents and evidence techs. They’ll handle the bigger investigation—they assume it’s connected to Luna. They want you to focus on helping the injured and securing the scene.”
Keara didn’t bother being offended at the FBI instantly calling jurisdiction. They had more experience, more resources. She was happy to focus on the safety of her citizens and let the FBI take the lead. Nodding, Keara delayed a few seconds to take in the calm steadiness of Jax’s presence. Then she took a deep breath and raced after her officers.
As soon as she stepped outside, a wisp of smoke wafted toward her, the acrid taste of it filling her mouth and then her lungs. Her eyes watered, partly from the smoke, but mostly from the scene in front of her.
The grassy park down the street from the police station—a popular place for citizens to dog walk or picnic—was now a bomb site. Flames leaped out from a small gazebo at the back of the park, close to the woods. The charred ground around it, a blackened patch where bright blue wild irises had just been starting to bloom, reminded her of the scene at Luna. The set of swings at the center of the park were warped and partially collapsed, one swing completely missing. People were scattered around, some lying on the ground, some hunched over, and others stumbling away.
She’d known some of the victims at the Luna bombing. She knew almost everyone who lived in Desparre.
Keara ran faster. She heard the heavy police station door slam closed and looked back to see Jax hurrying after her. She immediately glanced toward the ground at his side, but he’d left Patches in the station. Probably because of the debris that might be dangerous for her to walk on.
Whipping her gaze back to the park, Keara scanned the area, trying to take in everything at once. There were people staggering backward, their movements and expressions full of shock. Others seemed frozen. Still others were helping, moving toward the park instead of away from it, risking their own safety for their neighbors. That included her officers.
Whoever had done this was either fearless or making a statement. The park was less than a hundred feet from the police station.
Slowing to a stop as she neared the park, Keara searched for anyone whose reaction seemed out of place. Either too calm or worse, pleased. But everyone appeared shocked and scared. No one was hurrying away from the scene, either.
She glanced at Jax, who’d paused next to her. His expression was serious and troubled, but he still managed to radiate a certain calm. No wonder people gravitated toward him in a crisis.
He shook his head at her and she realized he’d been looking for the same thing, studying people with a psychologist’s perspective.
Whoever the bomber was, he was either long gone or one hell of an actor.
“Chief!”
At the tearful tone of Lorenzo, one of her steadiest veterans, Keara’s gaze whipped back to the park.
At the edge of the grassy area, near the road, Lorenzo was bent over someone.
The dread in her gut intensified, bubbling up a familiar grief. She didn’t need to see the face of the person on the ground to know who it was. The newest and youngest member of her force. Lorenzo’s partner, twenty-year-old Nate Dreymond.
Rushing over, Keara dropped to the grass next to Lorenzo.
Nate was prone on the ground, eyes closed and face ashen. There was blood on his head, and his arm was stretched out at an unnatural angle.
“We were heading out for patrol. Someone in the park called us over. I’m not sure who it was or what they wanted.” Lorenzo’s words were rapid-fire, his voice shaky. “Rook was ahead of me. When the bomb went off, something flew this way and slammed into him. I don’t know what it’s from, but—” he gestured to a piece of metal, twisted and unidentifiable, and covered in blood “—the force of the blast knocked me down, too.” His hand, shaking violently, went to his own head.
When he met her gaze, his focus seemed off, too. “When I could get up, I came over here, but—”
“No,” Keara whispered, the image of
