down just now, it had been no accident. Someone had intentionally tried to blow up Rebecca and her crew. Nick knew it with a certainty that ran bone-deep.
And he got the feeling that it was all his fault.
* * *
Numb. Rebecca was utterly numb. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Each time she tried to snap herself out of it, the image of Jesse going up in flames assaulted her mind and nausea scampered up her throat. The odor of burned flesh still permeated her clothes, her hair, her nostrils. The look of terror and agony in Jesse’s eyes was one she would never forget.
People were talking to her. Yelling at her. She could hear their voices, but they sounded so very far away, like they were coming from the other end of a long tunnel. It wasn’t until she felt the sting of pain on her arm that she registered what was happening—the emergency room nurses were forcibly pulling her away from Jesse’s gurney.
“You can’t go in there with him, Ms. Parker,” one of the nurses snapped. “Please, let us handle it.”
She nodded weakly and stepped back, her gaze glued to Jesse’s face.
Or what used to be his face.
Sickness churned in her belly and she swallowed hard, trying to keep the nausea at bay. She’d encountered some gory visuals in her career, but this...this...
Rebecca tore her eyes off her friend’s charred, blackened flesh. Sorrow tightened her throat as the reality of the situation sank in.
Jesse wasn’t going to make it.
Nobody could possibly survive the severity of these burns.
“Fourth-degree burns,” she heard a male voice bark.
Shifting her head, she spotted a doctor in green scrubs rushing alongside the gurney, which was being rolled toward a pair of double doors bearing a restricted-access sign. The medical workers flocking Jesse disappeared through the swinging doors, but not before Rebecca heard the words hypovolemic shock being tossed out.
That didn’t sound good.
God, none of this was good.
She still couldn’t believe it. One second she’d been delivering a routine report into Jesse’s camera, the next she was watching her cameraman engulfed by flames.
And then another explosion. The explosion that rocked the van.
Dave’s screams of pain as he burned to death.
Rebecca gagged, choking on bile. She glimpsed a sign for the ladies’ washroom at the end of the hall and dashed toward it, throwing herself into the first available stall and flying to her knees. She threw up, her eyes watering, her throat burning.
She didn’t know how long she huddled over that toilet, but her insides felt raw and achy by the time she unsteadily rose to her feet. She left the stall and approached the sink where she rinsed out her mouth, then studied her ravaged appearance in the mirror.
Soot smudged her face, and she had a tiny nick on her left cheek from the pebble that had dug into her skin when she’d hit the pavement. Her white T-shirt was singed, streaked with black and gray—and red.... Blood. A quick investigation revealed that she had a minor scrape on her left hip.
Drawing in a shaky breath, she bent over the sink again and washed the ash off her face, but the smell of smoke continued to linger in the air.
That bone-numbing paralysis followed her out of the bathroom. She couldn’t seem to focus on a single thought. She knew she needed to find a doctor and ask about Jesse. She needed to call the network. She needed to contact Harry.
But she was so unbelievably numb.
She stood in the fluorescent-lit corridor and sagged against the white wall, then slid into a sitting position and wrapped her arms around her knees. Five minutes or five hours—she could’ve been down there on the floor for either amount of time for how out of it she was.
“Ms. Parker?”
She lifted her head at the sound of the subdued male voice and found the doctor who’d been treating Jesse looming over her.
Rebecca took one look at his face and let out a soft moan. “Oh,
And he got the feeling that it was all his fault.
* * *
Numb. Rebecca was utterly numb. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Each time she tried to snap herself out of it, the image of Jesse going up in flames assaulted her mind and nausea scampered up her throat. The odor of burned flesh still permeated her clothes, her hair, her nostrils. The look of terror and agony in Jesse’s eyes was one she would never forget.
People were talking to her. Yelling at her. She could hear their voices, but they sounded so very far away, like they were coming from the other end of a long tunnel. It wasn’t until she felt the sting of pain on her arm that she registered what was happening—the emergency room nurses were forcibly pulling her away from Jesse’s gurney.
“You can’t go in there with him, Ms. Parker,” one of the nurses snapped. “Please, let us handle it.”
She nodded weakly and stepped back, her gaze glued to Jesse’s face.
Or what used to be his face.
Sickness churned in her belly and she swallowed hard, trying to keep the nausea at bay. She’d encountered some gory visuals in her career, but this...this...
Rebecca tore her eyes off her friend’s charred, blackened flesh. Sorrow tightened her throat as the reality of the situation sank in.
Jesse wasn’t going to make it.
Nobody could possibly survive the severity of these burns.
“Fourth-degree burns,” she heard a male voice bark.
Shifting her head, she spotted a doctor in green scrubs rushing alongside the gurney, which was being rolled toward a pair of double doors bearing a restricted-access sign. The medical workers flocking Jesse disappeared through the swinging doors, but not before Rebecca heard the words hypovolemic shock being tossed out.
That didn’t sound good.
God, none of this was good.
She still couldn’t believe it. One second she’d been delivering a routine report into Jesse’s camera, the next she was watching her cameraman engulfed by flames.
And then another explosion. The explosion that rocked the van.
Dave’s screams of pain as he burned to death.
Rebecca gagged, choking on bile. She glimpsed a sign for the ladies’ washroom at the end of the hall and dashed toward it, throwing herself into the first available stall and flying to her knees. She threw up, her eyes watering, her throat burning.
She didn’t know how long she huddled over that toilet, but her insides felt raw and achy by the time she unsteadily rose to her feet. She left the stall and approached the sink where she rinsed out her mouth, then studied her ravaged appearance in the mirror.
Soot smudged her face, and she had a tiny nick on her left cheek from the pebble that had dug into her skin when she’d hit the pavement. Her white T-shirt was singed, streaked with black and gray—and red.... Blood. A quick investigation revealed that she had a minor scrape on her left hip.
Drawing in a shaky breath, she bent over the sink again and washed the ash off her face, but the smell of smoke continued to linger in the air.
That bone-numbing paralysis followed her out of the bathroom. She couldn’t seem to focus on a single thought. She knew she needed to find a doctor and ask about Jesse. She needed to call the network. She needed to contact Harry.
But she was so unbelievably numb.
She stood in the fluorescent-lit corridor and sagged against the white wall, then slid into a sitting position and wrapped her arms around her knees. Five minutes or five hours—she could’ve been down there on the floor for either amount of time for how out of it she was.
“Ms. Parker?”
She lifted her head at the sound of the subdued male voice and found the doctor who’d been treating Jesse looming over her.
Rebecca took one look at his face and let out a soft moan. “Oh,
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