She sighed. Okay, she liked the weather, too. It was relaxing to be able to put on a bathing suit almost any day of the year and swim or kayak in the ocean. Other than missing her family, specifically her older sister, she was pretty much at ease in her world. Surrounded by paints, canvas, paper, and water. Life and the leading of it were of her own making, and these choices had been deliberate. What she made, if she liked it, carried forth into the world and if it didn't, then she destroyed it or threw it away. She was the creator, and she had control. She liked having control over her life.
Songs from “Winter Solstice” issued from the radio like a sea-salt bath for the nerves. She relaxed into the instrumental harmonies and let the music sweep her away.
Kathryn Marie wet the lapis block on her plastic pallet with a dab of water from the fan-shaped, synthetic bristle brush. The watercolor became a small pool of wet potency. Dipping her brush, she lifted it to the paper and drew a feathery stroke across the paper. The white space filled with shapes making the picture transform. The page filled with a bold and wild seascape.
Waves crashed, and the scene was tumultuous and harsh. White crests flooded over rocks and the beach, drowning the plants and covering the small caves inset in the cliffs.
The violence was intense. Something was wrong. She could feel it, and her painting showed it.
She painted nonstop, tears streaming down her cheeks as her chest heaved. Her breath hurt as she drew it in and forced it out.
"What's wrong with me?” Taking a break, she turned the radio off and walked to the TV switching it on.
Visuals assaulted her immediately. Sound in a jumbled cacophony accompanied the graphic awfulness.
Emotion poured out in a scream. Kathryn Marie saw a picture of her sister's building plastered on screen behind the announcer. “Brenda!"
The news played in the background. “This is CNN. Our lead story, the bomb that threatened to devastate several Washington, D.C. blocks close to the White House has been disarmed. It's been six hours now, and we have more information. The bomb was considered a handmade device, and happily authorities have recently given an all-clear status for the area. Residents will be able to return to their homes and offices tomorrow morning. Unfortunately…"
Kathryn Marie gulped, trying to make the air stay inside of her body. Suddenly, too much breath poured out. But her heart and lungs squeezed so tight she could barely take the pain.
Her mind screamed… no, no, no.
An aerial view of her sister's building flashed on the screen as the announcer continued. “… In late breaking news, the body of a prominent psychiatrist, well known in governmental circles and within homeland security for her work on stress recognition and hypnotherapy, was discovered in the Dumpster behind the building. The bomb had been planted in the eighth floor office by an unknown source. Authorities are still trying to contact the family of the victim.” Her phone went off again jarring her nerves.
"The private residence hotel housed several doctors’ offices as well as serving as short- and long-term housing to many government officials. No other deaths have been reported at this time. Stay tuned to CNN for more details or check our website, CNN.com."
She knew. It was her sister who had been killed.
Walking over to the vibrating phone, she dialed her voice mail and listened. Her vision was blurred by tears and breathing felt foreign. The police. And so many more individuals wanted to speak with her. Closing the phone did not end the deluge.
The news played over and over. Rage and pain poured through Kathryn Marie as it cycled again and again.
How could she go on! How was she supposed to survive the death of her sister?
Chapter Two
The West Coast suited him. In less than ten hours since he'd defused the bomb, Devin was back on home base.
His best friend would tease him that there were advantages to playing badly with others. He was just lucky there had been no TV cameras to capture his behavior. If there had, life would be pretty different right now.
Getting a verbal berating was the worst of it, and he was grateful for that. He knew he wouldn't be so glib in the future. If it ever happened again, that he had to work with Blicksen, he'd follow the appropriate channels for reporting the guy. That was how the bureaucracy worked.
Bright sunshine warmed his skin. He grinned as he pulled his dolphin gray Porsche into the parking lot of the VONS grocery store on Orange Avenue in Coronado, California.
Checking the time on his heirloom Rolex, he noted he still had two hours before he had to be at the EOD training facility. His temporary change of assignment was going to be superb. Working at the Amphibian Base, teaching the ins and outs of EOD was right up his alley. He preferred it to the political pussyfooting he had to do when he worked with D.C. agencies. Courses on ‘getting along’ and diplomacy weren't his cup of tea.
The thought made him chuckle. He preferred coffee or beer-in other words, locating the source of the issue, taking care of it, and moving on. That was his forte. With the other agencies-anything that wasn't Navy-he had to share info, play nice, and be polite. He wasn't thrilled with the “I know, you know” concept. From his training, he'd learned “keep the Intel close.” This concept saved lives. He would gladly leave the issues up to his CO.
The punch in the face to Blicksen had landed him with a verbal reprimand, but nothing further. The new CO had written a small cock ‘n bull paragraph about stress and reassigning duties, and off Devin had headed to home base for a new assignment.
Ah, San Diego and its beautiful weather made up for a lot of long nights being stuck in snow and slush. If he became forlorn for the white stuff, he could drive to the mountains of Julian for fresh homemade apple pie, the local tourist specialty, or head up to Big Bear for snowboarding.
He exited his car and made his way to the back entrance of the grocery store. Lunch and H2O were pretty much the only items on his list, but it never hurt to walk the aisles. When he stepped inside, cool air bathed him and the scent of baked goods teased his nose.
Life was good!
Turning into an aisle, a woman smashed into him, covering his happy thoughts with… strawberry shortcake. Sticky, gooey, and messy stuff clung to his uniform.
"Oh, I'm soooo sorry!” Light green eyes held his.
He stared for a minute. It was she, the other woman from the picture. The incredible things this woman had done-raising money, donating to others-there was so much to admire. Her eyes had drawn him to the picture when he'd first seen it, and they mesmerized him now. “It's you!"
Her eyebrows crinkled. “I don't know what you mean. Do I know you?"
"Yes. No. I mean… I'm sorry about your sister.” Those words seemed to be verbal bullets that struck her body hard. She wobbled. Horror covered her face. Backing away from him, she dropped the rest of the cake to the ground.
There was only one way to go, the way she came. She disappeared into the store.
He didn't hesitate. Following the trail of shortcake and strawberry squish, it ended at the ladies bathroom. He knocked. No answer. Pushing the door open, he looked in. There was another door, and she'd used it.
Brenda Pente's sister had left the building.
What had she been thinking? Leaving the house for cake hadn't been a good reason. Not good at all! Anyone could have recognized her or said something and she would have freaked. She hadn't been ready. Why did I go?
Not more than an hour ago, the police had been here. Talking at her as if she were a toddler with a hearing issue.