Sirens signaled the approach of the first responders. The Scarlet Falls Police Station was only a few blocks away. Two police cars roared around the corner.

“Wait here.” Lance stepped out of the Jeep and waved them down. They parked in the middle of the street, their lights swirling. Two officers emerged from the squad cars. She recognized Officer Carl Ripton. Lance conferred with his former coworker. Morgan changed into the flats she kept in her tote bag. Then she joined Lance in the street as the officers moved away.

Lance steered her back toward their vehicle. “They want us to wait here. The SFPD is going to evacuate the block and sit tight until the county bomb squad gets here to clear the scene.”

Carl blocked one end of the street with his vehicle. The second officer drove to the other end of the street and did the same. Then the two cops left their vehicles and ran toward the buildings on either side of the office.

The thought that there could be additional bombs around the property made Morgan feel ill. The blood dripping from Lance’s fingers onto the sidewalk wasn’t helping. She wasn’t normally squeamish. The explosion had left her shaky. Plus, little aches were blooming where her chin, knees, and hands had hit the ground. She opened the hatch and rummaged in the back of the Jeep for two bottles of water and the first aid kit. Lance stocked his vehicle the way she stocked her tote bag.

She opened three gauze pads and held them against Lance’s cut. The blood soaked through them in seconds. She’d need twenty stacked together. She needed something more absorbent. The ACE bandage in the kit wasn’t sterile. Unzipping her tote, she found a Maxi Pad, opened the package, and pressed it against his wound.

Lance looked down and lifted one brow.

Morgan shrugged. “It’s clean and absorbent.” She wrapped the ACE bandage around his arm to hold the pad in place. “Would you rather go to the ER?”

“Nope. This is fine.” Lance took his phone from his pocket. “I need to call Sharp.”

With Lance’s wound addressed, Morgan cleaned the scratch on her calf and covered it with a Band-Aid. Sirens wailed as more officers arrived. In ten minutes, they were joined by two fire trucks, an ambulance, and a paramedic unit. Morgan flagged down a paramedic, who opened his kit on the hood of the Jeep.

He unwrapped the makeshift bandage and paused for just a second before nodding at Morgan. “Resourceful.”

He cleaned the wound. “This could probably use a couple of stitches. I’ll close it with butterfly bandages, but if it doesn’t stop bleeding, you should go to the emergency room. Have you had a tetanus booster recently?”

“I’m sure I have,” Lance said.

The paramedic bandaged the wound, then turned to Morgan. “How about you?”

“I’m fine.” Because Lance had played human shield.

The paramedic cleaned up his supplies and took his kit back to his vehicle.

Morgan turned and leaned against the Jeep next to Lance’s good arm. “Thank you for throwing yourself on top of me.”

“Anytime.”

“Is Sharp still with Stella?” With the excitement fading, the chill wrapped around her, and she shivered.

“I assume so. He didn’t answer his phone. I left him a message.” Lance scrolled through apps on his screen. “I can access the security camera feed on my phone. The cameras should have caught our bomber.”

“Let’s hope.” But that seemed too easy for Morgan. They weren’t usually that lucky.

“Here he is.” Lance angled the phone so she could see the screen.

A man in jeans and a hoodie ran up to the front porch, set down the package, and retreated.

“Damn. He kept his face turned away from the camera,” Lance said.

“He knows it’s there.” Morgan pointed at the screen. “Show the feed from camera two. It covers the street.”

Lance switched camera feeds. “He parked outside the camera’s view.”

“Go back to number one and run it again.” Morgan watched the man leave the box. She touched the screen to freeze the video. “We can approximate his height and body type.”

“He looks fairly average.”

“Average can rule people out.”

“True.”

She squinted at the image. “Do you see any logos on his clothes?”

Lance zoomed in and moved the image around on the screen. “He’s wearing Timberland boots.”

“He’s also wearing leather gloves.” Morgan zeroed in on a small strip of skin between the hoodie sleeve and the glove. “Zoom in here. He’s Caucasian.”

“We were bombed by an average-size white guy in Timberland boots.”

“Not much of a description.” But better than none at all, she thought.

“Uh-oh. Here comes the press.” Lance sighed.

Morgan lifted her head. Two news vans turned the corner and stopped just shy of the command center established by the SFPD and fire department. Before the crews could exit those two vans, another pulled up.

“On the bright side, our bomb has drawn the press away from Mr. and Mrs. Cruz’s house.” Lance’s eyes narrowed until he looked almost wolfish.

“There is that.” Morgan watched the crews unload from the vans. “But how did they get here so quickly? Albany is an hour away.”

“Maybe they got a tip, like that reporter who randomly showed up at Olivia’s house yesterday while I was canvassing the neighborhood.”

A reporter spotted them. But Morgan and Lance were behind the command center barrier. Morgan was grateful the press couldn’t get to them. Reporters lined up to give sound bites with the police activity as a dramatic backdrop.

“Are you going to talk to them?” Lance asked.

“No. I’m going to ignore them.” With a normal case, Morgan gave interviews to manipulate public opinion in favor of her clients, but there was no need for her to indulge the media today.

“Good. I hate to see them sensationalizing Olivia’s disappearance and hounding her family for ratings.”

Hours passed as the bomb squad set up and then cleared the office and surrounding buildings. As soon as the area was proclaimed safe, the ambulance, fire engines, and half the police vehicles drove away. Neighbors were permitted into their homes and businesses.

The fire chief approached Lance and Morgan. He was holding a small silver object in his gloved hand. “The building is clear. There was only the one device.”

“What’s that?” Morgan pointed to his hand.

“An infrared motion sensor. It seems your package contained a small pipe bomb with a mechanical switch triggered by the IR sensor. In theory, it’s smart. There’s no obvious trip wire, and the assailant can be far away from the scene when the bomb goes off. But you got lucky. The sensor picked up your movement while you were still a good distance from the bomb. If you two had been closer when it went off, you would have gotten faces full of shrapnel.”

Considering a bomb had detonated and they had suffered only minor injuries, Morgan felt very lucky indeed. “I would have expected a larger explosion from a pipe bomb.”

“We’ll know more when we’ve fully investigated, but I suspect the bomber didn’t use enough explosive.” The fire chief shrugged. “Whether that was intentional or not is the question.”