Fury of Fire (Dragonfury Series #1)

words, not hers. But looking around now, she conceded the point. They were a bunch of yahoos.
    Crap, she owed her partner an apology—the second one in the space of a week. And wasn’t that going to suck?
    Mac pointed to the right, toward a copse of redwood trees. Ah, a parking space. The perfect one, too…close enough for a bird’s-eye view, far enough away to avoid contaminating the crime scene. But the real perk? No one hemming them in, which meant the possibility of a fast getaway if Sheriff Yahoo proved to be as stupid as his officers looked.
    With an “atta-boy” for her partner, Angela turned the wheel, heading away from the congestion at the mouth of the lane. As the SUV bumped over uneven ground, she scanned the scene again. God, what a mess. Not the kind of case a cop wanted to catch this close to the weekend. And yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum. All of a sudden, Sheriff Yahoo was looking a whole lot smarter than the two of them put together.
    What in God’s name had happened here?
    Her brows drawn tight, Angela hit the brakes and threw the truck into park. Taking the keys out of the ignition, she tossed them to Mac. “Man, where are we? Kandahar?”
    “Not enough dead bodies.” Mac caught the airborne gift, cutting off the happy jingle of metal on metal mid-song.
    “We’ve got what—just the one, right?”
    “Yeah, one dead girl, but…” Popping the latch, Mac pushed the door open and stepped out of the SUV. “Night’s still young.”
    Angela snorted. Four a.m. was young? Her partner needed his internal clock reset. Then again, an insomniac no doubt dealt with a different set of criteria for determining what constituted early and late.
    “So, what’s your best guess here. Is it…” Angela trailed off, realizing her partner wasn’t listening. Hopping out of the cab, she glanced over and got a load of Mac’s expression. Oh, boy, she knew that look. He didn’t wear it often, and seldom went that still, but when he did? Nothing good followed. “Hey…Mac.”
    Size twelves planted on the ground, he stood frozen in the V-shaped cove between the open door and truck frame. White-knuckling the roof edge, he stared at the sky above the Cape Cod, his gaze sweeping through the darkness, searching for something. A something Angela couldn’t see, but experience told her not to discount. Mac’s spidy senses were crazy accurate, much sharper than hers…when he wasn’t having one of his episodes.
    One eye on her partner, the other on the sky, Angela unVelcroed her Glock. Gripping the hilt, she kept it holstered and hustled around the front of the SUV.
    “Talk to me…whatcha got?”
    “Don’t know…something’s off.”
    Great. Here they went again. Trouble.
    “What was your first clue?” she asked, keeping her voice light to bring Mac back onside. Every once in a while, he freaked her out like this. The last time, he’d seen some sort of shadow, felt breath on the back of his neck. Mac had hauled ass, moving with freakish speed after something Angela hadn’t seen, much less felt. She’d chased him seven blocks that night. No way she wanted him to put in a repeat performance here…in the middle of nowhere with nothing but bush for miles. “A freaking bomb went off out here.”
    “Probably C-four,” he murmured, his military mind coming back online. Thank God and all the angels, too. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
    “Good to know,” she said and meant it. She’d had enough cardio lately, thank you very much. “Come on. Let’s walk the scene. See what we got.”
    He studied the skyline for another heartbeat, then dragged his gaze away and tipped his chin in her direction. “Right behind ya.”
    With a nod, she folded the Velcro back in place and, securing her weapon, led the way up the lawn. After flashing her creds, she ducked beneath the yellow tape and peeled right to walk the perimeter. From the corner of her eye, she saw Mac go left, toward the sheriff and the tight knot of deputies surrounding him.
    Thank God for small favors. Or rather, for Mac. He knew her strengths lay in the field—in picking up evidence at a glance, the small stuff that most detectives missed—not in interdepartmental schmoozing. Being a twenty-first century woman didn’t mean automatic acceptance. Some of the old-timers still got their panties in a wad over a woman working homicide. And that just pissed her off…so, yeah. Her talking to Sheriff Yahoo wasn’t a great idea.
    With methodical