High Noon

he couldn’t think. Unfortunately, he could, and his mind kept sneaking back to that moment, that ohmyjesusgod moment when what had been a man had become…nothing.
    Bits and pieces of meat and bone, and something like a horrible red fog.
    He couldn’t remember, not exactly, moving. He remembered feeling something—like a quick punch of air, and the sounds, whizzing and shouting, thunks—thunks of statuary and earth and God knew hitting trees and ground, other stones and statuary.
    He knew he’d seen a piece of what had been Roy hanging in the lacy webs of Spanish moss. He thought he’d seen the stone angel’s disembodied head fly, her face splattered with red, her smile peaceful and serene. But he might’ve imagined it.
    He didn’t remember running, walking, jumping toward Phoebe. Just being there, he remembered just being there on top of her while the chaos boomed around them. He remembered hearing her say: What have I done? She said it over and over until someone—Dave, he thought, the captain—had pushed at him, pulled at them.
    Are you hurt? Are you hit? That’s what he’d asked first, Duncan was nearly sure of that. His face had been as white as the flying angel’s.
    It blurred some after that. Lots of movement, lots of sound, more sirens.
    And she’d told him to go. She’d stood in the middle of that nightmare and told him to go. Fuck that.
    She was in with the captain, that’s what they’d told him. In with Captain Mc Vee and some others. So he’d wait. He’d goddamn wait.
    He wanted a drink. He wanted to be sick. He wanted to touch her just to assure himself one more time they’d both come through it whole.
    But all he could do was wait.
    “Dunc.”
    He turned, and his stomach did one hard shudder when he saw Phin striding from the elevator. For reasons he couldn’t explain, seeing his friend had his legs going weak enough to have him sinking down onto a bench.
    “Jesus. Oh Christ.”
    “You’re okay?” Phin took a hard grip on Duncan’s arm as he sat beside him. “You’re bleeding. Are you okay?”
    Dully, Duncan looked down at his shirt. “It’s not my blood.” Just a little souvenir from Bonaventure, a little memento of Roy. “But I think I’ve got a ways to go before I get within shouting distance of okay. Jesus, Phin. Fucking Christ Jesus.”
    “What the hell happened? Do they know what the hell happened?”
    “He blew up. He just…It’s not like the movies. Man, it’s not like that.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “Loo? The kids?”
    “Fine. Kids are sleeping. We got cops around the house. This was Carly’s father?”
    “Roy. Roy Squire. Had him chained to the ground on a grave, strapped with explosives. Poor son of a bitch. Something about being grabbed out of his own garage, beaten up some, maybe drugged. Phoebe was talking to the guy who did it through Roy—the ex. He had, ah…” Duncan made a helpless gesture at his ear.
    “Okay, I get it.” Studying his friend’s face, Phin pulled a flask out of his hip pocket. “Take a slug, brother.”
    “I’d kiss you for this, but I’m not feeling romantic.” Grateful, Duncan took the flask and swallowed straight whiskey. “He was—Roy—he was crying, begging. The guy…Cooper,” Duncan remembered. “He told Phoebe to call him Cooper. He wouldn’t say what he wanted, he wouldn’t say why. Then he must’ve told Roy to say goodbye. And he pushed the button, he set off the bomb. He blew apart, Phin. Fuck, he just blew apart.”
    “Duncan, did you set the security before you left your house?”
    “What? No.” Had he? No. “We were out of there too fast.”
    “Okay, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to make some calls, get some people over there to do a sweep and to secure the place.”
    Duncan let his head fall back. “Because he went after Phoebe’s ex, he may come after me.”
    “No point in being sloppy, is there?”
    “No, no point.”
     
    In the office, Phoebe sat ramrod straight. Her family was safe, and their homes under guard. She could put that worry out of her mind. Roy was dead; she couldn’t change that. She had to block that guilt out of her mind, her heart, her belly.
    “Hilton Head PD is investigating. They’ve got a crime-scene unit going over the house and garage. We’re looking for the victim’s car.”
    “The grave has to be symbolic of something or someone.”
    “We’re getting the information.”
    “I need my family protected, not just for