Harlequin Intrigue April 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 by Carol Ericson (bill gates best books TXT) 📕

choice, without the volume of spectators that mission-oriented bombers favored.

Not your job, Jax reminded himself. The agents would search for the perpetrator. He needed to help the victims and their families.

Kneeling down, he slipped special shoes onto Patches’s feet that would protect her from bomb fragments and other sharp items in the rubble. Ideally, they’d stay out of the blast zone entirely, but that wasn’t always possible. Then he stood, holding his arm out straight, directing her toward the park. “Come on, Patches.”

She followed his direction, walking past the gawkers on the outskirts of the scene. She headed straight toward the woman sitting alone on one of the intact benches, with a vacant gaze and blood smearing her sweatshirt. When Patches reached the woman, she sat next to her, and the woman—girl, really, Jax decided as he reached her—seemed to refocus. She reached out a shaky hand to pet Patches, who scooted closer.

Ignoring the chaos behind him as the FBI agents and evidence specialists coordinated with Luna police, Jax knelt in front of the girl. He pegged her at nineteen. The shock in her eyes suggested she still hadn’t processed what had happened. The grass stains on the knees of her pants suggested she might have been part of the soccer game. Or maybe she’d skidded to the ground from the force of the blast or in desperation to help someone she loved. There were a couple of bandages visible on her arms where she’d rolled up her sleeves, but nothing that would have caused the amount of blood on her shirt.

“I’m Jax Diallo,” he said softly, not wanting to startle her. “I’m a Victim Specialist with the FBI.”

Her gaze skipped to his, then back to Patches. She pet his dog faster, and Patches moved even closer, putting her head on the arm of the bench and making the girl smile.

“What can I do for you?” Jax asked. “Is there someone I can call? Do you need to get to the hospital to see someone?” He hoped the person whose blood coated her shirt wasn’t in the morgue.

She glanced at him again, surprise and wariness in her eyes. “You’re not going to ask me about what happened?”

“We can talk about that, too, if you want. I’m here for you. So is Patches.”

Her gaze darted to his dog, at the mix of brown and black that had earned her the name, and smiled briefly.

“What’s your name?”

“Akna.” Her voice was croaky, quiet enough that he had to lean forward to make it out.

She’d inhaled smoke when the bomb went off. Or the blast was still impeding her ability to tell how loud she was speaking, even an hour later. Probably both.

“Akna, I’m a Victim Specialist. It’s my job to help you and anyone else who needs me today or in the future. Right now that means getting you any resources you might want, or helping you contact someone.”

She stared back at him, her gaze still slightly unfocused. But as she pet Patches, the fear and confusion on her face slowly started to fade.

Most people had no idea his job existed. But he was the lifeline between victims and their families and the Special Agents, who often didn’t have the time or know-how to manage victims’ many needs. Part of his role was to help victims navigate the criminal justice process, making it more likely they’d find the perpetrator and put that person behind bars. But the other part was simply helping victims get the resources they needed to move on with their lives.

“Akna, were you here alone?”

“Yeah.” She shook her head. “No. Sort of.”

“You were here for the soccer game?” he guessed.

“Yeah. We’ve got an online community board. Someone wanted to play.” She shrugged, a fast jerk of her shoulders. “It was a nice day. I wanted some exercise.” A strangled sob broke free. “How could this happen?”

“Is there someone you want me to call? To let them know you’re okay? Or to pick you up?”

“I helped carry her over there,” Akna said, gesturing vaguely toward the edge of the park. “I saw a couple of the players trying to lift her, carry her away from the rubble.” Her voice picked up speed, picked up volume. “She was right by the building and big pieces of it fell on her. We thought it would be better. But—”

“She was a friend of yours?” Jax asked, keeping his voice calm, letting Patches do her own work as Akna continued to pet her, probably not even aware she was doing it.

Akna shook her head. “I didn’t really know her. But she was on my team.” Her eyes met Jax’s and instantly filled with tears. “I think she was dead before we carried her over there.”

“I’m sorry, Akna.”

“Who would do this?”

“We don’t know yet. But we’re going to find out.”

“We were just playing the game. I was running down the field, heading for the goal—it was supposed to be those trees.” She pointed, her hand shaking uncontrollably. “No one thought to bring a net. And then...and then, there was this huge boom. It was so loud I could feel it. I don’t remember falling, but then I was on the ground and people were screaming and then...” She sucked in a violent breath.

“Akna, you’re okay,” Jax said softly, in the same even tone he’d used with hundreds of victims. “You’re okay. It’s over.”

“Akna!”

Akna leaped to her feet, making Patches stand, too. The tears she’d been persistently blinking back suddenly spilled over as she whispered, “Mom.”

Then a woman with the same dark hair, the same deep-set eyes, rushed over, enveloping her in a tight hug. “I heard about the bomb. And I couldn’t get a hold of you. Your phone kept going straight to voice mail.”

“It broke,” Akna sobbed. “I fell on it and it broke. And then I was trying to help Jenny and—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” her mom soothed, smoothing back her daughter’s hair. “I’ll take you home.”

“Akna,” Jax said, holding out his card. “You