The blast was so strong it shattered the storm door and propelled him backward onto the floor. His head smacked hard on the tile, but he fought through the fog to remain conscious so he could get to her.

Barefooted, shirtless and panic-stricken, he crawled through the glass calling for her. The quiet neighborhood had descended into bedlam. He heard people screaming and could smell the acrid smoke coming from the burning car. “Sam! Sam!”

Blood flowed from a cut on his forehead. He swiped at it and started down the stairs, ignoring the pain of jagged glass under his feet. “Samantha!” Frantically, he scanned the small front yard, the street, the neighbors’ yards.

A moan from the bushes behind him caught his attention. “Sam!” He rushed to the huddled form in his garden and had the presence of mind to realize that the miniature evergreens he had planted the summer before had most likely saved her life. “Sam! Sam, look at me.” With the scream of sirens in the distance, he gently turned her head. Other than a knot on her forehead and a shocked glow to her eyes, he didn’t see any obvious injuries.

“Bleeding,” she whispered. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.” He picked branches from her hair, brushed dirt from her cheek. “Do you hurt? Anywhere?” Releasing a long deep breath, he swayed with lightheadedness. “Babe. Jesus.” Sitting with her in the garden, he did battle with the blood pouring from his forehead. He held her tight against him and whispered soothing words as she trembled in his arms.

“Need to call. HQ. Report it.”

“I’m sure someone called 911. Just stay still until we get you checked out.”

“My ears are ringing.”

“Mine, too. You didn’t hurt anything else?”

“Chest hurts.” She trembled. “God, Nick. Oh my God.” Clutching her stomach, she rocked in his arms.

He tightened his hold on her. “Shh, babe.” The blood coming from the cut on his forehead seemed to finally be slowing. “Breathe. Deep breaths.”

An Arlington police officer approached them. “Are you folks all right?”

“I’m on the job.” She showed him the badge she pulled from her tattered coat pocket. “Detective Sergeant Holland. Metro.”

“Are you hurt, Sergeant?”

“I don’t think so, but it was my car that went up. I need to get word to my brass.”

“I’ll call it in for you.” Until the cop handed Nick a blanket, he’d forgotten he was wearing only the now-torn sweats. “And I’ll send the paramedics right over.”

“Thank you, Officer…”

“Severson.”

“Thank you,” Sam said again. When they were alone, she glanced at Nick. “I’m sorry.”

“What the hell for?”

“For bringing this to your home.” She sniffed and wiped her nose. “I never thought they’d really try to kill me. I never imagined they had the balls.”

“Don’t you dare apologize to me, Samantha. You’re a victim here.”

“Your windows are broken. Your neighbors’, too.”