Three best friends are at the venue just to hear their favorite band . . . but only one of them makes it out alive.
When police stop Dustin with a warrant to search his trunk, he knows it’s just a mistake. He’s former military and owns a security firm. But he’s horrified when they find explosives, and he can’t fathom how they got there.
Criminal attorney Jamie Powell was Dustin’s best friend growing up. They haven’t spoken since he left for basic training, but she’s the first one he thinks of when he’s arrested. Jamie knows she’s putting her career on the line by defending an accused terrorist, but she’d never abandon him. Someone is framing Dustin to take the fall for shocking acts of violence . . . but why?
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EXCERPT
Aftermath
Chapter
One
Taylor Reid’s phone flashed as
she snapped the selfie with her two friends, their heads touching and their
backs to the stage. The shot from the third row, with the lead singer in the
background and the three of them in the foreground, was perfect. No one would
believe their seats were so close.
They turned around to face the
band, dancing to the beat of the song they’d been listening to in the car on
the way to Trudeau Hall.
Taylor quickly posted the pic,
typing, “Ed Loran targets nonpoliticals for his rally with band Blue Fire.
Worked on us!”
She put her phone on videotape
and zoomed onto the stage.
“I don’t want it to end!”
Desiree said in her ear.
“Me either!” Taylor yelled over
the music.
“Maybe they’ll play again after
his speech,” Mara shouted.
The song came to an end, and
the crowd went crazy, begging for one more song before the band left the stage.
But an amplified voice filled
the auditorium, cutting off the adulation. “Ladies and gentlemen, please
welcome the next president of the United States, Ed Loran!”
The crowd sounded less
enthusiastic as the band left the stage and Ed Loran, the Libertarian celebrity
magnet, made his entrance. Taylor kept cheering and clapping, letting her
enthusiasm for the band segue to him.
It happened just as the
candidate took the stage. The deafening sound, like some confusing combination
of gunshot and lightning bolt, a blast that blacked out the lights and knocked
her to the ground. Smoke mushroomed. Screams crescendoed—shrieks of terror,
wailing pain, shocking anguish . . . then sudden, gentle
silence, as if she were underwater. A loud ringing in her ears filled the void.
She peered under the seats,
choking for breath as dimmer lights flickered through the smoke. Even from
here, she could see the fallout of whatever had happened. Blood pooling on the
ground, people hunkering down as she was, feet running . . . What
was happening? An explosion? A crash? She looked around and couldn’t see her
friends.
She clawed her way up and
looked over the seat. Smoke and fire billowed from the stage into the crowd,
and heat wafted over her like some living force invading the room. Muffled,
muted sounds competed with the ringing.
Get out! Now!
She dropped back down and crawled under two rows of seats until she came to
someone limp on the floor. She felt herself scream but couldn’t hear her own
voice. Scrambling to her feet, she went to her left to get to the aisle, but
her foot slipped on something wet. She grabbed the seat next to her to steady
herself, then launched into the frantic crowd in the aisle. The room seemed to
spin, people whizzing by, people under her, people above her, people broken and
ripped and still . . . She stepped and fell, crawled and ran,
tripped and kicked her way to the bottlenecked doorway, then fought her way
through it.
The ringing in her ears faded
as she tumbled downstairs, almost falling into the lobby below. The sound of
crying, coughing, wretching, and the roaring sound of pounding feet turned up
as if some divine finger had fiddled with the volume.
She set her sights on the glass
doors to the outside and pushed forward, moving through people and past the
security stations they’d stopped at on the way in. She made it to the door and
burst out into the sunlight.
Fresh, cool air hit her like
freedom, but at first her lungs rejected it like some poison meant to stop her.
At the bottom of the steps, on the sidewalk, she bent over and coughed until
she could breathe.
After a moment, the crowd
pushed her along toward the parking garage until she remembered that her car
wasn’t there. She had parked on the street, blocks away. She forced her way out
of the flow of people and ran a block south. Where was it?
She turned the corner. Her car
was here, on this block. Near the Atlanta Trust Bank. Wasn’t it? Or was it the
next block?
Sweat slicked her skin until
she found her silver Accord. There!
She ran to it and pulled her
keys out of her pocket, wishing she hadn’t lost the key fob. Her hands trembled
as she stuck the key into the passenger side lock and got the door open. She
slipped inside on the driver’s side, locked it behind her. Instinctively, she
slid down, her head hidden as if someone were coming after her.
What just happened?
One minute they’d been taking
selfies and videotaping the band, and the next they were on the floor . . .
Where were Mara and Desiree?
She hadn’t even looked for them! Should she go back for them?
No, that would be insane. She
could smell the smoke and fire from here. They would know to come to the car
when they got out.
Call the police!
She tried to steady her hands
as she swiped her phone on.
“911, what is your—”
“An explosion!” she cut in, her
voice hoarse. “At the Ed Loran rally at Trudeau Hall!”
“Where are you now?” the woman
asked in a voice that was robotically calm.
“I got out. There’s fire . . .
People are still in there. Please send ambulances!”
“Ma’am, did you see what
exploded?”
“No . . . the
stage area, I think. I don’t know where my friends are. Please . . .
hurry!”
“We’ve already dispatched the
fire department and police, ma’am.”
She heard sirens from a few
blocks away and cut off the call. She raised up, looking over the dashboard for
the flashing lights. She couldn’t see any, but the sirens grew louder.
She knelt on the floorboard, her
knees on her floormat and her elbows on her seat, and texted Desiree.
I’m at the car. Where
are you?
No answer. She switched to a recent
thread with Mara and texted again.
Got out. At car
waiting. Where are you?
Nothing.
She dictated a group text to both
of them.
Are you all right?
They were probably
running or deaf, fighting their way out like she had. She tried calling them,
but Mara’s phone rang to voicemail. When Desiree’s phone did the same, she
yelled, “Call me! I’m waiting at the car and I’m scared. Where are you?” She
was sobbing when she ended the call.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Terri Blackstock has sold over seven million books worldwide and is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author. She has had over twenty-five years of success as a novelist. She’s the author of If I Run, If I’m Found, and If I Live, as well as such series as Cape Refuge, Newpointe 911, Moonlighters, and the Restoration series. Visit her website at www.terriblackstock.com.
CONNECT WITH TERRI: Website |
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TOUR GIVEAWAY
(3) winners will receive a print copy of Aftermath by Terri Blackstock!
Full tour schedule linked below. Giveaway began at midnight May 11, 2021 and will last through 11:59 PM EST on May 18, 2021. Winner will be notified within 2 weeks of close of the giveaway and given 48 hours to respond or risk forfeiture of prize. US only. Void where prohibited by law or logistics.
Giveaway is subject to the policies found here.
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