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the other one, all those years ago; they were exactly the same," I said with a little more bravado than I felt.
    My father stared me down. "Are you sure?"
    "An old wind-up clock that probably hasn't been for sale for decades. Seriously old dynamite."
    "Boogie paid his debt and went back east, last I heard." My father sounded like he was working real hard to sell the story. But to me or to himself? I didn't know. "He didn't have anything to do with this, Lucky."
    "Why are you so sure?" I pressed. Mona was right; something was definitely going on with the Big Boss. Behind the paternal façade, he looked tired. And angry.
    My father started to answer, then clamped his mouth shut at the sound of the doors opening one more time. This time, they admitted Romeo with my EMT Galahad on his heels.
    As they approached, my father leaned in close. "We need to talk. Soon." He touched my face, a lost look in his eyes, then he stepped back, turning a smile toward the two men hurrying in our direction.
    Romeo, his clothes rumpled but his face bright, looked a whole lot better than I thought he should. Apparently he could take bombs and late nights in stride far better than I. His sandy hair was cut short and gelled with not a hair out of place…well, except for the cowlick at the crown of his head, which so far had defied every styling substance short of Super Glue. His blue eyes clear. A bounce in his step. A ready smile creasing skin otherwise unmarred by the passage of time. Looking at him, I had a glimmer of why people would mortgage their souls for a brief taste of lost youth.
    After nodding a greeting to my parents, the young and way too perky detective hooked a thumb over his shoulder as he stopped in front of me. "The ATF guys are chomping at the bit to talk to you."
    "I can't tell you how good that makes me feel."
    "Bombings attract a lot of attention, and you're the only one who got a look at the device."
    "Besides the one who put it there." I gave him the best stern look I could muster. "Speaking of which, shouldn't you be out chasing leads or something?"
    "I'm working on it." Romeo didn't seem to buy my act. "There's precious little to go on. Jimmy didn't have any video, so we're trying to get a bead on what folks saw."
    "Or thought they saw."
    "Eyewitnesses aren't the most reliable," the young detective agreed. "So you can understand why ATF wants to get your take."
    "I have a head injury, haven't you heard?" I pointed toward radiology. "I'm waiting for them to diagnose the extent."
    Romeo smiled. "Nice try."
    "I could use some help here," I said to the EMT. "I still don't know your name."
    "Nick." He flashed those dimples.
    I was so glad I wasn't hooked up to one of those heart rate machines or the thing would be having a coronary about now.
    "And I'll be glad to testify to your instability if you'll go out to dinner with me. The detective here told me you were flying solo." He colored a bit at my scowl.
    Romeo, on the other hand, seemed unfazed.
    "Sweetheart," I cooed to the young detective. "I don't need you pimping me out." He just gave me an open, innocent look, making me smile.
    My mother, who had grabbed my hand again, cutting off the blood flow, leaned in and whispered so everyone could hear, "Honey, he's yummy."
    None of this seemed to knock Nick off base. Not even his introduction to my parents. Either he was clueless or supremely secure. Perhaps he merited some study. As I opened my mouth to respond to his invitation, the doors behind me slammed open, making me swallow my words.
    The orderly, who had abandoned me a lifetime ago, stepped into the group and announced, "They're ready for you."
    As he reached to wheel me away, I gathered my dignity—hard to do in my current attire—and announced, "Well, today's the day we finally find out if I really do have mush for brains."

    ***

    By the time I'd been stitched up, declared of sound mind and body, and given my discharge papers, the energy in the hospital was at an