Instead of fire and pain and a massive explosion, there was a warm, gentle breeze and silence and the trembling under my feet eased to a gentle sway. I slowly lowered my arms and looked at Rizzoli. He stared back at me, obviously baffled. Crawling out from under the steel table was a slow process because my calf muscles weren’t cooperating and I was watching the ceiling for falling objects. “Was that a quake or an exploding prisoner?” Rizzoli’s brow was furrowed in confusion just before he frowned. “Neither. I’ve been inside this building during a quake. The floor reacts different. And he’s still there.” He stepped forward to the two-way mirror and used his jacketed elbow to wipe away some of the dripping fog on the glass. The room was unchanged, except that both men were staring up at a spot near the ceiling that was swirling with multiple colors. I’d been thinking it had been Ivy in the room with us, because it’s nearly always Ivy who comes when I’m upset. But unless she’d discovered some interesting new tricks, this wasn’t her.
