by Score, Lucy
Mack was starting to sweat. This wasn’t the plan. But had she bothered adhering to the plan since she got here? Sighing, she pulled her cell phone out of her coat pocket and texted Linc.
Mack: Short notice, but my foster fam showed up early. We’re going to lunch at the diner. Want to meet them? It’s no problem if you can’t.
It would be more casual than having them all over to her place for dinner. That felt too official. Casual was good. Casual meant she wouldn’t have to answer questions about futures.
Linc: I can’t wait to meet them. Finishing up a call, but I’ll swing by after. P.S. I promise not to tell them how beautiful you are when you’re naked.
Mack’s face turned six shades of scarlet.
“Uh-oh. What’s that face?” Dottie demanded, her motherly instincts not missing a beat.
“Nothing!” Mack coughed. “Uh, how about I drive us? Linc is on a call.”
Yes, she felt silly for being nervous about her ex-foster parents meeting her adult boyfriend. And yes, she knew it was stupid. But sometimes facts didn’t change feelings.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, over hot open-faced roast beef sandwiches, crispy fries, and, okay, a boring salad for Mack, they and the rest of the diner patrons watched as the command vehicle rolled up in front of the diner, lights flashing.
“Oh, God. No,” Mack whispered.
Linc, looking dashing in his turnout pants with dirt streaked over his face and a fresh bandage on the back of his left hand, climbed out of the truck, waved to a handful of onlookers, and strolled to the door of the diner.
He looked like a firefighting Ken doll. And Mack couldn’t decide if she was more proud or embarrassed.
“Is that him?” Dottie hissed. “Oh, good job, honey.”
“O-M-G, Mack. If that is him, I promise I’m going to stop calling you a sad single lady,” Violet said. She left a makeup smear on the window.
“Big deal. So he puts out fires and saves lives for a living. Can he identify all of the metatarsal bones?” Win wanted to know.
And then Linc was in the diner, strolling toward them. “Hey there, Dreamy.” He dropped a kiss on her cheek and presented her, Dottie, and Violet each with a single rose from behind his back. The women swooned.
“Little freezer fire at the florist’s,” he said. “Gloria says hi. You must be Mackenzie’s parents. I’m Linc.” He offered his hand to Win.
He was showing off. For her family. And she loved him for it.
58
Mack woke to the silence of the middle of the night. Something had jolted her out of sleep. It wasn’t the gradual awakening in the space between dreams. Something had dragged her from sleep into awake.
In the dim light, she saw Sunshine sit up on the bed next to her and cock her head.
Three a.m. That meant it was officially Thanksgiving Day.
“What’s the matter, buddy?” she rasped. Her throat tickled as if it was irritated.
Then her senses caught up. There was a tang in the air, something bitter, acrid. Something wrong.
There was a noise downstairs. A shuffling, a soft thump.
It could be Linc. He could be coming home early from his shift. But that wasn’t his tread.
Her gun was in a lockbox in the coat closet on the first floor. A really stupid place for it, she realized too late.
She snapped on the bedside light and grabbed her phone with shaking fingers sent off a text to Linc.
The room looked hazy, and she blinked her eyes, trying to clear them.
Mack: Are you here at my place?
There were footsteps on the stairs now.
She knew before the door opened that it wasn’t him. The figure in her doorway was framed in a ghostly orange flicker of light. It wasn’t Linc. And it wasn’t the sunrise lighting the interior of her home.
It was fire.
Sunshine let out a low, threatening growl, her body stiffening into a defensive posture between Mack and the figure.
Black smoke billowed lazily in, clinging to the ceiling.
Blindly, she hit what she hoped to God was the emergency call button on her phone.
“What have you done?” she gasped, pulling the sheet over her face as smoke stung her throat and lungs.
The figure stepped across the threshold, an arm extended toward Mack.
A gun pointed at her heart.
Sunshine snarled, and the hand that held the gun wavered toward the dog.
“No!” Mack said, yanking Sunshine back. The figure closed the door, grinning maniacally.
“Guess who finally wins, Kenzie?”
“Jesus. What have you done, Wendy?”
Wendy stood between Mack and the door, the stairs, the way out.
“You took everything from me. You couldn’t stand to see me happy. Now, it’s my turn to take from you.”
Logically, Mack knew there was no reason to argue with unhinged. There would be no making her sister see the reality. But in the moment, with adrenaline pumping through her system, with the need to live to see Thanksgiving morning when the people she loved most would gather, she was fearless.
“I did everything I could to save him, Wendy. Everything. He was already gone before he got to the hospital.”
“You killed him,” she shrieked.
“I swear I didn’t, Wendy. I tried so hard to save him. I tried to save him for you.” Keep her talking. Keep her engaged until either the authorities arrived or the smoke got too thick to see. She’d get Sunshine out on the roof, and they’d escape. Somehow.
“You don’t get to have what you took from me.”
“I didn’t take anything from you!”
“You killed him. You did it just to hurt me. And now I’m going to watch you burn, and I’m going to kill your firefighter when he comes through that door to save you!”
“Where did you start the fire, Wendy?” Mack demanded, slipping off the bed and hoping to God the call had connected. Hoped that someone in dispatch could hear what was happening. In case she didn’t make it. She wanted them to know the truth.
Wendy giggled. “The garage. I figured it would give us time to talk, give your man time to get here before you both die.”
“I love Linc,” Mack said. Not for Wendy’s benefit, but for him. If she didn’t make it, there would be a record of her saying it. “Put the gun down, Wendy. You don’t really want to shoot first responders. You just want to hurt me.” She took a step toward her sister.
“Stay where you are!” The gun was pointed at her again. “Don’t make me shoot you before the smoke gets you. Your boyfriend will find you,” she said, gleeful now. “He’ll find your body and know he couldn’t save you.”
“You’re really going to kill us both?”
“I’ll watch you burn,” she said, her smile a terrifying machination. She laughed.
Sunshine whimpered.
It was getting hotter and darker in the room. The layer of smoke on the ceiling was thickening.
Her phone screen glowed dimly, half under the pillow.
Please be listening.
It was eerily quiet except for the pops and bangs from the fire as it consumed the cottage beneath them.
Wendy coughed into her arm, the gun pointing at the floor for just a second.
“I didn’t kill Powell,” Mack said.
“Yes. You did. He was yelling. That night in the car. I couldn’t see. It was dark, foggy. Powell was singing or maybe yelling,” she murmured, coughing again.
If Mack could get to her and disarm her, there was a chance she and Sunshine could make it out.
Sunshine wiggled closer to the edge of the bed. The roof was steep, but maybe they could get down the stairs or out the window, onto the roof.
God. Once again, Wendy had her trapped in a second-floor bedroom. But Mack wasn’t six years old anymore. And she had a hell of a lot to live for.
It was so damn hot. And Linc did this for a living, walking into the flames. Linc. The smoke w
as so thick now. Someone would notice the flames. Someone would call. Someone would come.
Sweat ran freely down Mack’s back. Her hair hung limply in her face.
“Powell overdosed. He had too much heroin in his system,” Mack said.
“I had the methadone. We did it for fun. But I didn’t see the barrier.” Wendy sighed dreamily, sinking onto the edge of the bed. “But I saw his head hit the dashboard.”
Mack pulled Sunshine off the bed, pushed her to the floor out of the smoke. “Stay, girl.”
Understanding hit her. Sick recognition.
“You were driving that night. It wasn’t Powell. It was you.”
Her sister had killed Powell. Her sister and his bad decisions.
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” Wendy shot back up off the mattress. Her hand trembled as she pulled the hammer back on the revolver.
It was so dark in the room. Like the smoke was extinguishing everything.
“You know it wasn’t my fault. You blame yourself. But it’s easier to blame me.”
There were sirens, Mack thought. She hoped it wasn’t a delusion, a hallucination.
They were getting louder and louder now. It wasn’t her imagination.
Help. Linc.
She needed to get out. Needed to get Sunshine out. They had a future. The three of them. There were kisses to be kissed. Vows to be made. Babies to have.
And she was going to fight for him, for their future.
She launched herself at her sister.
The sound of a gunshot rang in her ears.
59
“I literally can’t taste the difference,” Linc announced, dragging the blindfold off to stare at the two bowls of chili in front of him.
“Seriously? I use chipotle seasoning and jalapeños,” Al complained.
“Pfft. Please, amateur. This is chorizo sausage,” Lucille insisted, pointing at the bowl on the right.
“Both taste like Chef Boyardee to me,” Linc said.
Their jaws dropped in abject horror.
“Oh my God. I’m just kidding, guys.” Linc laughed, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
The alarm rang out.
“Let’s get to work,” he said as they hurried out of the room and down the stairs.
He was shrugging into his gear when his cell rang.
“Shit.” He had a text from Mackenzie. “Yeah, Linc.”
“Chief, this is Cheryl at dispatch. Mike’s got an open line on an emergency call. It’s coming from Dr. O’Neil’s address.”
His fingers froze on his coat. “Mackenzie.”
“It’s her house. Voices are garbled. She’s not alone. Sounds like whoever set the fire is still in there? Neighbors are calling in now. Structure fire.”
“Fuck. Brody, it’s Mack’s house,” Linc called.
Their gazes locked. “Go,” Lighthorse said.
“I’m on my way,” Linc told the operator as he climbed behind the wheel of his chief’s vehicle and tore out of the parking lot, lights and sirens blaring.
Fear was a living creature trying to claw its way out of his chest as his tires squealed around a corner.
“Hang on, Dreamy,” he whispered. “Just hang on.”
“Chief, Mike’s saying it sounds like the doc is saying something about a gun.”
He could see the flames from the end of the street. Neighbors were gathered on the sidewalk, clumps of people in pajamas and winter coats.
He heard the faint pop.
“Shots fired,” the call came across the radio. “All units to 214 Rosebud Lane. Shots fired. Structure fire.”
He stopped on the street, leaving the truck on, door open. He could hear the sirens coming. A quarter-mile out. But he couldn’t wait. He grabbed his helmet, threw on his bottle, and sprinted across the yard.
He could hear a barking dog, and his blood boiled. His girlfriend and his dog were in there, and he wasn’t waiting.
“Chief to dispatch. I’m on-scene. Going in.”
“Good luck, chief,” dispatch replied.
“Engine 231, one minute out.”
“Get her out, chief,” one of the neighbors called.
“Be safe!”
With the well wishes ringing in his ear, Linc affixed his mask and kicked in the cottage door.
If it were any other firefighter and any other house, Linc would have made them wait for backup. For command. For a plan. But it was Mackenzie.
The flames had engulfed the living room and dining room completely. He dropped to the floor as smoke billowed in hypnotic waves, blinding him.
His gloved hand found something that shouldn’t have been there. A gas can. Accelerant. Jesus.
He crawled forward into the inferno, the ceiling raining down on him in slow motion as the fire fueled itself. Flames and insulation, ceiling tiles. A macabre storm.
He couldn’t even see the stairs.
“Mackenzie!” He shouted her name. But there was no response.
He tried uselessly to knock back some of the flames licking at the drywall, the floor, as he made his way forward.
The stairs. He found them with his hands. They were on fire, almost melting in front of him. He had to get upstairs. He crawled up one then another. The carpet on them was on fire. Everything was on fire.
Something hit him on the shoulder, then gripped.
It was Brody and Stairmaster. And they were dragging him away from the stairs. Away from his woman. Away from his future.
“No!” Linc roared. He fought them, but they didn’t let him go.
They were almost to the door when the stairs gave, collapsing, sending a cloud of dust to mix with the toxic fog bank of smoke.
They dragged him out.
“Chief and search and rescue are out of the structure,” Command announced in a relieved breath.
Linc yanked off his helmet, his mask. “I’m going back in there.”
Brody stopped him with a hand to his chest. “There were shots fired.”
“Do I look like I fucking care? Mackenzie is in there. Sunshine is in there, and I’m getting them out.”
“The stairs are out,” Stairmaster said.
“I don’t care if I have to climb my way up with an ax. I’m not letting her go.”
“It’s too tight. We can’t get the ladder truck any closer, and we can’t go over the roof,” one of the volunteers reported breathlessly.
“Then we’ll take a ladder around back to the bedroom.”
“Let’s get it off the truck,” Brody said. “Where is it?”
“Staging at the end of the road. Units are stacked up like Tupperware out there.”
But Linc couldn’t wait for the volunteer to return with it.
“I have an idea,” he said and sprinted for the fence, for home.
Less than a minute later, he aimed Betsy at his backyard fence. He didn’t stop to think. He simply mashed the gas pedal and sent the antique truck smashing through the fence.
He slammed on the brakes as a half dozen firefighters threw themselves over the locked front gate into the side yard. Together, they braced Betsy’s ladder against the side of the house.
His heart was in his fucking throat as he started to climb.
He needed to be careful. To be smart. If the arsonist was in there, if they were still conscious, he’d be a sitting duck. The bedroom window was closed. No ventilation. Trapping all that poison in that tiny room.
It could be a trap, but it didn’t fucking matter. He was going in.
He felt the ladder shake beneath him. One of his crew climbed behind him.
“Please,” Linc whispered. There was a tug on his pant leg.
He stopped, ready to kick whoever the fuck it was in the face.
“Chief, you don’t have your mask,” Skyler said, holding out her own. “Take it. Go.”
He slipped it over his head, took her helmet, too, and then took the last two rungs and shattered the fucking glass.
“Mackenzie!” he roared.
&n
bsp; But the gunshot was louder.
He threw himself into the room, disoriented, fell to his hands and knees. There was something there. A lump. Jesus Christ. Sunshine. His Sunshine.
“Mackenzie,” he shouted again, his throat burning up.
“I’m here. Get Sunny!”
She was alive. She was alive. She was alive.
He couldn’t see her, but Mackenzie was alive.
“Come towards me if you can,” he yelled. “Follow the sound of my voice.”
He shoved his hands under Sunshine’s limp form and lifted her to the window.
Gloved hands were ready and waiting to take his girl. He waited until they had her and then turned back. It was black as pitch in the room. He hurried forward on his hands and knees, pacing off the room in his mind. The flames were here now, licking under the door, flashes of orange through choking smoke.
“Mackenzie!”
“Here!”
A hand reached out and gripped his coat. He grabbed her and pulled, but she didn’t move.
“Are you stuck?”
There was a steady stream of requests for CAN reports blaring through Linc’s radio.
“I’m trying to drag my sister with me.”
“Your sister?”
“She’s unconscious. I think she hit her head when I hit her!”
“Let go of your sister, Mackenzie.”
“Promise me you’ll get her out.”
“I swear to you, I will personally carry her out of this house, but you need to move now!”
He dragged her forcefully, not even giving her the option to decide.
“Take my girl,” he shouted as he shoved the coughing Mackenzie’s head and shoulders out the window. He waited until she disappeared into the night onto the ladder before crawling back into the room. In such a tiny room, it wasn’t hard to find the sister.
Her form was limp on the floor at the foot of the bed. Something small and metal beside her. The gun. She’d stood between Mackenzie and the door with a gun. He pocketed it, shoving it into one of the exterior pockets on his gear.