Jayme's Journey

by Laura Scott

  “Thanks for the ride.” Jayme glanced at him as she opened the car door. “I’ll text you when we’re finished.”

  “Okay, but if I don’t hear from you by three o’clock, I’ll come pick you up. I think it would be a good idea if we meet the girls at the hotel.”

  “That works, although I doubt we’ll be here that long.” Jayme slid out from the car, holding her coffee in one hand. “See you later.”

  “Bye.” He waited and watched as she crossed over to join her colleagues. They all went inside the clinic, but he couldn’t see much because the large broken window had already been boarded up.

  Linc shook off a sense of unease as he put the SUV into gear and drove off. Jayme wasn’t alone. No need for him to be concerned.

  Yet, as he turned to head back through town toward the rented cabin, he sent up a silent prayer for her safety.

  Jayme threw herself into the physical labor of cleaning up the mess left behind by the firebomb. The water damage was by far worse than what had been done by the fire itself. When she went into the lobby area, she was surprised to see that much like the incident at the cabin, the fire had been localized to the spot where the firebomb had landed.

  Several of the plastic lobby chairs had melted into a pile of goo. They reeked of smoke, too, as she and Sandra hauled them out to the large dumpster out back.

  “I’m telling you, girl, it’s a good thing the clinic was closed when this happened,” Sandra said with a frown. “Can you imagine what would have happened to anyone sitting in the lobby when that thing came flying through the window?”

  The scene of the cabin fire was still fresh in her mind. “Yes, we should be very grateful no one was hurt.”

  “Don’t know what this world is coming to,” Sandra groused. “Seems people just don’t know how to behave anymore.”

  Jayme swallowed hard and nodded. She couldn’t shake the guilt that destroying the clinic had been done to lash out at her.

  Not that Linc had proof of that theory. Other than the fact that she was a common denominator in each of the recent incidents.

  She did her best to push those thoughts aside. One of the physical therapists, a guy named Jake Randal, was huddled with their equipment maintenance guy as they examined the various workout machines. Those that didn’t have motors seemed to be working fine, like the free weights and the resistance weights. But the elliptical machine, the stationary bike, and the treadmill were all waterlogged.

  “These all need to be replaced.” The maintenance guy sighed. “Seems like such a waste, though, as the equipment is barely five years old.”

  “Yeah.” Jake gestured to them. “Let’s haul them outside to the dumpster.”

  The two men wrestled the heavy equipment past her. It made Jayme’s heart ache to know how much damage had been caused by this creep. Part of the walls, the equipment, and the lobby furniture, in addition to the large window, would all have to be replaced. Hardly any of what they’d found so far was salvageable.

  And for what? Just to scare her?

  No. She shivered. There was no denying the ultimate goal was to kill her.

  Marco Edgar? Or was it possible the Preacher really was alive and somehow setting these fires?

  “Jayme? Can you start going through these supplies?” Sandra asked.

  She dragged her gaze from the gym. “Sure.”

  “Anything that’s water damaged needs to be tossed.” Sandra pulled a garbage can over. “But if the packaging is intact and not wet or showing signs of being water damaged, then we can keep it.”

  “Got it.” Jayme began going through the supplies. In the background, she could hear the sound of a buzz saw as damp and/or water-damaged drywall was being removed from the lobby walls. Apparently, it was necessary to do this in order to prevent mold from growing.

  Jayme was learning more about fire and water damage than she’d ever wanted to know.

  They worked until noon. Jake had ordered sub sandwiches for them, and they sat outside on the grassy portion in front of the building to eat. Jayme took a quick moment to silently thank God for the food, not bold enough to actually pray in front of anyone else, before digging into her meal.

  Overhead, puffy white clouds dotted the sky, yet despite the sun’s brightness, the air was cool. The leaves on the trees were a vibrant red, orange, and yellow today, the peak of autumn. For a moment, she thought about how far she’d come from the night of the attempted assault by the Preacher. How she and Caitlyn had grown and thrived over the years.

  It made her yearn to know about the other foster kids. Something she should have thought about before now.

  Maybe once this arsonist had been found and arrested, she could ask Linc for help in trying to find the rest of her foster siblings. To offer her home to any of them who might need it. To her shame, she didn’t know any of their last names. The Preacher’s cabin wasn’t that kind of environment. The seven of them had only been alone at night, down in the cellar, and most of their discussions had been around escaping the horror of the Preacher. Or on what they’d do once they’d gotten away.

  Looking back, she realized they’d probably spent too much time talking about what their lives would be like once they’d escaped from the Preacher’s cabin rather than getting to know each other. A silly mistake when they should have been focused on creating an escape plan.

  The attempted assault and the fire had not been planned. But it had ultimately worked to their advantage.

  God’s hand helping them to escape? Maybe. But if that were the case, why had they been forced to live with him for so many years? Well, all except for Caitlyn who’d only been with them for two.

  She didn’t have a good answer for the questions swirling through her mind. And maybe it didn’t matter anymore. Linc would tell her that all of this, even the arsonist stalking her now, was part of God’s master plan.

  A plan she didn’t understand.

  “You okay, Jayme?” Sandra asked.

  “Fine.” She forced a smile. “Feeling a little overwhelmed at the amount of damage. Any idea when they’ll reopen?”

  “Not yet.” Sandra sighed. “It’s a matter of getting the drywall repaired and the replacement equipment brought in.”

  Jayme’s heart sank. “Sounds like that could take weeks.”

  “At least one week, maybe two,” Sandra agreed.

  Jayme told herself not to panic about paying her mortgage. Thankfully, October had been paid, so it was a matter of saving money for next month’s loan installment. “I may have to get a part-time job as a waitress in the meantime.”

  “Don’t get another job just yet,” Sandra protested. “The owners are working with the insurance company to pay our salaries while the repairs are being completed.”

  Jayme nodded, but she didn’t trust that would happen. And even if it did, there was no guarantee she’d see the money deposited in her bank account by the time the mortgage was due. A job would help tide her over, just in case.

  She made a mental note to ask Linc to stop at some of the local restaurants so she could apply for a job. She wasn’t above washing dishes, she’d done it before.

  “Ready to head back inside?” Jake asked as he came around with a paper bag to collect their garbage. “We should be able finish up soon.”

  “Ready.” She dropped her balled-up sandwich paper into the bag and rose to her feet. Inside, she went back to sorting through what was left of the supplies.

  “Hey, we can save some of these for mission trips,” Jake said when he came over to see what she was doing.

  “Mission trips?” She looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

  “There are a couple of surgeons and nurses at the hospital who go on mission trips to third world countries to care for patients who don’t have access to modern medicine.” He gestured to the bag of wet supplies. “They would take those in a heartbeat.”

  “But—the sterility is broken,” she protested.

  “Yeah, I know. But thos
e countries don’t have sterile instruments or supplies now.” He picked up a water-stained package of gauze. “The docs and nurses would rather use this on their patients’ wounds instead of used clothing.”

  “Wow.” Jayme was shocked, but as someone who’d eaten food from the garbage, she totally understood. “Okay, I’ll make another pile of supplies that can be donated.”

  “Great, thanks.” He flashed an encouraging smile, then moved on.

  Jayme went through the entire stock of supplies for a second time until she had three piles. One labeled for the mission trip, one that could be kept for clinic use. The third and, unfortunately, the largest of the three piles still needed to be taken to the dumpster.

  Seemed a waste, but nothing she could do about it.

  Jayme lugged the large plastic bag of supplies outside the back door. Using all of her muscles, she struggled to lift it up and over the edge of the dumpster.

  “Miss Jayme? Let me help you with that.”

  She turned to see Mr. Shepard shuffling toward her. “Oh, no, really, I’ve got it.” The poor man didn’t look strong enough to lift a library book, much less a bag of damaged supplies.

  Still, he did his best using a hand to help push the bag over the rim. “Thanks,” she said breathlessly. Then she frowned. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came for my regular appointment.” Mr. Shepard looked distressed. “I didn’t know the clinic had been damaged.”

  “Oh, you should have gotten a phone call and an email,” she said, feeling bad for the guy. “Sorry about that.”

  “The fire was a terrible thing, wasn’t it?” He surprised her by reaching out to grasp her elbow in a firm grip.

  The guy was stronger than he let on, but she managed to smile. “It’s terrible, but in a week or two, everything will be back to normal.”

  As she tried to move toward the door, his grip tightened. Then he used his index finger to make a little circle around her elbow.

  A wave of nausea hit hard. Jayme froze as she looked at the old man. Up close, she could see his one good eye boring into hers.

  In that moment, the truth hit with the force of a tsunami.

  Mr. Shepard was the Preacher!

  Chapter Twelve

  Linc stood surveying the damaged interior of the cabin. The fire hadn’t spread very far, the bulk of the damage was to the sofa. The pillow he’d tossed on one end was nothing but a charred lump.

  Reinforcing how close he’d come to being burned or worse.

  Dead.

  Swallowing his frustration, he reminded himself to stay focused. This guy had to make a mistake, they always did. He turned and cast his gaze around, searching for clues. The cabin interior looked similar to what had been left of the physical therapy clinic lobby, and he felt certain the exact same firebomb had been constructed for both incidents.

  The lingering scent of kerosene only reinforced his thought.

  He’d gone to the local camping equipment shops to find out if anyone remembered selling kerosene recently. No one had, all explaining how most of their equipment was sold earlier in the tourist season, not early October when things were winding down. Lots of kerosene had been sold earlier in the year, but none in the past month.

  Had the accelerant been purchased by this arsonist a while ago? If so, this was a series of attacks that had been deliberately planned ahead of time.

  Linc blew out a breath and headed back outside. The area had been taped off as a crime scene, but he nodded to the officer who let him cross over.

  “We have a footprint flagged.” One of the officers waved toward it. His nametag identified him as Simons. “Looks to be a size ten shoe, probably male, although no way to know for certain.”

  Linc crouched down beside the footprint. The sole was that of your typical sneaker, and not a brand he recognized. He looked up. “Do you know what type of shoe?”

  “We’re running it through the database, but we can already rule out Nike, Adidas, ASICS, and New Balance.” Officer Simons shrugged. “We’ll know more soon.”

  “I need that information as soon as possible.” Linc stared down at the footprint, wondering if it had been left by a woman or a man? His gut told him the latter, and if so, the guy couldn’t be very tall or heavy. The footprint would have sunk deeper into the soil if the guy was carrying around a lot of extra weight.

  It was their first real clue, although not one that would immediately lead them to the arsonist. Still, he was encouraged and continued searching the area where the firebug had stood to launch his Molotov cocktail.

  But he didn’t find anything else. The guy must have shown up, lobbed the bomb through the window, then taken off. Frankly, that’s what he’d have done if he were intent on doing someone harm. He frowned, realizing Size Ten must have parked along the road and walked up to the property.

  Spinning on his heel, he ducked under the crime scene tape and made his way down the rutted gravel driveway. He went slowly, searching for more footprints, but the gravel drive was not conducive to footprints, and he didn’t find anything useful.

  Upon reaching the road, he glanced both ways, trying to imagine where Size Ten had parked. He turned to the left, thinking the guy may have gone past the driveway to leave his vehicle in order to ensure the best chance of escaping without being seen. If by some miracle Linc had been able to get down the driveway in time to see anything, a car heading past the driveway would have caught his immediate attention, maybe even enough to get a good look at the make and model.

  A vehicle driving away wouldn’t have given him anything to go on.

  Armed with his theory, Linc searched along the side of the road, stopping abruptly when he found tire tread marks in the soft earth next to the asphalt. Using his phone, he snapped a couple of pictures, feeling good about having another clue they could use to track this guy.

  Still, it wasn’t enough. Tire tracks and shoe prints would come in handy once they had a suspect in custody. But until then, there were dozens of cars and types of shoes that would send them spinning in circles as they attempted to narrow their pool of suspects.

  “Did you find something?”

  Linc glanced over to see that Officer Simons, the cop who’d spoken to him about the shoe print, had followed him. “Yes, tire marks possibly left by our perp.”

  “Hmm.” Simons crouched down beside them. “Good eye. We’ll get these flagged and put into the database too.”

  “The sooner you can get me the information, the better.” Linc knew they were doing their best, but an intense sense of urgency wouldn’t leave him alone. “I know you’re swamped, but this is the fifth attack against Ms. Jayme Weston over the past three days. I’m very concerned the next attempt is only hours away.”

  “I hear you.” Simons stood. “I gotta say, in my five years on the force, I’ve never had so many fire calls.”

  “Me either,” Linc admitted.

  “Really? Even as an arson investigator?” Simons asked.

  “Yeah, this is over the top. Which is why I’m concerned about where this guy will choose to strike next.”

  Simons whistled. “Understood.

  “Thanks.” Linc turned and trekked back up to the cabin. As he walked up the gravel driveway, he tried to imagine the perp doing this with a firebomb in his hand. There was a slight incline, and if the guy was out of shape, he’d have been breathing heavily by the time he’d reached the cabin.

  Not that it had stopped him from tossing the bomb through the window. Although maybe it explained his timing being off.

  No way to know for sure. He mentally kicked himself again for not thinking to check for a GPS device on Caitlyn’s car. Thankfully, no one had been hurt in this most recent attempt.

  He believed God was watching over them, yet he couldn’t deny the chances of this guy succeeding in hurting someone, specifically Jayme, was growing by the moment.

  His phone buzzed, and he glanced down at the text message from Devon. The young cop had done
a one-eighty in his attitude toward his protection assignment. Devon had kept him updated throughout the day.

  Lunch break is over. C and A are safe in class.

  Thanks. Linc texted back. Let me know when you leave to return to the hotel.

  Will do.

  He stared at the phone for a moment, itching to call Jayme, but forced himself to slip the device back into his pocket. She was fine at the clinic, surrounded by employees. His nagging desire to hear her voice concerned him. He shouldn’t be so wrapped up in Jayme’s life, caring about her on a personal level.

  Gina and Melody were his entire life once. The last thing he wanted to do was experience that level of loss again.

  Yet he couldn’t seem to get Jayme out of his mind.

  Out of his heart.

  He gave himself a mental shake and continued working the scene. It was only on his way back to his vehicle that he saw the tiny slip of paper stuck to a pricker bush.

  With a frown, he crossed over to look at it more closely.

  The fragment was smaller than the size of a dime, yet there was just the slightest tip of a teal-colored triangle visible along the bottom. He frowned, wondering if he was going overboard with his attempt to search for clues. This piece of paper could have been left by anyone.

  Then he remembered the storm that had come through earlier in the day. The paper was too small to check for fingerprints, so he tested the edge of it with his index finger, verifying it was indeed dry.

  Which meant it must have been left after the rain.

  He turned and tracked down Simons. “I found something else,” he said.

  “Show me.”

  Linc led the way back to the tiny slip of paper. Simons hunkered down to see it more closely. “I know it doesn’t look like much,” he explained to the cop. “But it’s dry, which makes me think it may have been left by our perp. The firebomb was tossed through the window after the rainstorm blew through.”

  “It’s pretty small.” Simons’s voice was laced with doubt. “We won’t be able to get any usable prints from something this.”