by Liz Johnson
His prayers had been sparse—at best—since the bombing. It was easier to imagine that God didn’t care about him than it was to believe He’d allowed the injury that threatened everything Luke held dear. But somehow, working the most personal mission he’d ever been assigned had left him with nowhere else to turn.
Not that he wanted somewhere else to turn.
Mandy pinched the edge of the windowsill and pushed herself up on her tiptoes to get a peek into the house, so he followed suit, although he didn’t have to strain for a good view. There wasn’t much to see inside anyway.
From their vantage point the entire living room was deserted. A TV tray and folding chair were set up in the far corner, pointed toward a spot where the television might once have been. The windows were bare of curtains, the walls blank, white slates.
Suddenly two yellow eyes glowed from the edge of the hallway. Mandy squeaked and grabbed for his arm as a masked rodent meandered across the living room.
Luke covered his laugh with his other hand. “I guess now we know who was in there. Just a raccoon.”
“What’re you doin’ here?”
The unfamiliar voice right behind them made both Luke and Mandy jump, and they clambered around to face a man in bib overalls and a faded blue-and-white trucker hat. A greasy rag hung out of his front pocket, and he snatched at it without looking away from them.
“I asked ya a question.”
Mandy blinked several times and pressed a hand to her chest as if her heart might burst if she didn’t hold on to it.
Luke found his voice first. “Do you know the family that lived here?”
“The Tracts? Sure. Everyone on this street knew ’em. ’Specially the last few months they were here.” The man’s gaze took in Luke’s crutches as if he was assessing the threat level. “You friends of theirs?”
“I’m Luke.” He reached out to shake hands, but the other man’s gaze remained cautious.
“I’m Mandy. I met Laney Tract a few times and was hoping to reconnect with her family.”
The man’s eyes turned sad, previously invisible wrinkles around the edge of his face jumping to light. “Little Laney.” He sighed and looked down at the toe of his work boot, which he twisted into the grass. “She was a sweet girl. Before.”
Before the accident. Before her future had been stolen. Before everything changed.
He didn’t have to say the words. But somehow they rang through Luke’s chest, calling him to cling to the hope that he’d found again. “Have you seen her parents?” Mandy asked.
“Nah. Her dad drunk himself into the plot right next to Laney’s.”
Luke and Mandy locked eyes for a split second. “Mr. Tract is dead?”
“Yup.”
Mandy grabbed Luke’s hand, her fingers digging into his. This was their only viable lead, and it was slipping away, no matter how hard she clung to him. He offered the only comfort he could, drawing loose circles on the back of her hand with his thumb.
“What about her mom?”
The neighbor scratched at the patchy whiskers on his cheek. “I’m not real sure. But they was in the papers a lot after the accident. The cops were out here nearly every night.”
“Why?” The lilt in Mandy’s word suggested she didn’t really want to know, but she leaned forward, still holding on to Luke’s hand.
The man scratched his stomach and sucked on a tooth with the tip of his tongue. “Well, the beer didn’t help. There was always someone screaming like the roof was about to fall down.” He lifted his cap and ran a hand over the bald spot on his head. “But mostly I think they was just sad.”
Luke wouldn’t have pegged the man as someone so perceptive, but he’d made a good point. A wounded bear lashed out. So did wounded people.
Reaching out his hand again, Luke looked right in the man’s eyes. “Thank you for your time.”
“Bud.” He gave Luke’s hand a tentative shake. “People ’round here just call me Bud.”
Clearly deciding they weren’t a threat, Bud wandered off, strolling down the street with his hands in his pockets and his grease rag flapping against his leg.
Luke kept his gaze on the man but leaned an ear toward Mandy. “He said the Tracts had been in the newspaper.”
She straightened up. “I saw the office on Main Street. Think someone there might have kept up with them?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
*
Mandy wrinkled her nose as she stepped through the door Luke held open. The home of the Vacerville Gazette reeked of damp paper and dust, its insides as dreary as its hometown. Pale walls looked as if the paint had just slid right off, and two fluorescent lights flickered from above a table just beyond the counter that separated the work area from the waiting room.
The only bright thing about the entire room was the young woman sitting behind the counter. Her nearly neon, orange hair could go toe-to-toe with Tara’s, and her vibrant smile did more to light up the space than the sun peeking around drab shades.
At their entrance, the teenager jumped to her feet and leaned her elbows on the brown Formica. “Hi! You must be new to Vacerville. I know everyone in town, and we haven’t met. I’m Gabby. Are you just visiting or here to stay? We sure have lots of houses available. Do you want to see the real-estate book?” She disappeared behind the counter, then popped back up with two copies of a home-buying guide, her words never stopping. “There’s one for sale right by my house. It’s a big blue one, and they just dropped the price again. Do you have kids? I’m a great babysitter.”
Mandy took an extra breath, just to make up for the ones the girl had skipped in her deluge, and met Luke’s grin with one of her own. Apparently the girl’s name fit her well.
“We’re actually looking for someone that used to live here.” Luke had to interrupt her, or they might be stuck there all day.
The helium deflated from the girl’s shoulders. “Oh.”
“Do you know the Tract family?” Mandy did her best to keep her tone light and keep the girl talking. “Laney might have been a few years older than you.”
A frown replaced the smile that had greeted them. “Of course I know who she was. Everybody does. The school counselor interviews all the students twice a semester to make sure no one’s on the verge. It’s like a warning story to keep us from getting too sad about how everything closed.”
Mandy took a step forward and rested her fingers on the counter, right where Gabby’s line of sight ended. “And why did everything close?”
“They took away our water.”
Luke stepped up to her side. “The canal?”
Gabby nodded. “They said the farmers needed it more than we did, but without the water, the mill closed. And then people started leaving town. There’s only seven families left here. Even the post office closed. Said it was cheaper to drive over from—”
“And the Tracts?” Mandy interrupted, figuring she wasn’t going to get a chance to ask if she didn’t. “Were they still here when the rest of the town started leaving?”
Gabby scrunched up her face as though she smelled something worse than moldy paper. “I guess they were gone already. ’Course, Mr. Tract was already gone, gone. After Laney, he was only around another six months before…you know. And Mrs. Tract, she just seemed lonely after that. She didn’t wait for the mill to close. One day she was here, and the next her house was empty. That was maybe two and a half years ago.”
“Do you know where she went?”
Gabby offered only a shake of her head, and Luke stepped forward with a cajoling smile, one that would have made Mandy tell him all of her secrets—if she hadn’t already. “Is there anyone around who might have talked to Mrs. Tract before she took off? A reporter, maybe?”
Like a bee to pollen, the teenager leaned in toward Luke, a matching smile finding its way across her face. “Nope. We’re closed except for deliveries on Sundays.”
“So why are you here?” Mandy folded her hands in fr
ont of her, forcing them into submission, when all they really wanted to do was grab Luke’s arm and tug him a few steps closer to her.
Except that was absolutely crazy.
Why was a teenage kid making her want to stake a claim that wasn’t hers to make? She’d already made it clear to Luke that they couldn’t be more than patient and therapist.
But her heart didn’t seem to want to take the hint. So her head forced her to take a step away from him. He shot her a questioning glance out of the corner of his eye, never missing a thing. Mandy managed a wobbly smile and what she hoped was a reassuring nod.
“Oh, I’m behind binding up the daily papers for the morgue.” She gestured to the giant book on the table behind her. The magenta cover was about three feet long and half as wide, and the newsprint pages were at least three inches thick.
“I didn’t know anyone still bound up newspapers like that.” Luke chuckled.
“Oh, Mr. Bitters—he’s the publisher—he thinks that when he posts articles online the government is watching him.” Gabby straightened the hem of her vibrant blue shirt and dropped her voice as if she thought her boss might be right. “So he won’t start a website. We have to put all of the archived papers in the basement. In order by date. And Mr. Bitters is really particular about how they’re stacked and preserved. He says it’s the only record of what really happened in this town.”
Mandy’s gaze snapped to Luke’s, and they both raised their eyebrows. He had to be thinking the same thing she was. There might be a useful story about the Tracts tucked away somewhere in the morgue.
Again, with his all-too-handsome self, Luke smiled at Gabby. “Any chance we could take a look at some of those old papers?”
She glanced at the clock on the far wall, then stared at the ceiling as if she was counting hours. “I guess. I’m only here for another forty-five minutes, though.”
“That’s all we need.”
Mandy wasn’t so sure they could wrap up their search that fast, but she wasn’t going to argue the point. Forty-five minutes was a far cry better than no minutes. She followed Gabby and Luke toward a lonely door beneath the clock.
“I’ll be up here if you need something.” The girl flipped on a light at the top of a set of rickety wooden stairs. The yellow bulb was as effective as an umbrella in a hurricane, so Luke turned on the light on his phone.
On the top step he turned toward Mandy, and only then did she realize he didn’t have his crutches with him. Without a thought, she reached for his arm. His responding smile was warm and knowing and just for her.
And it sent her knees shaking so badly she was afraid she’d have to lean on him to get down the stairs instead of the other way around.
He took an awkward stride, but she struggled to follow suit. Her toes edged out over the lip of the stair, but she couldn’t seem to make them go all the way.
Luke leaned in so that he only had to whisper. “Are you okay?”
Clamping her mouth closed, she gave a jerky nod. “Mmm-hmm.”
The tightening around his lips said he didn’t quite believe her, but he kept moving.
Move your foot to the next step, Mandy. Just take the step.
When had she forgotten how to walk? She’d been closer to him than this before. They’d shared more contact. More interaction. More emotion.
But somehow, holding on to him, inhaling the clean scent of his aftershave as they descended into a dank basement was more than all of that. And not nearly enough.
It was the latter that made her stomach churn.
This had to be enough. It did.
She didn’t know how they made it all the way down without falling, but when he patted her hand around his elbow, she jumped away. Taking in the walls of gray metal shelves that lined every spare space, she did a slow circle. The giant newspaper books were just as Gabby had described, meticulously organized and extensive. Signs on each shelf identified the month and year of its contents, and Luke immediately moved to a stack from four years before.
When he picked up the first book, a cloud of dust billowed into the air, and he sneezed loudly.
“Bless you,” she responded out of habit, and the dust settled on her tongue, making her gag.
Luke tossed the book onto a square table in the middle of the room. “Sorry.”
Covering her mouth and nose with a cupped hand, she nodded. With her other hand, she flipped open the archives. Luke placed another of the tomes beside her and began scanning its pages. Taking Bud’s tip, she checked the police blotter for the family’s name in every issue, her eyes straining in the dim light. When she came up empty-handed in the first, she tugged another off the shelf, dust caking her shirt as she carried it over to the table.
Brushing her hands together, she flipped the second open. It was a bust, too. From Luke’s lack of conversation, he hadn’t been any more successful.
She was almost through the third book when she spied a familiar name.
Gregory Tract.
“I’ve got something.”
“What?” Luke leaned over her shoulder, his chest bumping into her back, shooting sparks down each of her extremities and making her catch her breath.
She shoved aside the hyperaware sensitivity and read the short paragraph. “‘Police responded to a domestic disturbance call Tuesday at 7:00 p.m. Gregory Tract of 501 Lichester Street was cited but not arrested. His wife, Ophelia Tract, declined to press charges. This is the third call to this address this month.’”
She twisted her neck to look at him but stopped when she suddenly had a perfect view of his lips. Swallowing required extra effort in the arid basement and twice that when her lips were mere inches from his. It wouldn’t take much to reach them.
“Ophelia? Laney’s mom?”
She had to clear her throat twice to get even a word out. “I suppose so.
“According to Bud, Gregory died, but what about Ophelia?”
“Gabby said—”
An enormous crash above them shook the ceiling so hard that dust rained into their hair. Mandy jumped, grabbing on to his biceps as he wrapped a protective arm around her waist.
“What was—”
Again she was interrupted. This time by the slamming door at the top of the stairs. As one, they scurried up toward it. Luke left a hand on her back as he followed her every step with an awkward lope of his own.
She grabbed the door handle, but it held.
“We’re locked in.” She gasped around the painful thumping of her heart.
Luke reached around her, confirming her diagnosis. “It’ll be all right. Gabby must have forgotten about us.” But there was a waver in his voice, confessing that he didn’t really believe that. “Gabby,” he called, pounding the heel of his fist against the door. “Is anyone out there?”
No response.
Putting on his fix-it face, he said, “Would you call the police?”
“Right.” She pulled out her phone. Then stopped. “Do you smell something?”
His eyes grew wide. “It’s gasoline.” His nostrils flared. “And smoke.”
Mandy froze, praying she’d misheard him. They were basically surrounded by kindling. The building would burn in a flash.
And they were stuck.
Because someone was still trying to kill her.
Luke waved his hand in front of her unseeing eyes. “Mandy. Call 911. Now.”
She fumbled her phone as he jerked on the knob and slammed a shoulder into the door. But with his injury, he couldn’t get the momentum he needed to break it open.
He pulled a strange knife out of his pocket. Not a typical Swiss Army knife, this one contained several picks, which Luke opened before trying them on the doorknob. He shook the handle again before inserting one into the lock and gently twisting it.
“Are you calling?”
“Yes!” Just as she finished dialing, a cloud of smoke seeped through the crack at the bottom of the door.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
The man on the other end of the line was crisp and clear.
Of course he was. He wasn’t locked in a burning building.
Her heart hammering, she squeezed her phone in a sweaty palm and forced down the fear that threatened to choke her. “We’re locked in a building that’s on fire.”
“What’s your location?”
Her mind reeled with numbers and addresses. None of them helpful. “The Vacerville Gazette. I think we’re on Main Street. Whatever that main road through town is.”
“Can you get out?”
She whipped around to make sure she hadn’t missed another exit. She hadn’t. The smoke swirled around her knees, bounced around by the ceiling fan. “No. We’re locked in the basement. At the newspaper. There’s smoke coming in here.”
“Okay. Help is on the way. They’ll be there in a few minutes. Stay on the line with me.”
Mandy nodded frantically as Luke, closer to the door, began to cough. Then he cried out, yanking his hand away from the handle as if it had burned him.
It had burned him.
The fire was right outside the door, and smoke was filling their space.
She tried to take a calming breath to clear her frantic thoughts but only choked on the black smoke that seared her throat. Its fingers reached into her lungs, clasping them until she was sure they’d burst. Her eyes smarted, filling with unshed tears, and she blinked against them. Fought hard against the panic rising from her middle.
They weren’t going to make it. They weren’t going to get out. They were going to die.
Oh, Lord. The short prayer was all she could muster as tears streaked down her cheeks.
“How much longer?” Luke asked, tracks of his own tears marring the soot on his face.
She fought the monster inside and managed a brutal croak. “How long?” she said into the phone.
“About ten minutes.” The dispatcher didn’t have to say more. She knew that like everything else, the emergency response team had been relocated.