by Lynn Shannon
“Megan’s in trouble.”
Luke bolted for his vehicle. Weston’s boots pounded against the concrete behind him. They jumped in the Suburban, and he shoved his key in the ignition.
“Call in to dispatch.” Luke peeled out onto the street, his pulse beating a rapid tempo. “Tell them there’s a fire at 124 Hickory Lane.”
“How far out are we?”
“Three minutes.”
Luke flipped on lights and siren while pushing the accelerator to the floor. Three minutes. It might as well be an eternity.
Hold on, Megs.
Horrific scenarios flickered like a movie in his head. He’d seen what fire did to a person, how it killed. Once, during his days as a trooper, he’d been called out to assist with a three-car pileup. One of the vehicles caught fire and went up in a flash before he or anyone else could render aid. The screams of the man inside still haunted his nightmares.
No. He willed the image out of his mind. That wouldn’t happen. Not to Megan. Luke gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles went white. He swerved around a tractor creeping along the narrow two-lane country road.
“Tell them to send an ambulance,” Luke ordered. “Hank was watching the house.”
There was no way Megan was in danger and his stepfather had stood by and let it happen. Weston relayed the information in clipped and even tones, but his leg bounced up and down, betraying his nerves. Luke took a curve too fast and the back end of his vehicle fishtailed before catching hold of the asphalt. Rocks pinged off the undercarriage.
Lord, please, I need to get there in time. Don’t let it be too late.
He rounded the final curve and his breath caught. June’s house was ablaze. Smoke belched from shattered windows and gathered in an ominous cloud around the roof. Hank’s truck sat in the driveway.
“There!” Weston pointed to something in the distance, near the backside of the barn as Luke blew past it. A blot of brown in a sea of green grass. Weston yanked on the radio and confirmed to dispatch they had injured.
Luke squealed to a stop and shoved the car into park. “You take care of Hank. I’ll get Megan.”
Weston took off across the field. Luke raced to the back of his vehicle and opened a storage trunk. He grabbed a bottle of water and two bandanas. Soaking the fabric, he shoved one in his pocket and wrapped the other over his nose and mouth before snatching his tactical baton.
Flames flickered in the living room. Luke didn’t bother trying the front door. Instead, he went around the side. The smoke leaking from the bedroom windows was wispy and thin. He smashed his baton against the windowpane and it shattered, glass spilling over the ledge to the carpet below. A dresser drawer hung askew and the closet door was wide open.
“Megs,” he screamed. “Where are you?”
Calling out was dangerous. There was no way to know if the perpetrator was still in the house and it could make him a target, but Luke didn’t have a choice. Saving his own neck didn’t matter if Megan died.
June’s cat darted out from under the bed. Luke scooped him up and gently tossed him out the window, before crossing the room. Heart pounding, he moved into the hall, keeping his gun out but pointed near the floor. The heat stole his breath. Light from the flames in the living room flickered and danced with a magnetic pull.
“Megs!”
The smoke hung like a fog. Luke pressed forward, checking each room he passed. The bathroom. The spare bedroom. Each step brought him closer to the heat and the flames. The embedded survival instinct urged him to run away. It was only sheer strength of will that kept his feet moving forward. Sweat coated the back of his shirt.
“Megs, where are you?”
A faint pounding, barely distinguishable from the crackle of the fire, caught his attention. He froze. It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen area, but there was no sign of her. The flames reached a set of living room curtains and they went up in a whoosh of heat. Luke put his arm up to block his face from the sparks and ran past.
The pounding came again. He followed the sound, darting into the utility room and dipping low to get as much of the lingering oxygen as possible. His head whacked against the washing machine.
“Luke!” The pounding came again. “In here!”
He looked up. The washing machine was blocking the doorway leading to the basement. Luke tucked his weapon into its holster. He shoved his weight against the ancient appliance and it scraped against the tile. Sweat dribbled into his eyes making them sting. The heat from the fire was crushing and coupled with the smoke made it almost impossible to breathe.
When the washing machine was shoved far enough away, he flung the door to the basement open and Megan tumbled into his arms. She was whole. Alive. Luke had every intention of keeping her that way.
Pulling the still-wet bandana from his pocket, he placed it over her nose and mouth. “Can you walk?”
She nodded. He set her upright and gripped her hand. The heat intensified the moment they stepped out of the utility room. Flames licked along three of the four living room walls, and the entire kitchen was ablaze.
Megan’s eyes widened. “The fire will destroy everything.”
She yanked her hand out of his and disappeared back into the utility room. He chased after her, his boots pounding on the wooden steps down into the basement.
“Megs, we need to get out of here. Now.”
“Help me!” She scooped up documents from the narrow table. “It’s all of June’s work.”
His gaze swept over the piles of papers, the photographs and maps on the wall in quick snaps. Franny Dickerson’s face jumped out and the cause of her panic became obvious.
“There’s no time.” He grabbed her arm. “Megs, now.”
He pulled her up the stairs. Heat seared his skin. The fire was spreading fast, eating its way through the house. Luke kept his hand on Megan’s arm as they raced through the kitchen.
The house creaked. The bookcase in the living room tilted, falling toward them. Luke whipped around and pressed Megan against the wall, using his body to cover hers. The papers fell from her hand, scattering along the floor to be eaten by the flames.
Six
Hours later, Luke paused outside the interview room. His throat ached, and the faint scent of smoke lingered, even after showering and changing his clothes. Down the hall, Megan limped toward the electronics rooms to observe Wade’s questioning. Her soft blonde hair was swept to the side, expertly covering the gash on her forehead, and the new jeans and blouse hid the other bumps and bruises. But Luke knew they were there.
His hand tightened on the doorknob, as a rush of anger so sharp he could taste it swamped him. Megan had nearly been killed. June was lying in the hospital. His stepfather was at home resting with a mild concussion. Whoever was behind this wouldn’t get away. Luke would make sure of it.
Weston joined him at the door. He squinted. “You okay? I can take this on my own.”
“No.” Luke sucked in a deep breath and tucked his emotions away in a steel cage. They wouldn’t help him. Right now, he had to think like a lawman. “I’m ready. The cameras rolling?”
They couldn’t be on while Wade was speaking with his lawyer, but Luke wanted the questioning recorded.
“Yep,” Weston said. “We’re ready.”
He opened the door. Wade glanced up from the table where he was seated, and their eyes locked. He’d been twenty-one when he went to prison. Three years and a conviction for murder had shorn away the soft edges of youth, leaving a hardened man with the guarded look of a hunted animal. A cut split his cheek, and a bruise bloomed next to his left eye.
Luke’s resolve to remain emotionless cracked. He’d dated Megan for several years before their engagement and had grown fond of her brother during that time. Seeing Wade in prison garb, dark circles under his eyes, and his nails bitten down to the quick yanked on Luke’s heart.
He forced his feet forward and took the seat across from Wade. Weston ran through the motions of
the Miranda warning and the procedures necessary to start questioning.
“I’ve informed my client about the recent attacks on his family.” Grace, Megan’s law partner and Wade’s lawyer, folded her manicured hands over the pad of paper in front of her. “It won’t come as any surprise that much of what Megan has told you is true. These attacks are connected to Franny Dickerson’s murder.”
Wade’s gaze never left Luke. Buried in the dark depths was stark terror. “You need to protect them.”
“To do that, I need the truth. Did you kill Franny?”
The air thickened, the moment drawn out and countable in heartbeats. Luke had never dreaded nor wanted an answer more.
Wade shook his head. “No, it wasn’t me.”
Luke scanned the other man’s face, but there was no trace of deception. The knot in his stomach twisted like a knife.
“Who did?” Weston asked.
“I don’t know.” Wade blew out a breath. “I wish I did.”
Luke pulled out a notepad and a pen from his sport coat pocket. “Let’s start at the beginning. What time did you arrive at Franny’s house for the party?”
“Around nine. It was her birthday and everyone had a great time. Things broke up around midnight, and I was one of the last to leave along with Kyle.”
Kyle Buchanan was the sheriff’s nephew and Wade’s best friend. This was all information Luke already knew, but he scribbled it down anyway. “You were giving Kyle a ride home, right?”
“Yeah. On the way to his house, Franny called Kyle to say she’d found my cell phone in the couch cushions. It must’ve fallen out of my pocket during the party. I hadn’t even realized it was missing. When I went back to Franny’s to get it…” He swallowed hard. “I found her lying on the living room floor. She’d been shot.”
“What did you do?”
“I freaked out. My cell was sitting on the entryway table. I grabbed it, got in my car, and started driving. At some point, my brain kicked into gear, and I realized how much trouble I was in. I also knew no one would believe me. Not even you.”
Luke stilled. “Why not?”
Wade licked his lips. “Because of my actions in the past. The bar fights. Word had gotten around about my explosive temper, and it was worse when I drank.”
“Were you drinking at the party?” Weston asked.
Grace leaned forward. “The statute of limitations for a DWI have expired.”
“Understood.”
“Yeah, I’d been drinking. I was probably over the legal limit and shouldn’t have been driving.” Wade laughed, although it held no real mirth. “Ironically, Franny had been trying to get me to stop. She’d been seeing Pastor John for counseling, and she encouraged me to go.”
“Why was Franny seeing Pastor John?”
“I don’t know. Franny didn’t often share her problems with others. Coming from a high-profile family made her cautious.”
Luke made a note to contact the pastor. He hadn’t known Franny was receiving counseling.
“If you didn’t kill Franny, why did you confess?” Luke asked.
“Because the next morning, the phone calls started. Threatening ones. I couldn’t tell who it was because they used a voice distorter, but the instructions were clear. I needed to confess to Franny’s murder or Megan and June would be hurt.”
Wade fingered the bruise along his eye and winced. “I didn’t know how seriously to take them at first, but it was enough to give me pause about how much to say. Every day, I racked my brains, trying to figure out how to get out of the situation. June and Megan were calling every day. They both knew something was wrong. I almost told Megan the truth the last time we spoke, but chickened out halfway through. The next morning, I found my dog shot on the front porch. That terrified me. I started to wonder if my stalker was listening in on my calls.”
It was possible. Spyware could’ve been installed on the cell phone or surveillance equipment hidden in Wade’s house.
“Did you tell anyone about the dog?” Luke asked.
“I buried him on the property and told June he died suddenly. During the same conversation, she mentioned stuff had been moved in her house. She passed it off as forgetfulness, but I knew better.”
Did the killer have a key to June’s house? Is that how he’d gotten inside without Megan knowing? Finding out things had been moved around inside the home previously made it a greater possibility.
“You figured the stalker had been inside,” Weston said, echoing Luke’s thoughts.
“Yeah. When the sheriff showed up at the house later that day to question me, I confessed to a murder I didn’t commit. It seemed the only way possible to protect my family from getting hurt.”
Luke tapped his pen against his pad. “You told the sheriff you were secretly in love with Franny and you were angry she didn’t love you back.”
He blew out a breath. “I had to come up with some reason for killing her, and it was the only one that made any sense. But I lied. We had friend-zoned each other early on. There was never anything romantic between us.”
“June told Megan she’d uncovered evidence proving your innocence. Any idea what that could be?”
“It’s possible she found Franny’s journals. As far as I know, they disappeared on the day of her death.” Wade pulled on his shirt. “Listen, I told Megan and June to stay out of it for a reason. Whoever is behind this will do anything to keep it a secret.”
“Like that?” Luke pointed at the slice on Wade’s cheek. “What happened?”
Wade’s gaze jumped to Grace, and she nodded. “Tell them. Your sister will find out anyway.”
He sighed. “I was jumped at breakfast. Some guy tried to stab me with a homemade knife.”
“Someone didn’t want you talking to us.”
Wade nodded. “It’s never happened before so my guess would be yes.”
How many people had that kind of influence in a prison? Luke wanted to say the list was short, but it could be simply about finding the right prison guard or inmate for the correct price.
All of the attacks had been well planned out. The killer had prepared far in advance for contingencies but bided his time to avoid drawing attention. Whatever June had stumbled upon set things in motion. The cleanup had begun, and Luke was five steps behind.
“I’m moving you into protective custody until we have a handle on what’s going on,” he said.
“Forget about the evidence, Luke. I don’t care about me. I just want you to protect Megan and June.”
“Well, I do care about the evidence and you. Unfortunately, I can’t offer any guarantees in that regards.” Luke leaned forward and locked eyes with Wade. “But here’s one you can take to the bank. No one will touch your family. I can promise you that.”
The interview room was cold, and Megan hugged her arms around her waist. She stared at her brother. She wanted to simultaneously hug Wade and shake him until his teeth rattled.
“What were you thinking?” she asked. “Didn’t you think the truth would come out at some point?”
“No. The blackmailer promised not to touch you or June as long as I confessed.” Wade scrubbed his hands over his face. “Why couldn’t the two of you leave things alone?”
“Because we love you.”
Her throat clogged. Eight years separated them, and he’d only been six when their parents died. June’s job had long hours and an erratic schedule. Megan had been the one to get Wade up for school, cook him dinner, take him to baseball practice. She’d raised him, and it had nearly killed her when he went to prison.
Wade sagged in the chair, his elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands. “How bad is June?”
“She’s strong and a fighter.” She crouched down, placing a hand on his arm. “She’ll pull through.”
“You need to let Luke handle this, Megs. I don’t want you involved.”
“Too bad. This is bigger than you now, Wade. The killer went after June. Hank was injured today. You d
on’t get to dictate the terms anymore.”
She wasn’t sure why she’d allowed him to in the first place. June either for that matter. Megan didn’t consider herself weak, but she’d permitted her family to determine her involvement. That stopped right this minute.
A knock on the door preceded a trooper opening it. “Time’s up. We’ve got to go.”
Her brother stood. Megan rose on her tiptoes and hugged him. Tears pricked her eyes. “Stay safe, little brother.”
“You too.” He squeezed her tight. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
They separated. Megan winced as the cuffs clinked closed over her brother’s wrists. In the hall, Grace wrapped an arm around her waist and they watched, together, as Wade was escorted from the building.
“Thank you for getting him to sign the attorney/client agreement this morning.” Megan swiped at the dampness on her cheeks. “Wade’s made some bad choices. He shouldn’t have fled Franny’s house without calling the police, but he doesn’t deserve to spend the rest of his life in prison.”
“No, but you shouldn’t investigate this by yourself. It would be better if you and Luke teamed up.”
As much as Megan didn’t want to admit it, Grace and Wade had a point. A killer had targeted her family. She didn’t want to be foolish about the risks.
“Where is Luke?”
“In the office over there with Weston.” Grace gestured down the hall, her bracelets rattling. “Stay safe, hon, and call me if you need anything.”
The two women hugged, and Grace left. Megan took a deep breath, pausing outside the office to square her shoulders and lift her chin. She rounded the corner, limping slightly from the pain in her knee. Luke and Weston stopped midconversation when she entered the room.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“Uhhh, I’ll give you two a few minutes,” Weston said, darting for the exit, surprisingly agile for a person the size of a mountain. The door clicked behind him.
Megan raised her brows. “Well?”
“He’s provided no corroborating evidence, Wade’s known to lie in the past, and his story has holes big enough I could drive a tractor through.” Luke’s gaze snagged hers. “But I believe him.”