Tommy waved eagerly from the door, and Kara’s evasive answers settled in a hard lump in the pit of Jake’s stomach. She might be telling the truth about not knowing the gunman, but that didn’t mean he or the arsonist hadn’t been targeting Kara. Did he really want to bring that danger so close to home?
Close to Tommy?
Kara climbed from the car and, as if she’d read his thoughts, said, “My purse burned in the fire, or else I’d stay in a hotel. But if this town has a homeless shelter, I—”
“I’m not leaving you at a shelter. My folks have a spare room you can use.” He muffled his reflexive gulp as Tommy opened the door for them. Lord, I’m going with my gut this time. Please don’t let me be wrong.
* * *
Kara surveyed the welcoming glow beaming from the windows of the wood-clad two story, still uncertain if agreeing to come here had been a good idea. Except that bunking at Jake’s parents’ place had to be safer than sleeping under a bridge somewhere. After all, Jake could’ve turned her in and he hadn’t. That had to count for something. That and the pride in his voice when he threw a wide grin to the boy waiting for them on the porch and said, “That’s my son, Tommy.” Surely a hit man didn’t invite a victim to meet his family, let alone risk his life to save her from being hit by a car.
Jake scaled the porch steps in two long strides and swept his son into a wet, muddy bear hug.
Kara’s heart climbed to her throat. It was the kind of elated reunion she’d hoped her testimony and photographs would bring to the parents of the infant she’d seen being sold. She edged back toward the car. “I thought this was your parents’ house.” She shouldn’t be here. What if the bad guys found her here? Threatened Jake’s son?
Jake smiled at her over Tommy’s shoulder, but she didn’t miss the worry that pinched his forehead. “It’s my folks’ place. Tommy and I live next door. I’m widowed, so my mom watches him when I’m at work.” He nuzzled his son’s neck. “Right, sport?”
“Right!”
A woman appeared at the door and took in their drenched, muddy state with a gasp. “Oh, my. What happened?” She corralled Kara inside before Jake had even finished his explanation that thankfully didn’t include any mention of the gunman at the coffee shop.
An adorable goldendoodle bounded across the kitchen floor and planted his paws on Kara.
“Well, hello!” A happy bubble gurgled up her chest.
“That’s Rusty,” Tommy announced.
Jake grabbed Rusty’s collar and tugged him down to a sitting position. “My parents thought he’d be a good companion for Tommy, but they let him break every rule in the book.”
“Maybe I can help. I—” Kara cut off the stupid offer by kneeling down and burying her face in the dog’s curly fur. She missed her dog so badly. The marshal had told her to become a cat person, said she’d been too active in the dog-training community to risk the association.
Except the bad guys had found her anyway.
Tears leaked from her eyes, prompting sloppy kisses from the sweet dog and a soft pat on the back from Jake’s even sweeter son.
While she asked Tommy about his dog, Jake told his parents that she needed a place to stay. The next thing she knew, Jake’s mom swept her up the stairs, turned on the tub’s hot water and pressed a fuzzy terry robe and comfy-looking old gym suit onto her as she shooed her toward the steamy bathroom. Kara was just starting to think that maybe God had been watching out for her tonight after all when she caught sight of Jake speaking with his dad at the bottom of the stairs.
From his dad’s grim expression, she guessed that Jake had given him the lowdown on what happened. He’d probably ask her to leave as soon as she finished her bath. Or worse, call the sheriff to come get her.
Mrs. Steele pulled the door closed. “Take all the time you need, Kara. I’ll warm up soup and make you hot chocolate to chase the rest of that chill away. Then we’ll take care of rebandaging that arm.”
Kara locked the bathroom door and stood in front of the mirror. Her once long blond hair hung in bedraggled mousy brown strands, reminding her again why she shouldn’t be here. There was no way that gunman’s appearance had been a random robbery. Just like she didn’t believe the fire was the work of a serial arsonist. Whoever was behind the adoption ring probably wanted to make it look as if she died in a random way so the police couldn’t pin her death on them, too.
If she was smart, she’d quickly change into the dry clothes and sneak out the bathroom window for the second time tonight. Only—she leaned over the toilet to look outside—this window was fifteen feet off the ground and her shoes were downstairs, sitting next to the side door.
A giant oak stood beside the driveway, a few leaves still clinging to its branches. A lone wooden swing dangled from a sturdy limb, swaying warily.
Jake’s dad appeared outside and hurried toward Sherri’s car. If Sherri heard her explanation to Jake in the backseat, Kara didn’t want to think about what conclusions she and Mr. Steele would draw about her. If they started talking to anyone else, she might never get away.
Kara quickly slipped into the tub, being careful to keep her burned arm above the water. She breathed a contented sigh as the warm water enveloped her. She dared not stay too long, but at least she could ward off the chill that had seeped to her bones before she climbed into the clean, dry clothes Mrs. Steele had provided.
She closed her eyes, unable to remember a bath ever feeling so good. Her left hip and shoulder ached where they’d slammed into the ground. But if not for Jake’s lightning-fast reflexes, she might not be here at all. Wrapping her unburned arm around her waist, she nestled into the memory of how safe she’d felt in his embrace. Clark would never have risked running in front of a car to save her, as Jake had tonight. Even with a son waiting for him at home, Jake hadn’t hesitated for a second.
She smiled at the memory of Tommy’s understanding pat on her back as she’d sobbed into Rusty’s fur, swamped by the memory of her beloved pup. He’d saved her life by tearing into the packaged bomb the adoption ring had clearly meant for her, but her life as Nicole Redman had ended with his. Looking into Tommy’s empathetic gaze as she hugged his dog, she’d scarcely resisted the urge to hug him, too. She missed her kindergarten kids so much.
At the slam of a vehicle door, she grabbed a towel and jumped from the tub. Jake must’ve called the sheriff after all. She peeked over the windowsill and immediately jerked back at the sight of Mr. Steele glancing toward it. Was he contemplating calling the sheriff? Had he already?
She quickly toweled herself dry and pulled on the borrowed clothes. If they hadn’t called the sheriff, maybe she’d be able to bide her time until just before dawn, then sneak out and head for the truck stop on the highway between Hadyn and Stalwart—the last-resort meet site she’d arranged with the marshal when she first moved here.
She could probably jog the distance in half an hour. If they’d already notified the sheriff, she didn’t know what she’d do. With her hand on the doorknob, she closed her eyes. Lord, guide me. I don’t know who I can trust.
A scratch followed by a whine jolted her attention back to the door. The instant she opened it, Rusty leaned into her leg, then accompanied her downstairs. The comforting smell of hot cocoa lured her toward the kitchen.
“Looks as though you’ve made a friend.” Mrs. Steele set a steaming mug on the dining table. “Come sit.” The table was in an open-concept area adjoining the family room, and as Kara sat, she noticed Jake in a recliner, reading a picture book to Tommy snuggled against his broad chest. Jake’s rumbly voice did funny things to her heart, and she couldn’t help but smile at the heartwarming picture they made.
“He’s asleep,” Kara whispered, and didn’t know what to make of the answering twinkle in Jake’s eyes as he finished the story anyway.
He closed the book. “I promised
him I’d read it all,” Jake explained.
Something inside Kara shifted at the matter-of-fact statement, at the affectionate way he tousled the boy’s hair. A man who kept his word was a rarity in her experience. She wanted to ask him if he always kept it, but said instead, “Tommy’s very lucky to have you.” Not lucky. Blessed.
At the disarming intensity of Jake’s cobalt-blue eyes, her pulse quickened. He studied her face, his gaze a physical touch that lingered on her eyes, her hair, her cheeks, before dipping to her lips.
She diverted her attention to her mug of cocoa, her hands trembling for reasons she refused to acknowledge, except that she suddenly regretted the way she’d need to leave here in the morning.
* * *
Jake brought Tommy back over to his folks’ place just after seven the next morning and found his mom baking muffins in the kitchen. “Kara still asleep?” The sky had started to lighten, but he hoped Kara would sleep well past dawn so he could get in some investigation time at the scene of the fire before needing to worry about what she might do next.
“Yes.” Mom’s gaze flicked to Tommy as if she wanted to say more.
Jake squeezed his son’s shoulder. “Why don’t you take Rusty into the backyard for a few minutes?”
Mom shook her head. “I’m not sure Rusty will come down. He’s been glued to Kara’s side all night.” She jutted her chin toward the stairs as she plopped muffin dough into tins. “See for yourself.”
“Stay with Gran,” Jake told Tommy, then padded upstairs and glanced around the partially open door of the guest bedroom.
Rusty lay on the end of Kara’s bed, his head resting on her legs, and only his eyes shifted to look at Jake. With a soft murmur that did funny things to his insides, Kara rolled onto her side. Her eyes didn’t open, and for the first time since he met her last night, she looked at peace, with her soft hair framing her heart-shaped face, no wariness creasing her brow.
He breathed a relieved sigh and padded back downstairs. He’d spent half the night second-guessing whether he’d been an idiot to bring her here without telling the sheriff, let alone to acquiesce to her request that they wait until morning to talk about what happened.
But she’d been so concerned about keeping Tommy from his bed, and had looked bone tired herself, that he hadn’t wanted to argue.
“She still asleep?” Mom asked as he returned to the kitchen.
“Yeah. Where’s Tommy?”
“He walked down with your dad to the corner store to get the paper.”
Jake poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot and leaned against the counter. “So what didn’t you want to tell me with Tommy around?”
“I think Kara’s more shaken up than she wants to let on.” Mom lowered her voice to a whisper. “In the middle of the night, your father heard her scream and ran upstairs to check on her. It was just a bad dream, of course. And she felt terrible at having disturbed him. But...well, you know how it is.”
Yeah. He’d relived too many fires in his dreams. Or worse, the night April died. He gulped a mouthful of coffee to mask the bitter taste suddenly burning his throat. “I’ll talk to her.” Maybe talking through it would help her process everything a little more so she wouldn’t end up dreaming about the fire every night. Or whatever else was giving her nightmares. In Sherri’s car, she’d said that she didn’t have an abusive ex hunting her, but he wasn’t sure he believed her.
He downed the last of his coffee and set his mug in the sink. “I need to get to the scene. We’re starting at first light. But call me as soon as she wakes. I’ll come straight back.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine here for a few hours. Although I imagine she’ll be anxious to hear what you find, and to know if she can salvage any of her belongings. After you left, she admitted that she didn’t have tenant’s insurance. And on a janitor’s salary, I suspect she doesn’t have a lot of savings to draw on.”
“Just call me right away, okay?” Jake hurried outside and started his truck as quietly as he could manage, which wasn’t all that quiet. He shot a glance to the second-story guest room window. Seeing no movement, he eased the truck out of the driveway and then sped back to Hadyn, a ten-minute drive in good conditions. But that morning’s fog slowed him down.
By the time he arrived at the scene, the fire marshal, four other guys and the sheriff were already on-site. He couldn’t hold back the groan that ground through his gut as he surveyed what was left of Kara’s home—the charcoaled timbers, the wet curtains dangling out the window, the gaping hole where the roof used to be. A hole that looked horribly like her life about now.
Jake approached the fire marshal. “What have you got so far? Does it look like our serial arsonist has stepped up his pace?”
“Not sure yet. We might have a copycat. The master electrician’s in there ruling out electrical causes, but the batteries were missing from the smoke detectors and I spoke with the owner last night. She claims she’d put in new batteries at the beginning of the month.”
“Which points to a deliberate act.”
“Yeah, and based on what the first guys on the scene reported about the color of the flames and the fire’s behavior, it definitely sounds as though an accelerant was involved. And it definitely started from inside.”
Jake’s gut pitched. That meant they’d have a lot more questions for Kara, and they might not be friendly. There’d been no evidence of a break-in before the volunteer crew had kicked open the doors.
“But we might have one break. Apparently a reporter photographed the fire and crowd. He may have caught our firebug watching his handiwork.” The fire marshal swept aside what was left of the bushes in the garden at the base of the house. “I asked the sheriff to get copies of the photos. Maybe a face will pop—one you’ve seen at other fires.”
“Not sure I’d be much help there. Too busy fighting fires to watch the crowd.” Except last night. He’d inexplicably sensed Kara watching.
Wanting to get back to her ASAP, Jake scrutinized the narrow metal vent in the cement blocks the marshal had exposed. “Did you see any way someone could access the crawl space from outside?”
“Not the crawl space, exactly.” The fire marshal led him to the side of the house where the bulk of the damage had occurred and the men were meticulously picking through the layers of what remained. “The owner says there’s a cellar under this end of the house.”
“And it looks as if that’s where the fire started?”
“Yeah, but whoever set it still had to get inside. And he didn’t get in through a vent.”
Jake surveyed the men still working through the second story of debris, a muscle in his cheek twitching involuntarily at the thought of what they were looking for. Even though they’d been told there was no one else in the house, they had to make sure. It would be hours, maybe days, before they dug down to the fire’s source. Jake pulled a jackknife from his pocket and pried off one of the metal grilles ventilating the cellar. He peered through the narrow opening with his penlight. “Get me a Maglite, will ya?”
The marshal pried off a vent at the corner and shone the light through it.
At the sight of candle remnants and a black scorch mark on the floor left behind by the trailer that would have carried the flame, Jake said, “We’re looking at the same M.O. as the other fires. Tip the light a little higher.”
Jake craned his neck to follow the line. “Yeah, I can see scalding marks where the gasoline ignited.” Since candles burned at a rate of an inch an hour, the arsonist likely rigged this after seeing the owner leave with an overnight bag, maybe not realizing she had a tenant.
The fire marshal cursed. “The balloon construction on these old houses makes for perfect conditions for the fire to fly up the walls and become dangerously hot before you know it’s even there. No wonder the victim didn’t see it coming.”
“We’ve got to catch this guy,” the fire marshal said grimly. “Fires like these are the hardest and deadliest to fight. You can never predict where they might erupt, especially if he starts stringing trailers to multiple pools of accelerant.”
“Yeah.” Jake’s gaze strayed to where he’d first spotted Kara hiding in the hedges. “I’d much rather fight what I can see coming.”
FIVE
At the aroma of baking, Kara jackknifed out of bed. Rusty sat up and watched her expectantly. Misty light streamed through the window. No, no, no. She’d deliberately not pulled the shades so she wouldn’t sleep in. How was she going to get away now, with everyone awake?
She stuffed her legs into the track pants Mrs. Steele had loaned her last night and pulled on Jake’s high school athletics jacket over the T-shirt she’d worn to bed. She winced as the sleeve grazed her bandaged burn. Mrs. Steele had been so kind last night, taking the time to clean and rebandage her arm. Kara hated to up and run away...in borrowed clothes, no less.
Rusty, who’d been tilting his head at her muttering, suddenly plopped his head between his paws and looked at her disappointedly.
“I can’t help it,” she whispered. “I have no idea where she put my clothes!” Kara rummaged through the box of old clothes Mrs. Steele had left for her and found a pair of socks. Rusty seemed to take that as a hopeful sign. He jumped from the bed and pranced to the door. Okay, clearly there was no way she could just sneak out with the dog watching her. Maybe Jake had been fibbing about the dog not being trained. She wouldn’t put it past him to have ordered Rusty to make sure she didn’t leave.
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