by Laura Scott
And maybe she had been.
Panicked, she’d grabbed the oil lantern and swung it at the Preacher in an effort to get away. The oil had burned her hand, but she hadn’t noticed because the Preacher screamed in agony as the hot oil burned the side of his face and his chest. Seconds later, the sofa erupted into flames as the Preacher stumbled toward the bedroom in an effort to save himself.
That moment she knew she needed to get away, no matter what. Ignoring her burns, she’d rushed over to yank up the cellar door, which was where they were forced to sleep. She’d been surprised to see Sawyer and Hailey already at the top of the stairs. Jayme had helped them up and out of the cellar. By the time they’d stumbled outside, the cabin was engulfed in thick smoke and flames. Coughing, nearly gagging, they managed to survive the fire by running and hiding in the woods.
The Preacher and Ruth, however, hadn’t made it out of the fire.
“Ms. Weston?” His deep voice drew her from her troubled thoughts. “Are you okay? You look upset.”
Upset was putting it mildly. Jayme squared her shoulders and met his gaze head-on. “I’m not upset,” she lied. “And yes, if you must know, the hot oil did cause a small fire. Thankfully, I managed to escape without a problem. Only my right hand and wrist were burned.” She tried to smile, but it felt like her face was frozen. “Please be assured that I am not obsessed with fire. And I did not set the fire outside my own house. I would never do something like that. In fact, I took the baseball bat with me in case the person who did this was hanging around nearby.” She rose to her feet. “If that’s all, I think it’s best if you leave.”
Linc slid his business card across the table and rose, forcing her to tip her head back to look up at him. The man was tall, well over six feet, and came across as rather intimidating. Still, she hadn’t survived in the wilderness without being strong, so she simply tilted her chin and stayed right where she was. His dark eyes seemed to look right through her to the hidden secrets she’d buried deep within.
“Ms. Weston, my only goal is to uncover the truth about what happened here.”
“I’m happy to hear that because it’s a goal we share. I sincerely hope you can find out who did this awful thing.” She kept her voice steady and calm, despite the emotions churning in her gut. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have to work in the morning. Good night.”
Linc stared at her for another long moment before turning toward the door. He got halfway when he abruptly stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. “If you didn’t set the fire, you need to take some time to think about who did. Who could possibly be holding a grudge against you to do something as serious as this? While the fire turned out to be relatively harmless, the next time you may not be so fortunate. Another attempt could be far more deadly. You really need to consider who might be targeting you for some reason. Maybe someone you angered in the past.”
Bands of fear tightened around her chest, making it difficult to breathe. Another attempt? She couldn’t bear to think about it. “I’ll try, but I’m not involved in a relationship and haven’t been for eighteen months. I work as a physical therapy tech at the clinic in town. I highly doubt one of my patients hates me enough to do something like this.” Although there were the occasional circumstances where patients had lashed out at her. Being in pain wasn’t easy, as she knew all too well. She flexed her scarred fingers. Yet to go as far as to set a fire? No, she couldn’t see it.
“Think harder,” he said ominously before leaving through the front door.
Jayme drew in a deep, jagged breath as she went over to close and lock the door behind him. Then she slumped against the wood, sliding down until she was sitting with her back against the wall, her knees cradled up to her chest. She lowered her forehead to her knees and tried to quell the rising panic.
What was going on here? This whole thing didn’t make any sense. A small fire set on purpose to send smoke into her house, but not enough to burn the place down? Who on earth would do something like that? And why?
As much as she desperately wanted to cling to her theory of neighborhood kids pulling some sort of prank, she couldn’t deny there was a sinister tone to the vandalism. Granted, the fire had been contained, but what if it hadn’t been? She had to think there was always the possibility it could have spiraled out of control.
Which left her with no choice but to accept Linc Quade’s preposterous idea.
To think about who from her past was carrying a grudge against her. Honestly, her first instinct would be to name the Preacher. Except he and his wife were dead. She and the other foster kids, Sawyer, Hailey, Darby, Cooper, Trent, and Caitlyn, had all hidden in the woods, watching and waiting for the adults to emerge from the fiery cabin.
They hadn’t. And the way the cabin had burned so fast and so quickly, she felt certain there wouldn’t have been time for the adults to get out. Especially since the Preacher had already been badly burned.
None of them had gone in to help rescue the Preacher or his wife either. A better person would have felt guilty about that, but she hadn’t experienced an ounce of remorse. Not after the way he’d groped her, pinned her down with the intent to rape her. No, she hadn’t gone in to rescue him.
By tacit agreement, she and the other foster kids had simply watched and waited.
When they heard the fire engines rushing toward the cabin, they finally began to move away, hiding deeper in the woods. They’d stayed together only briefly, long enough to agree that none of them were ever going back into the foster system.
To avoid being found, they’d split up and scattered. Sawyer, Cooper, and Trent had gone south. Hailey and Darby had gone due west, and she’d kept Caitlyn with her, heading in a northwest direction.
From that point on, she’d never seen her foster siblings again. Well, other than Caitlyn, whom she’d kept with her over the years, telling everyone the girl seven years her junior was her younger sister. To be honest, Jayme knew she’d mainly survived for Caitlyn’s sake.
Sure, she could think about who might be carrying a grudge against her, maybe someone from the early days when she’d been forced to lie, cheat, and steal to stay alive. But that didn’t seem at all likely.
And she highly doubted her old boyfriend Eli cared about what she was doing now. They’d parted amicably enough. He claimed she was standoffish, and he was probably right.
No, the simple answer was that this was either some sort of mistake, that someone had chosen her house instead of the one they’d really wanted.
But as she turned off the lights and tried to go back to sleep, she tossed and turned, her mind whirling.
She’d survived by trusting her instincts. And they were screaming at her now. Jayme knew, deep in her bones, the fire had been set on purpose to frighten her. And worse? Whoever had done it succeeded.
She was scared to death and had no idea what to do about it.
Chapter Two
Linc Quade took another walk around the outside of Ms. Weston’s house. Nothing had changed since he’d first arrived; he didn’t find any additional clues to help him understand what had transpired here.
In his role as arson investigator, he covered Pigeon Forge, Gatlinburg, and Sevierville. If he hadn’t lived in Sevierville, it would have taken him longer to get to Ms. Weston’s house to see the scene of the fire. Well, actually, the concoction that had been created had been more of a homemade smoke bomb than an actual fire.
True arson cases were rare in this area. As the homeowner mentioned, kids often caused fires, but generally not on purpose. More because they made poor decisions. This close to the Smoky Mountains, most kids knew better than to let a fire get out of control. The Smoky Mountains weren’t as dry as those forests on the West Coast, but they hadn’t been blessed with much rain in the past ten days. Even a small campfire could do a fair amount of damage in a short time frame.
But this? Definitely set on purpose. And in such a way that there was a very low possibility of causing the house to go up
in flames. Which was not in character for most arsonists.
Firebugs, as they were called, loved to watch the dancing dragon in action. The bigger the fire, the better. And seeing their own masterpiece flare high and wide, devouring the structure surrounding it, was often what helped catch them. During his first major fire investigation, the guy who’d set the fire was discovered about a hundred feet away, gazing at the fire with such rapt fascination that he’d been easy to find and arrest. The traces of accelerant on his hands and clothes had linked him to the fire.
Not all arson fires were set by true arsonists. His most recent investigation had involved a fire set in order to get insurance money for the owner who had a failing business. Having been unable to sell the building, the old guy had tried to set it on fire in a way that wouldn’t track back to him.
Linc had found and arrested the guy.
However, this strange concoction didn’t have any of the usual characteristics of arson. The fact that it had been set in a way to produce more smoke than anything had made him wonder about the homeowner.
Ms. Jayme Weston’s right hand had been badly burned in the past. That fact alone had moved her to the top of his suspect list.
Yet the flash of sheer terror in her eyes when he’d mentioned the fire had given him pause. No hint of fascination in those blue depths, only frank dread. Not to mention, she’d carried a baseball bat with her as a way to defend herself.
The situation was a puzzle, one he intended to get to the bottom of.
“Linc? Need anything else?” Ted Daniels, the firefighter who’d notified him of the possibility of arson, came over to join him. He and Ted had worked together and remained on friendly terms, in spite of the eight-year age gap between them.
“No, I’m good.”
Ted glanced at the house. “Did she give you any idea who did this?”
“Not a hint. I left my card in case she comes up with a name.” Linc shrugged and slapped Ted on the back. “Thanks again for the call.”
“No problem.” Ted turned and jumped up onto the back of the rig. Minutes later, they were on the road, heading back to the firehouse.
Linc watched them leave. A fire had cost him his family when he was twelve years old. He’d gotten out of the house, jumping from the second-story window, but his parents and his younger sister hadn’t made it. Linc’s Aunt Becca had taken him in. She and her husband, Flynn, were wonderful, and his young cousins had treated him like their older brother, never resenting his presence thrust upon them. But he’d never forgotten that day the fire had taken his family from him.
Of course, he’d become a firefighter. And then an arson investigator.
His goal had been to rescue people, to prevent the same thing that had happened to him. It was what he’d lived for, only he hadn’t been able to help his wife and daughter, who’d been killed in a terrible multicar crash two years ago.
From that point forward, Linc knew he was meant to live alone. Sure, he’d sought solace in church, the way Aunt Becca had taught him, but he wasn’t about to open his heart again.
To anyone.
Yet there was something about Ms. Weston that he found difficult to ignore. Maybe it was just the simple fact that she’d escaped a fire when she was young, much the way he had.
Or maybe he was just letting his hormones run amok.
Giving himself a mental shake, he walked toward his SUV. Time to head home and try to get some sleep. His report on the Weston fire could wait until morning.
But despite his best intentions, Linc mostly tossed and turned over the next few hours, finally dragging himself out of bed by five thirty. He made a pot of coffee and wrote up his report, shooting it to his boss and to the police department.
For a long moment, he stared at his computer screen. Curiosity got the better of him, so he set his coffee mug aside and did a basic search on Jayme Weston.
The first item to pop up was the physical therapy clinic where she worked. The website listed her as one of their staff members. She looked stunning in her photo, and he found it difficult to tear his gaze from her smiling face. Obviously, there had been nothing to smile about last night. In fact, she’d gotten angry with him.
He moved on but soon frowned. No social media. Who didn’t do social media? Even he had a presence there, mostly to keep in touch with Aunt Becca and his cousins. He dug a little deeper, his access mirrored those in law enforcement, so he was able to pull up her driver’s license.
But that was it. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Jayme Weston was nothing more than a figment of his imagination.
Sitting back in his chair, he sipped more coffee. The woman lived alone, claimed to not be in a relationship, and worked as a physical therapy tech. Was she a loner by nature? What did she do for fun?
And who on earth had sent smoke into her house?
Linc was no closer to having answers as he began his day. He’d taken the homemade smoke bomb from the Weston fire to the lab, hoping to get something useful.
The lab tech had given him a doubtful look and told him not to hold his breath.
He had an office in the police station. It was an unusual setup, but he wasn’t going to complain. His roots were firmly planted with his fellow firefighters, but investigating what had happened at the scene of the fire mirrored police work. His role straddled both departments.
After spending another hour trying to find other homemade smoke bombs that may have been set in the area, he eventually gave up. There was no indication of anyone doing something similar in the entire state of Tennessee or Kentucky.
The incident at the Weston house was unique. Which was both good and bad.
His phone rang, and he smiled when he saw Becca’s name. “Hey, how are you?”
“Good, dear, how are you? Any chance you want to swing by for dinner? Your uncle Flynn is grilling steaks, and that could be a fire hazard.”
He chuckled, even though this was an ongoing joke in the family. “Sure thing. Although you haven’t invited any single women, right?”
“I promised I wouldn’t,” Becca said firmly. “Especially after you misbehaved last time.”
Misbehaved? He hadn’t done anything, which had really made her mad. As much as he loved his aunt, her attempt to fix him up with a woman had caused him to instantly turn away and leave without so much as saying goodbye. Afterward, he’d warned Becca to never try that again or he wouldn’t attend any family gatherings.
She’d reluctantly agreed. But she hadn’t apologized, claiming he needed to move on with his life.
“Okay, then. I should be able to come, unless a call comes in.”
“Great, we’ll see you around six. Take care and don’t work too hard.” Becca disconnected from the line. He shook his head at her unwavering love and support. Even in those years when he’d rebelled, badly, she’d stuck by him.
He wouldn’t be the man he was today without her.
But no matter what she said, he wasn’t going to open his heart again. He was happy with his life just as it was.
Linc took his usual hour-long break at lunchtime to head to the gym. Lifting weights, punching the bag, and generally sweating his socks off helped him to cope after losing Gina and Melody. Now it was so much a part of his routine, he couldn’t imagine going through a day without a stiff workout.
Normally, the intense physical exertion kept him from thinking too much about what he’d lost. Almost as if the sweat running in streams off his body was like shedding tears. Letting go of the past hurts, and the pain. He always came out of a workout feeling refreshed.
Today, though, working out didn’t help keep him focused. For some odd reason, no matter how hard he punched the bag, he couldn’t seem to pry the image of Jayme Weston out of his mind.
Frankly, he didn’t like it. The woman had no business interrupting his workout. Impinging on his thoughts. After he’d showered and changed, he’d had to force himself not to head over to the physical therapy clinic where she worked
under the pretense of asking follow-up questions.
He didn’t have any follow-up questions. Not unless she’d come up with a possible suspect. And he’d given her his card, so she could call him if she had.
She hadn’t. So that was that.
Thankfully, he had a meeting with the fire and police commissioner that afternoon. At this point, he’d welcome any distraction to keep him from thinking of his latest arson victim.
Jayme finished working with Mrs. Jackson, a sweet sixty-five-year-old woman who was still recovering from her total knee replacement surgery that had been done three weeks ago. “You’re doing great, Mrs. Jackson.”
“Thank you, Miss Jayme.” Here in the south, people clung to their manners. “I only have two more visits that have been approved by my insurance. Do you think that’s enough?”
Insurance companies were the bane of healthcare, especially those in physical therapy. “The physical therapist will try to file an appeal, but regardless, you really need to keep doing the home exercises I gave you.” Jayme could tell the sweet lady wasn’t doing them on a daily basis as recommended. “That’s the best way for you to recover full range of motion.”
“Okay, I promise.” Mrs. Jackson leaned on her cane as she left the gym.
All day, Jayme had been looking at her patients through jaded lenses. Despite her best intentions, she’d tried to imagine any of them being angry or upset enough to track down where she lived and start a small fire.
Most of her patients were either elderly like Mrs. Jackson or young athletes who’d been injured playing sports. There weren’t many in between.
Her last patient of the day was a young man named Gary Albrecht. When he came into the clinic, he wore his usual scowl. The kid had suffered a bad knee injury playing football, and it appeared his playing days were over.
Only he hadn’t been ready to admit it.
“Hi, Gary. How are you feeling?” She pasted a smile on her face.
“Like crap. My knee still hurts like crazy.” He limped over and took a seat on the stationary bike to do his five minutes of warm-up exercises, knowing the routine well enough that he didn’t need to be told. “You need to do something to convince that stupid surgeon to give me more pain meds.”
