by Laura Scott
Linc forced himself to stay focused. He’d promised Caitlyn he’d find her.
He’d promised himself too.
Whoever had grabbed Jayme had drugged her. The only lead he had was this guy, Adam Shepard. A long shot if there ever was one. As he drove past the guy’s apartment building, he kept an eye out for the Spark, but he didn’t see it. He did notice, however, that there were plenty of people milling around. Several families with kids. A couple of older guys walking down the sidewalk chatting.
It felt wrong. No way would the arsonist bring Jayme here, especially after drugging her. How would he get her inside past all these people without someone noticing? No, he’d take her somewhere else. Someplace private. Where no one would see or hear anything suspicious.
But where? Did this guy have another lair somewhere close by?
Or had he taken Jayme to her house?
Yes! He cranked the wheel, making an abrupt U-turn. The more he thought about the possibility of Jayme being held in her own house, the more desperate he felt to get there.
Please, Lord, don’t let me be too late!
Driving like a madman, he made it to her house in less than ten minutes, each second feeling like an eternity. He drove past the place first, scanning it intently. There was no sign of the Spark, but maybe Shepard had ditched it after bringing Jayme here.
The house appeared empty. The garage door was closed, the curtains drawn. He made a quick turn, then pulled off to park along the side of the road. Time was of the essence; he needed to know if Jayme was there or not.
He reached over to grab his gun from the glove box, a weapon he’d never once been forced to use in the line of duty, before sliding out from behind the wheel.
Staying down, Linc ran lightly toward the garage. When he’d passed Jayme’s house, he’d noticed the garage window wasn’t covered with curtains or blinds. Peering inside, his pulse spiked when he saw the blue Chevy Spark.
He ducked back down and pulled out his phone. He called the 911 operator.
“This is Arson Investigator Lincoln Quade. I’m requesting police back up to this address.” He rattled it off. “I have reason to believe Ms. Jayme Weston is being held inside against her will. The police need to know this is likely a hostage situation.”
The operator repeated the address. “Is this correct?”
“Yes,” he hissed. “Hurry.”
“Please stay on the line,” the operator said in a calm voice.
“No. Get Captain Barstow on the phone. He’ll understand what I’m talking about.” Linc didn’t bother waiting for an answer. He disconnected from the call and pocketed his phone before slowly creeping along the side of the garage to the back of the house.
The last thing he wanted to do was shock Shepard into doing something hasty. Linc had to assume the guy had fuel of some sort to start a fire. That maybe this was his big finale, setting Jayme’s house ablaze with her trapped inside.
Which meant there wasn’t time to wait for backup either.
He made his way around the house, peering through every single window, even those with curtains. Upon reaching the back door, he found it locked.
Hesitating, he considered his options. Break in through the back? Go around to the front?
Bowing his head, he prayed for wisdom and strength.
Lord, guide me!
Taking a deep breath, he visualized the interior of the house. The garage door led into the kitchen. The kitchen and living area were combined into one open space. The back door opened into the laundry room, which wasn’t far from the kitchen.
Shepard probably wouldn’t have lugged Jayme’s drugged body through the house. Based on the information from his driver’s license, he was only five feet ten inches tall and one hundred and seventy pounds. No, Shepard would have only taken her as far as necessary.
Likely to the kitchen and/or living room.
Linc continued moving around the house, checking each of the windows to see if any were unlocked. He paused when he found one of Jayme’s bedroom windows unlocked.
Without hesitation, he used a penknife to slice through the screen, then slowly lifted the inside window. Thankfully, it didn’t make any noise. Seconds later, he’d shimmied through the opening, twisting and turning until his shoulders made it through.
The scent of kerosene hit hard. Fearing the worst, he moved swiftly to the door and peered out into the hall.
“You’re not going to get away with this,” Jayme was saying. “No matter what you do to me, Linc will hunt you down.”
“I’ll be long gone before that happens.” The hoarse voice didn’t sound at all familiar to him.
“You’re getting kerosene all over your shoes,” Jayme continued. “Aren’t you worried you’ll start on fire too? As I recall, you didn’t appreciate that the last time.”
Linc slipped down the hall, trying to get a bead on Shepard.
Click.
The sound was soft, barely audible. Linc caught his breath when he realized the sound had been a lighter.
“No!” Jayme screamed.
Linc darted out of the hallway. He saw Shepard standing near the front door, holding the lighter and a wet rag. The pungent odor of kerosene was so strong Linc realized the guy had already spread it all over the floor.
A spark, either from the lighter or his gun, would ignite the entire area in flames.
Before he could shoot, the Preacher bent down and set the flame against the rag he’d soaked with kerosene. Instantly, fire erupted, spreading fast.
Linc fired at Shepard, but the guy had already disappeared through the door.
“Help me!” Jayme’s frantic plea had him spinning toward her. The fire had spread all the way across the floor to her chair.
Linc tossed his gun and rushed forward, ignoring the heat of the fire biting at his ankles. With a herculean strength, he lifted Jayme and the chair off the floor and made a run for it down the hall toward the bedrooms.
“We’re on fire, we’re on fire,” Jayme sobbed. Then she managed to get her hands free. “Put me down!”
He dropped the chair with enough force that the legs broke. He shrugged off his jacket and used it to douse the flames around her feet and his. Then he darted into the bathroom, ran the water in the sink over a towel. He tossed it to Jayme. “Use this on your feet.”
“What about you?” She was already using the wet towel to smother the flames. Then she stripped off her shoes, socks, and jeans.
He doused a towel to use for himself, although the fire hadn’t penetrated his shoes. His clothing hadn’t started on fire either. Shepard had purposefully doused her feet and her jeans to draw the fire up and over her.
They had to get out of there. Linc needed to help find and catch this guy.
“How did you find me?” Jayme asked.
“Later.” The air was thick with smoke. “We need to get out of here.” He looked down at her feet. “Can you walk?”
“I think so.” She coughed and winced as if her feet were tender and painful. But she hurried from the hallway into her bedroom, stopping long enough to grab another pair of jeans and shoes. He wanted to argue that modesty wasn’t as important as getting out of the house, but she simply tossed the items out the window and began to climb out.
Linc glanced over his shoulder, his gaze landing on the bright orange light illuminating from the living room and kitchen area. The fire was clearly growing bigger, the greedy flames sucking up the accelerant. Then he turned and quickly followed Jayme outside, gratefully gulping the fresh air.
She sat on the grass, pulling on her jeans. He knelt beside her, raking his gaze over her legs and feet. “Are you okay? How badly are you burned?”
“I’m okay. My feet aren’t as bad as I thought.” She winced again as she rose to pull her jeans up over her hips. “You got me out of there just in time.”
“Those burns need attention,” he said firmly.
“I know.” She stared at her reddened and already blisterin
g feet. “I don’t think I can put my shoes on after all.”
Without hesitation, he swept her into his arms and carried her around to the front of the house, moving as fast as possible. He wanted her feet to get medical attention as soon as humanly possible.
Relief flooded over him when he saw several police squads along with a firetruck had just pulled up to her house.
“I need an ambulance,” he shouted. “There’s kerosene all around the main living area.”
“Where’s the firebug?” the fire captain asked.
“He got away.” Linc felt like a failure for letting Shepard slip away. Yet saving Jayme’s life had been far more important.
“Anyone else inside?”
“No, it’s empty.” Linc glanced down at Jayme who was staring at the fire eating away the interior of her home. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here quicker.”
She shook her head, her gaze still zeroed in on the fire. Finally, she turned to look up at him. “You were in time to save my life, that’s what matters.”
His heart squeezed painfully in his chest. Before he could say anything, two EMTs rushed toward them, pushing a gurney loaded with supplies.
“What happened?” one of them asked.
“Her feet and ankles have been burned.” He waited for the EMTs to move the equipment so he could place her on the gurney. “I want you to take her to the Covenant Medical Center right away.”
One EMT connected Jayme to a heart monitor as the other began soaking gauze with sterile water to place over her blisters. “They may want to transfer her to a burn unit at the university hospital,” one of them warned.
“Whatever she needs.” Linc forced himself to stay back, allowing them the room they needed to care for her.
“Linc? What about Caitlyn?” Jayme asked as the EMTs began to wheel her away.
He jogged alongside, doing his best to memorize her features. He knew she wasn’t hurt badly, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “She’s safe with Devon.”
“Thank you . . .” Her voice trailed off as the EMTs reached the ambulance. Minutes later, she was slid into the back, out of view.
Linc bowed his head as the ambulance whisked her away.
Thank you, Lord, for giving me the strength to save her.
Jayme ignored the pain in her feet, although it wasn’t easy. When she closed her eyes, the image of the Preacher’s evil smile popped into her mind, so she quickly opened them again. Staring up at the roof of the ambulance.
She’d felt certain she was going to burn to death. Had tried everything she could think of to convince the Preacher not to start the fire.
Even though she’d known there was no reaching him. He didn’t have a soul, probably because he’d been possessed by the devil.
It was the only explanation as to why he’d delighted in the thought of burning her alive.
And the worst thing of all was that he’d gotten away. Why, oh, why hadn’t she realized who he was sooner?
The ambulance hit a bump in the road that made her wince. Her feet had initially felt better being covered by the wet gauze, but the pain was getting worse and worse.
While she was thankful it hadn’t been worse, she still couldn’t understand why she had to suffer. What sins had she committed that she apparently still needed to atone for?
Hadn’t she grown up the night of the fire? The night they’d made their escape? After getting all the foster kids out of the cabin, she’d taken Caitlyn under her wing and had dedicated herself to protecting the little girl.
The way no one in her life had protected her.
Their journey through the Smoky Mountains had been long and arduous. Hampered by her burned hand, the trek had seemed to take forever. They’d scrounged for food, had managed to kill several small rabbits, and had sheltered in the caves, then made do with camping in the woods by using leafy branches to shield themselves from the elements.
When they’d reached the city, they’d still struggled to survive. She’d stolen money, begged for food, and eventually managed to get a job.
She’d come so far that she never imagined the Preacher would catch up to her.
Attempting several times to kill her.
Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. She lifted her hand to swipe them away.
Pull yourself up and step away from the pity party, she told herself sternly. Ruminating on the past, or on what might have happened, wasn’t productive.
Linc had gotten there in time.
She was alive. That was something to be thankful for.
The ambulance pulled up to the hospital. Her pulse spiked. She could literally watch her heartbeat going faster and faster on the heart monitor. She took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself as the EMTs pulled her from the back of the ambulance and wheeled her inside.
“Vitals are stable, but she’s sustained second-degree burns on her feet and ankles,” one of the EMTs called out.
A slew of white coats surrounded her. “Give her something for pain,” a man with a deep voice said.
“Wait.” She reached out to grasp his hand. “I was drugged by the man who started the fire. I don’t know what he gave me.”
The kind eyes softened. “We’ll run a tox screen, but there may not be enough time to wait for the results. We need to examine the extent of your injury. Try not to worry, burns are painful, so we’ll give you just a little something to help you through this.”
It was irrational, but she was afraid if they knocked her out, she’d never wake up. Silly because it wasn’t as if burned feet could actually kill her.
No, if she was going to die, it would have been from being frightened to death by the Preacher.
The lights overhead grew fuzzy, the voices around her fading to mumbled sounds.
Then darkness overwhelmed her.
When Jayme awoke, she had no idea where she was. She lay frozen, her senses trying to make sense of the antiseptic smell, the beeping and hushed voices. Opening her eyes, she looked around, surprised to see an IV machine next to her bed.
And white bandages covering her feet and ankles.
The hospital. Memories cascaded over her. The Preacher, the kerosene, and the fire.
Linc lifting her and the chair up and out of the kitchen. The way she’d wrenched her hands free, scraping the skin raw. Climbing out her bedroom window, far too aware of how she was wearing nothing more than her underwear.
Linc lifting her in his arms, cradling her close as he carried her to the ambulance.
Being brought to the hospital for treatment of her burns.
Jayme’s mouth was dry, her throat scratchy. Her hair reeked of smoke and kerosene, but when she looked down at herself, she was wearing a hospital gown, not her regular clothes.
She didn’t like knowing someone had undressed her, but she told herself to get over it. She looked at her bandaged feet, surprised they didn’t hurt.
God is taking care of you.
She actually looked over to see who was talking, but no one was there.
A tad eerie, yet at the same time, a strange sense of peace washed over her. She was going to be okay. Considering the pain she’d experienced when her hand had been burned, the wounds to her feet must be mild in comparison.
She was safe. Healthy. Alive.
Yet, she wished Linc was there, and Caitlyn too. She patted the bedding on either side of her, but there was no sign of her cell phone.
A ripple of unease washed over her. Pathetic as it sounded, being alone in the room without her cell phone felt a bit like being lost in a storm at sea. Ridiculous, really, since she hadn’t been able to afford a regular cell phone until Remy Edgar had left her the money for their education.
Before that, she’d used a disposable one.
She almost hit the call button to summon the nurse but managed to stop herself. There was nothing the nurse could do for her. She wasn’t in pain, her IV wasn’t beeping, although someone’s in the hallway was, and she couldn’t
borrow a phone because she didn’t know Linc’s phone number.
Then she saw the phone sitting on a small square nightstand, out of reach. Pushing herself up onto her elbows, she leaned over and snagged the phone.
Caitlyn’s number she knew by heart, so she punched in the numbers. Unfortunately, her sister didn’t answer.
“Cait? It’s Jayme. Hey, just wanted to let you know I’m doing fine. Um, I don’t have my phone, so I’ll try you back later.” She replaced the phone in its cradle.
Weird that her sister hadn’t answered.
She stared up at the ceiling, doing her best not to panic. Linc had said Caitlyn was with Devon. Given the change in Devon’s demeanor after the GPS had been placed on Caitlyn’s car and the cabin found and hit with a firebomb, she felt certain the young officer would do everything in his power to keep her sister safe.
Yet remembering how the Preacher had slipped out of the house made her shiver. He shouldn’t have gotten away.
Then again, it was her own fault for letting him drug her up outside the clinic. She’d been fooled by his shuffling walk, the scar on his face that hadn’t looked like a burn scar. Even his name. The fact that he’d been stronger than he’d looked made her realize he very well could have been the man in black running away from Sampson’s that night.
Looking back, she wondered if part of the reason she hadn’t paid him much attention was because he hadn’t been her patient. Sandra had been the one following him, and the PT assistant had been a guy named Roger. How long had Shepard been coming to the clinic? Had to be at least four months.
Four months of seeing her, following her, spying on her while planning and plotting his revenge.
A plan that had almost succeeded.
He’d even come to the food pantry. That should have tipped her off, but it hadn’t. Mostly because the man she’d thought of as Mr. Shepard had seemed to be the kind of man who needed food from the pantry.
But he’d only come in there because of her.
She pushed the thoughts away, reminding herself she couldn’t go back and change the past.
A knock at her door drew her attention. “Come in,” she called.
A pretty dark-haired nurse poked her head in. “Just checking to see how you’re doing.”
