“Is there another access road to the property?”
“No.” The driver had slowed, was backing up, probably knowing that they were cornered. Maybe not realizing who he was going up against. Not an elderly woman wandering through the snowy woods, and not an unsuspecting caretaker rushing to find her. Two well-trained operatives who weren’t going to be taken out easily.
“Anyone in the house? It looks empty, but I don’t want to take chances that we’re going to put civilians in the crosshairs of a gunfight.”
“The place has been abandoned for years.” As a teenager, she’d spent time exploring the house with her friends, walking through the dusty rooms and looking at furniture that had been left behind decades ago. Eventually, the town council had opted to board up the windows and doors to keep the teenage crowd from partying there, but Stella hadn’t let that stop her. She’d found a way into the cellar and brought friends there to tell scary stories.
“Any way to get inside?” Chance asked, that edge still in his voice.
“Yes. There’s a cellar door in the back. I broke the lock years ago. Unless someone has fixed it, we should be able to get in.”
“You called 911. Did you let Simon and Boone know we’ve got trouble?”
“Yes.” She’d texted coordinates to both of them. She didn’t have time to check for a response. She was too focused on the truck. The driver had finally found the entrance and was bouncing over the planks that led to the driveway.
“He’s in,” she said.
“And we’re out of sight,” Chance replied, pulling around the side of the house and throwing the SUV into Park. “Let’s go,” he commanded, but she was already moving, jumping out and running to the cellar door.
It was covered with debris—snow and grass and dirt.
She found the handle and tugged, trying to pull it open. She could hear the truck’s engine, the swish of tires on grass and dirt. A quarter mile. That’s how far it was from the road to the house. A few seconds of driving, and the guy would be there.
Chance grabbed the handle, wrapping his hand over hers and yanking hard. The old door finally gave, swinging up and open.
“Get in!” Chance shouted, nearly shoving her into the cellar. She stumbled down rickety steps, tripped over an old box and fell, sliding on hands and knees across the earthen floor.
Chance scrambled down the stairs behind her, letting the door drop back into place and plunging the cellar into darkness.
“You okay?” he asked, finding her hand and hauling her to her feet.
“Yes.”
“Can we get into the house from here?”
“There’s a door...”
“Shhhhh.” He pressed a finger against her lips, and she froze.
She could hear the truck’s engine, the tires on the frozen yard. Then silence, thick and heavy and horrible.
She grabbed Chance’s sleeve and led him across the root cellar. She knew the way. She’d been here dozens of times, and she hadn’t forgotten. The cellar was ripe with the scent of dirt and decay, the air frigid with winter. Years ago, fruit and vegetables were stored there, old wooden shelves jutting from the walls, still hosting cans of peaches and pears and pickles.
She couldn’t see them through the darkness, but she knew they were there. Just like she knew there was a door in the far wall that led to the stairs. She ran her hand along the packed earth until she felt wood. There’d once been a doorknob. Now it was just a hole. She stuck her fingers through and dragged the door inward, the wood scraping against the floor and sending up a cloud of dust that she could feel on her face.
She didn’t dare cough.
“Duck,” she whispered in Chance’s ear, and then she moved through the small opening, felt cement under her feet, smelled must and mildew.
Chance was right behind her. She could feel the warmth of his chest against her back, feel his hand on her waist and his breath ruffling her hair.
He pulled the door closed, the quiet whoosh of it mixing with another sound. Wood creaking. The cellar door opening?
Faint gray light shone beneath the door, and Stella knew it was filtering in from outside.
She stepped back, pulling Chance with her.
She expected the door to open, and what she wanted more than anything was her Glock. She’d put it in a lockbox on the top shelf of her closet, afraid that Beatrice might find it and hurt herself.
She hadn’t had time to retrieve it.
Now she wished she’d made the time.
Fabric rustled, and she knew Chance had pulled out his firearm. She stayed behind him, out of the line of fire, her gaze trained on the sliver of light that seeped under the door.
They moved in sync, still facing the door, still waiting for it to fly open. One step after another across the basement and to the rickety stairs that led to the main level of the house.
She put her weight on the first step, testing to see if it would hold her, then clambered up the rest, anxiety clawing at her stomach, a warning whispering up her spine.
Something was off.
Really off.
She’d expected their pursuer to rush into the basement, gun drawn, bullets flying. Instead, he was still in the cellar.
Doing what?
That’s what she wanted to know.
She reached the basement door, tried the knob.
Locked.
“Let me,” Chance whispered, the words tickling the hair near her ear, the sound of them barely carrying over the pulse of blood in her head.
They needed to get out.
She didn’t know anything else, but she absolutely knew that.
She eased to the side. Chance squeezed in between her and the wall, his weight bowing the step they were standing on. She took one step down, glancing at the cellar door, that little wedge of light still visible beneath it.
A shadow passed in front of it.
Once. Twice.
She caught a whiff of something sharp and pungent.
Gasoline?
She had about two seconds to realize it before the cellar door went up in flames, fire licking at the wood and devouring it.
Every nightmare she’d ever had was coming true again. The flames. The smell of gasoline. The screams.
She didn’t realize they were coming from her until Chance pulled her against his chest, whispered against her ear. “It’s okay. I’m going to get us out of here.”
She choked down another scream, her throat raw, her hands trembling as she reached around Chance and started banging on the door.
Panicking.
Terrified because she’d lived this before. A different time. A different place. And she’d lost almost everyone she’d loved.
“Stella.” Chance grabbed her arms, held them down at her sides, his grip gentle. “Let me do this, okay? Because I can. I just need you to give me a minute. Trust me.”
We don’t have a minute, she wanted to shout, but the light from the flames had illuminated the basement, and she could see the cement floor, the rotting stairs. She could see Chance, too, everything about him calm.
He wasn’t panicking, and she shouldn’t, either.
It was a fire.
Which was probably better than a barrage of bullets shot into the dark.
Below, the flames crackled and hissed, spreading along wooden support beams. It wouldn’t be long before the entire place went up.
If they weren’t out...
She pushed the thought away, tried to push away the terror, too. Beatrice needed her, and giving in to fear wasn’t going to save her.
Please, God, she prayed silently, and she wasn’t even sure what she was asking for. Safety? Help? Protection?
All of those things?
Chance jiggled
the doorknob, a utility tool in hand. Still no panic in his face.
“Chance,” she said, her mouth dry with fear as flames crawled across the ceiling, eating away at the beam that supported the upper floor. “We’re running out of time.”
* * *
They were running out of time, the old-fashioned lock trickier to pick than newer ones. Tricky. But not impossible.
Chance twisted the utility tool he always carried, fishing around in the lock for the mechanism that would open it. It caught, the knob finally turning, the door flying open.
He grabbed Stella’s hand, dragging her into an empty hall. Pictures hung from the walls, all of them too covered with dust for any details to be visible. Not that he had time to stop and look. Smoke billowed up through warped floorboards, swirling into the air and filling his lungs.
Up ahead, the front door stood dark against the lighter-colored walls. The arsonist could be waiting outside, ready to take a shot when the door opened.
Chance didn’t think so, though.
The guy was a coward. He’d shot at them through the truck window, then set fire to the basement door rather than follow them into the darkness and risk being ambushed. He’d taken off by now. Chance could almost guarantee it.
Even if he hadn’t, there was no choice but to go out the front door. Heading to the back of the house with the fire blazing in the basement would be a fatal mistake.
“The door is boarded up,” Stella said, her voice tight and controlled as if she were afraid of falling apart again. She was moving with him, briskly down the hall. No more screams. No more panic. She was terrified, though. He’d seen it in her face and he’d felt a gut-deep need to find the guy who’d done that to her—who’d terrorized her, who’d made her scream and panic and nearly climb through Chance to get away.
He would find the guy.
He would make him pay.
First, he needed to get Stella out of the house and away from the fire.
He opened the front door, eyeing the heavy plywood that blocked the opening. Bits of sunlight shone through cracks near the center, and he aimed for that, kicking once and then again. The wood splintered and then gave, cold air sweeping in.
Outside, the day was silent, the snow-speckled driveway crisscrossed with tire marks. No sign of the truck, but Chance could see a Jeep speeding toward them. Trinity’s. She’d better not be in it. He’d told her to stay at the hospital and stick with Beatrice.
“Is that Trinity?” Stella asked, her teeth chattering, her body trembling.
“Let’s find out.” He led her down the stairs, hurrying her away from the building. The place was old, the structure compromised, fire eating away at the foundation.
It wouldn’t be long before the entire thing came down.
If he hadn’t gotten the door unlocked, it wouldn’t have mattered. They’d have been overtaken by smoke before the house fell. Black clouds billowed from the back of the house, spiraling into the sky. Fueled by old wood and dry weather, the fire continued to grow.
In the distance, sirens were screaming. Police. Fire trucks. Rescue units. Chance had no doubt they were all on the way. Too late. At least as far as the house was concerned. And as far as catching the perp.
The Jeep stopped a hundred yards from the house, pulling off to the side of the driveway and leaving room for the emergency vehicles to get past. Simon hopped out of the driver’s seat and jogged toward them.
“The perp?” he asked, and Chance shook his head.
“Gone.”
“You’re sure?”
“About as sure as I can be before I check things out.” He led Stella to the Jeep.
“I want you to wait here,” he said. “The sheriff won’t be long. Fill him in when he arrives. Simon and I will head around to the back of the house. Make sure the guy really is gone.”
“I’m not going to sit on my behind while you two go do the manly work,” Stella said, some of the color back in her cheeks, all of the fear gone from her eyes. She looked like herself now—tough, confident, strong.
“This isn’t about fair division of labor, Stella,” he responded, using the same tone of voice he always did when they were working together. “I want you to fill Cooper in, because you’re the witness. Simon isn’t. Get in the Jeep.”
It was an order.
She knew it.
Knowing her, he was sure she’d take her sweet time deciding if she was going to follow it. They’d been down this road before. Half the time, she won. Half the time, he did.
This time he wasn’t playing games.
“I mean it, Stella. Somebody wants you dead, and if he gets his way, Beatrice is going to be on her own, facing down a threat she can’t even begin to understand. Get in the Jeep.”
Her lips pressed together and her eyes flashed, but she did what he said, sliding into the Jeep and slamming the door. She had her cell phone in hand, and he could see her making a call as he motioned for Simon.
“We’re heading to the back of the house. You head left. I’ll head right. I think the guy is gone, but play it cautious. And cut a wide swath around the building. The basement is on fire, and the place is going to come down.”
Simon gave a quick nod and took off, jogging toward the edge of the yard and then moving in the direction of the back field.
A squad car was racing along the driveway. Chance didn’t wait around to see if the sheriff was driving it. He’d given Stella her instructions. Whether she liked them or not, she’d follow them.
He headed around the side of the building, running parallel to a set of tire tracks. The guy had been in a truck and he’d fired a rifle. Chance knew that much.
He needed to know more.
A face would be nice. A name.
Not Noah Ridgewood. Stella’s friend had checked out. He was currently staying at a ranch just outside Fort Worth, and he hadn’t been happy when HEART member Dallas Morgan had shown up. Or so Dallas had said. He’d been given about two seconds to state his case, and then the door had slammed in his face.
Didn’t matter. Dallas had confirmed Noah’s whereabouts, and he should be at the hospital in an hour, ready to take over for Boone.
So the perp wasn’t Noah, and Chance didn’t think Larry was directly responsible for the violence. He was lying low, staying at home and keeping quiet about his troubles. The guy didn’t seem capable of hurting anyone. Although it was possible he’d hired someone to do it. He’d taken funds out of his savings account several times over the past year. The amount had added up to just over twenty thousand dollars. He’d told the sheriff that he’d been using it to pay off debts that he’d accrued, but there’d been no trace of the money. No cashed checks. No deposits. It had been there and then it was gone.
Which could mean a lot of things.
Could mean he had some bad habits—gambling, drugs, women. Could mean he owed the wrong people money and had paid it back in cash.
It didn’t necessarily mean that he’d hired a hit man to take out his sister and niece.
But it also didn’t mean that he hadn’t.
The backyard was empty, just like Chance had expected. No truck. No gunman. Just his SUV parked too close to the house. Too late to move it. The fire had spread across the back facade and had set several shrubs ablaze.
He could see the area where the truck had been parked, the packed snow and crushed grass. Smudges of gray from the exhaust. A few feet away, an old gas canister and a lighter lay abandoned, half hidden by snow. Chance crouched in front of them.
“What did you find?” Simon asked beside him.
“Looks like the accelerant. We’ll have to have the local PD look for prints.”
“If the guy set the place ablaze with gasoline and a lighter, he’s an idiot.”
“I’d say he soaked the
door with gasoline, lit a piece of cloth or paper and tossed it. He’d have a pretty good chance of igniting the gas that way, and he’d avoid going up in flames himself.”
“Guy is still an idiot. He’s not going to get away with this.”
“He already did.”
“You know what I mean, Chance.” Simon straightened. “We’re going to find him, and we’re going to make him really sorry.”
“Law enforcement will hand out the consequences,” Chance reminded him. “But you’re right. We are going to find him.”
“Chance!” Sheriff Brighton strode toward them, his expression grim and hard. “You need to clear out. Fire crews are moving in.”
“We’ve got a gas canister here. A lighter.”
“I’ll have one of my men collect it. Right now, we want all civilians clear.”
Chance wasn’t going to argue.
One thing he’d learned early in his career—get on the good side of local law enforcement, play by their rules and you might just get a favor when you needed one.
“Did you see Stella?” he asked, and Cooper nodded.
“I have a deputy questioning her. She gave a description of the vehicle. Dark truck. Newer model. Ford or Chevy.”
“That’s right.”
“I spotted one parked on the side of the road on my way here. Looked like one of the tires was blown.”
“You stop to check it out?”
“I was in a hurry to save your hide. So, no. I’m going back there now.”
“Mind if I come along? I’ll know if it’s the right vehicle.”
“As long as you keep your distance, keep your hands off the evidence and don’t ask questions.”
“I can manage that,” he responded.
“We’ll see,” Cooper muttered as he led the way to his squad car.
TEN
Midnight, and Chance hadn’t returned to the hospital.
Stella had been back for hours, clean clothes on, chocolate in hand, every trace of smoke washed from her skin and hair. She’d been back to the house, gotten the things she needed. She’d smiled at Beatrice, listened to her talk about Henry and their wedding and the beautiful life they’d lived together. For a while, it had seemed like she remembered it all. The years they’d spent loving each other, the wonderful home they’d shared, even his death.
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