Traceless

by Debra Webb

  Besides, he could take it. When they realized he wasn’t giving up and leaving town, they’d get over it and find something else to gossip about.

  When his turn to check out came, he placed the goods he’d selected on the counter and waited. Once the casher had finalized the sale with the customer in front of Clint, he expected her to move on to him … but she didn’t.

  She put out her Closed sign and walked off. Left him standing there.

  Surprised, he watched her a moment thinking maybe she just needed to get some more change or something, but that wasn’t the case. She didn’t come back.

  Annoyed but refusing to let it show, he loaded his stuff back into his cart and moved to the next line. His turn came again and he transferred his stuff to the counter and waited for the cashier to do her part.

  She didn’t even look at him. Just put out her Closed sign and walked away.

  What the hell?

  Most of the other customers were staring at him at this point. The first cashier had returned to her register and a new line had formed.

  Clint exhaled his frustration, loaded his shit back into the cart, and moved on to another checkout lane.

  When the Closed sign came out for the third time he’d had enough.

  He abandoned his shopping cart and headed for the exit.

  In a pissed-off zone that threatened his feeble hold on control, he didn’t even notice Emily standing there staring at him until he’d practically bumped into her.

  He should’ve walked around her, but he couldn’t do it. Instead, he went stupid and pinned her with an icy glare. “Did you enjoy that?”

  Those big brown eyes, looking uncertain or startled, held his for three seconds, then four, before she looked away.

  He walked out.

  Left her standing there with every customer within hearing range staring at her.

  He jumped into his Firebird and roared out of the parking lot. Drove straight to the Sack&Go and purchased a twelve-pack of cheap beer. He didn’t give a damn if it was a violation of his parole. Let her call Ray Hale.

  Right now Clint just needed to escape his new prison.

  6:00 P.M.

  Troy Baker’s truck sat at the curb when Emily arrived at her parents’ home. He got out, slammed the door, his face dark with fury.

  Mentally readying for battle, Emily emerged from her car and met the storm head-on. “Troy? What’s going on?” She’d considered as an afterthought that Marv would tell Troy about their conversation; she just hadn’t expected it to happen this quickly.

  Troy didn’t stop until he was directly in her personal space. The instinct to back up was overwhelming, but this was Heather’s brother.

  “You tell me!” he demanded.

  “Tell you what?” Emily said carefully. She wasn’t afraid of him, but the look in his eyes told her this was not going to be a pleasant encounter.

  “Marv told me about the questions you were asking him,” Troy snarled. “I can’t believe you would even think that Austin might be innocent, much less say it out loud! Now, you tell me that Marv’s wrong!”

  The alcohol was heavy on Troy’s breath. Another layer of tension coiled inside Emily. “I didn’t say he might be innocent. I just repeated a crazy rumor.”

  Troy shook his head in disgust. “You know what he did. You were there. If you go taking sides with him—”

  “What’s going on?”

  Emily’s father walked toward them; her mother stood near the front door, the phone clutched in her hand. God. Emily hated that her parents had to see this. Just something else for them to worry about.

  “Remember what I said,” Troy warned, shaking a finger at her. “The best thing for you to do is stay away from Austin. I’m gonna take care of that situation personally.”

  Before she could respond, Troy strode back to his truck and burned rubber peeling away.

  She’d hurt him. Her actions had increased the pain he felt. She hadn’t meant to do that. Everything was all screwed up. But this was her confusion. Her problem. Hurting anyone else was the last thing she’d wanted to do.

  When Troy had disappeared from sight, Emily turned to her father. He hadn’t said anything else. Hadn’t asked her if she was okay the way he usually did after something like this. Part of her understood that he was waiting for her to make the first move. The dark circles beneath his eyes and the fatigue on his face made her stomach clench with regret. She’d done this, too. But she had to know the truth.

  “Is there anything you’d like to tell me about you and Fairgate ?” She waited, held her breath. She desperately needed somebody to do the right thing. To just tell her the truth.

  Her father shook his head and said the one word that broke her heart: “No.”

  Emily got into her car and left.

  That battle would have to wait until she’d gotten used to the painful idea that her parents were lying to her.

  What was her father hiding? What was with all these rumors about Austin’s alibi and his possible innocence? None of it made sense anymore. She’d lost direction … lost her certainty just like Marv said.

  Clint Austin couldn’t be innocent, could he? She couldn’t have been that wrong.

  She thought of the way those people had treated him in the Piggly Wiggly and she ached. That she could feel those tender emotions for him was making her crazy. Troy hated her for even suggesting Clint’s innocence, which she hadn’t actually done. Marv likely thought she was nuts. Her parents had lied to her. Her friends had withheld their true feelings.

  Where did she go from here? She couldn’t go back, couldn’t go forward.

  She was trapped.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Saturday, July 20, 1:03 A.M.

  A sound woke her.

  Emily blinked, rubbed her hands across her eyes, and looked again. The digital clock on her dash still read the same: 1:03.

  Damn. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Certainly not parked in front of Austin’s house … but she’d had no place else to go. She doubted she was welcome at home right now. And keeping an eye on him was the only thing left she felt committed about.

  She reached for the ignition, but something caused her to hesitate. The vaguest sound … a crackle or splintering noise … so soft and indistinct she wasn’t sure she heard anything at all.

  A frown furrowed its way across her brow. What was that smell? She inhaled deeply, analyzed the odor. Smoke … maybe.

  In a kind of slow motion, her hand dropped away from the ignition as she turned her head toward Austin’s house. The idea that maybe she was dreaming delayed her initial reaction to what her eyes saw. But then the flames flickered again, dancing beyond the front window.

  Fire.

  Inside the house.

  Was he in there?

  She looked around almost expecting to see a fire truck or the police or both … but the road was dark and deserted except for her. Her car door was open and she was standing in the middle of the road a second later. Didn’t remember making the decision to get out. Austin’s car sat in the driveway right where he’d parked after coming home.

  “Jesus Christ.”

  Adrenaline fired through her veins like mercury rising toward the boiling point.

  Clint Austin was in that house.

  Emily rushed back to her car. Searched for her phone. Where the hell was it? There. Relieved, she snatched it from between the console and the seat.

  She ran across the yard, bounded onto the porch. Going in through the front door was impossible.

  The flames were devouring the living room like a hungry beast that hadn’t been fed in a really long time. The front window had already shattered from the heat. She should have heard the window break … or maybe that was what had awakened her.

  The crackle of the fire sent goose bumps spilling over her skin. A whoosh accompanied the flight of embers through the air.

  She called 911, didn’t remember closing her phone afterward or sliding it into her po
cket, but somehow it was no longer in her hand.

  She rushed around to the back door of his house.

  Locked. She twisted the knob and pushed hard. No use. She peered through the window next to it. The fire had blocked off the doorway going from the kitchen into the living room. That route wouldn’t work.

  She ran to the next window on the back of the house. Closed. Locked. The room beyond was dark. She couldn’t see a thing except … maybe a bed. Her pulse vaulted with the hysteria swiftly climbing into her throat.

  Next window. Open. No screen in the way. Thank God.

  It was dark. She stuck her head inside. The white linens on the bed allowed her to make out a darker lump in the middle.

  “Austin!”

  She braced her hands on the ledge and levered her body upward, swung one leg inside. Her blouse snagged on something. She jerked it loose and fell into the room.

  “Austin!” She scrambled up, rushed to the bed. “Wake up!”

  She held her breath, recognized on some level that smoke had invaded and started to burn her lungs. Would have been much worse had the bedroom door not been closed.

  She shook him. He didn’t grunt … didn’t react.

  She shook him harder. “Austin! Wake up, dammit!”

  Where were the sirens? Shouldn’t the fire trucks be here by now?

  “Austin!”

  He groaned … tried to cough.

  “Wake up!” She reached to shake him again and a hand clamped around her arm. His eyes opened. He jumped up … staggered … coughed … but held on to her with an iron grip.

  “What the hell you doing?”

  “The house is on fire!” she cried, her arms and legs trembling now. “We have to get out of here.” She gulped the air infused with smoke and her lungs seized, making her cough.

  He hesitated as if he needed to gather his wits, as if he didn’t trust her to tell him the truth.

  “Hurry!” She coughed again … the burn in her lungs renewing her urgency.

  He hauled her to the window and practically tossed her out, following right behind her. They tumbled to the ground. He jumped up and dragged her toward the barn. The fire roared and something collapsed. Emily didn’t look back until they’d moved away from the danger.

  The fire burst through the roof.

  If she hadn’t awakened him, he would be dead now. If she hadn’t been parked in front of his house …

  Someone had tried to kill him.

  Her knees buckled, but his grip on her arm kept her vertical.

  The reality of what she’d done hit her. She’d gone into a burning house and rescued Clint Austin from certain death.

  The action hadn’t resulted from conscious thought. The fire had kicked in her survival and rescue instincts. She’d reacted.

  She looked up at the man beside her. The light from the flickering flames allowed her to see the shock and devastation on his face. The urge to do something … to reach out to him somehow was a palpable force inside her.

  But there was nothing she could do.

  Troy’s assurance that he would take care of Austin personally echoed in her head, sent a blend of tension and fear coiling through her. Surely he wouldn’t do something like this.

  This was attempted murder.

  Her gaze shifted back to Austin. She’d wished him dead a thousand times. She’d prayed he would rot in prison.

  She’d saved his life.

  3:30 A.M.

  Clint felt numb.

  Parts of two outer walls were about all that was left of his home. The fire was out, but the air was still filled with the smell of smoke.

  Vultures from the various media outlets within a fiftymile radius had arrived. A couple of Ray’s deputies were keeping them away from the house and yard. But zoom lenses would capture more than enough.

  The paramedic had wanted Clint to go to the hospital for further evaluation because of the smoke inhalation, but he had refused.

  The week had caught up with him last night. The vandalism, the way the whole community treated him, all of it had come crashing down around him just like Ray warned Clint it might. But mostly it was her. All this time, all this pain, and she still made him want her. So he’d drunk himself as close to oblivion as a twelve-pack of cheap beer would take him, but he was stone-cold sober now.

  He would be dead … if it hadn’t been for her.

  His gaze settled on Emily Wallace where she huddled against a squad car as Ray questioned her.

  A shudder rocked through Clint.

  He’d been dead to the world. Nothing would have awakened him … if she hadn’t …

  His eyes started to burn again. From the smoke probably.

  He wasn’t surprised by someone’s attempt to kill him. Hell, he’d expected it. He just hadn’t anticipated he’d live through it and lose every damned thing else.

  He’d moved his car once the water had started to contain the fire. Hot-wiring it had been necessary, since his keys had been inside the now-destroyed house. At least he still had his car. He had no idea if there was insurance for this.

  Clint scrubbed his hand over his face and wondered why the hell he even cared. Because he was a fool. He’d told himself that when and if he got out he would come back here and prove his innocence. More for his mother’s sake than his own.

  He’d been back five days and the only thing he’d proven was that the whole damned town hated him and believed just as deeply as ever that he was guilty.

  His attention settled on the charred remains of the house that his mother had worked so hard to keep.

  Maybe this was a reaction to his prods. He’d punched Marvin Cook’s buttons and he’d assuredly told all his buddies. Then Clint had gone for Sid.

  Oh yeah, Clint should have seen this coming and been better prepared. He’d let the bullshit get to him instead of staying focused, and this was the result.

  Whoever set this fire wanted Clint dead. Maybe the culprit thought he deserved to die because of the murder rap or maybe because someone wanted Clint silenced forever.

  He knew he was innocent.

  Heather Baker’s real killer knew it, too.

  “Clint.”

  Ray’s voice hauled Clint from the past. The smell of smoke lingered in his lungs and the reality tore at his gut. Everything was gone.

  “Clint, I have to ask you some questions now.”

  He turned to face the other man. Clint looked past him to the road where Emily Wallace’s car still sat.

  “Where’s …” Clint swallowed in an effort to soothe the burn in his throat.

  “Deputy Fitzpatrick took her to the Valley Inn. She didn’t want to go home.” Ray glanced at the news vans. “I guess she was afraid they would follow her. She doesn’t want her parents upset. We’ll see that her car gets to her later today.” He turned back to Clint. “Why don’t we do this in the barn?”

  Suited Clint. He wasn’t going to make this easy for those damned reporters. Ray contacted one of his men via his radio and ordered him to push the media to the opposite side of the road. When Clint and Ray reached the barn, he dropped into a crouch and flipped to a clean page in his notepad. He tucked his flashlight under his arm, directing its beam at the paper.

  “Let’s start with what time you came home last night.”

  Clint had no idea just how exhausted he was until he sat down on the ground and leaned against the wall. He watched the chaos around his house, the idea of what it all meant startling him all over again. He answered Ray’s questions, provided any additional details he could think of, including the fact that he’d drunk himself into oblivion. Ray chose not to mention that the beer had violated a condition of Clint’s parole. He could bring it up later, but right now Clint was too tired to care.

  Dawn started its slow creep across the horizon. Pinks and purples streaking the dark sky as the firemen started to pack up their gear. An investigator from the fire marshal’s office would be here later this morning to look for evidence.
/>   Five days. Clint had been released less than a week and already he’d lost everything.

  What the hell was he supposed to do now?

  “Just one more question.” Ray pushed to his feet, stretched, and made a sound that said he was about as exhausted as Clint.

  Taking that as his cue, Clint got up, did some stretching of his own. Felt like he’d been sitting there for hours.

  Though he’d said he had another question, Ray closed his notepad and stuffed it into his pocket. “Do you think Emily Wallace started this fire?”

  Means, opportunity, and motive. It was all there. Anyone who’d sat through Clint’s trial knew the necessary elements evaluated when considering a crime. Still, he and Ray were talking about Emily Wallace. They both knew she wasn’t capable of anything like this. Clint studied Ray a moment, tried to assess whether he was serious or not.

  Evidently taking Clint’s continued silence for a mixed response, Ray went on, “I searched her car, searched the area around it. If she brought any accelerants, there’s no indication. But we’ll look a little closer just to be sure.”

  “She didn’t do it.”

  “She didn’t?” Ray kept his face clean of whatever he was thinking.

  Clint had a feeling Ray was more interested in gauging his reaction to the fire than in determining if Emily Wallace had committed arson.

  “I’ll tell you who didn’t do it,” Clint said, deciding that he would just say what was on his mind. “All these good citizens who believe I killed Heather Baker and who want to see justice done.”

  Ray didn’t interrupt.

  “None of those folks are criminals.” Clint knew criminals. Had spent the last ten years with the worst kind.

  “So,” Ray ventured, “what’re you saying?”