Wyatt’s phone buzzed in his back pocket. He slid the device onto his palm and puzzled at the number on the screen. Local, but he didn’t recognize it. “Wyatt Stone,” he answered.
“This is Deputy Santos,” the man said. “I think we need to talk.”
Violet was on her feet, instinctively reaching for Maggie as if she could somehow sense the tension bunching in Wyatt’s muscles.
Her grandma grabbed the bed’s metal rail, straining closer. “What’s wrong?”
Wyatt turned away, angling his torso for some privacy. “Where?” he asked Santos.
The deputy heaved a troubled sigh. “I don’t know. There probably isn’t an ideal location in this town.”
“You found something?” Wyatt guessed. If the deputy believed them about the former sheriff, then they had an ally, and that was all they needed. That and maybe Henry Davis’s remains. Wyatt wasn’t sure Mrs. Ames’s retelling of a dead woman’s tale would be enough, especially considering Mary Alice’s mental state at the time of the revelation.
“I took those things you gave me to a coffee shop at the end of my shift,” Santos said, “and I gave them a long hard look. I had to admit the story was compelling, so I headed back to the department, thinking I’d slip onto my computer and look for more details in the cold cases. When I got there, my bottom drawer was unlocked. I never leave it unlocked. My files were askew. Key was in my pocket.”
“Meet us back at the Ames house,” Wyatt said. “Mrs. Ames woke from her coma tonight, and she filled in all those blanks we talked about.”
“Yep.” Santos disconnected.
Wyatt gave the trio of Ames ladies a long look. What was safest for them? All of them? “Violet, why don’t you and Maggie stay here this time? You’ll be safe. There’s security at the door. Witnesses everywhere.”
“No way.” Violet stood with Maggie.
Wyatt lifted a palm. “I’ll see what Santos found, then give you a call on my way back. I won’t be long, and it will give you more time to visit with your grandma.”
“No.” She kissed her grandma’s cheek. “I want to hear what Santos has to say. We can come right back after.”
Grandma nodded. “Go. You’re both safer guarded by him and all that military training than by me and my broken hip.”
Tanya cruised into the room with a balloon and pink plastic bag. “There you are.” She hugged Violet, then tied the balloon string to the arm of the guest chair. “I clocked out early so I could run down to the gift shop and get you these before the shop closed.” She upended the bag onto Grandma’s legs. Magazines. The Rose Parade. Garden Delight. And Country Lady. Tanya’s smile dimmed as she took in the faces around her. “What?”
“We have to run back to Grandma’s place and check on something,” Violet said. “Stay with Grandma?”
Tanya smiled. “Of course.”
“I’ll call if we learn anything significant,” Violet said. “I’ll try to come back tonight, but if Maggie falls asleep, I’ll let her.” She shifted her attention to her grandma, wishing for all the world that she could pull up a chair and stay with her every minute until she knew they were all safe. “Either way, I’ll be back here first thing tomorrow to get you moved.”
“Moved?” Grandma asked.
Tanya waved a hand. “I’ll fill her in.”
Violet nodded. “I’ll see you soon, Grandma.”
Wyatt took her hand and headed for the parking lot.
* * *
“THANK YOU,” VIOLET SAID as the bright hospital lights faded into the night behind them.
Wyatt glanced her way, his profile strong and confident. “For what?”
“For letting me come along,” she said. “For not fighting me on it. I know you want to protect me, and you wanted me to stay at the hospital.”
Wyatt’s sharp eyes narrowed. “I want to protect you, not control you.”
Violet smiled, then set her hand atop his fingers where they rested on his thigh.
He turned his palm over, gently twining his fingers with hers. “Honestly, I can do a better job looking after you if you’re with me anyway, and this should be a quick meeting. No danger included. I was probably overreacting. Seeing danger where there isn’t any. I think my run-in with Mr. Masterson earlier has me spooked.”
“Well, hopefully Santos has something good, and this will be over by morning.” Gratitude swelled in Violet’s chest. She was glad for Santos’s help. Thankful her grandma was finally awake and that there was security stationed right outside her room. Thankful also for not one but two of Fortress Security’s finest looking after Maggie and her. Things were definitely looking up.
She scanned the peaceful night, enjoying the moment until something caught her eye in the mirror. Violet tensed at the distant glow of emergency flashers and her stomach knotted.
“Fire truck,” Wyatt said, a smile curving his lips. “For a minute I thought I was being pulled over again.” He eased onto the berm so the bleating truck could blow past. A moment later, Wyatt repeated the maneuver to allow an ambulance the space it needed on the narrow road.
“That’s not good,” Violet said, attention glued to the flashers disappearing up ahead. “Wyatt?”
Wyatt swore. He’d seen it, too.
“They’re going toward Grandma’s house.”
Wyatt pressed the gas pedal. Hard.
Violet’s head clung to the seat. Her muscles clenched. Her chest pinched. “What if something has happened to Sawyer?”
Wyatt tossed his cell phone from the cup holder. “Call.”
Violet scrolled through his contacts and hit Call. The phone rang slowly, time ticking at half pace while she waited. “Voice mail.”
Wyatt’s grip tightened on the wheel. “Sawyer’s good. No one could’ve gotten the jump on him.”
Sure, Violet thought. He also has a quick temper and obvious PTSD. An assailant didn’t need to surprise him as much as provoke him, and she imagined the sheriff would see any response of Sawyer’s as justification for firing his weapon.
A pair of deputy cruisers appeared up ahead, coming at them from the opposite direction, sirens on and flashers illuminating the sky. They, too, took hasty turns in the direction of Grandma’s house.
“Holy,” Wyatt whispered as the flames came into view.
Violet’s gut gave a mighty heave.
The smoke was black and thick. The flames cut through the starry sky. Grandma’s driveway and the street out front were clogged with emergency vehicles and officials in a multitude of uniforms. Firefighters were posted on the lawn, directing water from great white hoses. EMTs waited by ambulances. Deputies stared openmouthed at the shooting flames.
Violet sat motionless in her seat, horrified and sickened at the sight of her childhood home going up in flames. All the mementos that she’d so carefully packed for tomorrow’s move. Gone. The kitchen where she learned to cook. The bedroom where Grandpa read her stories and tucked her in at night. Everything she knew about her mom, wherever she was. Gone. Gone. Gone.
Wyatt opened her door and pulled her out with a hug. His trademark Stetson was low over his eyes. “I’m sorry about the house, but I sure am glad no one was here.”
Violet nodded woodenly. The acrid scent of smoke stung her eyes and burned her throat. Heat from the inferno blew in waves over her skin. “I’m going to try Sawyer again.”
Wyatt went around to collect Maggie. He returned a moment later.
“Voice mail,” she said once more.
Wyatt moved toward the nearest ambulance. “Maybe an EMT will fill us in.”
Violet followed, praying silently for Sawyer’s safety.
Then the unmistakable outline of his Jeep came into view, parked between emergency vehicles. “Wyatt,” she whispered.
Wyatt swore under his breath. He straightened his hat, then passed Maggie to Violet. “Hey!” he called, jogging closer to the home.
A nearby fireman turned in his direction. “I think there’s someone in the house.”
The man started at the sight of Wyatt with Violet on his heels. “You need to get back, sir, ma’am. Maintain a clear distance. It’s not safe.”
Wyatt bristled. “I think my buddy’s in there. His Jeep’s in the drive.”
The fireman shook his head. “Structure’s not sound. We haven’t found anyone inside, and I’m pulling my men out.”
The sharp cry of a siren turned the little crowd toward the road.
The sheriff’s cruiser rocked to a stop in the center of the road. He moved solemnly on foot in their direction. His flat expression rattled Violet’s nerves. He didn’t care that her family home was on fire. Didn’t even look surprised. “I’m afraid you two need to step away from the home and let these men work.”
Wyatt stalked toward him. “What have you done?”
An upstairs window shattered, and Wyatt spun in the direction of the sound. “What was that?” He looked briefly at Violet with hope in his eyes.
What if Sawyer was trying to get out? She’d thought so, too.
Wyatt scanned the scene, then burst into a run, disappearing into the smoke.
“No!” Violet screamed. “Wyatt!”
Maggie cried and bucked in her mother’s arms.
“Shhh. Sorry. Sorry.” Violet bounced gently, rocking and cooing to the baby as she moved slowly back from the raging heat. “Do something,” she demanded of the sheriff and fireman, both staring blankly at Wyatt’s silhouette as he vanished into the smoke engulfing the land around her home.
The fireman smashed the button on his walkie-talkie. “We’ve got a man heading into the building at the east first-floor entrance.”
Static crackled back.
Violet’s stomach knotted. Maggie’s continued cries shredded her mama’s heart into pieces. “Shh. Shh. Shh.” She tried unsuccessfully and wished she could cry, too.
“Captain,” a male voice rattled through the line. “House is empty. We’re heading out back. See if we can save the barn.”
The fireman gave Violet and Maggie a long, regretful look. He depressed the walkie-talkie button once more. “Watch for the civilian on your way out.”
Violet closed her eyes and sent up desperate prayers for both Wyatt and Sawyer.
“Ma’am,” the fireman said, forcing Violet’s eyes open once more. “He might’ve gone around back. Maybe he saw something we didn’t. My men are headed there now. We’ll know soon enough.”
Violet nodded, wiping tears on her wrist. Seeing what others didn’t see was kind of Wyatt’s shtick.
She stepped back farther, contemplating a seat in Wyatt’s truck, away from the drifting smoke, when a gunshot rang out. “What was that?”
The sheriff’s face turned in the direction of the sound, but he made no move to acknowledge it.
“Hey!” Violet yelled over the crackling fire, rushing water and endless chatter of a dozen emergency responders gathered on the lawn.
He pointedly ignored her, looking instead at the other stupefied faces around them.
“Was that a gunshot?” the fireman asked.
The sheriff shook his head. Negative.
“Liar!” Violet shoved the sheriff with days’ worth of anger. “Do something!”
The sheriff stumbled back, caught off guard by her outburst. “It was probably the snap of burning wood.”
The fireman wrinkled his brow. “Sounded like gunfire.”
“Ammo in heat,” the sheriff said.
Violet felt the tears come again as she stared into the thick smoke, watching each returning fireman arrive empty-handed. No casualties. No Sawyer. No Wyatt.
“Fire’s out,” an emerging man explained. His hair was gray, and his helmet was tucked beneath his arm. “Circle up.”
The fire crew moved toward him, away from the home and closer to their truck, turning their backs on her and Sheriff Masterson.
Violet listened while they made plans to minimize the damage from the home’s inevitable collapse.
The deputies tipped their hats before climbing back into their cruisers.
The EMTs packed up and rolled out.
Violet watched the smoke.
An eternity later, a silhouette appeared in the haze, wearing the cowboy hat she knew so well.
Violet moved toward Wyatt, drawn like a magnet. She took a wide path in his direction, steering clear of the firefighters in their huddle and slowing when the rear corner of her grandma’s house came clearly into view. She avoided the thickest smoke, angling past a patch of shrubs and trees in the side yard, hyperaware of Maggie on her hip and the reaching tendrils of smoke as it slithered over the ground.
When the figure grew clearer, a handgun became visible in his grip.
The fine hairs on her arms and neck rose to attention. Something was off in his stance, the tilt of his head, the sinister feel in the air. Violet pulled to a stop.
The figure advanced, removing itself from the shadows. Mr. Masterson. She took several steps back, keeping a distance between them.
Her toe caught on something.
Someone groaned.
“Wyatt?” She dropped beside the man at her feet. “Oh my goodness! What happened? Are you okay?” Masterson’s gun flashed back into mind.
Blood soaked the side of Wyatt’s shirt and seeped low into his waistband. She had heard a gunshot earlier.
“You shot him,” she cried.
Wyatt’s eyes fluttered open and rolled. “Go,” he croaked. “Run!”
Violet jerked upright. Run. Get help. “Okay.” She turned for the fire truck just beyond the patch of trees.
“Ah ah ah.” The silhouette with the gun stepped into clear view, Wyatt’s Stetson perched on his head. “Time to go,” the former sheriff told her, rearranging Wyatt’s hat on his head.
Violet stumbled back. “No. I’m not leaving him.”
He pointed the gun at Violet. “Are you sure? Because I won’t ask again.”
Sickness coiled in her gut. Would he really shoot her? Holding a baby? She turned in search of help. The fire truck blocked her view of the firefighters. “I’ll scream,” she threatened.
“Scream and I finish him off right now. How about that?” He lowered the barrel to Wyatt’s head and pressed it hard to his skin, rocking Wyatt’s forehead back.
Wyatt tried to roll onto his stomach, tried to push onto his knees despite the blood pooling everywhere. He made a swipe for Masterson’s feet, but he smoothly stepped aside.
“Ma’am?” a male voice called, presumably the fireman she’d spoken to earlier. “You back here? Everything all right?”
Mr. Masterson cocked the gun.
“I’ll go,” she whispered, then followed the direction of Masterson’s gun to a side-by-side vehicle parked in the trees a few feet away.
Violet cuddled Maggie to her chest as the off-road vehicle gunned to life. At least the fireman looking for her would find Wyatt now. At least he still had a chance.