Vickie stood in the kitchen with confusion and frustration warring within her. She’d left her cell phone on the counter to charge, as she always did when she was home, and now it was gone. Had her mom or dad used it? Why? They had their own cells and the landline if they needed to make a call.
She stepped into the living room, where her parents sat on the couch watching a movie. “Have either of you seen my cell phone?”
Dad picked up the remote and paused the screen. “Is it charging on the counter?”
“It’s not there,” she replied.
“Could you have taken it upstairs with you earlier?” her mother asked.
“I didn’t.” At least she didn’t remember doing so, but when she’d returned home from working with the forensic artist, she’d been a bit scattered.
Maybe she’d only thought to set it to charging, but had forgotten on her way to her room for a much needed nap. Not that she’d slept. Her thoughts had been in constant motion. Still were... The past and the present kept jumbling together until she wasn’t sure which way was up.
Her feelings for Tim clouded her mind and confused her heart. She could have easily taken her cell phone to her room.
“I’ll go check upstairs.” She hurried to her bedroom, and sure enough, her phone was in her purse.
The sound of the doorbell chime jolted her pulse. Tim? They weren’t expecting him, but a flood of anticipation had her hurrying down the stairs. “I’ll get it!”
She yanked open the door and stumbled back a step as her gaze collided with Greg Sherman’s.
Vickie’s heart slammed against her rib cage. Greg Sherman stood on the porch. He didn’t have on his security guard uniform. Instead he wore jeans, work boots and a leather jacket. In his arms he held a large picnic basket and a bouquet of flowers.
She looked over his shoulder toward the police cruiser parked across the street. Why had the officers in the vehicle allowed Greg to knock on her door? Had Tim already questioned Greg and released him?
Her father joined her at the doorway, while her mother hovered behind them. Sasha folded his arms over his chest and stared hard at Greg. “What are you doing here?”
“Hello, Mr. Petrov,” he said. “Pastor John asked me to bring this basket over.” He adjusted it in his arms. “My mom and some of the church ladies got together and made your family a care package.”
Irena squeezed in between Vickie and Sasha. “That’s so sweet,” she cooed. “Why don’t you come in?”
Vickie wasn’t sure about allowing Greg inside. “Mom,” she warned beneath her breath.
Waving away her worry, her mom reached for the basket. “Here, let me take that.”
“I’ll get it.” Her dad clasped the edges of the basket. Her mother opened the lid, revealing two casserole dishes covered with foil, a tossed green salad and a bottle of her mom’s favorite sparkling apple cider. Seemed Greg was telling the truth about the food.
“I know my mom’s broccoli and cheddar cheese casserole won’t be nearly as good as something you would make at the bakery, but it’s my favorite.” He stepped inside and held out the bouquet of flowers to Vickie. “These are for you.”
Reluctant to accept the offering, she hesitated as she shut the door, but remained in place, ready to yank it open again to call for help. “You didn’t have to.”
A resigned smile stretched his lips. “I want to apologize for everything you and your family have been through.” He lowered his voice. “The cops questioned me about the bakery fire.”
Wariness made her tighten her fingers around the door handle. “I knew Agent Ramsey wanted to talk to you.”
Greg frowned. “I didn’t talk to him. But I told the other cops Mr. Johnson had me meet him behind the bakery.” Their visitor made a face. “He wanted me to spy on you. Or rather the building. He says the bakery uses too much energy. But that’s not true. I checked all the meters for the whole block and the bakery doesn’t take any more power than the other businesses.”
“We pay the electric bill,” Sasha said. “What does it matter to him how much energy we use?”
Shaking his head, Greg said, “Beats me. He’s been acting very strange lately. Which is why I’ve decided to quit.” Greg looked at Vickie. “I’m going to join the military. Find my path in life.”
Surprise washed through her. She wondered if Tim knew this. And what he thought of it. “That’s a big decision.”
Greg nodded. “It is. But I feel good about it. Pastor John has been helping me to see I need to change my environment. He has a friend in the army that he’s going to have me talk to about joining. It’s time I moved on.”
Vickie couldn’t say she was saddened by the news. Not having to worry about dodging Greg’s attention would be welcome. She had a hard time reconciling this version of him with the thought of him being the arsonist or the man who’d attacked her. Was he a good actor?
“Sasha, take the basket into the kitchen,” Irena instructed. To Greg, she said, “Please thank your mother and let her know we appreciate the gesture.”
“I will.”
An awkward silence descended.
“Let me put these pretty flowers in water.” Irena took the bouquet from Vickie with a look that clearly said be nice.
Keeping distance between them, Vickie led Greg into the living room, hoping he’d leave.
He moved to look out the front window. “Why are the police outside?”
“After everything that has happened lately, Agent Ramsey thought it would be a good idea to have them watching over us.” And she sent up a silent prayer that the officers had already alerted him that Greg was here, and Tim was on his way.
“You like Agent Ramsey,” Greg said. “It’s pretty obvious.”
She blinked back her surprise at his observation. Acceptance seeped into her core. She did like Tim, more than liked really, but she certainly wasn’t going to discuss her feelings with Greg.
Her gaze fell on the black box still sitting on the mantel. She picked it up and held it out to Greg. “I can’t accept this.”
He tucked in his chin and made no move to take it. “What is it?”
She frowned and popped open the lid. “The necklace you left on the porch Christmas Eve.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t leave that. It’s pretty, though.”
She sucked in a quick breath. Her hand shook as his words reverberated through her skull. “You didn’t give this to me?”
“No.” Concern darkened his eyes. “Are you okay? You look like you might pass out or something.”
If Greg didn’t leave the necklace, then who did? Her pulse ticked faster with anxiety. She needed to talk to Tim.
“I need to make a phone call.” Because she’d left her cell phone upstairs in her room, she hurried to her father’s study to use the house landline. She picked up the extension and pressed it to her ear. There was no dial tone. Unease slithered down her spine.
She rushed to the kitchen, where her mom was dishing out food as her father poured apple cider into glasses. Greg had taken a seat at the table.
“Dad, the landline isn’t working. Can I use your cell?”
He set the glass and the bottle down. “What do you mean, not working?”
“There’s no dial tone,” she said.
“I’ll get my cell phone,” he stated. “I left it in the car when we came home.”
“Mine’s in my purse,” her mom said. “It’s hanging in the hall closet.”
Before Vickie and her father could step out of the kitchen a loud explosion from the attached garage rocked the house. A wall of hazy smoke quickly filled the living room and invaded the kitchen. The house was on fire!
Adrenaline spiked through Vickie. Fear clogged her throat. She had to save her family. “The back door...”
“The house is burning!” her mom cried.
Greg jumped up, knocking over the chair. “We have to get out!”
Sasha wrapped his arms around Irena and hustled her to the rear door.
But when he tried to turn the handle, it wouldn’t budge. He worked the locks, but the door still wouldn’t open. “It’s been nailed shut from the outside!”
Vickie’s breath stalled in her lungs. Someone had closed off their escape route.
The smoke grew denser. Vickie choked, her eyes watering from the toxic haze.
Her mother coughed.
Greg covered his mouth and nose with the crook of one arm.
A loud banging at the front door startled them.
“Fire department! Call out!” A firefighter rushed inside wearing turnout gear, a mask covering his face and carrying a pickax. Greg darted past him to safety.
“Hurry!” The fireman waved them toward the door.
Vickie followed her parents, making sure they made it to the front porch. But before she could get out herself, the firefighter snagged an arm around her waist and dragged her backward. He slammed the front door and shoved her away from him. He jammed the pickax beneath the door handle, effectively keeping anyone from entering, and trapping the two of them inside.
Taking shallow breaths that stung her lungs, Vickie tried to make sense of what was happening.
The firefighter advanced toward her.
She backed up until she hit the staircase. “Are you insane? What are you doing? Who are you?”
The man stopped and picked up a small canister from the floor near the garage door. She hadn’t noticed it in her panic. The cylinder emitted billowing smoke. The explosion hadn’t been from a fire, after all. There were no flames. An elaborate ruse to get her alone. But why?
The man yanked open the door to the garage and tossed the canister inside, then shut it again. Slowly, he turned to face her and removed his helmet and facemask.
Vickie’s worst nightmare stared at her.
Ken.