4

Pack slung over his shoulder, Brady scrambled up behind her. The flames roared close on his heels, and he knew they wouldn’t have a lot of time, but if things worked like he hoped, they wouldn’t need too much.

In the attic area, he turned on the light and was actually surprised when it worked. Electrical wasn’t totally fried yet. “You okay?”

“Yes.” He heard the tremor in the word.

“Come on.”

The light flickered.

“Where are we going?”

Another explosion rocked the cabin and he stumbled but kept his balance. Heat seeped through the floor. Most likely they’d tossed another cocktail into the kitchen. There was no going back now.

He gripped her hand and pulled her with him as he walked the length of the house. “There’s a balcony off the master bedroom with steps that lead down to the deck surrounding the cabin. If we can climb out the vent, I can lower you down.”

“The vent? Won’t that be a little small?”

“It’s a large rectangular vent. I know you’ll fit.”

“What about you?”

“It’ll be tight, but I think I will. We’re going to find out.” He found the vent and quickly assessed it by giving it a tug. It was screwed in nice and tight.

“Move back.” He stepped back and planted his foot in the middle of it.

It loosened but didn’t drop. Four more kicks did the trick.

Brady grabbed it with both hands and yanked it off, then tossed it aside. The smoke grew thicker, the air now pressing against his lungs, but fresh air blew in, and for a brief moment, the smoke cleared around them.

Only to quickly return.

At the opening, he looked out and didn’t spot anyone. Probably still waiting at the front door. The balcony was small but directly below. It was going to be a drop, but a broken ankle was better than being fried to a crisp. “It’s not too bad a drop if I lower you, okay?”

Steps led from there to the deck that ran around the perimeter of the cabin, stopping at the screened porch where he’d enjoyed his home-cooked dinner only a couple of hours earlier.

“Come on.” He gestured her over. “It might be a bit of a rough landing.”

“As long as I’m alive at the end of it.”

“That’s the spirit—and the plan. Climb out and place your feet against the side like you’re going to walk down, and I’ll lower you as far as I can before I let go.” She followed his instructions and he leaned as far as he dared while getting her as close to the balcony as possible. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

He released her hands and heard the thud when she hit the wooden porch floor. Her knees buckled and she landed on her hip. For a moment she sat there, then scrambled to her feet looking up at him. The smoke in the attic now choked him. Heat pressed in on him, flames licking behind him. The floor shuddered and part of it caved into the room below.

Coughing, he tossed the pack out and pushed his lower body through the vent. The flames continued to advance toward him.

A gunshot echoed through the crackling chaos, and for a second he froze. “Emily?”

The metal edges scraped his ribs, but he ignored it and shoved on through. When he was hanging by his fingertips, he let go. His left knee protested the jarring stop and a sharp pain shot through his left leg. He went down, slamming his shoulder against the wooden planks. Sucking in a breath, he rolled to see Emily huddled by the edge of the balcony.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah.” With his eyes probing the dark shadows, he stood, carefully testing his weight on the knee. It throbbed, but it held. “Where’d the gunshot come from?” he asked. He pressed the knee further and grimaced.

“I don’t know. From the front, I think.”

He slung the pack over his shoulder and limped to the edge of the deck with her right behind him. A quick glance didn’t reveal anyone who might spot them or where the gunshot had come from.

Heat seared his back and he grabbed Emily’s hand. “Down the steps to the lower deck. I spotted them near my truck out front, so we’re going to avoid that area.”

“I think that’s wise. You think they stuck around?” she asked as she hurried down the steps.

“Yeah. That gunshot came from somewhere, so that’s the way we’re going to play it.”

“What would they be shooting at? We’re the only ones . . .” Her eyes widened. “Oh no. The officer who was on his way here. We need to check on him.”

“I know. I’ll do my best to get to him and find out how bad he is after I make sure you’re safe.”

They kept their voices low, but he wasn’t sure it mattered. The roar of the cabin burning would drown out any sounds they made.

At the bottom of the steps, he pulled her across the yard to the copse of trees about ten yards away, and they huddled behind them while he waited to see if he could spot anyone watching.

He’d seen two attackers. The cocktails had been strategically thrown. One into the hall, the second through the back-door window to prevent their exit from that end. The third in the kitchen. They obviously wanted them to go out the front door.

From his vantage point, Brady couldn’t see that anyone was watching—and the cop had probably called in the fire before he’d gotten to the cabin. But their best option was to get away from the property so he could call for help for the downed officer.

Movement to his left paused him. Emily tensed.

“Go that way and watch the door,” a voice said. “The cop won’t give us any trouble. Now, let’s make sure this is over tonight.”

The order came so close to him that for a moment Brady froze, certain the person could see him. Beside him, Emily went still. Brady reached for her hand and gripped her fingers, willing her not to breathe, not to move.

A dark figure passed in front of them, stirring the breeze, ruffling the leaves. Her fingers dug into his, but she never made a sound.

Once the man was out of sight, Brady tugged and she fell into step behind him. He moved as quickly as his throbbing knee would allow, putting some distance between them and the burning cabin.

A hiss escaped her and she jerked, pulling him to a stop. “What is it?” he asked.

“I stepped on something. Can I put the shoes on?”

“Oh, man, yes. I’m sorry.” He pulled them from his pack and handed them to her.

She dropped onto the nearest fallen tree trunk and slipped on the shoes, then stood. “Okay. What now?”

“We keep going and find a way to call for help. One of these houses will have a landline, I just have to find it.”

She brushed her hair out of her face. “Do you think the cop’s okay?”

“I don’t know. These guys are professionals, though, so . . . I would say his chances aren’t great.”

“Right. I’m sorry.” The words were thick, her grief tangible. “He shouldn’t have been out here.”

“The best we can do now is find a phone and call for help. You’re my first priority. And if he’s the kind of cop he should be, that’s the way he’d want it.”

He continued to lead her through the trees away from the burning cabin.

“Won’t someone call 911 when they see the fire?” she asked.

“Hopefully, the officer who was called out here reported it before they shot him, but there’s no telling if he did or not. If not, it could be hours before someone realizes what’s going on. I left my phone in the cabin, so it’s deep fried at this point. We need to find a landline ASAP.”

She stayed behind him. “How far away is the nearest house?”

“About half a mile. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

The question was, could he? His knee pounded with pain, but the fact that he could still walk was a good sign.

“Do you know where you’re going?” she asked.

“Somewhat. I studied a map of the place before I decided to rent the cabin. There’s a house along the road that is just on the other side of these woods. If we keep going, we should come out in the backyard.”

“I’m following you.”

Together, they hurried down the path that wound through the trees with Brady constantly looking over his shoulder, his weapon held tight.

“Do you think they know we escaped?” she asked.

“No idea, but when the fire trucks and police arrive, they’ll figure it out quick enough.”

Emily gritted her teeth against the pain shooting up from her foot. She wasn’t sure what she’d stepped on, but the center of her arch throbbed with an intensity that was making her sick.

When the house finally came into view, she gave a relieved sigh that might have actually been a sob.

“This way.” He led her around the back of the home and floodlights came on.

“Is someone here?”

“I don’t think so. Probably motion activated. But just in case—” He knocked.

Nothing.

Pounded once more on the wood.

Still no response. “Guess that answers that.” He pulled his sleeve over his fist and punched the lights. Darkness engulfed them once more. He tried the knob. “We’re going to have to break in.”

She wasn’t going to argue, she just wanted a chance to get off her foot.

He used the butt of the gun to break the glass on the kitchen door, then reached in and released the lock on the knob, then the dead bolt. He pushed the door open. “If people have a landline, they’re usually in the kitchen on the wall or by a recliner in the den.”

“Or on a nightstand in the bedroom.”

He glanced at her. “Yeah. True.”

“What if they don’t have one?”

“Then we move on to the next house, but I’m hoping that’s not going to be an issue. A lot of these are rentals and will have a landline. The crispy cabin had one.” He stepped inside. “Let’s see what we can find.”

“I need to check my foot while you find a phone.” She limped into the chilly home, glass crunching under her shoes, and shut the door behind her. She took a step, then turned back to lock and dead bolt the door. At least that would buy a few seconds if anyone tried to get in.

Brady was opening and closing drawers in the kitchen. “Aha.”

“What?”

“A flashlight.”

“I need that for a second.” She sat in the nearest chair and pulled her shoe off. Blood spilled to the floor.

“Whoa!” Brady hurried to kneel before her, pulled the sock off, and shined the light on it. “That looks painful. I can’t believe you walked this far on that.”

“Well, I didn’t really have a choice, did I? I think there’s glass or something in it.” She waved a hand. “Check for a phone.”

“Just let me look.”

“Brady, go. Find a phone.”

He hesitated a fraction of a moment as he took another look at her foot, handed her the flashlight, then bolted into the den. Shortly after, she heard his footsteps on the stairs heading to the second floor. She probed the wound with a shaky finger and felt something hard just on the inside. Her nail scraped the edge of it and she grimaced. “See if there’s a first aid kit, please,” she called.

Brady returned shortly, a small box in his hand. “No phone.” He shook his head. “Of course I pick the one house on this lake that’s not used as a rental.” He knelt in front of her again. “I found a first aid kit, though. If I leave it with you, can you handle it? I’d help, but we still need a phone and it may take me some time to reach the next house.”

“I can take care of it. It won’t be the first time I’ve doctored myself.” She’d been taking care of herself for a long time. Pulling a piece of whatever out of her foot would be a minor thing. The thought of staying here by herself didn’t appeal, though, but she’d keep that to herself. He had to go.

“Okay, stay low. I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can get help on the way. Keep the light to a minimum. We’re at the back of the house, so it’s probably okay to use the flashlight to doctor your foot.”

She nodded and he slipped out the door, leaving her sitting in the kitchen. The sudden quiet engulfed her. But the pain in her foot demanded her attention.

Inside the first aid kit she found tweezers, alcohol wipes, Band-Aids, and antibiotic cream. By the light of the small beam propped on the chair next to her, she cleaned the area as best she could, then used the tweezers to find the piece of glass. Breath whooshed between her teeth when she probed, but finally, she got a grasp on it, pulled it out, and held it in front of the light.

“Whoa.” At least an inch long and half that in width, the piece must have come from one of the lower windows in the living area.

Using the alcohol wipes, she cleaned the area one more time, then used the antibiotic cream and bandages. She left the bloody sock off, but used paper towels to clean the shoe, then pulled it back on. She flipped the flashlight off. For a moment, she simply sat, trying to catch her breath and process what had just happened and why.

Although it didn’t take much processing to know that someone had tried to kill her. Twice. She’d told Brady she thought the attack on her had something to do with what she was investigating. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Actually, it was the only thing that made sense.

A large shadow passed by the big bay window to her left, moving fast toward the kitchen door.

It couldn’t be Brady, he hadn’t been gone long enough. Had he? How much time had elapsed since he’d left? She’d been working on her foot for at least twenty minutes.

Heart thudding, she slipped out of the chair to the floor and waited, watching the window. The figure stepped up to the door and tried the knob. The broken glass pane was a dead giveaway that she and Brady had taken refuge here. With a gloved hand, he reached through the broken glass pane and flipped the dead bolt off. Then pressed his masked face to the window as though making sure he should enter.

Emily sucked in a breath and tried to slow her runaway pulse. Only a sliver of moonlight illuminated the outdoors, and while she could see his outline, she didn’t think there was any way he could see her.

With the table and chairs between her and the door, she army crawled her way out of the room, trying to figure out how she was going to defend herself if it came down to it. Beneath the panic, doubts niggled at her. How would he know to come to this house?

Because it was the closest one? Had he seen the beam of the flashlight before she’d turned it off?

Or had he seen the floodlights come on before Brady snuffed them? Or . . .

. . . was Brady working with them?

A shudder swept through her. No. He’d saved her. Twice. What was the point in rescuing her only to turn her over to the people after her?

In the den, making sure she was out of the line of sight from the kitchen door and windows, she stood and limped to the fireplace. No tools. The owners probably never used the place when it was cold enough to need a fire. “Rats,” she whispered. “Now what? Think, Em, think.”

A knife from the kitchen?

The back door creaked open and shut.

No way was she going back in there.

Her only option was to stay hidden until Brady returned. If he returned. “Please come back, Brady,” she whispered.

Emily’s pulse pounded. She darted up the stairs, down the hallway, and ducked into the farthest bedroom. She started to shut the door, then stopped and left it open. Shutting it might clue him in.

Emily hobbled to the window, unlocked it, and tried to shove it up. Only to find it was stuck.

Footsteps in the hallway sent her pounding pulse skyrocketing.

A king-sized bed dominated the room, and she slid under it. So cliché. He was going to find her and—

The footsteps stopped at the entrance to the room.

Then continued inside.

The light flipped on.

Feet encased in black army boots moved closer and stopped at the edge of the bed. Emily shoved her palm into her mouth to keep the scream from escaping.

The broker crumpled the picture in his fist and let out a yell that rattled the rafters of his home office.

Within seconds, the door opened and the cleaning woman stared at him with wide brown eyes. “Are you all right?” she asked in a soft southern accent.

He glared at her and she backed up, pressing a hand to her chest.

Get it together.

He shut his eyes for a good five seconds before he opened them to find her still there, frozen. Afraid to move, afraid to stay. “I just got some really bad news, Gretchen, and it’s going to affect me in ways I’d rather not talk about.”

Her eyes instantly softened. “It must have been awful news.”

“It was.”

“Then I’m so sorry. I will pray for you.” She backed out of the office, and within seconds, the vacuum roared to life. He liked Gretchen. She was innocent and soft. And a hard worker who kept her nose out of his business. And she never, ever entered his office, following his explicit orders to stay out. He knew this because he checked the camera each time she was in his home. And even if she did pray too much, she’d never once disappointed him.

He wished he could say the same thing about Jeremy Hightower. It was time for the man to die.

The door opened and his friend stepped in. “Gretchen seems to think you need someone to talk to.”

“He sank it.”

“What?”

He shoved the picture at his friend. “He sank the Lady Marie.”

The man studied the picture and his eyes narrowed. “I’ll take care of this.”

“He needs to die.”

“You should have paid him.”

The broker turned his chilliest stare on the one person he trusted most in the world. Second only to himself. “And then he would just keep coming back for more.”

The room was silent while his friend considered the inevitable. “I hate to admit you might be right. And maybe this isn’t such a tragedy after all.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we both know he didn’t get into the safe, so that means the pictures are at the bottom of a lake somewhere. No one’s going to get their hands on them. At least not easily.”

The broker fell silent. “That’s true. I can’t believe you can’t get the combination.”

“Unfortunately, he changes it regularly, but I’m working on him.”

The broker raised a brow and noted his blood pressure already leveling out, thanks to his friend’s calm demeanor. “Well, work harder.”

His friend sighed. “If only that were possible.”

“Fine. We’ll let the boat sit on the lake floor for a while. Let things cool off. Kill the man who caused all these problems. Then find it and retrieve the flash drive and all will be fine.”

“All right. Sounds like a reasonable plan.”

“Of course it is. Let me know when you have Hightower at the place. I want to do the honors.”