LITMIR.BIZ

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on the other hand, would be found in a group photo of the choir, or as a member of the Home Economics Club.

      Strange how things turned out.

      An odd sensation cramped his chest. Was he jealous of her success in the Bureau? Or even more so because she’d managed to leave Dusty Springs behind?

      Nah. He just needed some sleep. Turning over, he pulled the sheet over him. In the morning, he’d dig out Wendell Vance’s old file. It couldn’t hurt to see if Laurel’s theory held any merit.

      

      LAUREL WAS CAUGHT in traffic on the beltway. Car horns blared all around her. She was late already and now more cars were honking.

      She jerked awake and met a slanted green gaze. Her heart slammed into her throat. “Eek! Cat.”

      The feline hissed and jumped over her and off the bed. Her brain instantly processed her surroundings. Cat. Canopied bed. Misty’s house.

      “Ssss yourself, Harriet. You scared me!”

      Undaunted, Harriet leapt onto the foot of the bed and curled up on top of the covers.

      The car horn still blared. It wasn’t just in her dream. It sounded like it was right outside the house. Her rental car?

      She sighed, glancing at the clock. It was 3:00 a.m. Of course it was her car.

      She got up and slid her feet into thong sandals. By habit, she grabbed her weapon and her car keys on her way out.

      As soon as she opened the front door, she saw the rental car’s emergency lights blinking. She ran out, unlocked the car door, jumped into the driver’s seat and deactivated the alarm. Once it was quiet, she sat there for a moment, looking up and down the street.

      The night was moonless, and the streetlights gave off very little illumination.

      Nothing. Not even a fluttering curtain. After the excitement earlier, she couldn’t believe no one had stuck their head out to see what the noise was. Still, car alarms went off all the time, probably even in Dusty Springs.

      But something must have triggered it. Had someone tried to break into her car?

      After a few seconds, she got out and inspected the vehicle. There were no scrapes or dents. No sign of force on the windows or doors. Maybe a kid had tried the door to see if it was unlocked.

      With a last look around the deserted street, she walked back up the steps to the house. She opened the door cautiously, watching to be sure she didn’t let the cat out.

      Just as she closed the door behind her, a blast of cold stinging spray hit her in the face. Surprise and burning pain streaked through her like lightning.

      After a split second’s shock, she ducked and rolled but it was too late. She’d been maced. Her face burned like fire. Her eyes wouldn’t open. The pain was agonizing.

      Then a blanket was thrown over her head and a shoe kicked her in the ribs. She curled into a fetal position. It was all she could do. She was blinded by the Mace.

      Her attacker kicked her again, this time in the kidney. She grunted. Then the front door opened and slammed.

      Laurel fought the suffocating blanket. She finally got it off her. Pulling herself up to her hands and knees she felt for her weapon. It was gone. She crawled blindly toward the bathroom, feeling around the hardwood floor. The gun must have slid farther than she’d thought.

      Finally, her fingers encountered cold ceramic tile. Her eyes leaked tears, even though she had them squeezed tightly shut. She crawled to the bathtub and felt for the cold water faucet.

      Taking a deep breath, she splashed her face. The water made everything burn twice as badly, but it eventually washed away the sticky pepper spray.

      Laurel leaned over the tub and kept sluicing her face and eyes. After what seemed like hours, the pain lessened to a manageable level.

      She sat on the floor, her chest heaving with huge sobs. But there was no time to indulge herself. She had to find her Glock. If whoever had attacked her had taken it—alarm squeezed her chest like a giant fist.

      She pulled herself up using a towel rack. She was wobbly, and her eyes still burned. She felt her way out of the bathroom, alert to any sound. She’d thought she’d heard the front door slam, but she’d been in such pain she couldn’t be sure.

      The intruder might still be inside the house.

      She took a deep breath and coughed. Did she smell smoke, or was the Mace affecting her sense of smell? Forcing her eyes open, she saw a red, flickering glow coming from the den.

      Fire! She lunged for the door. She rounded the frame and met the flames engulfing the dining room tabletop. They licked at the drapes.

      “No!” Laurel cried. Misty’s pictures! She had to stop it. But before she could move, the drapes caught. In an instant the ancient fabric was swallowed up by flames and a tongue of fire licked out toward a damask-covered easy chair.

      Helpless against the fast-growing inferno, she backed away from the rising heat. She had to call the fire department.

      But her cell phone was back in the bedroom in her jacket pocket. She never had her damn phone when she needed it. She turned and headed for the door and ran into a hard body. Her instincts took over and she doubled her fists. She swung as hard as she could.

      “No!” she yelled. “No!”

      

      “LAUREL, IT’S ME, Cade.” Cade dodged Laurel’s fists and pinned her arms. He whirled and thrust her toward the front door, his brain registering relief that she seemed unhurt.

      “Stay on the porch,” he shouted, tossing her his phone. “Press 8. Fire department.”

      Then he ran up the hall to the kitchen. Where did Misty keep her fire extinguisher? He glanced quickly around the old-fashioned kitchen. Nothing. He opened the cabinets under the sink. There—in the back.

      Grabbing it, praying it worked, he headed for the den.

      Half the room was engulfed in flames, and the heat was nearly unbearable. He sprayed, but the little fire extinguisher wasn’t up to such a big job.

      Just as he had emptied the canister, he heard the sirens. The advancing flames forced him out of the room.

      Laurel stood on the porch holding his cell phone in one hand and Misty’s cat in the other. The cat was squirming and yowling.

      “You can let her down. She’ll be okay,” Cade said.

      Laurel let go and Harriet took off into the darkness.

      “What about you? Are you hurt?”

      She shook her head jerkily and he put his arm around her waist and led her down the steps into the yard.

      “What happened?” he started, but the arrival of the fire truck interrupted him.

      He pulled her out of the way as the town’s volunteer firemen rushed inside with the fire hose. The roar of pressurized water drowned out the roar of the fire. Within a few minutes, the fire was out.

      But as Cade knew from experience, the excitement was far from over. He enlisted his patrolman Fred Evans, who’d shown up with his hair sticking straight out in back, to maintain crowd control and told him to call Officer Shelton Phillips.

      If possible, there were more people milling around than a few hours earlier when Misty was hurt. He answered the same questions at least two dozen times.

      No, no one was hurt.

      Yes, it was odd that Misty was attacked and her house burned on the same night.

      No, he didn’t have any leads.

      No, he didn’t need any help pulling sodden furniture or charred items out of the house.

      Yes, it would help if everyone would just go on

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