heap on the floor. Her body had become paralyzed, her vision swirled, and her mind screamed because her mouth couldn’t.
Her cheek lay against the cold tile while he paced. All she could see now were his shoes, shiny leather. That was Jeffery, so neat and clean. He was still lecturing her but the words were getting garbled. Something about opportunities he had given her. How he couldn’t let her ruin things for him.
He had a plane to catch. Nothing made sense. His voice came to her in a low monotone, muffled and slurred. She caught words and phrases. A story to cover in the Middle East. He’d miss not having her with him. But he’d make sure everyone saw him grieve when he heard the news about her unfortunate demise.
“I saw the way you looked at him,” Jeffery was saying, but she had no clue who he was talking about.
What was that smell?
“They’ll think you were lovers. That you were both targeted. Especially since his house is on fire, too. Poor Patrick Murphy. Even his famous FBI sister couldn’t save him.”
Through a blur she watched Jeffery pour the liquid on the tray of purple crystals. The trail of smoke was so pretty.
She didn’t even hear him leave. Sam had no idea how much time had passed when she saw the white flash of light. The tray sparked and in seconds the stack of newspapers underneath became engulfed in flames.
Whatever drug Jeffery had used, it relieved her of panic. It weighed her down, glued her to the floor. Her vision was blurred, her mind a pleasant haze, almost as if she were dreaming. She simply watched the red and yellow dance up the walls. Even the heat from the flames soothed her, like a warm breeze on a cool day.
Sam closed her eyes. Listened to the crackling and
CHAPTER 74
Maggie hardly noticed her headache. The rest of her body felt completely drained of energy. So deep was the exhaustion that she drove home with the windows rolled down, hoping the cold night air would keep her awake.
Seeing Dr. Kernan had certainly put things in perspective. The curmudgeon had actually been sweet and gentle with her. He had heard that a Kathleen O’Dell had been admitted and checked to find out if she was Maggie’s mother.
“I practically live here, so if you need anything, you let me know.”
He didn’t need to explain why he rarely went home. Two months ago his wife of forty-seven years had gone into a medically induced coma. Maggie hadn’t asked any questions and he wasn’t ready to share more details.
This was one of those times when nothing made sense in the world and she was too exhausted to do anything about it. Racine had left an hour ago, after getting some information on Wes Harper. Tully had called to see how Maggie was doing and to tell her Ganza and his crew had left State Patrol officers to guard the site until morning. There was too much to process to do it in the middle of the night.
All Maggie wanted right now was to go home. Patrick had offered to wait up and she ordered him to bed, promising she’d let him know if she needed anything. And she had finally called Ben. They talked for thirty minutes about how much James Kernan reminded her of Spencer Tracy and then went back and forth with lines from Tracy and Hepburn movies. To others it would be nonsensical and trivial, but it was exactly what she had needed.
In her frenzy to get to the hospital she had parked in the facility’s garage without paying attention to the level, let alone what corner, she had left her Jeep. Now she wandered the cold concrete building, which was quiet as a tomb. She thought she remembered being on Level 2, but after a walk clear around the dimly lit area she knew she had to be mistaken. She took the ramp up to Level 3. More cars here and yet she couldn’t find hers. Again, complete silence at this time of night. Not even a car door slamming or an elevator binging.
Maybe it was the opposite corner. She turned to circle back and caught a shadow disappearing between cars. Her hand immediately dug into her jacket as she sidestepped and then backed against a wall.
Her pulse raced as she listened. Somewhere above she could hear a faint sound of an engine starting. She stayed close to the wall and started slowly toward the area where she had seen the shadow. She weaved around car bumpers and almost stepped on a discarded fast-food bag. She didn’t let her eyes leave that area even as she let them dart around.
There was no one there. Only a doorway, an exit to the stairwell. Could someone have escaped without her hearing the
She continued to the next level, her fingers on the butt of her revolver. By the time she found her Jeep and locked herself inside she was convinced that exhaustion was simply playing havoc with her. She tried to calm herself. Turned on some music and eased her vehicle into the flow of interstate traffic.
When she heard the first siren, she pulled to the side of the road and waited for it to wail past her. The closer she got to home the more sirens she heard, and her insides clenched. Her hands gripped the steering wheel. With the windows down she thought she could smell smoke. More flashing lights behind her. She jerked the car to the side just in time for the fire and rescue unit to screech by her.
She followed it. Every turn it made was like squeezing her heart, tighter and tighter, a fist in her chest. Each turn took her closer and closer to her neighborhood, inside her neighborhood, up her street. Barricades kept her from driving to her house. She jumped out of her car so quickly she didn’t realize she hadn’t put it in park until the vehicle started rolling. She slid back inside and slammed the gear shift, crushed the parking brake into place.
Beyond the barricades blue, red, and white lights flashed but farther up the street she could see flames shooting up over the pine trees. She grabbed her cell phone and tried calling Patrick, letting it ring while she sat paralyzed behind the steering wheel. Over the pounding of her heart she heard his voice mail pick up. She pressed End and tried again.
Maggie tried to calm her breathing. Maybe it wasn’t her house. She stopped Patrick’s voice mail and punched in the number again.
CHAPTER 75
Maggie’s badge got her past the first set of barricades. She stopped herself at the second set, fear turning her knees to mush and panic making it hard to breathe. So much smoke, and the flames kept swallowing more and more. She could see that the house next door was completely engulfed. Her house was filled with angry black clouds of smoke.
“Ma’am, you can’t go any farther.” A firefighter stood in front of her.
She held up her badge.
“It’s still not safe for you to go any closer, Agent …” He bent down to look at her ID. “Agent O’Dell.”
“It’s my house.” It came out in a whisper. She wasn’t even sure she had said it out loud.
“O’Dell.”
She didn’t look up at him but she could tell he was putting it together. Every firefighter in the area probably knew all the details about these arsons.
“The CNN piece,” he said. “Good God, he came after you, too.”
“Please, can you tell me if anyone made it out?” Her voice cracked over the lump in her throat. She had been so frantic about Patrick, only now did she realize Harvey and Jake had been inside, too. In a matter of one night, all her prized possessions and companions gone. Up in smoke.
“No one’s come out. We’re still trying to get inside both houses.”
“The house next door is for sale. I believe it’s empty.”
“That’s what we thought, too, but we heard a dog barking, insisting someone was inside. We’ve got a crew trying to bust in the back.”
“Wait a minute. A dog?”
He nodded. “Big black shepherd.”
“Jake,” she said, and smiled. “Jake made it out.”
She saw two firemen carrying a body from the backyard of the empty house. Just then a blast of flames shot
