The thought hit him like a fist.
A fug of smoke and wet ash hung in the air, turning the evening sky a filthy shade of gray. He could taste soot at the back of his throat, and his eyes were beginning to sting and blur. He slowed long enough to wipe his face, then cut across the field, climbing to the top of the rise where he could see the back half of the property.
He saw it then, beyond the rise, a blackened shell where the barn should have been. The roof was gone, the charred walls splayed open like an overripe seedpod. Against the darkening sky, it looked like something from a nightmare.
A handful of firefighters were milling about, masks removed, poking through the steaming wreckage with shovels and axes. The mop-up team. Andrew made a beeline for the guy closest to him and tapped him on the shoulder.
The man swung around, his sooty face a mix of surprise and annoyance. “No one’s supposed to be in this area, pal. Not until the reflash team gives the all clear.”
“I need to know . . .”
Andrew’s words dangled as he spotted two men dressed in navy coveralls emerging from the wreckage, a black body bag stretched between them. Another gut punch.
“Who . . .” The saliva in his mouth was suddenly thick. “I need to know who . . .”
The firefighter turned his head, following Andrew’s gaze to the body bag. He leaned on his shovel, glancing down at his boots, as if suddenly uncomfortable. “Can’t help you there. Above my pay grade. But maybe somebody else can.” He cupped a hand around his mouth. “Tammy!” He waited until Tammy came over. “Any idea on the fatality?”
She pulled off her helmet, pushing back the sweaty blonde strands that had escaped her ponytail. She ran her eyes over Andrew, sizing him up. “You family?”
“No. I’m . . . a friend.”
She nodded, her face softening. “At this point, we don’t know. The body was . . . pretty bad. I’m sorry. I’m guessing the police will send someone to the hospital to talk to the girl.”
Andrew felt a wave of dizziness wash through him. “Girl?”
“The one who lives here. I don’t know her name.”
Andrew thought his legs might buckle. “Lizzy Moon? She’s at the hospital?”
“Memorial. She was lucky to get out.”
“Was she . . .” He let the word dangle, unspoken. Burned. Was she burned? “How bad was she hurt?”
Tammy’s eyes were full of sympathy. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. We had our hands full at that point. All I know is the medics took her away.”
Andrew threw a thank-you over his shoulder as he turned away, already churning his way back to the street, feet keeping time with the words pounding in his head.
Not dead. Not dead. Not dead.
The emergency room was a study in controlled chaos. Patients in various states of illness and injury were stacked into rows of green plastic chairs, wearing facial expressions that ran the gamut from bored discomfort to genuine misery.
Andrew moved past them to the admittance desk. A nurse in faded pink scrubs greeted him brusquely, eyes already assessing him for life-threatening conditions. When she found none, she reached for one of the preloaded check-in clipboards.
Andrew waved it away. “No. I’m looking for a patient. Lizzy Moon. The medics would have brought her in a couple hours ago. There was a fire . . .”
The nurse scanned the computer screen to her left. “Yup. She’s in trauma room four. Are you family?”
“I’m a friend of the family. Is she all right?”
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything more. Her mother’s with her. If you’d like to have a seat, I’ll let her know you’re here.”
Andrew dropped into the nearest chair, wondering what Rhanna was doing here. She was supposed to be in Connecticut. Moments later, she appeared. He shot to his feet, trying to read her face. She looked shaken and exhausted but not grief-stricken.
She captured both his hands, squeezing hard. “She’s all right. She’s got a concussion, but it sounds like they’re going to let her go home.”
A hundred questions crowded into his head as the initial wave of panic began to ebb. “I went to the house, saw the fire trucks. They were taking someone out in a body bag, and I thought—”
“She got out,” Rhanna said, cutting him off before he could say it out loud. “She’s safe.” She pulled her hands free, dropping them to her sides. “Dennis Hanley’s dead.”
The body bag. Dennis. He let it sink in. “Did she tell you what happened?”
“She was out in the barn. Dennis showed up with a bottle of kerosene—like the ones they found in the orchard. He was going to burn the barn with her in it, to keep anyone from finding out what his brother did to Heather and Darcy Gilman.” Her eyes had gone shiny. She blinked away the unshed tears, suddenly focused again. “She threw something at him as he was about to light the rag—some alcohol, I think—and his sleeve caught fire. When he dropped the bottle of kerosene, the whole place went up. She barely made it out.”
“Is she . . .”
“No,” Rhanna answered quickly. “No burns. But he hit her. Her face is a mess.”
Andrew squeezed his eyes shut, the sudden rush of fury so strong he could taste it. For a moment he found himself wishing Dennis Hanley wasn’t already in a body bag.
Rhanna put a hand on his arm. “Do you want to see her? I’ll tell them it’s okay.”
She didn’t wait for an answer, just stepped away. A short time later, she returned. “They said you can go in. I’ll take you. Evvie’s with her now, but I’ll pull her out.”
Lizzy was holding an ice pack to her face when he walked in. She lowered it when she saw him and met his gaze. He had tried to prepare himself for his first glimpse of her, imagining how she might look, what it would feel
