Stupid brain.
Her racing thoughts grabbed onto a thread and started pulling, her whole sleep sweater slowly unraveling. She pictured Ted at the bottom of the ladder, the stained brick in the back yard, the generator in the golf course home, Declan speeding after Jamie—
Declan.
Charlotte’s eyes popped open again.
Didn’t Declan spend the night?
She glanced up at the clock projection again.
Eleven-fifteen, a little farther along than she expected.
Hm. I must have drifted off again, after all.
She moved a foot, surprised to find it free to slide around.
Weird.
As a rule, the heavy chunk of fur known as Abby would block any movement, pushing her feet toward her chin, if not off the bed.
Two missing in action.
Where are Abby and Declan?
Did he decide to go home, after all? She didn’t remember much after crawling into bed. Did he sleep in the living room and maybe Abby went to keep him company—
She heard a noise somewhere in the direction of the kitchen. A whining noise, only for a second, and then again and again.
That has to be Declan. But what is he doing?
The noise sounded like a drill.
She sniffed.
What’s that smell?
Something smelled like a campfire hotdog. From the bedroom Abby barked, the sharp crack of her baritone making Charlotte jump to a sitting position.
Abby barked again, and Charlotte felt a jolt of adrenaline dump into her bloodstream. She spotted the dog sitting behind her closed bedroom door.
Maybe Declan closed it on his way to watch television?
Abby dug at the floor, making it clear she wanted out.
“What’s wrong?”
Charlotte caught a whiff of the strange smoky smell again. Throwing her legs over the bed, she saw a glow beneath her bedroom door. Not a bright white light, like a bulb, but yellow-orange. And not steady like electric light, but dancing, more like a...
Fire.
Sleep stupor stripped away from her brain like a Band-Aid. Charlotte leapt from the bed and pushed in front of Abby, sliding the dog back with her leg. Placing a palm on the door, she felt for heat.
Nothing.
Easing back the knob, she peered into the hall, careful not to let the dog out. Instead of seeing the pathway leading into her living room, a wall of flames raged back, rising from what looked like a tall pile of clothes on the ground. The smell of gasoline assaulted her nostrils and she slammed shut the door.
Not that way.
She didn’t want to risk trying to run through the burning material. She couldn’t know how deep it went or what awaited on the opposite side. The whole living room could be in flames.
Adrenaline caused her body to quiver with energy directed nowhere in particular.
Calm down. Think. What do I know?
She didn’t know anything except she hadn’t left a pile of clothes in the hall. That meant someone else piled them there and set them on fire.
Someone was trying to kill her.
The wild card responsible for the fire could have set any number of other traps.
She whirled and, nearly tripping over Abby, ran into her en-suite bathroom.
“Declan?”
Empty.
Where was Declan? Was he out there, somewhere, trapped in her burning home? Had he tried to stop the firestarter, only to be overcome?
Abby followed her into the bathroom, barking staccato bursts at her.
“I know, I know. Window. Let’s get you out.”
Charlotte dodged around the dog to move to the window beside her bed. She flipped the lock on top and jerked it upward.
It didn’t budge.
Shocked, she gasped only to find herself in a coughing fit. The smoke snaking into her room from beneath the door had thickened. Changing her position to gain more leverage, she tried the window again, groaning with effort.
It resisted.
Must be painted shut. Other window.
Rolling over her bed to the other side, she tried the opposite window to find it stuck as well.
How?
Abby’s barking became more persistent.
Right. No time to speculate.
Spotting her charging cell phone on her bedstand, she grabbed it to call 911. She hesitated. She’d called 911 once before when one of her neighbors fell, and had been shocked at how long it took to get someone moving. She didn’t have time to get into a conversation and she needed help now.
Abandoning 911, she called Mariska, who picked up after one ring. For once, Mariska’s insomnia was a godsend—at least for her.
“My house is on fire and I’m trapped inside. Get help.”
“What? Oh Charlotte!” was all she heard as she tossed the phone on the bed.
One thing at a time. One more window to try.
She bolted into her bathroom to find its small window stuck as well.
“Why?” she screamed.
The air felt cleaner in the bathroom and she realized her bedroom would soon be a smoke-filled deathtrap.
Stop the smoke.
Grabbing a towel, she held it under the bath tap and stuffed it underneath her bedroom door to keep the smoke and carbon monoxide at bay.
A wet towel wouldn’t help her once flames engulfed the room, but it would buy her some time. Maybe she and Abby could crawl into the tub...
No. It couldn’t come to that. She had to find something she could use to break the windows and get out.
Charlotte made a full three-sixty, searching for something heavy enough to break the windows. She didn’t keep crowbars and battering rams in her room.
But I will, after this.
Her gaze fell on a gold and red-felted trophy she’d won as second runner up Little Miss Charity when she was eight. She kept it displayed to joke it was the moment her life peaked.
If I don’t get out of this house, it might turn out I was more right than I knew.
The trophy’s flimsy plastic stem wouldn’t be any
