Rachel, hold on. We’re coming.
Seventeen
Avery gripped the handle above the truck’s door as Weston took a sharp right turn. She glanced at the GPS and pointed down the block. “There. That’s Tom’s house.”
Her heart jumped. Flames were shooting out of the house at the end of the street. “Tom’s house is on fire.”
Neighbors were gathered in the street. Smoke wisped in the air, although the front of the home appeared undamaged. Avery undid her seat belt and radioed in the information. Backup was five minutes out. Weston pulled to a stop.
A bald man ran toward her as Avery hopped out of the truck. He was holding a cell phone. “You guys were fast. I just called 911.”
“Is anyone in the home?” Avery asked.
“Tom’s SUV is gone, so I don’t think he’s inside, but I can’t say for sure. I live next door and heard the smoke detector going off.”
“Okay, we need you and the rest of the neighbors to stay back and keep the street clear for the fire trucks.”
She sprinted across the yard and joined Weston, who was already on the front porch. He knocked on the door and announced himself as a police officer before trying the handle. A search warrant wasn’t needed since the house was on fire. They had a duty to verify no one was inside, possibly hurt.
The knob twisted open.
“Convenient,” Avery muttered under her breath, pulling her weapon. Union County was a small town, but people didn’t often leave their front doors unlocked. Especially when they weren’t home. She clicked on her flashlight.
Weston eased the door open with his foot. “Tom, it’s the police. Are you here?”
Avery’s heart pounded in tune to the wailing smoke detector. Announcing themselves was dangerous. This could be a trap. Still, they didn’t have hard evidence Tom was the Chessmaster. He was a liar, sure, but that didn’t make him a killer.
A momentary sense of panic jittered through Avery as she stepped into the dark living room. She shone her light around the space, checking for Tom. Not here. She followed Weston as he moved into the dining room. The smoke cast a hazy fog over everything. Duty kept her feet moving forward. Tom could be injured and unable to escape. The acrid scent of soot burned her lungs.
“Tom,” she yelled over the screaming smoke detector. “Police. Can you hear me?”
No response. Weston pointed to the kitchen, and Avery nodded. The smoke grew thicker. A gas stove hunched in the corner, flames shooting from one of its burners. A charred dish towel rested on the burner next to a boiling pot of water.
Avery flicked off the burner and poured water from the faucet to douse the flames. It hissed and popped against the overheated metal stove. Had Tom gotten burned or hurt while cooking? Or had the fire been set to lure police to his house?
She pressed on Weston’s back to indicate he should move forward, and together they followed the hallway to the back bedrooms. A light from the room on the end poured across the carpet.
“Police,” Weston called out. “Tom, are you here? Do you need help?”
Avery swiveled into the closest room. Packing boxes lined the wall, next to a rack of clothes. She quickly cleared the attached bathroom and closet. Empty.
She rejoined Weston in the hall. He stood in the doorway of the lit bedroom. Something in his posture, in the twist of his shoulders made her heart pick up speed. Rachel? She closed the distance between them.
He held out a hand. “It’s not her, Avery.” His expression was stark. “Neither Rachel nor Tom is here, and I don’t think—”
She pushed past him into the room and then drew up short. The blood drained to her feet, lightheadedness combined with adrenaline narrowed her vision. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.
A female mannequin, dressed in a police uniform and wearing a wig of copper-colored hair, hung from a noose. Smoke curled around the room, casting an eerie fog. The doll’s facial features were strikingly similar to Avery’s own, and somewhere in the back part of her mind, she wondered if it’d been specially made. She clung to the thought. Held on with the fierce knowledge that she was on the verge of passing out and needed something—anything—to stop the quaking of her body.
Weston came in front of her, dipping his head to catch her gaze. “I won’t let him touch you, Avery. It’s not going to happen.” He placed a hand on her bicep, the heat of his palm sinking straight through the sleeve of her uniform. “I’ll die first.”
She let out the breath she was holding, tears pricking her eyes. “Don’t you get it, Weston? That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. How many more people will die?”
Within an hour, Tom’s house was swarming with crime scene investigators. Weston stepped out of the kitchen. Avery was leaning against a pillar on the back porch, one arm wrapped around her midsection. In the other hand, she held a takeaway cup. She spotted him and extended it out. “Want some coffee? A patrol officer was kind enough to bring me one.”
Weston wanted to tuck Avery in a faraway place where she would be safe. But that wasn’t going to happen. She was a cop, first and foremost. Avery would never abandon her duty or the people counting on her. He took the coffee cup and glared over the crime scene. “Which officer?”
“Why are you asking?”
“So I can tell him to stop making the moves on you. Bringing coffee is a telltale sign of interest.” He took a sip of the fragrant brew. “Oh, yeah and he splurged for extra hazelnut cream. Definitely need to have a talk with him.”
She laughed, and a sweet blush crept across her cheeks. “Stand down, Ranger. He’s twenty-five if he’s a day. Too young for my taste.”
Weston leaned against the railing next to her. “Really? What is
