Almost everything.
She was alive. They were alive.
When he heard her crying, Trace kissed the top of her head, but her sobs came harder. “Aww, baby. I’m so sorry.” He didn’t know how, and he didn’t know when, but he was going to fix this. He was going to find whoever had done this and make them pay.
“Trace? You there?” Langston said into his ear.
“Yeah. Where are you?”
“I’m pulling up. You should see me in a sec.”
A large dark SUV with even darker windows slowed in front of the building they were standing at the side of. Trace didn’t move until it came to a complete stop.Then he disconnected the call.
“Let’s go,” he said to Connie.
His arm was wrapped around her as he eased them from against the building. Trace glanced to his left, then right, before hurrying her toward the vehicle. After opening the back door, he ushered her in, then climbed in next to her.
“Thanks for the lift,” Trace said. “Do you have a blanket in here?”
“Reach behind you. There should be one in that tray.”
Seconds later, Trace wrapped it around Connie, who was trembling to the point of her teeth chattering.
“Is that better?” he asked.
She didn’t speak, only nodded.
“Where to?” Langston asked.
Trace hated to do this to Connie, but it needed to be done. “Drive around to her block. I want to see if anyone is outside who looks out of place.”
“I don’t think I can stand to see the house right now,” Connie sobbed, the sound gutting Trace. “And what if they, whoever did this, see us?”
“They won’t be able to see inside the vehicle, and Langston won’t actually drive down your block.”
He probably wouldn’t be able to, anyway, since there were likely a couple of fire trucks in front of the house.
She sighed and didn’t say anything else, only laid her head against his chest. Trace took that as her giving in to his request.
He glanced at Langston. “Go.”
* * *
There was nothing like the feeling of emptiness buried deep inside your soul knowing that you had just lost your home. Connie couldn’t stop the gut-wrenching, heart-hurting, throat-clogging tears that leaked from her eyes, pulling her into a despair that she knew she’d never rebound from.
As they sat at the street corner, inside Langston’s SUV, she watched in horror while yellow-orange flames shot from the roof and seemed to pour from every window of her home. Thick billows of smoke hovered in the sky like an angry thundercloud, looming above all the madness below. It didn’t matter that tons of firefighters were hosing down the house, trying hard to put out the fire. All she saw was her hard work—her world—going up in flames.
Her head hurt. Her heart ached.
How had this craziness of the past week become her life?
One day she was on top of the world with a great job, wonderful friends and a beautiful home. Then, within a heartbeat, everything changed. Bank robbery. Murders. Hit-and-run.
Now this.
The faster Connie wiped her eyes, the faster tears fell. The horrid stench of burning wood, tar, metal and wires... It was too much. It was all too much. A chilling numbness seeped into her bones and hung out there like an unwanted guest.
Connie dropped back against Trace, defeat weighing heavy in her chest. Sitting in the back seat of Langston’s SUV with Trace’s arms firmly wrapped around her helped. Yes, she was alive. Yes, she was safe. But right now, it still didn’t feel like it was enough.
She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sight of literally seeing her entire life go up in smoke. What if Trace hadn’t been there? What if he hadn’t moved into action immediately? When she woke up to the blaring of her smoke detector, her mind was full of fog. It had taken several minutes for her to wrap her brain around what was going on.
Again, the what-ifs started clogging her mind. Seemed she’d been pondering what-ifs a lot lately.
“Trace, where’s your car?” Langston asked.
“In the shop.”
Connie hadn’t even thought about her own car, parked in the garage. From where Langston had stopped his truck, at the corner of the block, the back of her house was out of view. She didn’t know if the fire had reached the garage. At the moment, Connie couldn’t think about that. She just kept her eyes closed, hoping to draw in some type of comfort in knowing that she and Trace were safe. They were alive.
That should be enough, she thought.
“Do you see anyone who looks out of place?” Langston asked. “Does anyone stand out? Some arsonists like to stick around and see their handiwork.”
Connie wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or Trace. Neither of them said a word, but if she knew Trace, he was probably looking at everybody and everything. Cataloging every detail of the scene.
As for her? She kept her eyes closed, unable to watch any longer. She had seen enough.
The silence in the car grew. Trace said nothing for a few minutes. Only held her tight enough to almost cause damage to her ribs. Connie opened her eyes and glanced at him. He was staring at something. She followed his line of view to a spot across the street from her house. Some of her neighbors, the ones who lived on each side of her, were outside, huddled together. There were also other people that she couldn’t identify.
“What is it, Trace?” she asked.
“It might not be anything, but there’s a guy in a black sweatshirt standing to the side by himself. He’s close enough to the small crowd to blend in, but also far enough away not to be noticed.”
Trace pulled out his phone. Connie wasn’t sure who he was calling that time of night... No, actually, it was morning. Either way, it was too early to be calling people. But instead of calling someone, he shot off a quick text.
“We can
