home...about to go up in flames...that’s a bit disturbing, don’t you think?” She frowned then glanced away to avoid his eyes.
“Sure. It’s understandable that you’d be upset over the fire.”
“Plus I’m a little sleep deprived.” She leaned back, wondering how much longer she could hold it together. His expression was so genuine...so sympathetic...it made her feel as if she was about to crack.
“I’m sure it’s been a rough night for you.”
“Try a rough couple days.” She spoke sharply, then instantly regretted it. Besides not wanting to divulge too much, it wasn’t as though it was his fault that her life was a train wreck.
His brows arched, and she could see the wheels turning in his head, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “It’s just that I’ve been, well, going through some stuff. Hard stuff. I came here to be with my parents—but I totally forgot they were going to be gone.”
“Yeah, your dad’s family reunion in Iowa,” he said casually. “He told me about it just last week. He was really looking forward to the trip. Did you know that he hasn’t seen all his siblings, all together in one place, for more than thirty years?”
Of course, this was upsetting to hear. For a couple of reasons. First of all, if she told her parents about everything—as she wanted to do—it would ruin their vacation. How selfish was that? But the other reason she felt bad was hearing how Dad had shared personal family information with Logan—instead of her. But maybe she’d been too busy. Too caught up in her own life. Too selfish.
“No, I didn’t actually know that,” she confessed. “But I do know that Dad has three brothers and two sisters. They live all over the country. I’ve met some of them, but I don’t really know them very well. Not by more than just name.” She studied Logan carefully. What sort of man was this? That her dad confided in him? Maybe she was mistaken not to trust him more.
“Can you imagine how it would feel not to see a sibling for that long—thirty years? I know I’d miss Selma a lot.”
She sadly shook her head. “Truth is, I was just missing my own baby brother, but at least I got to see him last Christmas.”
“How’s Austin doing? I know he’s still in the navy, over in the Persian Gulf the last I recall.”
“That sounds about right.” She stifled a yawn then regretted it. It wasn’t that she was bored...just extremely tired.
He stood up straight. “Well, I can assure you that the fire is completely under control, Mallory. If you need to catch some winks, there’s nothing to worry about now. You’re safe.”
She frowned toward the west where the sky was starting to glow like burnished gold. Nothing to worry about? She was safe? Really?
“I would like to ask you some questions about the fire,” he continued in an authoritative tone. “Just to fill out my report. If you’re too tired now, I can come by later. That is, if you’re sticking around awhile.” He looked slightly puzzled. “I mean, with your parents gone on vacation and all. You plan to stay here, anyway? By yourself?”
Before she could answer, she heard her phone buzzing inside the pocket of her linen jacket. Afraid it might be one of those nosy detectives again, demanding she return to the city, or maybe they wanted to lock her up...she wasn’t sure she wanted to answer it in front of him. Just the same, she reluctantly slipped it out to peek. But seeing it was a text message from “unknown” made her curious. The last text she’d gotten from “unknown” had contained a veiled threat. And, although the police had not taken it seriously, she had.
“Excuse me a minute,” she told Logan as she quickly read the words—shuddering at the meaning. This was no veiled threat. This was for real. With trembling knees, she sank back down into the wicker chair. As horrible as these words were, she read them again, letting the meaning sink into her.
You got lucky again. Ever see a burned corpse? Not pretty.
Someone definitely wanted her dead. She couldn’t help but think it was Brock Dennison. Despite his rock-solid alibi, this nightmare seemed related to him. She’d witnessed his dark side while dating Brock. And she’d watched him lose it when she broke up with him six weeks ago. In her mind, Brock Dennison was capable of anything. Even murder.
“Are you okay, Mallory?” Logan moved closer, peering down with concern.
She nervously slipped her phone back into her pocket. “I, uh, I don’t know.”
“I really don’t like to intrude, but I have to say something. I mean, it really feels like something’s wrong. Want to talk about it?”
She glanced to the left and the right, searching through the trees in every direction, almost as if she expected to spy a killer hiding out there. Or even Brock, although she knew that was crazy. But someone had set that fire. Logan had insinuated that it was arson. And even if it wasn’t Brock, someone had killed Kestra. And someone had threatened her. Was he out there now? Was he going to slit her throat the way he’d slit Kestra’s?
Feeling completely overwhelmed and frightened to the core, she broke, beginning to cry. No, it wasn’t just crying, it was sobbing—loud and uncontrollable sobbing. The next thing she knew, Logan had wrapped an arm around her shoulders and, helping her to her feet, he led her—practically carried her—back into the house.
When she regained her composure, or a semblance of it, she was seated on the old plaid couch in the living room, and Logan was sitting in her dad’s leather recliner directly across from her. Leaning forward, he studied her with more than just casual curiosity.
“Wanna talk?” he asked gently.
“I—uh—I don’t know,” she told him. “It’s kind of a mess and I really hate to involve you in it. I mean, well, it could be kind of dangerous.”
He made a crooked smile. “Hey, I’m a firefighter, danger is kinda my thing.”
She sniffed as she pulled out her phone again, trying to decide, but feeling too muddled to even think straight.
“Is this related to the fire?” His brow creased as he rubbed his chin.
She sighed. “I’m not sure. And, really, it makes no sense. Why would he...do that? But then again...there’s the text message. And unknown caller ID? I mean, I’m sure it’s from him. I mean someone I know...someone I don’t trust...someone I consider to be my enemy—and it’s pretty disturbing.”
“May I see it?” Logan held out his hand in a way that suggested authority, but at the same time his eyes were full of empathy.
She pulled up the text, then handed her phone to Logan.
“‘You got lucky again. Ever see a burned corpse? Not pretty.’” Logan looked alarmed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What do you think it means?”
“It sounds like a very serious threat.”
“Yeah...” She looked down at the worn braided rug beneath her feet. The homely old rug had
