her damn phone when she needed it. She turned and headed for the door and ran into a hard body. Her instincts took over and she doubled her fists. She swung as hard as she could.
“No!” she yelled. “No!”
“LAUREL, IT’S ME, Cade.” Cade dodged Laurel’s fists and pinned her arms. He whirled and thrust her toward the front door, his brain registering relief that she seemed unhurt.
“Stay on the porch,” he shouted, tossing her his phone. “Press 8. Fire department.”
Then he ran up the hall to the kitchen. Where did Misty keep her fire extinguisher? He glanced quickly around the old-fashioned kitchen. Nothing. He opened the cabinets under the sink. There—in the back.
Grabbing it, praying it worked, he headed for the den.
Half the room was engulfed in flames, and the heat was nearly unbearable. He sprayed, but the little fire extinguisher wasn’t up to such a big job.
Just as he had emptied the canister, he heard the sirens. The advancing flames forced him out of the room.
Laurel stood on the porch holding his cell phone in one hand and Misty’s cat in the other. The cat was squirming and yowling.
“You can let her down. She’ll be okay,” Cade said.
Laurel let go and Harriet took off into the darkness.
“What about you? Are you hurt?”
She shook her head jerkily and he put his arm around her waist and led her down the steps into the yard.
“What happened?” he started, but the arrival of the fire truck interrupted him.
He pulled her out of the way as the town’s volunteer firemen rushed inside with the fire hose. The roar of pressurized water drowned out the roar of the fire. Within a few minutes, the fire was out.
But as Cade knew from experience, the excitement was far from over. He enlisted his patrolman Fred Evans, who’d shown up with his hair sticking straight out in back, to maintain crowd control and told him to call Officer Shelton Phillips.
If possible, there were more people milling around than a few hours earlier when Misty was hurt. He answered the same questions at least two dozen times.
No, no one was hurt.
Yes, it was odd that Misty was attacked and her house burned on the same night.
No, he didn’t have any leads.
No, he didn’t need any help pulling sodden furniture or charred items out of the house.
Yes, it would help if everyone would just go on home to bed.
Finally, Fred and a couple of other men managed to disperse the crowd and Cade went to speak with Kit Haydel, the fire chief.
“That could have been a bad one,” Kit said, pulling off his gloves. “I wish people would get rid of all the fire hazards in these old houses.” He wiped his forehead with his forearm. “Bad wiring, rotting fabric and dried-out wood all over the place.”
“But bad wiring didn’t cause this fire.”
Kit shook his head. “There was a stack of papers and photo albums in the middle of the dining room table. Preliminary investigation indicates that the fire started there. And it wasn’t an accident.”
Cade nodded. “I figured that. How do you know?”
“It’s an amateur setup. The smell of lighter fluid is all over the place.”
“I didn’t smell anything but smoke.”
Kit grinned. “You work enough fires, you eventually learn the different smells. Lighter fluid’s different than electrical or gasoline or a cigarette.”
One of the firemen hollered at Kit, who waved at him.
“How’d you get here so fast?” he asked Cade.
“I heard the car alarm, and since we’d already had one situation tonight, I thought I’d better check it out.”
“Car alarm?”
Cade frowned. “Didn’t you hear it? Your house is about as close to Misty’s as mine is.”
“I was asleep.”
Cade had been, too—he’d thought. But when the faint sound of the car alarm had reached his ears, he’d immediately thought of Laurel.
“Need me for anything else tonight, Cade?”
“God, I hope not. We’ve had plenty of excitement for one day.” He nodded toward the house. “Can I get inside? Check for damage and evidence?”
“Yeah. I think we got all the hot spots.”
“Great. Thanks. You’ll get me a copy of your report, right?”
Kit sent him a mock salute as he climbed onto the fire truck.
Cade looked around. Thank goodness the rubberneckers had dispersed. Over by their cars, Fred and Shelton stood talking with a couple of neighbors. Every so often, one of them would gesture or point toward the house.
He didn’t see anyone else. A tremor of alarm streaked through him. He stalked over to Fred. “Where’d Laurel go?”
Fred frowned and glanced at Shelton, who shook his head. “Haven’t seen her since the firemen got here.”
“She must have gone back inside. Thanks, guys.” Cade sprinted toward the house.
“Hey, you want some help?” Fred called.
“Nope. Y’all head on home.”
He took the front steps two at a time and burst through the front door. The smell of wet, charred wood and fabric permeated the house.
He heard a cough coming from the den.
Laurel was standing just inside the door, facing the sodden mess that had been her friend’s living room. Her arms were folded and her fingers were white-knuckled.
“You shouldn’t be in here.”
She shrugged without turning around. “Where else should I be? Look what they did. Misty will be devastated.”
He took her arm and turned her around. “You need to—God, Laurel. What happened to you?”
Her face was red and her eyes were nearly swollen shut. He grabbed her other arm and squinted at her in the pale light shining in from the street lamps. “Were you burned? Why didn’t you tell me?”
She shook her head. “No. The fire was after.”
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