Page 34 of Lock ’N’ Load

She scrambled forward on the floor. Using the front door as an escape route was out, but the back door in the kitchen was still accessible.

After what seemed like an hour but was probably only seconds, she felt the hard tile of the kitchen floor beneath her hand and knees. The air was clearer here, enough to see another perfectly straight line of fire leading from the window curtain, down the wall, and along the floor to the table, although the fire hadn’t caught on yet with the same intensity as in the living room.

Pushing to her feet, she grabbed the doorknob, twisting and tugging. It didn’t open.

Beside her, the kitchen table and two of the chairs burst into flames. Tucking Poofy tighter against her, she verified the door was indeed unlocked then pulled repeatedly. It didn’t budge. This was not happening. I need another plan.

Basement.

Even the floor tiles beneath her feet were growing warm as she ran to the basement door and turned the knob. When it opened, she flipped on the light switch and headed down the stairs, slamming the door shut behind her.

The air was better down here, and she sucked in breath after breath, still coughing but not as fiercely. Setting Poofy on top of the washing machine, she grabbed a wooden stool and placed it directly beneath the small, hinged window. She stepped on the stool and twisted the latch, but when she pushed on the window, it didn’t open, either.

What the hell?

She looked around for something to break the window, only to see fire shooting between the door and the doorframe. A burst of flames made it through, hitting the stair rail. The old, brittle wood quickly caught on fire, sending a line of flame down the railing.

I will not die in this house.

She reached for the crowbar hanging on the wall.

Chapter Ten

“Dammit.” Matt gunned the pickup off the highway, taking the circular exit ramp way too fast, but he didn’t give a shit. What Jake had related over the phone had his guts twisting with fear.

The blood on the cloth Sheba had retrieved matched that of Viktor Solonik, a Russian mobster suspected of being a hit man. Solonik had previously been arrested on weapons charges that hadn’t netted much jail time, but every arrest required a DNA swab. Hence the hit in CODIS. This had to be connected to whatever Trista was doing for the CIA. He knew that with every fiber of his being, and he damn well intended to find out what it was if he had to wring it out of her, or her supervisors.

As he turned onto her street, an eerie glow lit the sky. When he saw why, his heart nearly stopped. Trista’s house was on fire, and from the looks of it, it was already fully engulfed.

Jake’s black Charger was parked a few houses from Trista’s, its blue strobes flashing. Matt gunned his truck the remaining distance, then slammed on the brakes in front of the Charger. When he jumped out, he heard Jake calling in the fire, reciting Trista’s address.

“Where is she?” Matt shouted.

Jake threw the radio microphone into the open car window. “Don’t know. Just got here. Fire trucks are on the way.”

Matt ran toward the house. Flames shot from every window, and part of the roof was caving in. The fire roared, snapping and crackling. Timbers creaked under the onslaught, making an eerie, wailing sound.

With his heart in his throat, he ran all around the house, scanning the yard, searching for Trista. But she wasn’t there. She wasn’t anywhere. She’s still inside.

Every door and window were on fire, flames shooting out into the night. There was no way in, and no way out.

A grisly image of her small, petite body on fire came to him…the pain she would have felt. Matt fell to his knees. He’d never been much for prayer, but right at that moment, he prayed the smoke had taken her before the fire did.

His stomach roiled, and he wanted to puke. A hand rested on his shoulder. Jake.

“There’s nothing you could have done, Matt.”

Shaking his head, he breathed heavily. He couldn’t believe she was dead. He barely knew her, but already he felt her loss from his life.

Sirens screeched in the distance. Minutes later, he heard them pull up to the house, their hydraulic brakes hissing as they came to a stop. A burning piece of something landed a few feet away, followed by a burst of glowing embers.

“C’mon, Matt.” Jake grabbed his arm. “We gotta get away from the house.”

Still staring at the fully engulfed structure, he let Jake haul him to his feet. A door slammed, and he jerked his head around. The family next door was evacuating. Good thing.

A crash had him whipping his head back to Trista’s house. Glass breaking. Where?

He couldn’t see anything, but it sounded like it had come from the burning house. Could be the heat doing the damage, but maybe it was something else.