I tried to ignore the sick feeling in my stomach and swept my light to the right and saw another set of framed pictures on a small covered table. I stepped over there. The large one in the center was Sara Rankin dressed in a white ball gown—the kind Mardi Gras princesses and debutantes wear. Her unsmiling expression made me think she might also have had on barbed wire underwear. I could think of only one reason Verna Mae Olsen had that picture here in the Church of Will Knight.
The photo next to it interested me, too. I picked up the framed picture and held my light directly over it, squinting in thought. Two women, one of them a much younger, trimmer Verna Mae than the one I'd met. She had her arm around a teenage girl about her same age. A sister or a friend, or—
I heard a muffled voice behind me say, "Thanks."
"Burl," I said, whirling, my face already heating up with embarrassment.
Uh-oh. Not Burl.
The man was dressed in black, his face hidden by a ski mask. I stepped back, wishing I could melt through the wall like a ghost.
"Turn back around the way you were," whispered the man. A harsh stage whisper. Nasty voice. However, the gun he held offered far better incentive for me to do as I was told.
I moved slowly, my legs rubbery and reluctant to comply. I hung on to my puny flashlight and keys while thinking about the gun I'd left in my glove compartment. Man, I could use that .38 about now.
If he got close enough, I could use a key to gouge this guy's eyes—but he was breathing down my neck before I even finished the thought. He wrapped a forearm around my chest, his gun hand and weapon crushing into my left shoulder. He quickly snatched my keychain and light and tossed them away, then yanked my hands behind me. I felt plastic cuffs being snapped on.
The adrenaline had kicked in, that all-over shaky feeling like after I've avoided a major collision. Except I'd avoided nothing. I was in a wild bull's pasture without a tree.
"Down on your knees," he said.
My stomach tightened, and the image of Verna Mae's battered face flashed through my mind. This was her killer. My turn now. Would he put a bullet in the back of my head or—
"I said get down," he rasped.
"Can we talk first? We—"
"Do it."
Damn hard to use your brain when you're so scared even your underwear is quivering.
I bent one knee, ready to do what he commanded, but apparently not fast enough. He pushed me, and I fell forward onto the floor. I tasted dirt first, then the blood from my busted lip. He sat on my back and tied my ankles together.
Then a soothing mantra started in my head, a mantra born of common sense. "He could have shot you already. He could have shot you already."
He got off me, and I heard him walking around. I turned my head in his direction but could only see dark feet traveling the perimeter of the unit. What the hell was he doing? Then came the sound of breaking glass. Now I got it. He was smashing open the picture frames. Yes, but—
I smelled the gasoline before I heard it splashing around me, the odor so strong instant nausea rolled in my gut.
Holy shit. A bullet would be welcome compared to burning to death. One by one, small crackling fires were springing up within a few feet of my head, their flames jumping in the darkness.
Then he lit the cloths draped over Verna Mae's makeshift altars and the whole unit brightened with a horrible whoosh. I took in a deep breath and held it, not wanting to inhale the smoke.
If being scared out of my mind wasn't bad enough, the worst moment came a second later.
He caressed the back of my head, his gloved fingers trailing down my back.
"Sorry," he whispered.
22
I heard him run away, and it only took about a nanosecond for me to realize he'd left the door open. Between the wind and air-conditioning, the fire was spreading, engulfing the contents of B-109.
The door is open, Abby. Open. As in you can get the hell out.
I didn't have to stop, drop and rolclass="underline" I only needed the roll part. Trouble was, I was facing the back of the unit. Rolling would only take me left or right and not away from the fire, and its heat was already making me sweat.
I quickly turned over onto my back and sat up. Pretty damn easily, too. Bless you, Jeff, for getting me in shape, I thought, as I scooted on my butt out of that place.
I'd made it all the way to the A units when Burl found me. Thank God he didn't ask questions. He just uttered, "Damnation," before cutting me loose. Ever the careful cop, he took a Baggie from his pocket and stashed the plastic cuffs inside before pulling me to my feet. Then we ran.
Flames were flicking into the sky by the time we reached the entry gate. Burl helped me into the passenger seat of his Land Rover and called 9-1-1. The station must have been close, because we heard sirens almost immediately and the first fire truck pulled in only minutes later.
They had a swipe card—probably fire code regulations or something—and drove their truck in. Burl spoke to the cops who'd come barreling in on the heels of firemen and then returned to me.
He pulled a bottled water from the back floorboard. "Here. Drink this."
I twisted open the top and drank greedily.
"We need a paramedic for you, Abby?" he asked.
"No. I have a busted lip and a bruised ego, but other than that, I'm fine."
"Were you in B-109 when the fire started?" he asked.
"Yes. And I am so sorry, Burl. I—"
"How's your breathing? You inhale any smoke?"
"I got out of there pretty fast, so I'm really okay," I said.
"Good. Now what the hell do you think you were doing, girl?" The anger had finally surfaced, and I couldn't blame him. I was pretty mad at myself.
"I know I should have waited for you, but—"
"You got more buts than an acre of monkeys. You could have been killed."
"But I wasn't," I said. "And you know something? That's weird. He had a gun. He could have put a bullet in me."
"Maybe he thought you'd die in the fire."
"He left the door open, Burl. He knew I could get out. He didn't want me. He wanted to destroy that place."
Burl nodded in agreement. "Makes sense, and from the looks of that fire, we may never know what was so important."
"I saw some of it. Had a little flashlight and—oh, no."
"What?"
"My car keys. They're in there."
"Don't count on finding them anytime soon," said Burl, looking up at the black cloud hanging over us.
After I filled in the cops and the firemen on everything that happened, Burl drove me to Kate's place so I could get a house key. I'd lost that, too.
On the way, I explained everything I could remember about the inside of the unit, and Burl said he'd get with the firemen tomorrow about examining whatever could be salvaged from the fire. As expected, Burl had a warrant to search the contents, and I guess that still counted even if there was nothing but ashes left. I called Jeff, but got his voice mail, so I didn't leave any message aside from asking him to call. Some things you do not leave as a recording.
I rapped on Kate's back door. She must have been in the kitchen, because she answered right away.
"What happened to you?" she said, focusing on my fat lip. She pulled me inside by the wrist, and I winced. Plastic cuffs are brutal, I'd learned.
She looked down and saw the red abrasions. "Oh, my God. Where have you been? Who hurt you?"
"I'll explain everything, but I will need my house key before I leave. Lost my car keys, too, but I have a spare at home."
She put an arm around me and gently led me to the kitchen barstool. "You need help getting up?"