SEEKING REFUGE

When her friend is murdered, journalist Mallory Myers knows the killer is coming for her next. The problem is no one believes her—in fact, she’s considered a suspect. Her news anchor ex-boyfriend has everyone fooled, but Mallory knows what he’s capable of. With no one to trust, she flees to her hometown, where she finds refuge and help from an unexpected source. Fire chief Logan McDaniel is the only one in town willing to believe Mallory. As the murderer toys with her, setting fires and terrorizing her, Logan and Mallory become closer. He vows to protect her and find a way to break the killer’s airtight alibi if it’s the last thing he does.

“Did you check out the window to see who was at the door before you let me in?” Logan asked as he came into the house, pausing to secure the dead bolt again.

“No, I didn’t think of that,” she admitted.

“Well, you probably should,” he said in a somber tone.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that fire was definitely arson. And to be set that close to a house is different from the other arson fires I’ve investigated recently. Plus, the incendiary device was different, too.” He studied her closely. “I think you’re right to be concerned for your safety, Mallory.”

Strangely enough, she didn’t feel nearly as worried as she’d felt last night. Maybe it was the bright warm sunshine streaming into the house, or the fact she’d gotten some good sleep…or more likely it was Logan. Seeing him standing there in front of her, tall and strong and handsome, and being so protective of her…it was just what she needed.

MELODY CARLSON has worn many hats, from preschool teacher to political activist to senior editor. But most of all, she loves to write! She has published over two hundred books—with sales of over six million copies, and she has received the RT Book Reviews Lifetime Achievement Award. She and her husband have two grown sons and live in Sisters, Oregon, with their Labrador retriever, Audrey. They enjoy skiing, hiking and biking in the Cascade Mountains.

Perfect

Alibi

Melody Carlson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Be gracious to me, O God…

For my soul takes refuge in You;

And in the shadow of Your wings I will take refuge

Until destruction passes by.

—Psalms 57:1

To Christopher Carlson, my husband of 38 years

(and the only earthly man I’d completely trust with my life).

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Mallory Myers loosened her death grip on the steering wheel. Taking in another deep, calming breath, she peered down the pitch-black road ahead. Even though her intellect told her that it was unlikely she was being followed, her instincts disagreed. In her mind’s eye she could see Brock Dennison in his silver BMW, speeding down the highway, trying to catch her.

And yet, she knew this was preposterous. For one thing, Brock would barely be finished anchoring the eleven o’clock news by now, and she was two hours away from Portland. For another, he was Brock Dennison, the golden boy of the Channel Six News. Just the same, she checked her rearview mirror one last time as she slowed down to turn into her parents’ darkened driveway. The headlights that had been tailing her were nowhere in sight now. Home safe.

Her parents’ lodge-style home was nestled in the ponderosa woods, bordering the National Forest. Remote, yes, but a great place to lie low for a while. The perfect place to get her bearings and hopefully some sleep. Having a dad in law enforcement, with a well-stocked gun cabinet, added to her growing sense of security. Home safe.

She glanced over her shoulder as she hurried to the front door. Naturally, she could see nothing out there—and the tall ponderosa pines made the moonless summer night even blacker. The house was dark, too, but that wasn’t unusual since her parents always went to bed with the chickens—even after they’d given up the henhouse. She turned her key in the front-door lock and quietly slipped inside, bracing herself for the familiar sounds of Barney’s startled yips. Her parents’ chocolate Lab was better than a security system. Nothing sneaked past him.

To her surprise the house remained silent when she entered, and she quickly discovered it was vacant. As she turned on the overhead light in her parents’ bedroom, staring at the neatly made king-size bed, she remembered the message Mom had left earlier this week. Back before Mallory’s life had fallen completely apart. Her parents were driving cross-country for a family reunion and wouldn’t be home for two weeks.

Dad—her protector—was probably halfway across the country by now. That explained why he hadn’t returned her call. Not wanting to upset her mother with her tearful voice, she’d left her disturbing message on Dad’s work phone instead of on the landline’s voice mail that her mother might listen to. But her parents were long gone and oblivious. And Mallory was more alone than ever.

Keeping the houselights low, she checked the doors and windows, making certain everything was locked tight. It was far more secure than her studio apartment back in Portland—a place she never wanted to go back to.

Her chest tightened at the memory of that horrifying scene in her bathroom last night. Mallory had made the gruesome discovery herself, yet still found it hard to believe. Her best friend, Kestra, had been murdered. Her throat slit, she was lifelessly sprawled across the checkerboard floor in a pool of shiny red blood. Mallory shuddered, feeling sick to her stomach as that macabre picture assaulted her again. Would she ever be free of that image? It did no good to keep replaying it. It didn’t help Mallory, and it was too late to help Kestra. Poor Kestra!

Still shaking from the chilling memory, Mallory hurried upstairs. First she went to her younger brother’s old room, scavenging some of Austin’s worn flannel pajama bottoms and a Blazers T-shirt, before hurrying across the hall to her childhood bedroom. But with no lock on the door, what was once a comforting space no longer felt completely safe. Nothing felt safe. Mallory scooted the heavy oak bureau in front of her door and reminded herself that no one knew her whereabouts. No one would come looking. Not yet, anyway. She needed to calm down. Just breathe...breathe.

After removing her rumpled work clothes—the same outfit she’d been wearing for two long days—she pulled on Austin’s soft, worn clothes and climbed into bed. Then, with the silence of a dark mountain night enveloping her, she willed herself to let go, to surrender to some much needed sleep. But at 3:00 a.m., she was still wide-awake. Her heart was racing, her hands were still trembling—and her mind would not shut down. Despite the fact she hadn’t slept the previous night, even after her friend Virginia forced her to take sleeping pills with warm milk, Mallory felt certain she would never sleep again. Insomnia had become her new best friend. And this stuffy bedroom wasn’t helping.

Longing for some fresh pine-scented air, she decided to open the window. And really, her normally sensible mind pointed out, no one had followed her, and even if they had it was unlikely they would scale the wall to get into this room. That was ridiculous. But another part of her argued that she had just cause for serious paranoia—Kestra had been murdered. Not only had Mallory been the one to discover her best friend’s body—in Mallory’s apartment—but Mallory had received death threats, as well.

But replaying that scene was like this stale room—too thick and heavy and hot for sleeping. Besides, common sense would have to prevail if she wanted to survive the madness that had invaded her life. She pushed open the window and leaned forward, breathing in the cool night air. And for a brief moment she almost felt like her old self again. Almost as if the past thirty-six hours of horror had simply been a nightmare. As if her dear friend had not been brutally murdered and Mallory was not in grave danger right now.

Mallory closed her eyes, inhaling deeply as she attempted to calm herself. She couldn’t keep replaying this tragedy over and over. Not if she wanted to maintain some semblance of sanity. She sucked in a deep breath of night air and started to cough. Something was wrong. That sharp, acrid aroma wasn’t the cool night-woods scent she’d known since childhood. It was smoke!

She leaned forward and sniffed again. There had to be a fire nearby. It smelled like wood smoke. A campfire, perhaps? Except that she knew there were no campgrounds in these parts. Plus it was mid-July—the height of forest-fire season. Open fires weren’t allowed this time of year. And open burning was prohibited after sunset, no matter what time of year. She tried to think. Could someone be burning something in a fireplace or woodstove? On a hot day like this had been? She sniffed again. No, something was definitely wrong.

She narrowed her eyes, peering out her window into the inky darkness. Her window faced east, but it was too early for sunrise and she could see nothing. But the smell of smoke was getting stronger. Mallory pushed the bureau away from her door and raced downstairs. Running from room to room, she looked out all the windows, searching for the source of the smoke.

Out the kitchen window, she spotted a flickering light through the trees. An orange-ish glow that wasn’t too far off. A forest fire! Her heart raced as she reached for the old wall phone by the breakfast bar. But the phone was dead. A cold wave of fear washed over her as she imagined a dark figure outside, armed with the knife he’d used to cut the phone line. Perhaps it was the same knife that had been used to murder her best friend.

She silently placed the receiver back in the cradle and bolted up the stairs for her cell phone. Was there a rational reason the phone was down? Was she overreacting? Perhaps it was related to the fire. Trying to calm herself, she knew the only way to survive this ordeal was to keep her wits about her.

She turned on her phone but remembered how the house’s metal roof played havoc with her connectivity. She’d have to step outside to make a call. But what if the killer had followed her? What if he was lurking nearby, planning to kill her, just as she was certain he had killed Kestra only yesterday.

“Stop it!” she said aloud as she raced back down the stairs. “Just stop it!”

Despite her fear, she knew she had to make the 911 call. She couldn’t allow her parents’ home to go up in flames for some irrational fear. Bracing herself, she stepped outside and with trembling fingers pressed the numbers. Crouching down in the porch’s shadows, she listened to the ringtone. Fortunately the dispatcher answered promptly, and Mallory blurted out her parents’ address and news of the fire.

“It looks like it’s about fifty yards west of the house—maybe closer.” She peered toward the orange blur behind the ponderosa pine trees. “It’s not real big yet, but it’s definitely growing.”

“Are you in any danger?”

“Uh, I’m not sure...” Mallory looked around, wondering if she might really be in danger—a different kind of danger. “I, uh, I don’t think so.”

“Are any structures involved in the fire?”

Mallory peered out toward the separate shop building where Dad kept his old Model A. “Not yet. But if the fire spreads, they will be.”

“Can you stay on the line until assistance arrives?”

Mallory thought she heard something out in the woods, perhaps a spooked animal...or something more. “My phone’s breaking up,” she said as she opened the door. “It doesn’t connect in the house, but I’m going inside—I think it’s safer.”

“Firefighters are on their way. The first responders should arrive in about ten minutes. Keep your eye on the fire and if you need to flee the house, call 911 again and give us your location. And if you need to—”

“Hurry!” Mallory yelled as she closed and locked the door. With trembling legs, she ran back upstairs, going into Austin’s old bedroom since it faced west. There, she could observe the growing fire. Positioned in front of her brother’s window, she watched the leaping flames. A forest fire in summer had always been one of her dad’s worst fears about living next to the National Forest. And they’d had numerous evacuation alerts over the years, but she’d never seen anything this close before.

As she stared at the soaring flames, she felt certain this fire had been set by the same person who’d killed Kestra, the same person who had been threatening Mallory. And, although no one in the world believed her, Mallory felt sure that a certain charismatic newscaster from Portland’s Channel Six News was involved. Somehow Brock Dennison had to be behind this. As irrational and unbelievable as it sounded, she just had a feeling.

Oh, she knew it made no sense. She also knew that the Portland police were convinced she was at the very least neurotic—and possibly something much worse. Even the seemingly sympathetic detective, Janice Doyle, had suggested it might even be the result of Mallory’s sleep-deprived mind.

When Mallory had confessed her wild suspicions about Brock to them this morning, their expressions said it all. They clearly thought she was delusional. Detective Snyder hadn’t bothered to hide his disbelief. When she’d shown them the words You’re Next scrawled across her car’s windshield, Detective Snyder had pointed out that lipstick seemed to suggest a woman had written it, and Janice Doyle had mentioned that the shade of lipstick seemed to match what Mallory had been wearing. She’d produced a tube of lip gloss to show them they were wrong, but they’d remained unconvinced.

She realized now how ridiculous she must’ve appeared to them. She’d brought all the notes she’d made during her sleepless night, pieces of information that seemed important, seemed to be pointing at Brock. They’d made so much sense to her. And yet as she’d laid them all out, going into all the details that had been bouncing around in her mind, the detectives had been unimpressed. They had politely listened to her and even recorded much of it, taking pages of notes.

But when it was all said and done they obviously thought she was making it all up. Probably just one more reason for them to suspect she was the murderer.

Detective Snyder had even insinuated as much. “Why are you going to much effort to point us toward Brock Dennison?” he asked as they were finishing up. “He has a perfect alibi. Cut and dried. He was on live TV when Kestra died.”

Janice had placed a hand on Mallory’s shoulder. “It’s obvious you’re exhausted. Take a break and think this all over. It’s possible that your focus on Dennison is related to your breakup with him. Maybe you’re not over it yet.”

Mallory shook her head as she watched the fire outside. She’d felt so convinced that Brock was behind everything—now including this fire—but it really didn’t make sense. How would he even know she was here? She’d never brought him to meet her parents—and this house was off the beaten path. Besides that, why would he start a fire? What would be the point?

She also knew from experience that most forest fires were the result of lightning strikes, sometimes they flared up from old strikes—possibly even a week old—that smoldered until the conditions were right and a breeze stirred the embers up. Did she think Brock had sped over here after doing the eleven o’clock news to light a forest fire—to smoke her out? How would he even know her whereabouts? It was just plain crazy. Maybe she was crazy.

Coming back to her senses, she realized that the fire was moving steadily toward her dad’s shop—the place where he stored gas cans and propane tanks and lots of other inflammable stuff. Dad had always warned them that, in the case of a fire, the shop would probably blow sky-high, taking the house and everything with it. And based on the usual mountain wind currents, the shop was in the line of fire right now.

She couldn’t just remain up here, watching it burn, knowing that it would set the house aflame, as well. She had to do something about it. Digging through Austin’s closet, she found his old letterman jacket and a Dodgers cap. Pulling them on for protection against flying sparks, she raced back downstairs and outside, locating the nearest hose. Her dad was well prepared and always kept long sturdy hoses handy. Just in case.

Blocking out her fears and telling herself that help was on the way, she turned on the faucet and stretched the hose toward the spot fire that had popped up dangerously near the shop, hoping that she could do damage control until the firefighters came—whenever that would be. At the very least, she hoped to keep Dad’s shop from being engulfed. If that caught fire, the other structures would probably be goners, too. With the nozzle fully open, she positioned herself between the growing fire and the outbuildings. Her plan was to soak the ground and saturate the surrounding foliage, and hopefully keep the flames at bay until help arrived.

It felt like ages before she heard the sounds of sirens coming closer. Although she was relieved they’d finally made it, she was agitated that they’d taken so long. And with the fire even closer to the buildings, she wasn’t about to stop her own firefighting efforts. Her single garden hose might not be enough to put out the whole forest fire, but until she was assured the firefighters were doing their job, she was determined to do her part. Besides, it was a distraction from her bigger problems.

It wasn’t long until several sets of flashing lights appeared at the end of her parents’ long driveway. Most of the vehicles parked upwind of the fire area, and a couple parked closer to the house. Soon there were people moving around and yelling back and forth.

Feeling that things were under control, Mallory was about to give up her post. But before she turned off her hose, she spied a new spot fire igniting some dry grass dangerously close to the shop. With hose still in hand, she dashed toward it, spraying the flames. But while she was running, she felt a heavy thud from behind, as if she was being tackled—and then she was pinned facedown on the muddy ground, a heavy figure on top of her.

With the wind knocked out of her, her heart pounded in fear. Certain it was the killer, about to put his knife to her throat, she tried to get enough breath to let out a scream, but all she could do was gasp for air—and pray for help!

TWO

Logan McDaniel had spotted the figure near the garage as soon as he’d come down the driveway. The youth was dressed in a letterman jacket and ball cap, and as soon as Logan approached, the kid took off running. Naturally, Logan chased him down, jumped him from behind and pinned him to the ground. Fortunately he was a lightweight and, despite the flailing arms and legs, it wasn’t hard to keep the kid pinned down while Logan got out his flashlight. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to use it as a weapon.

Using one arm, he flipped his captive over, shining the light straight into the kid’s face. It wasn’t a guy after all. It was a girl, and as the ball cap fell off, he could see that she had long dark hair.

“Help!” she screamed loudly, as if she thought he was some kind of an assailant. “Let me go! Help! Help!”

Still trying to get his bearings, he released her arms but kept her pinned down with the weight of his legs.

“Get off me!” She flailed at him. “Let me—”

“What are you doing here?” He moved side to side to dodge her blows. “You’re a girl.”

“Yes,” she growled back. “Get off of me, you big lug!”

“First you better tell me what you’re doing out here.”

“I live here,” she shouted angrily.

“No, you don’t,” he told her. “Deputy Myers and his—”

“The Myers are my parents! This is their house and I am—”

“Mallory?” As the realization hit him, he instantly eased back and, slowly standing, reached down to help her to her feet. “Is it really you?”

“Of course it’s me. Who else would it be?” She wiped the mud away from her mouth, glaring at him with fury in her dark eyes.

“What are you doing out here?” He reached over to wipe a chunk of mud from her cheek, trying not to smile at how cute she looked. But she just shoved his hand away, scowling at him with suspicious eyes. She obviously didn’t recognize him.

“Trying to put out this stupid fire,” she spat.

“Did you start it?”

“Of course not!” She glared at him. “Are you nuts?”

“Did you make the 911 call?”

“Yes. Are you going to help put that thing out, or do you plan to just stand here yapping at me?” She pointed to an outbuilding. “My dad’s shop could’ve blown sky high by now.”

“My crew is on it,” he assured her. “Don’t worry. The fire’s not too big. But good thing you called when you did. They’ll have it under control soon.”

She seemed to be studying him now, as if he looked familiar, but she wasn’t really getting it. And he knew the yellow fire chief’s helmet worn low on his head, plus the heavy clothes, made it hard to recognize him. Not to mention that their paths hadn’t crossed in years. Although he wished they had. She leaned forward now, peering curiously at him. “Do I know you?” she finally asked.

“It’s been a while, but yeah, you know me. At least you used to know me.” He stuck out his hand to shake hers. “Logan McDaniel, at your service.”

She blinked, then stared even harder at him. “Logan?”

“Yep.” He glanced over his shoulder where several of the firefighters, some with hoses and some with shovels, were working their way toward them. “Looks like they’re making good progress already. Probably have it contained before sunrise. Less than two acres I’d estimate. Small potatoes compared to last—”

“Well, it might be small, but it would’ve grown—”

“Hey, don’t get me wrong, Mallory. Any fire is a serious fire. And I’m relieved it was small. And glad to jump on it early.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Sorry about tackling you like that.”

She frowned at him. “Yeah, what’s the deal? I thought firefighters were supposed to help people—not take them out.”

“I’m really sorry.” He pointed to the letterman jacket and the ball cap. “But dressed that way—I thought you were a teenage boy. I mean, there you are with a fire blazing nearby...” He held out his hands. “I approach you, and you take off running. What was I supposed to think?”

“I was running to put out that spot fire.” She pointed to where the charred grass was still smoldering. Logan went over to stomp on it, crushing it out with his boot then dousing it liberally with a nearby garden hose.

“Well, I hope you accept my sincere apology, Mallory. We’ve had a serious problem with arsonists lately. Some tips have suggested they’re teens. Last Saturday we had a human-caused fire that grew to nearly two hundred acres before our crew arrived.”

“You really think kids set this fire, too?” She seemed to be studying him closely now. “I mean...you’re certain it wasn’t, uh, set by someone else?”

“What do you mean by someone else?” He peered curiously back at her. “Do you know something...?”

“No, of course not.” She bit her bottom lip and glanced away, as if she was sorry she’d said anything. Or as if she was holding something back.

“If you know something, you should tell me,” he urged. “Mallory?” he persisted. “What’s going on?”

He could tell by her face that something was wrong. Seriously wrong. Was it related to the fire? Did she have anything to do with it? As fire chief it was his job to investigate—and to be impartial. But he couldn’t believe that Mallory Myers would have any sort of criminal involvement. Besides, this was her parents’ home. Not that all family relationships were harmonious. “Do you know something about this fire?” he asked her again, using a firmer voice this time.

“Oh...no, I don’t really know anything.” It seemed as if she was trying to sound nonchalant. “I mean I just smelled smoke. I looked outside and saw flames and called 911. That’s all.”

Logan narrowed his eyes, studying her. Something about her story didn’t ring true. And that bothered him. A lot. “Well, my guess is that this was a man-made fire,” he told her. “We haven’t had a lightning strike in a few weeks. And as far as I know, no strikes in these parts. Anyway, we’ll know better when the sun comes up. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go give my crew a hand. I’d like to get this wrapped up as soon as possible. Just in case we get another call.”

“Yeah, sure, of course.” She nodded in what seemed like relief and, stepping back, she shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket. She looked so sweet and vulnerable just now—dressed in those clothes with mud on her face, her dark hair glowing in the firelight. And yet she was acting so strangely...as if she were somehow involved in the fire. Logan felt confused...and conflicted. And those were not the sort of feelings that a fire chief, especially a relatively young one, liked to experience.

“You probably want to go in and clean yourself up,” he told her in a brusque tone.

She looked down at her muddy clothes and nodded. “Yeah. Good idea.”

As she walked toward the house, Logan just watched, dumbfounded. What was going on here? Why was Mallory at her parents’ home when he knew they were on vacation? Why was she dressed like that? And what was she doing outside while there was what appeared to be an arsonist-set blaze going? What was going on?

Logan shook his head as he went to rejoin his crew. As happy as he was to see Mallory again—although he did regret tackling her—he felt torn. Something weird was going on here, and before this night was over, he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

“Doing some mud wrestling over there?” Winnie Halston teased him as she turned a shovelful of dirt over. Logan liked Winnie and appreciated that she worked as hard as any of the guys, but sometimes she got a little too friendly with him. It often felt like a tightrope walk to keep a professional distance, yet at the same time remain congenial and supportive as her boss. Sometimes he just wished she’d find another job.

Logan chuckled as he picked up a shovel. “Yeah, I guess it probably looked like that.”

“Who was the kid you took down?” she asked as she shoved her spade into the soft soil. “And why isn’t he in custody now?”

“The kid was a woman. Deputy Myers’s daughter.”

Winnie’s brow creased with suspicion. “Do you think she set the fire?”

“According to her, she was simply trying to help extinguish it.” He started to dig, helping to expand the fire line. He didn’t really have to do the hard labor anymore, but it seemed to boost team morale to see him doing some of the grunge work alongside them. And since this was a small fire and not really in need of much managerial supervision, there was no reason not to help out. Besides, he felt guilty for ignoring Winnie a little too much this week. Such a fine line between sending a message and being just plain rude.

“So, what’s this girl’s name?” Winnie’s voice had a twinge of jealousy.

“Mallory,” he said in a flat tone.

“And you know for sure that she’s really the Myers’s daughter? I mean, isn’t Deputy Myers on vacation? What’s this chick doing out here all by herself while her daddy’s gone? Sounds a little fishy, if you ask me.”

“I know she’s Deputy Myers’s daughter because I went to school with her,” he said wryly. “She was a couple years behind me.”

“Fine. But how do you know she’s not a suspect?” Winnie persisted. “This girl could be angry at her parents...maybe she gets even by torching their place while they’re gone. Most violent crimes are committed by people known to the victims. Suspects are usually family or friends...”

“Been watching CSI again?”

“Just reruns.” She smiled slyly. “A girl’s gotta do something on a lonely night.”

“Well, I’m relatively certain that Mallory Myers had nothing to do with this fire,” he assured her. “As a matter of fact, she was the one to call 911, and when I tackled her she was actually just trying to hose down a spot fire to protect her dad’s shop. Does that sound like a crazed arsonist to you?”

“You never know.” She frowned. “What about that getup she had on? I saw her. Looked like she was trying to disguise herself as a kid. Maybe to make it appear this was part of the teen group you’ve been tracking. Suspicious.”

He shrugged as he turned a shovelful of dirt over. He knew this was nonsense, but didn’t want to argue the point. “Maybe you’re in the wrong line of work,” he said. “Instead of being a firefighter, you should be working for the sheriff’s department.” He chuckled, but he wasn’t really kidding. Everyone knew that Winnie loved putting her nose in everyone else’s business.

“I’m just saying it’s curious how this woman’s out here by herself while her parents are off on vacation,” she continued. “Just because you went to school with her doesn’t mean she had nothing to do with this fire. And everyone knows we haven’t had lightning in weeks. So you know it’s gotta be human caused.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that, Winnie.” He decided to insert some cool authority into his tone. Time for her to back off and focus on her work. Without engaging further, Logan set his shovel back in his truck then went over to give TJ a hand with unloading another hose from the water truck.

“What happened to that kid you stopped?” TJ asked as they maneuvered the hose toward the south side of the fire line, generously soaking the smoldering embers.

For the second time tonight Logan explained the little mix-up. But he didn’t mind telling TJ. Besides the fact that TJ was his best friend, they’d gone to school together and Logan was pretty sure TJ would remember Mallory, too.

“No kidding? That was Mallory Myers?”

“Yep.”

TJ laughed. “How’d she take that?”

“Pretty furious.”

“Yeah, but as I recall Mallory was always a good sport.” TJ chuckled.

“Hopefully she still is.” Logan hefted the hose closer to the fire. The truth was, he’d always liked Mallory. More than once he’d considered asking her out. But something...or someone...always seemed to get in the way.

He wondered if that would still be the situation. Was Mallory in some kind of committed relationship? And even if she wasn’t, what would be the point in pursuing her now? She lived in the city, he lived here. Besides that, something about her wasn’t sitting right with him. The girl had troubles. He could almost smell it.

Logan worked with TJ for nearly an hour, but it was obvious that the fire was well under control and there was little need for Logan to remain on the line. Except that he was still mulling over some things.

“Is Mallory still good-looking?” TJ suddenly asked Logan.

“Kind of hard to tell with all that mud on her face.” Logan chuckled as he leaned his shovel against a tree. No way was he going to tell TJ that she was even more beautiful now than he remembered her being back in high school.

“Never really told anyone, but I used to kind of have a thing for her,” TJ admitted.

“Really?” Logan felt a small pang of jealous concern. “I never knew that.”

“Well, I didn’t go around advertising it.” TJ grinned. “And you remember how shy I was in high school. Could barely speak to a girl.” He punched Logan in the arm. “Not like you, Romeo. You always had girls hanging all over you.” TJ nodded over to where Winnie was still shoveling. “Which reminds me. Winnie’s been asking around about whether you’re mad at her about something. Saw you two talking just now. Everything okay?”

Logan blew out a slow breath. “Yeah, sure.”

“I know she rubs you the wrong way, but she’s really not so bad. Once you get to know her better.”

“I think you’re the one who needs to get to know Winnie better,” Logan teased.

TJ’s grin faded and Logan waved a hand. “Better get your mind off the women and back on your work, TJ.”

TJ gave him a mock salute. “Yeah, boss.”

Logan saluted back as he informed TJ that he was going to check the line. It wasn’t that he was mad at TJ, but he didn’t appreciate his friend’s “helpful advice.” It was clear that TJ was using Winnie as a smoke screen, probably a distraction from Mallory. Like TJ thought Logan was about to sweep Mallory off her feet. Although he had just knocked her off her feet. But seriously, neither of them would have a chance with Mallory Myers.

Besides having grown into her good looks, Mallory was a big-city girl now—a successful news writer for the Channel Six News, no less. Logan had heard Deputy Myers bragging about how his little girl had gone from being an intern to becoming the youngest journalist, at the age of twenty-three, for the prestigious Portland news show. And hadn’t she been dating someone of influence, too? Clear signs she was out of their league.

As Logan walked, he considered his own limited history with Mallory. She’d been a year behind him in school, but he’d always thought she seemed like a sweet girl. Very pretty, with her shiny dark hair and big brown eyes. And smart, too. She was in his history class and outshone most of the seniors. Maybe that’s why she’d caught his eye during his last year of high school. And during the following summer, when she coached his kid sister’s lacrosse team, Logan went out of his way to be friendly to her every time he picked up Selma. But Mallory just blew him off. And Logan wasn’t used to having a girl treat him like that. Eventually he’d just given up. It wasn’t meant to be.

Ironically, he’d probably had his longest conversation with her tonight—after he’d tackled her. Maybe he needed to change his routine—some guys knocked ’em over with their charm, he could just knock them down. He chuckled as he kicked into a smoldering pile of dirt, pausing to give it some turns with his shovel. Not that he’d been looking for girlfriends much this past year. Getting appointed to chief had seemed to put the kibosh on his personal life.

But something about Mallory had really caught him off guard tonight. And it wasn’t just because he felt guilty for knocking her down. No, there was something in her eyes that suggested all was not well. Something in her demeanor had reeled him in. So much so that he felt like stepping up to protect her. But protect her from what? The fire would be out before long, and he didn’t really think her troubles were related to that anyway. At least, he hoped they weren’t. Surely she wasn’t an arsonist, as Winnie had suggested, here to sabotage her parents in their absence. That was just plain dumb. And yet he had to admit that Mallory’s responses to his questions about the fire had sounded a bit like doubletalk. That wasn’t good.

But it did give him a legitimate excuse to resume his conversation with her. After all, it was his job to collect information related to the fire, and his gut feeling had been that she was holding out on him. Something was troubling her. Unless he was mistaken, it was something pretty serious. And before he left this place, he wanted to get to the bottom of it.

THREE

As she took a quick shower—the first one she’d had since Kestra’s murder—she couldn’t keep her mind from replaying the events of the past few days. Would she always be haunted by fear? Mallory hurried to redress in the same work outfit she’d worn the past two days. It was what she used to call one of her “grown-up” ensembles, part of a limited wardrobe her mother had helped her to acquire when she’d gotten hired as an intern for the Channel Six News. “Dress for the job you want,” Mom had wisely advised. Mallory had done so...and she’d eventually landed a fantastic job...but where had it gotten her?

She frowned at her pathetic reflection. A worn-out looking brunette in a rumpled linen suit and a pale green blouse that was anything but fresh. As she pinned her still-damp hair into a messy bun, she wondered why she’d told Mom to donate her old clothes to the resell shop last spring. Did she really think she’d never need her small-town wardrobe again? Plaid shirts and denim jackets were suddenly appealing. Comfortable and practical and much better than a bright orange jumpsuit. Not that she’d done anything criminal, although everyone seemed determined to pin something on her. Even when she’d told Detective Doyle she wanted to go home, she’d been warned not to leave the state.

Curious about the state of the fire, she went back outside to check. Although it was barely five, the western horizon was gray with morning light—and she still hadn’t slept a wink. And felt pretty sure she couldn’t sleep now. Or ever. A dozen or so firefighters were still at work and although there were various chimneys of smoldering smoke, no flames were visible. Mallory sat down in a front porch wicker rocker, staring down at a large metal pot of pale pink geraniums and trying to remember a time when life had been good. But nothing came to her. All she felt was a bone-deep sort of numbness.

She considered calling her dad. Chances were they’d reached Iowa by now—unless they were still on their way. But she had a feeling that if she heard his voice she would fall apart—and he would turn around and come back home again. Of course, that’s what she wanted...but she knew it was selfish. Her parents rarely took real vacations, rarely traveled anywhere outside of the state. And as soon as they found out about all of this...first Kestra...then this fire...well, she knew that would be the end of their big trip.

Hearing footsteps, she looked up to see Logan McDaniel strolling purposefully toward her. To her surprise, her spirits lifted ever so slightly as she watched him approach. It was as if his mere presence breathed a spark of life back into her. Or maybe it was hope. Whatever the case, she was grateful.

It was interesting to see him by the light of day. Still as tall as she remembered from high school, he appeared a little more filled out now. Dressed in his firefighter gear, he looked ruggedly handsome, and his long slow stride suggested a steady sort of confidence. This man was comfortable in his own skin. While a part of her admired this trait, another part of her was disturbed by it. It was this same quality that had first drawn her to Brock and a frightened little voice inside her head warned her to watch out.

“It’s a hundred percent contained,” Logan announced as he came up to the porch. Leaning against a post he peered down at her. “It should be completely out in a couple of hours.”

“That’s great news.” She forced an uneasy smile. “Thanks.”

“Just doing my job.” He gave her a handsome grin, revealing even white teeth. “You clean up nicely.”

“Thanks.” She slowly stood, folding her arms in front of her.

“Are you okay?” he asked with a slight frown.

She bit her lip, unsure of how to respond. Okay? That was not how she would describe anything related to her life right now. Definitely Not Okay.

“I don’t mean to intrude, Mallory, but you seem uneasy or upset, like something’s bothering you. Need to talk?”

She felt a part of her softening. Why shouldn’t she trust him? And yet...best to play it safe until she knew she could trust him. She sighed. “Well, witnessing your parents’ 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 been here for as long as she could remember. Her great-grandmother had made it long before Mallory was born. For some reason, the even lines and predictable colors gave her a faint sense of comfort.

He handed her phone back. “Who sent you this?” he demanded.

“I’m not positive. But I honestly think it’s my ex-boyfriend. Or someone connected to him. No one believes me, though.”

“What kind of person is this?” He frowned. “I can’t believe you ever had a boyfriend who would write something like that. Even if he is an ex.”

“See.” She held up her hands. “I told you that no one believes me.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He looked frustrated. “I mean, it’s hard to believe a girl like you would be involved with someone who would send a text like that.”

“Well, we’re estranged now. Very estranged.” She knew that was an understatement, but how much should she tell Logan? Could she really trust him? And would he even believe her? He already sounded doubtful.

“But, even if you are estranged...” He ran his hand through his messy hair. “To send something like that—I mean, it’s a serious threat, Mallory. Whoever sent that is talking about someone getting burned to death. And we just put out an arson fire. Who do you really think sent this?”

“As you can see, it’s from unknown.” She looked at him with apprehension. Why was he being so persistent on this? Was it possible that Brock had already gotten to him? The way that Brock seemed to have infiltrated some of the Portland investigators? What if Logan was a part of Brock’s deadly game? How many people did Brock control, anyway? Once again, it felt as if her head was spinning. Who could she trust? Anyone?

“I need to take a photo of it,” Logan said suddenly.

She retrieved it from her pocket, pulled up the text and handed it to him, waiting as he examined it more closely and then, using his own phone, took a couple of shots. “So you honestly think your ex-boyfriend sent this?” He studied her closely as he held her phone out to her.

“I’m so tired that it’s hard to think straight right now.”

Logan stood up now, clearly agitated. “What’s going on here, Mallory? You mentioned danger. And according to that text, you are definitely in some kind of danger. What kind of person is this? The guy who sent the text—who is he?”

“I’m not sure it matters... I mean, who he is or what he is...since no one believes me, anyway.” She studied Logan closely. She wished she could trust him—she wanted to trust him. She needed someone trustworthy.

“Look, a fire was set outside your parents’ home.” He spoke slowly, almost as if speaking to a child. And perhaps she was being childish—maybe fear and exhaustion did that to a person. “You receive a text that refers to fire and death, a message that is clearly some kind of serious threat.” He sat down on the couch next to her, staring intently into her face. “I’m not just asking you this as your friend, Mallory, although I’d like to think that we’re friends, but I’m asking you this as the Clover fire chief, investigating an arson crime.”

“Oh....” She nodded soberly. “Okay, then.”

“Who sent the text?”

She took in a breath, sitting up straight, trying to think clearly. “I can’t be certain, since it wasn’t sent from his usual phone. But my guess is that it was sent by my ex-boyfriend. A guy named Brock Dennison.”

“Brock Dennison? The anchor guy on the Portland news station?” Logan sounded shocked. “That’s the guy you’ve been involved with?”

“How do you know that?” she demanded. “I mean that Brock and I are involved. I mean, we used to be involved.”

“You just said it was from an ex-boyfriend.”

“Oh...yeah.”

“And you’re saying that Brock Dennison is threatening you?”

She looked evenly into his eyes. “And you don’t believe me, do you?”

Logan looked perplexed. “I didn’t say that. I mean it’s a lot to take in.”

“No one believes me.” She folded her arms in front of her, wishing she’d just kept her mouth shut. Why had she even trusted him?

“I’m sure that’s because Brock Dennison is kind of a celebrity. A small-potato kind of celebrity. Not that I’m a fan.” Logan frowned. “You won’t catch me watching Portland news.” He tipped his head to one side. “But you’re seriously saying that Brock Dennison—the Channel Six News guy—sent that text to you?”

“That’s right.”

Logan shook his head with a perplexed expression. “Wow, that’s a lot to absorb, Mallory. So do you think Brock Dennison has something to do with the fire, too?”

She felt a tiny glimmer of hope. Did he actually believe her? “I really don’t know what to think. I have to admit it sounds unbelievable to think that Brock would do...well, the kinds of things I believe he’s done...or is involved in.”

“You make it sound like he’s a serious criminal.” Logan seemed genuinely concerned. “And if that text is from him, I’m inclined to agree.”

“Really?” She felt strangely relieved that Logan looked worried. Maybe he wasn’t in Brock’s back pocket, after all.

“And you’re obviously upset by it,” he continued. “So I have to assume that it’s not a joke or a romantic quarrel or—”

“There is no romance,” she said quickly. “We only dated briefly. I broke it off a couple of months ago. The truth is, I can’t stand him.”

Logan slowly nodded. “So why would he send you that text? And why is he talking about fire?” He waved his hand. “Especially in light of what appears to be an arson incident.” He narrowed his eyes. “Were you in communication with him earlier? I mean, about the forest fire?”

“No, of course not. He’s the last person I want to talk to.” She held up the phone. “Check my phone if you want. And, like I said, that text isn’t from his cell phone. If it had been, I probably would’ve ignored it completely.”

Logan’s brow creased. “Then how do you know it’s him?”

She frowned. “I just know.”

“Okay, let’s say it is from your ex,” Logan said thoughtfully. “What do you think he’s really trying to say? Does he want to see you burned? Was it a genuine threat?”

Mallory was still a little unsure of Logan but knew she had to trust someone. “I do believe it was a threat.” She watched him carefully, gauging his reaction.

“A death threat to you?”

“I know it sounds a little crazy...especially when you don’t know the whole story...but that’s what I believe.”

Logan looked uneasy or maybe confused. “So, let’s be crystal clear. You’re saying that Brock Dennison, your ex-boyfriend, probably sent you that text?” He pulled out a little notebook, flipping it open to write something. “About a burned corpse not being pretty?”

She simply nodded.

“And you’re suggesting that the same Brock Dennison, the anchorman for Channel Six, has been threatening you, Mallory?”

“Look, this isn’t easy,” she told him. “And I feel like I’m stepping out on a limb every time I tell someone that I suspect Brock has threatened me. But it’s true. I do believe he’s involved. Even if this morning’s text didn’t come directly from him, I believe he’s behind it. He started sending me a lot of veiled threats right after I broke up with him. Unfortunately, I didn’t take them seriously. I just ignored them and dumped them.”

He looked at his own phone. “Looks like it hit your phone at 4:27 this morning. About an hour after you called in the fire.” Logan scribbled more notes. “Do you know Mr. Dennison’s whereabouts right now?”

“Is this an official inquiry?” She knew she sounded defensive. Not for Brock’s sake, of course, but simply to protect herself. All she needed was to get caught up in a false accusation in the small town of Clover—especially with her dad so far away. Never mind that no one in Portland took her other accusations against Brock seriously. But she knew that Brock had friends all over the place. In high places and in low. Brock Dennison was everybody’s buddy. And he’d already threatened legal action against her if she “slandered” his name. He’d told her she could lose her job.

“That’s right.” Logan’s mouth twisted to one side as he continued to write. “This is part of my investigation, Mallory. Official.”

“Do I need a lawyer?” Her question was part sarcasm and part sincere. One of her hopes in coming home was to get some advice from her dad’s best friend, Al Brandt. Al was a decent guy and a respected attorney.

“Lawyer?” Logan frowned. “Why would you need that?”

Mallory rubbed her forehead and groaned. “I don’t know. And, honestly, I don’t know if I can do this, Logan. I mean, I haven’t slept in a few days. My brain feels like oatmeal.”

Logan looked sympathetic. “Okay, we won’t try to do all of this right now. Just answer a couple of questions and I’ll let you get some sleep. Okay?”

“Okay... I’ll do my best.”

“So, tell me the truth, Mallory, do you seriously think Brock had anything to do with that fire?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Nothing about that man would surprise me.”

“Do you think Brock would intentionally hurt you?”

Mallory stared at him. She was in too deep to stop. Besides he’d said this was an official investigation. Did she have any choice? “I think he would,” she answered honestly.

“Okay...” He locked eyes with her. “Has Brock ever threatened to hurt you before?”

She took in a deep breath and made her decision. “He has sworn to kill me.”

FOUR

Logan had a feeling he was in over his head. Not just with his personal feelings toward Mallory, but with this whole business regarding Brock Dennison, too. It wasn’t as if he was a fan of the popular newscaster. Although some of his female firefighters seemed to be. Something about that meticulously groomed guy with the blond hair and flashy smile had always felt a little phony to him. And he found it hard to believe that Mallory had actually been involved with someone like that.

He also found it unbelievable that Brock Dennison had the nerve to threaten someone’s life, much less commit arson, but he could tell by Mallory’s face that it was true. Or, at the very least, she believed it was true. But facts were facts. There had been a fire, and Mallory had received a threatening text related to fire. Those two things were real enough. But getting the whole story, well, he didn’t think it was going to be easy.

“So, Brock Dennison swore to kill you?” he repeated her words back to her, writing them down as he spoke. “Can you please elaborate?”

“The truth is he said it more than once. The first time he said it, he was really mad at me,” she began slowly. “And although it caught me by surprise, I didn’t take it too seriously. Or literally. You know how people say stupid things in the heat of the moment. I honestly didn’t think he was going to kill me. I mean, Brock has a short fuse about some things. He can come across as a really nice guy, and then he’ll turn on you.”

“Right...so let’s be clear. Do you think Brock is capable of violence?” Logan studied her closely. She looked so frail and tired, as if she were close to breaking. And yet she looked beautiful, too. He could tell that beneath all this, there was a quality of strength in her. “Mallory?” He reached out to gently squeeze her hand. “Is Brock capable of violence?”

“Yes,” she quietly confessed. “He is. I know he is.”

“Has he hurt you before?”

She simply nodded, staring down at her hands as if embarrassed. And maybe it was humiliating—telling someone she barely knew about the intimate details of a past relationship. A part of him felt slightly voyeuristic for pressing her like this. But for the most part, he just wanted to help her. How could he help her if she didn’t tell him the truth? He wished she could just trust him.

“I know this isn’t easy,” he said gently. “But remember this is an investigation. And, really, you can trust me. But I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Okay.” She sighed. “Maybe I should start at the beginning.”

“That would help a lot.”

“I guess it started last winter...actually it was even sooner than that. Not our dating, but the relationship. For some reason, I caught Brock’s eye early on in my internship. I can’t even imagine why. I mean, other girls were constantly flirting with him. I never did. I was all about work. I took my internship seriously. I took newswriting seriously. I honestly don’t understand why Brock went after me, but he did.”

“I think I understand why.” Logan sighed. “For starters, you’re a beautiful girl, Mallory. You’re also very intelligent. And you have a sweet spirit. That’s a rather attractive package, don’t you think?”

She blinked in surprise, but said nothing.

“Seriously.” He rubbed his chin. “Combine those qualities with the fact that you were focused on work—not flirting—well, that probably made you seem even more attractive. Kinda like playing hard to get.”

“I wasn’t playing—”

“I know. But you get what I’m saying. Some guys like the challenge.”

She frowned. “I guess so. Anyway, Brock was intent on dating me. For nearly a year, I brushed him off. I didn’t want anything to mess up my internship or my chances of getting hired. But he was relentless. Finally, after I was hired, I told him that I thought there were rules against dating in the workplace.” She shrugged. “But Brock assured me that dating was acceptable. He pointed out others who were happily involved.” She pushed a strand of dark hair away from her face. “Come to think of it, he even insinuated that dating him could help my position. But, honestly, that wasn’t my motivation. And Brock is very persuasive and the truth is that, back then, I found him charming and attractive. And, even though I’d been pushing him away, I have to admit I was flattered by the attention. I finally gave in at Christmastime last year. I agreed to go on one date with him. You’d think I’d given him the moon.”

Logan nodded. A real date with Mallory would feel like a gift to him, too. If it turned out that she was being honest with him. Somehow he felt she was. “So you started dating him about six or seven months ago?” he prodded.

“Well, we weren’t really dating. It was one date. We went to a fund-raiser thing right after Christmas. Our next date—because he talked me into it—was on New Year’s Eve.” She paused to think. “We went out a few times after that, but we didn’t really become a couple—well, not in my eyes, anyway—until Valentine’s Day.”

“Uh-huh?”

Mallory frowned. “Am I boring you? I mean, do you really need all this for your investigation?”

He shrugged. “Maybe...if it turns out that Brock really has something to do with the fire, it could be helpful.”

She stared blankly across the room, as if trying to remember what she’d been saying. “Okay...so, anyway, I was totally honest with Brock right from the start. I told him that I was an old-fashioned girl and that I wanted to take things slowly. I figured that would turn him off because I knew he had a reputation for being a ladies’ man. I thought it would send him running.”

“But it didn’t?”

“No. Looking back, I actually think he saw it as a challenge, like he could make me change.”

“That makes sense.” Logan tried to listen impartially, pretending not to be rankled by what he was hearing as she continued to talk about the early days of their dating relationship. It sounded as if Brock had done all the expected things—he gave her flowers and gifts, took her out regularly.

“But sometimes it seemed his attentions were as much for him as they were for me,” she explained. “Sort of like he wanted to show off. Like it was always important that I would receive roses at work and he expected me to display them on my desk for a couple of days so that all the girls could see them. They would ooh and aah and act jealous.” She clenched her fists in her lap. “What they didn’t know was that Brock was becoming more and more controlling of me. He would tell me what to wear on a date. How to act and talk and walk. Like I was his little robot girlfriend. And if I questioned him, he would get irked. And the more we dated, the more intense it became. If I didn’t comply, or if I questioned him, he could get really angry.”

“Did he ever hit you?”

She pursed her lips. “Not exactly hit per se. But sometimes he would shove me really hard. You know, like up against a wall. I got a lump on the back of my head more than once. And if he was really angry, he’d pin me against a wall, shouting into my face.”

“That’s terrible. I can’t believe you’d put up with that.”

“Believe me, the first time he was abusive, I was ready to leave. But he was so apologetic and broken up over it the next day. He swore it would never happen again. I gave him a second chance and he kept his word...for a while.”

“And then?”

“It started up again. After a couple of weeks, he lost his temper with me again. He told me he was stressed over work and that he was really sorry. And I stupidly rationalized that it was a one-time thing—even though it wasn’t the first time.” She shook her head. “But the next time it happened, there was no real excuse. And it felt even more intense than the others—and hateful. It was like someone pulled his trigger and he went off. Well, I guess I pulled his trigger. But the way he apologized afterwards, the way he brought me flowers and candy to work...well, it made me think this might be a pattern with him. Like maybe he’d done it before—in other relationships.”

“Did you ask him about that?”

“I did. I’d done some research on domestic and dating violence for a news piece I was working on. And it was like reading about Brock. Like the writing was on the wall. When I confronted him with my findings and asked him about his past relationships, he got defensive and indignant. Somehow he made it look like I was the one with the problem. Like I had stepped over some line.”

“But you still didn’t dump the jerk?”

“I was seriously getting ready to, but based on what I’d read, I felt like I needed to do it carefully. I worked out this plan where I thought I was going to slowly cut him loose. Distancing myself, ignoring his calls. But he showed up at my apartment one night, demanding to know what was wrong. I admitted I was done, and he got enraged. He grabbed me and wrapped his hands around my neck like he was going to strangle me.” She shuddered. “He told me he could kill me—he said it would be easy.”

Logan felt a wave a shock run through him. “So you broke it off then?”

She nodded. “That was in late May.”

“And how did he handle that?”

“He was furious. And for a while he was actually stalking me. He kept his eye on me at work. One time I caught him reading something on my computer. I’d spy him driving by my apartment complex occasionally. And he’d leave me lots of text messages, saying how much he loved me and telling me that I’d come back to him eventually. Really creepy. But at work he acted like he was the one to break it off with me, and he started a rumor that we were getting back together. It was weird.”

“Yeah,” Logan agreed. “Sounds weird to me, too.”

“So...anyway... I’ve been apprehensive of him for quite a while. And then...well, just this week, I became downright fearful.”

The sound of someone knocking on the front door made Mallory jump toward him, clutching Logan’s arm with a look of real terror. But it seemed like such an extreme reaction that Logan wasn’t sure it really matched what she’d just told him. Certainly she should be worried about being threatened by someone. But this fear seemed deeper, so much so that Logan wondered if she had told him everything.

“It’s just TJ,” he assured her as he looked out the window. “One of my firefighters.” He hurried to open the door.

“Something out here you should see, Chief.” TJ jerked his thumb over a shoulder. “We think we found the cause of the fire.”

“Human?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“I’ll be out in a couple minutes.” Logan returned to where Mallory was still huddled in a corner of the couch and, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, he peered intently into her eyes. “I know you’ve been through some sort of serious ordeal, Mallory. And I want to hear the whole story, but I really think you need to get some rest first. Are you going to be okay here? Or do you want to go to town and—”

“I’ll be fine here,” she assured him.

Logan was uncertain.

“Go ahead, find out about the fire stuff,” she told him. “Really, I’ll be okay.”

“Maybe so. But I think I’ll just stick around the place while you’re resting.”

“You don’t need to do that.” But even as she said this, her eyes said something different. Her eyes seemed to be pleading with him to stay. And that’s what he intended to do.

“It’ll take a while for me to complete my investigation,” he assured her. “Long enough for you to have a good long nap. At least a few hours. And by then I’ll have more questions for you.” He held up his cell phone. “Let’s exchange numbers. Just in case you need to call me while I’m out there poking around.”

“Okay...” As she recited the numbers, her voice sounded groggy. Hopefully she’d be able to get some sleep now. He could tell she needed it.

“I’ll be outside, walking around the property, looking for additional clues and taking some photos, but I can be back in here within minutes if you need me.” He peered into her half-open eyes. “Okay?”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” She leaned back into the couch as if she was about to nod off.

“I need you to lock the doors after I go outside,” he explained.

She nodded with a look of realization. “Of course. Thank you.”

He led her to the front door and, after he exited, listened as she clicked the dead bolt into place. He wasn’t certain that she needed to take such precautionary measures, but at the same time he wasn’t certain that she didn’t. And if the rest of the evidence supported his suspicion of arson, it really did make this place a crime scene. In that case, he couldn’t be too careful. In fact, it was possible that the criminal was still nearby. Logan wished he’d brought his gun. Because he suddenly felt more than just a little protective of this woman. There was no way that Brock Dennison—or anyone—was going to hurt her. If they did, they’d have to go through him first.

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