Chapter 34
sarah
Iwake choking on smoke.
It’s so thick it burns my throat raw, clawing into my lungs before I can sit up. My eyes sting, watering so badly I can’t see more than shadows. For one stupid second, I think I’m dreaming—another nightmare dragging me back to the worst parts of my life.
Then a crack of timber splits the air, sharp as a gunshot, and the truth sears me alive.
The house is on fire.
Flames roar in the hallway outside my bedroom. I can see an orange light flickering under the door like hell’s lanterns. Heat rolls through the walls, oppressive and suffocating, pressing me into the mattress.
Move, Sarah.
I stagger out of bed, coughing so hard I see stars. I drop low—grade school fire safety—where the air is just barely breathable.
My hands grope along the floor until they hit my sneakers, half-tucked under the nightstand. I jam them on—no socks, no laces. Doesn’t matter.
I crawl to the bathroom, grab a towel, crank the tub faucet to full, and soak it. Water splashes, drenching me. I press the towel over my mouth and nose like a balaclava.
Thank you, Fire Safety 101.
The smoke alarm screeches overhead—too damn late.
I crawl to the window, hair sticking to my sweat-slick face, heart hammering. The glass is hot under my palms—too hot to touch for long.
The sounds of engines, shouts, and sirens cut through the night.
They’re here. God, they’re here.
The house groans—a long, tortured sound—and the ceiling above me sags. Ash and sparks rain down.
I don’t have minutes. I have seconds.
I grab the bedside lamp and hurl it at the window. The glass explodes, and cool night air rushes in. I climb onto the sill, jagged edges biting my hands.
It’s a long drop—two stories. The lawn below is a dark smudge through the smoke. My legs shake. My lungs scream. There’s no choice.
Stay and burn. Jump and maybe live.
“Go,” I yell at myself, and I…leap.
The world tilts; the fire’s roar fades into the rush of air. The towel tears free. I hit the ground with a bone-rattling thud. Pain shoots up my side, stealing my breath.
I’m barely on my feet when men swarm toward me—firefighters in heavy gear, flashlights knifing the smoke.
One kneels beside me, mask reflecting flame. “Ma’am? Can you hear me? Stay still.”
I cough so hard I can barely nod. Behind them, my father’s house is a torch. The roof collapses with a roar of sparks, an ember storm spiraling into the night.
Someone throws a blanket over my shoulders, but all I feel is heat, heat, heat.
I saved myself. By luck and instinct, I got out.
And as I stare at the inferno chewing my past to ash, one thought splinters the haze: this wasn’t an accident.
I lose time. Seconds, minutes—maybe hours—before an EMT is shining a light in my eyes, asking questions I barely register.
“Sarah!” My name tears raw from Cade’s throat.
He’s running—boots pounding the grass, shirt half-buttoned like he didn’t waste a second, hair wild, eyes blazing. He pushes past a firefighter who tries to stop him.
“Where is she? Where’s Sarah?”
I lift a hand and wave because words scrape my throat.
He sees me, and his face crumples—relief, fear, something deeper I can’t name. He drops to his knees beside the gurney, his big hands hovering like he’s afraid I’ll break.
“Jesus, Dove….” His voice is shredded as he shoulders the EMT aside and pulls me into him. “I thought…fuck…I thought I’d lost you.”
“Cade, she’s already not getting enough oxygen,” the EMT snaps. “Do you mind?”
Cade jerks back like I’m on fire. Before the EMT can reseat the mask, I rasp, “I’m fine.” I sound like a two-pack-a-day smoker, and I doubt I look fine—singed hair, soot-streaked skin, shaking like I’m in a blizzard even though I’m burning up.
The mask goes back on.
Cade steps close and, before the EMT can protest, cuts him off with a look. “I need a minute, Alvin.”
Alvin sighs, hands up. “She needs to wear that damn thing for as long as she can.”
I peel the mask back to cough. When I’m done, Cade gently presses it to my face again.
“You can’t keep doing this,” he says fiercely. “You can’t keep…. You’re in danger, Dove. Whoever’s after you—after us—just tried to burn you alive.” His jaw flexes. “You need protection. My protection.”
I try to pull the mask down to speak; he murmurs, “No.”
Then he softens when I flinch, cupping my soot-streaked cheek, thumb trembling.
“No more running, Sarah. You stay with me. At Blue Rock. I’ll keep you safe if it’s the last damn thing I do.”
The words sting hotter than the fire, because part of me wants to say yes, to sink into that promise, to let him carry the weight. But the scarred, wary part knows safety has always been a lie.
The fire rages on, eating my father’s house to the bones. Cade stares at it for a taut moment, then back at me.
“I already lost you once.” Tears track down his face, and his voice breaks. “I’m not letting that happen again.”
I don’t know what to say, so I breathe—slow, in and out—letting the oxygen soothe what it can.
Cade drives me to the fire station.
My truck—still impounded because of the dead-dog situation—is safe. Bodie’s, which I borrowed, is gone—burned with all my equipment. I’ll have to replace it. God knows how long it will take for insurance to be processed.
We sit on a wooden bench in the lobby. Cade sits close, arm draped along the backrest like a shield.
“You’re comin’ home with me after this,” he says, firmly, no room for argument. His eyes are wild—stormy blue that could level mountains.
My clothes are ruined. My throat is raw. I could sleep standing up.
“Is that a good idea?” I croak.
“Yes,” he clips.
“I don’t know.”
A new fear gnaws at me. If I talk to Marnie Evans, how much worse does this get? They tried to kill me tonight. They killed Cade’s Angus. What if they come after Evie?
Maybe I could stay at Kincaid Farms—but then I’m putting them at risk, too.
“What’s there to know?” His voice frays. “You. Are. Not. Safe.”
“What if I put you and yours in harm’s way by being at Blue Rock?” I rasp.
Cade turns, fury sparking. “If you think I’m gonna let you handle this alone, you’ve lost your fuckin’ mind.”
I roll my eyes and look away. I don’t need a macho man right now.
“Hey.” He grips my chin, turning my face so I have to look at him. “You’ll never do anything alone again, Dove.”
I arch a brow. “That sounds a lot like stalking.”
His expression softens; amusement flickers—exactly what I was aiming for.
He brushes his lips against mine. It’s a shock and a relief. I don’t stop him—I don’t know how. I’ve loved Cade my whole adult life. I came back ready to kick his ass if he came near me. But his sincerity, his pain, his promise to carry part of this burden—it undoes me.
Still, survival mode kicks in. “Cut it out,” I snap, then cough.
“Be quiet, Dove, and save your breath,” he says gently, pulling me against his shoulder.
I don’t resist. It’s nice to be held when the world comes apart. I’ll take the comfort tonight. Tomorrow I’ll remind myself I’m alone. My therapist says that’s a crappy way to live. I say it’s the only.
Half an hour later, we’re ushered into the fire chief’s office. Hugh is already there.
The chief, Archie Marnhardt, has a face carved by smoke and sun. His shirt is streaked with soot. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
I shake my head at the same time Cade says, “Hot tea. Her throat’s killing her.”
Geez. Give it a rest, alpha male!
Archie grins faintly, pokes his head out, orders tea and a pot of coffee. “We’ll need it,” he mutters.
Then he goes blunt. “This wasn’t an accident.”
Tell me something I don’t know.
“We found accelerant in three different spots,” he says, eyes hard. “Whoever lit it knew exactly what they were doin’.”
“I haven’t told Archie anything you told me,” Hugh says, meeting my gaze. “But he needs to know. With your permission—”
“Tell him,” I cut in. If I’m going to tell the world, does it matter if Archie knows? “But it doesn’t go beyond you two,” I add quickly.
Cade frowns. “Dove, when you talk to the reporter, everyone will know.”
“Or maybe I won’t talk to the reporter,” I mutter.
“What?” Cade’s chair scrapes hard as he shoots up. “Are you outta your mind? You have to talk to the damn reporter. You can’t let him get away with—”
“Cade, sit down,” Hugh orders, sharp. “You don’t push a survivor to speak if they’re not ready.”
“That’s not why,” Cade growls. “She’s scared they’ll come after me and Evie.”
Hugh looks at me. “That true?”
I sigh. “They tried to kill me to silence me, Hugh. What do you think?”
A woman brings tea and coffee. I soak my throat; the men mainline the caffeine.
“For what it’s worth,” Hugh says, setting his cup down, “Cade’s bulls were targeted before you got that threatening note. Maybe the two aren’t connected.”
“It’s Landon,” I blurt. “He wants to sell Blue Rock, and he wants me gone.”
Archie stiffens. “Be careful before you malign a congressman.”
Rage flares hot. I slam my teacup down; it sloshes onto sticky notes. I get to my feet, hands on hips. “You don’t get to tell me to shut up. That son of a bitch raped me—and he’s raped other women.” I am screaming, but the words coming out are hoarse whispers.
Archie glances at Hugh—who shrugs grimly—then at Cade, whose glare could kill.
“Look,” Archie placates. “I know your history with the Mercers—”
“Archie, she’s not lyin’,” Cade snaps. “Other women are coming forward.”
Archie is stumped. “Cade, he’s your brother.”
“Yeah, he is,” Cade says flatly. “And he raped my girlfriend ten years ago.”
Every time he says it out loud, my heart stutters. He’s keeping his promise—to stand with me, for me. It rattles me more than I want to admit.
“It’s 2025, Chief,” I rasp. “Not 2015, when you could tell women to shut up and take it.”
“Archie, you need to listen to her,” Hugh adds, regret lacing his words. “We didn’t ten years ago. More girls paid for our screwup.”
Archie swallows hard, conflicted. “He helped fund the firehouse. He helped you, Hugh—”
Cade’s fist hits the desk. “He can be a half-decent congressman and a shitty human being. Here’s what matters: don’t you dare run to Landon. If you do, I’ll bury you.”
Archie deflates, nodding slowly. “Sarah, you’re right. I’m sorry. I’ve got granddaughters. I shouldn’t have told you to be quiet. Tell me what’s been happening.”
Venom burns my throat. “Would you have believed me if Hugh and Cade weren’t in this room?”
He looks ashamed.
“How old’s your granddaughter?”
“Eighteen.”
“Then answer me this—now that I’ve planted doubt in your mind, would you leave her alone in a hotel room with Landon Mercer?”
Archie swallows. Shakes his head.
“So her body is precious, but mine wasn’t?” I whisper, trembling with rage.
Cade’s hand tightens on my knee, grounding me.
Archie goes pale, guilt etched deep.
“Since I agreed to meet a reporter, a dead dog was dumped in my truck,” I say. “And tonight, someone tried to burn my house down with me in it.”
Archie looks stricken.
“They want me silent because I’m ready to talk. Ready to tell the truth.”
Hugh exhales hard. “Back then, I didn’t handle it right. I found out too late. By then, your father, the Mercers—hell, everyone—had already branded you a liar.” His voice roughens. “I’ve regretted it every damn day.”
Then, quieter, to Archie: “Off the record, Archie, there’s been a federal investigation into Landon. Twelve months. Multiple allegations. I just found out a few days ago.”
The world tilts—then steadies. They’re actually investigating? It isn’t just something Marnie said to make me feel better.
Archie gasps. “Hugh?”
“Yeah.” Hugh nods. “The FBI won’t tell me much. But it lines up with what Dr. Kirk is sayin’.”
Archie looks like he’s aged ten years in ten minutes.
“I’ll get the Bureau involved directly. We need their resources.” Hugh pauses, eyes softening. “Sarah—this time, no one is sweeping it under the rug.”
It’s ten years too late. But it’s here.
Vindication.