Chapter 30
Adrenaline surged through him as he carried her into the kitchen. His chest tight and breaths ragged, he set her down, and for a split second, their eyes locked.
Then they both raced for the exit.
At the door she paused. “I left my gun upstairs.”
“Forget it.” Braden’s sharp tone left no room for argument. “I’ve got mine, and you’re not going back in.”
“Fine. Let’s go.”
“Get behind me.” He held his gun ready and prepared for anything or anyone they might face.
Braden stepped through the door, and Cressida remained close behind. He rushed her around the house. The fire on the south side lit up the night. Braden was unsure whether to head for the woods, to put distance between them and the house and danger, or for his vehicle.
Pulling the fob from his pocket, he clenched his teeth and clicked it, bracing himself.
The car lights blinked on and the engine revved.
His shoulders tensed as he waited for a blast or a trap.
But nothing happened. His relief was short-lived since someone could be lurking in the shadows around the house or in the dark forest and creeping closer.
He shined the flashlight into the woods, creating more shadows and areas of utter blackness.
A few sets of glowing eyes stared back from between the trees and behind underbrush.
The presence of so many forest creatures likely meant that no two-legged creatures—men—were lurking.
He grabbed her hand and tugged her behind him, booking it toward the woods. “I thought we were getting in your car!”
“Not yet. You’d better hide that journal inside your shirt or a pocket. If they suspect you got it, that’ll put you in imminent danger.”
At the edge of the woods, he continued to shine the light around, possibly making himself a target.
Then again, he didn’t want any surprises.
Sirens rang out—the volunteer fire department from Forestview was only a few miles away and sounded like they’d rallied in record time, but not fast enough to save Mrs. Monroe’s library.
He hoped and prayed the rest of the manor could survive.
Probably Evelyn could rebuild since portions of the home were built with stone.
The library, however, was filled with flammable materials.
“Now that help is coming, we can start heading that way,” he said.
He led Cressida toward the entrance of the manor grounds to wait for the fire crew. The old volunteer fire trucks—two of them, which surprised him—lumbered along the pavement, finally stopping at the circular drive. Still holding Cressida’s hand, he glanced at her.
Tears streaked down her cheeks as she chewed on her lip, sorrow spilling out of her.
She caught him looking at her and tried to blink the tears away, swiping at her face, but it was too late.
“I can’t stand the thought of all those books going up in flames.
Evelyn’s history, her heart, all gone. All those historical volumes. Not to mention Evelyn’s home.”
“This is a setback. But Evelyn Monroe is strong.” And he could see this making the elderly woman more determined—to do what, he wasn’t sure.
His own heart breaking, he wrapped an arm around Cressida’s shoulder, tugging her close and tucking her tight. He might protect her from physical harm, but he wished he could shield her from the mental and emotional pain as well.
She held on to him with both arms. “Who did this? Who set the library on fire?”
“Whoever was in the house tonight. I’ll look at the cameras. Maybe the working ones caught someone this time.”
From a distance, they watched the volunteer fire department douse the flames, spraying into the windows they’d broken open. The outside stone was wet and wasn’t burning like the library lined with wall-to-wall book-packed shelves.
“I need to talk to them.” He released her.
“I’m coming with you.”
“I know you are.” He wouldn’t dream of leaving her here alone.
Another vehicle with flashing lights emerged from the woods along the drive, then slowed next to them. The deputy lowered his window. “Get in,” Trent said.
Braden got into the front passenger seat and Cressida the back, then Trent drove them the rest of the way and parked behind the fire trucks, not too close. Braden explained that someone had been inside the home and then must have started the fire.
“And he’s probably still here, lurking in the woods, watching,” Trent said.
“Or escaped on a boat,” Braden said. “Could be the same person who broke in earlier. I need you to stay with Cressida while I search those woods.”
“Braden, no,” Cressida said. “I have the journal. If they find out, they’ll try again.”
“That’s what I’d like to avoid.”
“We’ll be ready for them,” she said.
He exited the vehicle and jogged over to talk to one of the firemen. “The house should be empty,” he said. “Monroe is in the hospital. Cressida and I got out.”
Then he started off toward the woods. Trent caught up with him. “Wait.”
He whirled around. “I told you not to leave her alone.”
“I have some news I didn’t want to share in front of her.”
Impatience surged. It was probably too late to find the arsonist anyway, but he would still try. “What have you got?”
“We know who broke in earlier today. I got curious about how someone got up into that room and was able to get some prints off a brick, the underside where the rain hadn’t washed it away.”
Good job, Trent. The guy deserved the detective job Braden had taken. Deserved this promotion. He’d get it soon enough. Braden would see to it when he left.
“And?” he asked.
“Guy’s name is Derek Harlan.” Trent showed an image on his phone.
Cressida’s stalker? Octavia said she’d sent someone. Did he have it wrong? Was the guy working for Octavia or someone else? His shoulders tensed. “Go watch her. I’m going to find him.”
He took off to the edge of the woods and shined his light around. The guy was already gone. Did he know that Cressida got the journal after all? Why hadn’t he just taken it, but maybe he hadn’t known its importance. Still, maybe it didn’t contain the answers like Cressida believed.
He jogged to the cliff’s edge. He couldn’t see anything through the dark night except the light of a boat—just barely—in the fog.
Could be any boat out there. He shined the flashlight beam across the slick stone steps as he took them down to the beach.
This was risky business at best. Shadows danced around him, and the pungent smell of ash bombarded him, even here against the cliff face.
As he descended, waves crashed against jagged rocks below, reminding him of his fate if he took one wrong step.
The flashlight made him a target for anyone with nefarious intentions, and right about now, he wished he had night vision goggles. Finally, his boots hit the pebbled beach, and he jogged forward, watching his step as he shined the beam into the thick, black night.
Nothing moved. The crashing waves echoed back to him against the cliff face, silencing any other sounds. Instinct flared. He ducked just as something heavy slid through the air where his head had been.
He lifted his gun, aiming it true. “Freeze. Timberbrook County Sheriff’s Office.”
But the man had run out of the circle of light. Braden had dropped the flashlight, but he could still make out his attacker running away, heading south. To a skiff so he could meet Malloy’s boat in the foggy night?
Braden didn’t know where he was going. Didn’t care.
He picked up his flashlight and gave chase, his chest burning as he sprinted after a shadow that had disappeared into the night.
The dense fog grew even thicker and suffocating until the beam of his light could no longer cut farther than a few steps.
He paused and sucked in salty air. He heard nothing except the pulse in his ears to blend with the surf breaking against the rocks and sand.
Was he still the hunter? Or had someone turned the tables on him, and Braden was now the hunted?