Two #2
Helena’s eyes went wide, fury sparking in them. If steam could shoot from her nostrils, it would’ve. “Are you implying my father hurt Alicia? Murdered her?”
“I’m not.” He raised both hands. “I hate this line of questioning, Helena, but you know how it works. It had to be asked. And it’s going to come up again.”
She clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white. “My father was in bed with my mother all night. He would never hurt anyone. He was the fire chief, for crying out loud!”
But if her mother had been asleep, how could she be certain he stayed in bed all night? And now her mom was gone, too—no way to confirm anything. Trevor would have to pull the old case file on Alicia once he was back at the station.
He glanced down at Lark, who sat obediently in her K-9 vest, in desperate need of a bath. Her brown patches shone against her white coat along with the black sooty smudges from the smoke, her ears perked like she was tracking every word.
“Helena, I know your dad was a good man,” Trevor said, his voice quiet. “He was kind. Honorable. He…” He almost added that Bruce had been his hero once. “But you know how this goes—we have to cover every angle. You work at the PD. You understand. Was there anyone else at your house that night?”
“No. Just us. And…thank you. For saying that about my dad.” Her voice cracked. “I told him not to go hiking alone. Not at his age, or any age. Anything can happen out there. He was in great shape, yeah, and he asked me to go. But I was working the arson case. If I’d gone with him…”
“Don’t do that.” Trevor’s tone sharpened, not unkind but firm. “Don’t carry guilt that doesn’t belong to you. He made the choice to go. You don’t know what happened out there. You don’t know if you could’ve changed anything.”
Not like Trevor. His guilt was earned. If he’d been the man he should’ve been and run into that burning house, maybe his mom wouldn’t have gotten sick. Wouldn’t have stayed sick. Wouldn’t be wasting away in a care facility now, barely holding on.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Helena shut her eyes. “All we know is, he fell off a cliff.”
Trevor let the silence stretch a moment.
He’d read the report. The trail had been slick from recent rain—muddy, unstable.
Bruce had probably lost his footing, slipped on a loose rock, and couldn’t catch traction.
It was a tragic accident. Bruce had been an experienced hiker, had tackled harder trails.
But even seasoned pros made mistakes. Hiking alone in those conditions had been risky.
He’d have to go back and read the initial reports after Alicia went missing besides Denton Wiley’s interview. If those bones were Alicia’s—and he was betting they were—he’d reopen the case. And if they weren’t? Well, then they had a new case on their hands.
She stood, and they headed for the door.
The sun was up now, casting long shadows across the street. The breeze was still cool, but the sky had bloomed into a wash of soft gold and pink—beautiful and haunting, like the kind of morning that didn’t quite let you forget what the night had held.
As they headed for Trevor’s truck, Lark let out a sharp whine before breaking into a deep, throaty bark, her body coiling in a tight circle. She was alerting. This is exactly why Helena needed to stay with him—for Lark’s expertise.
“She smells accelerant.” Trevor’s eyes swept the parking lot, every shadow and parked car now a potential threat. It could be something as innocent as gas splashed from a recent fill-up—or something far more dangerous.
“Let’s pick up our pace.” His voice lowered, firm. “No track, Lark. Stay by my side.”
Lark barked again, her muscles tense as she pressed against his leg, her nose flaring as she sniffed the air. Trevor’s pulse quickened, a cold awareness creeping over his skin. The lot felt too quiet, the morning air too sharp, carrying the faint tang of gasoline and something acrid.
Then the crack of gunfire shattered the silence.
“Down!” Trevor’s shout cut through the chaos as Helena dropped behind a white sedan, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts.
“My truck’s four cars down,” he said quickly, his Glock already in his grip. “Stay crouched. We move fast.”
Helena’s face had gone pale, her eyes wide, fingers trembling as she clutched the sedan’s rear bumper.
“I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen.” He squeezed her arm, feeling the icy chill of her skin.
Another bullet pinged off the metal beside them, sending a shower of paint chips and rust into the air. The shooter was moving, closing the distance. Trevor leaned out just enough to catch a glint of sunlight on glass—a rifle scope.
“Move!” he whispered urgently, nudging Helena as they ducked and weaved between bumpers and fenders, keeping their bodies low as another shot cracked, the sound ricocheting off the concrete like a whip.
They reached the next car, then another, adrenaline surging with each desperate dash. Helena stumbled, her foot catching on a parking curb, but Trevor’s hand shot out, gripping her elbow and yanking her upright.
“One more car.” His voice was taut, the tendons in his neck tight as cables.
Lark’s growl rumbled low, her hackles raised, eyes locked on the distant shadow of their attacker.
Trevor reached his gray Ford Expedition, yanked the back door open and practically shoved Helena inside, Lark leaping in behind her, teeth bared, body coiled to defend.
“Stay down. Don’t bring your head above the seats,” he said, his voice a fierce whisper before shutting the door and slipping around the hood.
He slid into the driver’s seat, heart pounding in his ears as he called in the shooting, jammed the key into the ignition and fired up the engine. Another shot cracked, and he felt the dull thud as it struck his bumper.
With a fierce twist of the wheel and a hard stomp on the gas, the tires shrieked against the pavement, smoke curling from the rubber as he sped away, the blur of the lot disappearing in his rearview mirror.
Trevor’s hands clenched the wheel, knuckles white, his breath coming in short, measured bursts until the parking lot vanished into the distance and the gunfire faded into memory.
“Are you okay, Officer?” Chief Keller asked, already having dispatched officers to the shooting.
“We’re okay.”
“Good. Keep Helena with you for police protection between you and Lark. I’d feel better about it.”
“Me, too,” he managed to rasp, his voice rough but his eyes still scanning every side street and alley as he barreled down the road.
“Keep me posted.” Keller ended the call.
Helena let out a heaving breath and climbed into the front seat, then turned and rubbed Lark’s chocolate-colored head. “That was a close one.”
“And it tells us something. You are definitely a target. I wondered if the fire set at your house was due to being angry or that you might be too close to the case, but it’s something else. Personal—or personal to the arson case. Either way, Helena, someone wants you dead.”
“Well, tell me how it really is,” she said dryly. “But why? If it’s the arson killer, why would he want me dead? If I die, they’d just assign a new forensic mechanic.”
“Because there are so many forensic mechanics out there,” he deadpanned.
Trevor’s gaze shifted to her, his jaw tightening briefly at the idea that someone was coming after her.
“I think it could be the reasons I suggested earlier. Or maybe…” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully.
“Maybe he’s fascinated. You’re a woman in a field where few others dare tread.
A mechanic. Tough, unflinching. Someone who doesn’t back down. ”
He glanced away, fingers tightening around the steering wheel as the quiet hum of the road filled the silence.
He’d almost let it slip, the thought that had been gnawing at him since their first meeting.
She was striking, but it wasn’t just her looks.
There was a magnetism to her—a quiet, unspoken strength.
Her wild, dark curls framed a face both fierce and kind, her eyes deep and intense, framed by lashes that cast delicate shadows on her pale skin.
She moved with a confidence that came from a life lived without apology, a willingness to speak her mind, even when others might hesitate.
Yet, despite all she had seen, all she had lost, there was still a warmth in her smile, a light in her eyes that hinted at a deep, unshakable faith.
It drew him in, that quiet resilience, that stubborn hope. She wasn’t just another witness or potential victim in this tangled mess. She was a force, and that scared him as much as it fascinated him.
Trevor’s pulse quickened. He forced his eyes back to the road, jaw clenched, willing himself to keep his focus.
Now wasn’t the time to get distracted. His life was a knotted-up mess.
Trevor didn’t have time for himself and hadn’t since he was fourteen.
He definitely didn’t have time to let anyone else in.
Helena snorted, bringing him out of his thoughts. “I don’t think a girl grease monkey is all that fascinating, Trevor. I don’t see too many men lined up to get serious about me. Not that I make it easy,” she murmured.