Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Darby.
His first thought as consciousness seeped back to him, bringing with it a coughing attack as dark smoke smothered the air.
The table was in shards, having taken the blow of the debris. Thank goodness she’d gone for the solid wood table and not cheapened out.
Smoke billowed from the house, thick and black against the sky that was now visible through the hole in the roof and the door that stood half-hinged open.
The dogs bolted past him, tails down, eyes wild—but alive and uninjured—as they ran through the door.
All except Hercules, who sat whining beside a figure a few feet away.
Darby curled on her side, blood streaking her forehead, her shirt singed. She was conscious—barely. He hurried to her side.
“Clay…” she rasped.
“I’ve got you.” He scooped her into his arms, his chest shielding her face as a beam groaned above them. The heat was unbearable, a furnace swallowing everything she owned. Flames snapped at his back as he staggered out the door and down the lawn.
He ran and didn’t stop until they were clear—well away from the house, now fully engulfed as Hercules followed.
Darby coughed violently in his arms, eyes fluttering open. “The dogs …”
“They’re okay. You saved them.” His voice cracked with relief.
She managed a weak smile and uttered the words, “They saved me,” before her head lolled back against his shoulder. Sirens wailed in the distance, but to Clay, everything was already burning.
The front of her house was gone, nothing but a skeletal frame by the time the last flames were snuffed out.
Twisted metal, blackened wood, and ash-stained grass stretched out in a grim mosaic where Darby’s living room had once stood.
A police line cordoned off the property, flickering in the late afternoon sun, while investigators picked carefully through the wreckage in heavy gear and soot-covered boots.
Darby sat in the back of another ambulance, a blanket draped around her shoulders, her skin pale and smudged with soot.
Her left arm wrapped, the burn beneath it still raw, and her head pounding.
The paramedics had wanted to take her to the hospital, but she’d refused—at least until she knew what this was.
Clay sat beside her, silent, his jeans torn, and a deep bruise was already blooming along his jaw from a beam that had clipped him on the way out. He hadn’t left her side since he’d carried her from the house.
Hercules and Scout lay at their feet now, heads on their paws, watching every movement with quiet vigilance, Fish and Mace having already been retrieved by their owners.
“Do you remember anything else?” asked Detective Rios, standing at the bumper of the ambulance. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were sharp as she tried to pull some—any—information from Darby.
A red Charger screeched to a halt, and Brent hopped out. He looked at the house, his hands pressing against his head in disbelief. He scanned the area, his gaze landing on Darby. He ran over. “What happened? Are you okay?”
She groaned inside, not feeling up to dealing with him tonight. “What are you doing here, Brent?”
“I heard about the fire. I wanted to make sure you were safe.”
“I’m fine.”
“We’re both fine, thanks,” Clay retorted, smirking.
Darby turned her attention back to the detective who stood waiting for her response.
She tried to remember the package. “The handwriting was strange. All uppercase. Neat. Almost … clinical. No return address. I looked out the window and saw the postal truck pulling away, so I didn’t question anything about it. ”
Darby spotted Chief Dean pacing in her yard, and her eyes narrowed in anger. Was he surveying his handiwork?
Detective Rios followed her gaze and spotted him too. “Excuse me for a moment.” She headed over to speak with him.
After a moment, she returned. “The fire marshal believes someone wired explosives to a motion sensor meant to detonate when you opened the lid,” Rios said. “You’re lucky the dogs gave you a warning.”
“Not luck,” Clay said, his voice hoarse. “It was instinct.”
Darby’s hand trembled as she reached down to touch Scout’s head. “They knew. They always know.”
Rios nodded. “We’ll pull neighborhood security footage, see if anyone dropped the package off on foot. In the meantime …” She paused, weighing her words. “You should think of a different place to go. It’s not safe here.”
“You can stay with me,” Brent insisted.
“No, she won’t,” Clay said, standing to face off with Brent.
“I already told you I had nothing to do with this. She’ll be safe with me.”
Darby wanted to stand and step between them, but she wasn’t sure of her footing. “Stop it. I’m not going anywhere with you, Brent. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you would just leave me alone,” she whispered. Her voice cracked like glass and she took solace back inside the ambulance.
He gaped at her then his face twisted the way it did when he felt slighted. “Darby, please.”
She couldn’t listen to his pleas again, not now when everything she’d been fighting so hard for had just gone up in flames, and she didn’t know who to blame.
She was certain Clay was going to try to hold him off again, but Detective Rios spoke instead, addressing Brent. “Mrs. Foster doesn’t want you here. It’s time for you to leave.” She walked him to his car to drive home her insistence.
The ambulance shook with Clay’s weight as he stepped up into it. He slid on the seat beside her. He placed his hand on her shoulder.
That was all she needed to finally let go of the fear and grief she’d been fighting. She turned and pressed her face into his chest, and his arms immediately encircled her. He let her cry and didn’t try to stop her.
She was uncertain how long he held her like that, but she’d spent all her tears when Detective Rios approached them again.
“Stay here,” Clay told her as he slid away to speak with the detective.
Ten minutes later, he returned with an update.
“The fire is out, but the fire department is still watching some remaining embers, then the arson investigator will examine the scene. Tomorrow we can go back in and see if we can salvage anything.” He held out his hand to her.
“We’re both exhausted. Let’s go find a place to sleep for the night. ”
This time, she took his hand and allowed him to help her down.
Thankfully, his pickup had been parked down the driveway and had suffered only a broken side window from the blast. Darby saw that it had now been sealed with plastic and tape.
She didn’t yet know the condition of her van …
oh wait, yes, she did. Totaled against a tree.
“Where are we going to go?” she asked him.
He rubbed a hand through his hair and sighed. “I don’t know. Someplace that accepts pets.” He called to the dogs, who rallied at the truck. When he opened the door, they jumped into the back seat.
“We could always take Brent up on his offer to put us up,” she joked, causing Clay to smile.
“I don’t believe I was included in that invitation. The dogs either.”
Clay circled around the truck and opened the passenger door for Darby.
She stared out the window as they pulled away, watching her house disappear behind yellow tape and smoldering debris. As they drove into the evening, smoke still clinging faintly to the wind, a wave of sadness hit Darby.
“Everything’s gone.”
“Not everything.” Clay reached over, resting his hand gently on hers. “You’re still here. The dogs are still here. We can rebuild from that.”
She didn’t answer him, but she didn’t pull her hand away either.
The front of the house had taken the brunt of the explosion and fire, but smoke and water had damaged the remainder as Darby and Clay walked through it the next morning. A large cup of coffee and determination were the only things keeping her going.
She salvaged some handcrafted mementos David had created. The ones she’d placed on the Christmas tree were now gone forever. The thought brought a tear to her eye. So many memories lost.
She gathered up her son’s blankets and his favorite pillow and stuffed animal.
A trip to the laundromat would make a world of difference and maybe give David a sense of home wherever they ended up.
Darby and Clay had spent the night in adjoining rooms at the Sheraton Inn.
Not her idea of homey, but she’d managed a few hours of sleep, her exhaustion too great to fight.
“Darby, come look at this,” Clay called as she gathered things from David’s bedroom.
She hurried down the hall, where he was standing in the doorway to her bedroom. What she saw shocked her.
Her room had been tossed. Her mattress lay overturned on the floor. Her dresser drawers opened and clothes tossed out. Even her mirror had been smashed. She gasped at the damage. “Did this explosion cause this?”
His furrowed brow told her he doubted it.
“What about the firefighters? Could this have happened while they were in here?”
“There’s little to no damage to David’s room or the rest of the back of house. Your room shouldn’t be any different. It’s farther away than David’s.”
He was right, but she had never left her room in such disarray. “Then how did this happen?”
“I’ve searched my share of rooms, Darby. Whoever did this hit all the places people hide things. Under the mattress, the dresser drawers, even in the closet and the bottom of your lamps.”
What he was suggesting clicked into place. “So someone was searching my room? For what?”
“Do you keep anything in the house that could give someone access to your inheritance?”
The inheritance money. Of course. “I used to but, once I realized I couldn’t trust Brent, I moved all my bank records and important documents to a safe deposit box.
I knew if he found a way to access it, it would be gone to his addiction.
” She looked at Clay. “Do you think he was here, searching for it?”
“He’s the one most likely to know where you hide things, right?”