Even from this distance, I could see three white barrels turned on their sides. I got out my phone again and zoomed in.
What the heck? Was he dumping kerosene into the lake?
I moved the phone to view the incoming boats. They were going to cross right past Waylon’s dump site. Ezra had said he was on his way back. A sick feeling churned in my stomach—Waylon was planning to ignite the kerosene when the boats passed by.
Burn, baby, burn.
My stomach clenched with fury. I couldn’t let that happen. I had to stop him before he could carry out his plan. I cursed myself for not carrying my gun in my purse. I had a concealed carry license, but I didn’t like having my weapon with me all the time, especially since JP had started getting her toddler hands into everything. That didn’t mean I was defenseless, though. I had pepper spray and a telescoping flashlight in my purse.
I jogged around the dock to the parking lot, following the asphalt to where I’d seen the truck enter the service road. It was a longer route, but it was faster than climbing over the rocks at the shore. I switched numbers on the radio one by one, asking for anyone to answer as I neared Waylon’s location.
Finally, when I got to sixteen, Ezra answered. “Where are you?”
“Suspect located,” I said frantically. “He’s down a service road on the right side of the docks. He’s parked a truck and is dumping kerosene into the lake. I repeat, dumping forty-five gallons of kerosene. I think he plans to light it up when the boats cross over.”
“Nora, hold your position,” Ezra said. “Help is on the way. Do not approach the suspect.”
“He’s going to light people on fire,” I called back, panic rising. I was close enough now to see Waylon had a box of Roman candles on the hood of his truck. Clever. He could use those to shoot fireballs onto the spreading fuel. Maybe I wouldn’t have to confront Waylon if I could find a way to steal his igniter. He was preoccupied with dumping the kerosene, and if I was lucky, I could get away with it before he noticed.
I turned the volume off on the radio so it wouldn’t give my location away as I quietly crept toward the truck, using the trees for cover as much as possible.
A slew of rafts was returning, getting closer to Waylon’s trap. I quickened my steps, my heart pounding like a jackhammer in my chest.
Just as I reached the candles, he turned around.Fuuuudge.
“Waylon!” Ezra’s authoritative and firm voice cut through the silence. He was in the jon boat by himself, so he must’ve passed Gilly and Scott off to another boat or raft, then used the motor to come straight to me. Unfortunately, he was floating on a sea of flammable fuel. “Stop right there.”
Oh, God. He was going to get fried.
Waylon spun around, eyes wide with surprise and then fury. He was holding an old-fashioned Zippo lighter in his hand, and he’d struck the flame. “Stay back,” he snarled, his voice cracking with the weight of his mania. “Or I’ll light you up.”
“Stop this, Waylon,” I begged, stepping forward, my hands raised in a placating gesture. “You don’t want to do this. Think about the people, the families’…”
For a split second, he hesitated, his eyes flickering with something almost human. But then he shook his head, a wild gleam returning. “I...I don’t...It’s too late,” he said. He took a step toward me. “Stay back!”
“Waylon!” Ezra shouted, and the man whipped around, his back to me once again. My fear for Ezra made me reckless. I reached into my bag and grabbed the easiest weapon at hand then charged the last twenty feet with my telescoping flashlight extended, lunged forward, and knocked the lighter from Waylon’s hand before tackling him to the ground. The lighter skittered down the boat ramp toward the water when we hit the rough cement. I held my breath as I waited for the water to ignite.
Nothing happened. “The flames out,” Ezra shouted.
I heard him splash in the water as the strong scent of kerosene overpowered my senses. No, no, I thought. Not now.
The vision didn’t care that I was about to get my butt whooped.
I’m in an old, cluttered antique furniture shop. I recognize it immediately as Mr. Lems place. The smell of kerosene is suffocating. There’s a man on the floor, bleeding from his head, and it’s not hard to tell by his sheer size that it’s Waylon’s father.
“You won’t get away with this,” Mr. Lems says. I can see he’s been tied with some twine to a ring on the floor.
“You're wrong,” Waylon tells him. It’s an old shop, and you have a whole section with kerosene lanterns. The fire investigators won’t blink an eye. He has a timer in his hand, similar to the one he put on the stink bomb. “At five after nine, while the whole town is watching the fire at the lake, you’ll be enjoying your own personal inferno. By the time the firetrucks get here, it’ll be too late.
“Why, son?”
“Because I’m tired. I can’t do this anymore. This is the only way I’ll be free of you.”
The vision snapped away, leaving me gasping for breath. I turned to see Ezra, soaking wet, yanking Waylon off me and pinning him to the ground. He pressed his knee into Waylon’s back. “Nora, you all right?” he asked, his voice strained but steady.
“Yeah.” My elbows were scrapped up, and I rubbed the back of my neck. As much as it hurt, I knew it would be worse in the morning. “I’m okay.”
“Nice shoes,” he teased, then whistled low, a tight smile on his lips. “Damn, woman, you’re going to age me twenty years.”
