Cressida wouldn’t argue, but staying here had been her decision, after Evelyn’s insistence, and that decision hadn’t been up to Braden. She hadn’t hired him as security, but then again, she’d appreciated his protection. She was too exhausted to argue with herself, but she didn’t feel right about leaving. They crept out the back door and stayed in the shadows.
She couldn’t believe she’d left the possible answers back in the house to burn up. “Listen, we need to go back into the house to get that diary. Try to put out the fire before it’s too late. It’s obvious that someone doesn’t want us to find those answers in the diary or other journals.”
Without asking permission she didn’t need, she turned and rushed back through the door. Braden would follow. And he did. She remained one step ahead of him. And, yeah, this could be stupid, but then again—what was it all for if she didn’t learn what she was supposed to learn? Smoke filled the library. Flames licked the ceiling and engulfed the books.
Anguish seized her chest. “No!”
She focused on the desk. The high-backed chair and the globe would be destroyed. All the books on the shelves.
“I left the diary on the desk!” And there...
Braden tried to reach her and drag her away, but shewrapped her fingers around the leather-bound diary and snatched it to her. Suddenly, strong hands gripped her waist. Braden tossed her over his shoulder and hauled her out in a fireman’s carry as if he didn’t trust her on her own two feet.
She’d gotten what she’d come for, and she wouldn’t fight him. As he moved her through the house, smoke billowed, and flames licked the walls.
The other volumes ... what more could they have told her?
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 thehouse 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.
