Clint Austin was in that house.
Emily rushed back to her car. Searched for her phone. Where the hell was it? There. Relieved, she snatched it from between the console and the seat.
She ran across the yard, bounded onto the porch. Going in through the front door was impossible.
The flames were devouring the living room like a hungry beast that hadn’t been fed in a really long time. The front window had already shattered from the heat. She should have heard the window break or maybe that was what had awakened her.
The crackle of the fire sent goose bumps spilling over her skin. A whoosh accompanied the flight of embers through the air.
She called 911, didn’t remember ending the call afterward or sliding her phone into her pocket, but somehow it was no longer in her hand.
She rushed around to the back door of his house.
Locked. She twisted the knob and pushed hard. No use. She peered through the window next to it. The fire had blocked off the doorway going from the kitchen into the living room. That route wouldn’t work.
She ran to the next window on the back of the house. Closed. Locked. The room beyond was dark. She couldn’t see a thing except ... maybe a bed. Her pulse vaulted with the hysteria swiftly climbing into her throat.
Next window. Open. No screen in the way. Thank God.
It was dark. She stuck her head inside. The white linens on the bed allowed her to make out a darker lump in the middle.
“Austin!”
She braced her hands on the ledge and levered her body upward, swung one leg inside. Her blouse snagged on something. She jerked it loose and fell into the room.
“Austin!” She scrambled up, rushed to the bed. “Wake up!”
She held her breath, recognized on some level that smoke had invaded and started to burn her lungs. Would have been much worse had the bedroom door not been closed and the window open.
She shook him. He didn’t grunt didn’t react.
She shook him harder. “Austin! Wake up, dammit!”
Where were the sirens? Shouldn’t the fire trucks be here by now?
“Austin!”
He groaned ... tried to cough.
“Wake up!” She reached to shake him again and a hand clamped around her arm. His eyes opened. He jumped up. Staggered. Coughed. But he held onto her with an iron grip.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“The house is on fire!” she cried, her arms and legs trembling now. “We have to get out of here.” She gulped the air infused with smoke and her lungs seized, making her cough.
He hesitated as if he needed to gather his wits, as if he didn’t trust her to tell him the truth.
“Hurry!” She coughed again, the burn in her lungs renewing her urgency.
He hauled her to the window and practically tossed her out, following right behind her. They tumbled to the ground. He jumped up and dragged her toward the barn. The fire roared and something collapsed. Emily didn’t look back until they’d moved away from the danger.
The fire burst through the roof.
If she hadn’t awakened him, he would be dead now. If she hadn’t been parked in front of his house ...
Someone had tried to kill him.
Her knees buckled, but his grip on her arm kept her vertical.
