The reality of what she’d done hit her. She’d gone into a burning house and rescued Clint Austin from certain death.
The action hadn’t resulted from conscious thought. The fire had kicked in her survival and rescue instincts. She’d reacted.
She looked up at the man beside her. The light from the flickering flames allowed her to see the shock and devastation on his face. The urge to do something ... to reach out to him somehow was a palpable force inside her.
But there was nothing she could do.
Troy’s assurance that he would take care of Austin personally echoed in her head, sent a blend of tension and fear coiling through her. Surely he wouldn’t do something like this.
This was attempted murder.
Her gaze shifted back to Austin. She’d wished him dead a thousand times. She’d prayed he would rot in prison or hell.
She’d saved his life.
26
3:30 a.m.
Clint felt numb.
Parts of two outer walls were about all that was left of his home. The fire was out, but the air was still filled with the smell of smoke.
Vultures from the various media outlets within a fifty-mile radius had arrived. A couple of Ray’s officers were keeping them away from the house and yard. But zoom lenses would capture more than enough.
The paramedic had wanted Clint to go to the hospital for further evaluation because of the smoke inhalation, but he had refused.
The week had caught up with him last night. The vandalism, the way the whole community treated him, all of it had come crashing down around him just like Ray warned Clint it might. But mostly it washer. All this time, all this pain, and she still made him want her. So he’d drunk himself as close to oblivion as a twelve-pack of cheap beer would take him, but he was stone-cold sober now.
He would be dead ... if it hadn’t been forher.
His gaze settled on Emily Wallace where she huddled against a squad car as Ray questioned her.
A shudder rocked through Clint.
He’d been dead to the world. Nothing would have awakened him ... if she hadn’t.
His eyes started to burn again. From the smoke probably.
He wasn’t surprised by someone’s attempt to kill him. Hell, he’d expected it. He just hadn’t anticipated he’d live through it and lose every damned thing else.
He’d moved his car once the water had started to contain the fire. Hot-wiring it had been necessary, since his keys had been inside the now-destroyed house. At least he still had his car. He had no idea if there was insurance for this. He hadn’t gotten that far yet.
Clint scrubbed his hand over his face and wondered why the hell he even cared. Because he was a fool. He’d told himself that when and if he got out he would come back here and prove his innocence. More for his mother’s sake than his own.
He’d been back five days and the only thing he’d proven was that the whole damned town hated him and believed just as deeply as ever that he was guilty.
His attention settled on the charred remains of the house that his mother had worked so hard to keep.
Maybe this was a reaction to his prods. He’d punched Marvin Cook’s buttons and he’d assuredly told all his buddies. Then Clint had gone for Sid.
Oh yeah, Clint should have seen this coming and been better prepared. He’d let the bullshit get to him instead of staying focused, and this was the result.
Whoever set this fire wanted Clint dead. Maybe the culprit thought he deserved to die because of the murder rap or maybe because someone wanted Clint silenced forever.
He knew he was innocent.
Heather Baker’s real killer knew it too.
