Page 33 of Lock ’N’ Load

Before powering off her laptop, she considered one more search. Ever since hearing the name Thomas George in the chat room, she considered looking him up and reaching out to him, but that was an operative’s job, and she wasn’t an operative. Still, the idea was tempting.

She yawned and clamped a hand over her mouth. Tomorrow would be another fun-filled day doing next to nothing, and a perfect time to do more research.

After shutting down the laptop, she locked it in a small filing cabinet bolted to the floor beneath the stairs. When she turned, Poofy was still rooted to the same spot by the front door.

“C’mon, Poof.” She scooped the cat up, cuddling him to her as she flipped off the other lights and went into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. The room was stuffy, so she cranked on the large window AC unit, sighing as the first blast of cool air hit her face.

By the time she’d finished with her nighttime rituals and changed into a white cotton camisole, Poofy had curled up on his usual spot at the foot of the bed. Pulling the covers back, she glanced at her short, unpolished nails. Having nails of any length had always been a nuisance, since she usually spent ten to fifteen hours a day tapping on a keyboard. With that time seriously curtailed, maybe she’d get a mani-pedi. Pink, or vixen-red.

Wearing colors had never been her thing, but since she’d be out of work for an indeterminate period of time, perhaps she’d do something fun for herself, something outside her usual, boring box. She tried imagining her vixen-red fingernails against the toned, tanned muscles of Matt’s chest and arms.

Rolling her eyes, she fell into bed, repeating her mantra: men like him don’t go out with women like me. On top of which, she doubted she’d ever be able to forgive him for his role in her being kicked out of Langley. So stop thinking about him.

As soon as she closed her eyes, sleep began to take hold, along with unwanted images of Matt’s powerful body, sweaty and naked as he stepped into the shower.

Meow. Meow. Meow.

“Poofy?” Trista woke to find the cat sitting on her chest, pawing at her frantically.

A high-pitched tone screamed from one of the smoke detectors in the house. Two seconds later, the detector just inside her bedroom door went off, screeching so loudly she flinched. Then she smelled it.

Smoke.

Bolting from the bed, she flicked on the overhead light, immediately noticing the faint haze pervading the room. There weren’t any flames, but smoke curled in from beneath the door.

No! She lunged for the doorknob, jerking her hand back. The metal knob was hot.

There’s fire on the other side of that door.

Her heart began pounding, her breathing coming quicker. Grabbing a shirt draped over a chair, she wrapped her hand in the cloth and twisted the doorknob. A wave of heat slammed into her, and she staggered back. The smoke and smell of gasoline were overwhelming, making her cough. Through the hallway and the haze of smoke, she could make out the flicker of orange and yellow, along with crackling, hissing sounds.

Fire. My house really is on fire.

She covered her mouth with her hand, feeling her way along the wall for the fire extinguisher. As her hand bumped into it, she got a better look at the living room, and a small scream escaped her.

Flames licked up the billowing curtains as they quickly blackened and disintegrated. The sofa and wingback chair were on fire. Dead ahead, the front door of the house was fully engulfed in flames.

A perfect, straight line of fire ran from one window along the floor to her desk, which had also begun to burn but not so much that she couldn’t see that her cell phone was gone. She’d left it there last night like she always did. As if her house being on fire wasn’t enough, her missing cell phone set off alarm bells in her head.

Someone did this. Someone set my house on fire. With me in it.

No extinguisher in the world would be enough to put out this inferno. With her heart pounding like a jackhammer, she spun and bolted back to her bedroom, coughing as she pulled the door shut behind her.

Poofy. I have to get Poofy.

But her cat was nowhere in sight. For a second, her throat closed up, a sure sign of an impending asthma attack, but she managed to take a slow, deep breath, tamping it down. “Poofy,” she cried, searching every corner of the room, still not finding him. Dropping to the floor, she whipped up the bed skirt to find him hunched against the far wall. “C’mon, Poof,” she crooned, but the cat didn’t budge.

Coughing worse now, she crawled under the bed, finding the air clearer and cooler. As she neared the cat, he meowed pitifully. Reaching out, she hooked her hand around Poofy’s body, tugging him toward her as she backed out from under the bed. She cradled him tightly to her chest, then covered him with the same shirt she’d used to open the door.

She ran to the room’s only window, intending to shove the AC unit out onto the grass, but stopped short. When she’d bought the unit earlier in the summer, the installers had securely screwed the flanges into the wooden windowsill. Nothing short of a sledgehammer would dislodge it now.

At the bedroom door, she took one last breath and held it before flinging it open. As it had before, a blast of heat hit her in the face, hotter this time. She burrowed her nose and mouth against Poofy’s cloth-covered body, barely able to see through the thickening smoke. She had to get to the kitchen.

The hall runner beneath her feet was warm, and the air was hot against her bare arms and legs. Visibility worsened, and she slammed her shoulder against the wall. Stumbling, she fell to her knees, again realizing the air was easier to breathe near the floor.

With Poofy still tucked against her chest, she crawled awkwardly into the living room. Her skin grew hot and tears streamed from her stinging eyes until she almost couldn’t keep them open. With most of the living room furniture and walls engulfed, the crackling, snapping, and hissing was deafening.

Keep going. Keep going.