Page 60 of Sinister Secrets

But I’d lost track of time. Got caught up in looking at the tiny prisms formed by frozen beads of dew coating the grass. Found myself spellbound by the way a landscape to which I’d become so accustomed had been magically transformed.

I smelled the smoke before I saw it. I’d been so careful, and yet instantly, I knew. Panic fueled my limbs as I raced toward the barn, each pump of my heart a silent prayer for the safety of the animals I loved so much, knowing I’d never forgive myself if harm befell them because of me.

And yet, as desperate as I was to save them, the second I saw the tongues of orange charging toward the wooden structure like a mass of Spartan soldiers, my speed slowed. Each step felt like I was fighting my way through quicksand. Each step pulled me farther under.

I’ve felt the same way since I left the sheriff’s department this morning, only this time, I know there’s no chance of spotting Butch running toward the flames with a fire extinguisher, fearlessly taming the wild beast.

In that moment, I’d been gripped by fear as much as relief, sure that something horrible would happen. That he’d trip and fall. That the flame suppressant would stop working. That the situation I had created would spiral out of control. Though none of those things happened, what did was almost as bad.

I never imagined what the true fallout of that day would be—how word of my transgression would somehow spread to my best friend Lucy’s parents. How they must have decided that I was such a bad influence on their daughter that they moved their entire family away just to keep us apart. How I’d never even be given the chance to say goodbye.

Maybe that’s why the memory still has such a hold on me, the lesson I learned one I’ll never forget. Because although the fear back then had brought me to a standstill, now it’s the very thing that keeps me moving. I know that it’s the feeling of helplessness that’s so paralyzing. The loss of control that’s crippling.

That’s why I’m here now. Sometimes, you have to rush headlong into the raging inferno and trust that you won’t be burned—although judging by Olivia Evangeline’s expression right now, the good doctor believes she’s about to go up in smoke.

“Relax,” I whisper, nudging her shoulder gently with mine.

If anything, though, she grows more tense, the skin bracketing her mouth tightening, her eyes growing impossibly wide.

“I can’t do this,” she says, her head shaking from side to side. It continues the motion in a way that suggests she’s not aware she’s doing it.

“You can,” I assure her. “And as long as you try, I’ll make sure the renovations are done by the end of this week.”

I give her a wicked little smile that lets her know I mean it. I’d called in several favors but had been told the most I could hope for in the coming days was for a crew to go to her office to clean up the debris and haul it to the dump for her. So when I stopped by earlier to pick her up, I was beyond pleased to find that not only had that been accomplished, but that a fresh coat of paint coated the walls and the underlayment for the new flooring had been laid. Apparently, I’ve grown skilled at lighting more than one type of fire.

Her gaze narrows on mine. “And help moving the new furniture in?”

“Even if I have to do it myself.”

She gives a determined nod and raises her hand as the instructor asks for the next volunteer. If you weren’t looking closely, you wouldn’t notice the way her hands are trembling. Drawing a deep breath, I pray that I’m doing the right thing.

Just like when the other women have stepped forward, the instructor goes over a few basics. Then she backs away. The man in the padded suit approaches Dr. Evangeline quickly from behind, locking her in a bear hug. She twists in the embrace, struggling to get free. Her face reddens, an expression of terror morphing her delicate features. Her eyes meet mine, begging me to do something.

As much as I want to help, I can’t. She has to do this on her own. Has to have the confidence in herself. But I can do something. I mouth a single word—fight.

Her jaw tightens. Her nostrils flare. Her gaze grows steely. Lifting one foot, she drives her heel into her assailant’s instep. Throws her weight in one direction, creating enough space to jab an elbow into his ribs, forcing the man to release her. The instant she’s free, she spins to face him, kneeing him in the groin, causing him to bend at the waist and stagger backward.

For a moment there I’d been afraid that this experience would cause her more trauma, but if the big grin now splitting her face is anything to go by, she’s enjoying herself. Maybe a little too much. As she forms an arrow with the thumb and fingers of each hand and raises them toward the man’s eyes, intending to go on the offensive, the instructor blows her whistle.

“Great job, Olivia! How did that feel?” she asks.

“Good.”

“Only good?”

The doctor’s gaze meets mine again, smile wider than ever as she says, “Fantastic.”

“That’s great to hear. Now who’s up next.”

The man in the padded suit points a finger at me. “Her. She hasn’t gone yet.”

“I’m only here for moral support.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that,” the instructor assures me. “Sometimes it takes us a bit of time to get comfortable with the idea of being physically violent.”

I swallow a snort. If she only knew.

“Maybe next week.”