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The man dashed down the hallway to freedom.
Jack picked up the pace, and as he advanced, a chemical smell assaulted his nose.
Walking the hallways breathing toxic gases would get them killed.
Then he saw one door ajar and a hint of smoke coming from that direction.
The woman pointed. “There! In there!”
His skin crawled. He didn’t like the look of this.
As he reached the doorway, he saw a man looking at an inner office door. Split
seconds passed before Jack realized what the man intended. Jack saw the telltale puff of
smoke under the door.
“Peter!” The woman started forward, but it was too late.
Everything went into slow motion for Jack, his hand springing out as if he could
prevent the man from sealing his own fate.
Jack knew he didn’t have time, but the words came. “Don’t open—”
The man reached for the doorknob and turned it as he glanced back at Jack and the
woman.
Jack’s mind whispered to him. Son-of-a-bitch.
Jack grabbed the woman’s arm. “Run!”
* * * *
“Well, girlie, how did you like the ride downstairs?” Pug Face smiled at Autumn like
he’d won a check for a million dollars. “Did you hurt yourself?”
She tried straightening her sitting position, but pain knifed through her leg and ribs.
She held back a gasp. Her throat hurt.
She nodded toward the smoke curling up the stairwell like fine tendrils of long hair.
“We can’t stay here.”
“We can, and we will. The cleaning cart is on fire one floor down. Propped the door
open with it.”
Sickness curled inside Autumn. She coughed. “You were the reporter in Clifton.”
He grinned. “That’s my real job.” He pointed at the cleaning jumper. “This is my
sideline for today.”
Not one hundred percent sure of his intentions, she asked, “But what are you doing
in Billings?”
“Come on, you must know.”
“Fireworks?”
“That’s the ticket, sweetheart,” the man said in a poor imitation of Humphrey
Bogart. “You and I are going to see major fireworks real soon.”
She wouldn’t ask him if he’d planted a bomb. She didn’t even want to add that
possibility to the scenario. “What kind of fireworks?”
“The serious kind. Little wood polishing oil here and there.”
Autumn winced. She knew that wood polishing oil and the ingredients used to make
it spelled danger. The stuff would combust if the right temperature was present, or
someone paired it with a substance like chlorine. Mix it again with other toxic chemicals
from furniture and the hazard escalated.
She swallowed, alarm nipping at her heart and making her forget her physical pain
for the moment. “How many fires?”
He shrugged. “One fire on six.” He pondered a moment. “Half dozen on seven. At
least three up here on eight. Woe be it for any poor soul who gets in the way of this one. I
made sure I put the burning cleaning cart in the doorway down one flight.”
“That’s why there’s smoke in the stairwell.”
“Exactly.”
“I heard shooting. Was that you?”
“Yeah. Few stupid people wanted to use this stairwell. Now they understand.”
“Did you kill anyone?”
“No. I shot above their heads. It was tempting to take a few out, though.” Soft and
deadly, his laugh told her his madness lie near the surface, as hot as the flaming beast. He
snorted. “Poor Jack. He’s probably looking for you right now.”
Jack. Oh, Jack, please leave the building.
But if she knew Jack at all, he’d help evacuate others and damn his own life. She
knew deep in her heart he would come for her. She clung to hope and feared it at the
same time.
If she couldn’t appeal to Pug Face’s fear, she might influence whatever was left of
his pea brain. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because that stupid jackass, George Beckett, couldn’t finish the job. I watched him
work, you know. He didn’t know what he was doing, and I hate incompetence on the job.
No one ever gets it right. I always have to do it for them. He was a bumbling, fumbling,
A-number one dumb shit.”
“What was he trying to do that you had to fix?”
“The fires, girl. Beckett was a walking, talking torch. Always looking for a new
place to set on fire. You didn’t know that about him, I guess?”
George an arsonist? Somehow, it didn’t surprise her. “Tell me more.”
“He created most of the fires in Clifton. In fact, he told me a sweet little secret. He
did your parents house all those years ago.”
Outrage screamed in her brain. A deep, black hole yawned inside her. Her throat
tightened with an ache deeper than any horror she’d imagined before. “What?”
“He turned your house to a nice pile of ash.” Pug Face’s eyes went excited and
eager. “He said he never had more satisfaction than when he torched your house. He hurt
you because you hurt him. You know the bullshit. What a pathetic pisser.” He wiped
sweat off his forehead. “He wanted revenge because you wouldn’t let him screw you.”
Autumn struggled to keep her eyes open as a curious dizziness filled her head. “Why
would he tell you about the fires he set?”
“He didn’t tell me right away. Only after I’d shown him that he could trust me.” He
laughed. “We met after the Top ‘O The Morning Club fire. I thought maybe I could learn
something from him. I’d come to Clifton after I heard about the fires. It seemed like a
great place to blend in.” He shrugged. “Hell, if another idiot was starting fires, I could
cash in on the distraction. I could do my masterpieces and no one would know it was two
different people.”
“He trusted you after one meeting?”
“Yeah. Probably because we had something in common. Fire.”
Keep him talking, Autumn. “So you set fires before you came to Clifton?”
The man snorted. “No kidding, girl.”
“And no one ever caught you?”
He laughed, then coughed, and she prayed that if smoke inhalation would get to them
both, it would take him down first and she’d have a chance to escape. His eyes turned
glassy, and she wondered if he’d taken drugs before attempting this fire. “Shit, girl, they
couldn’t even catch stupid dumb-ass George Beckett. What makes you think they could
catch me?”
The pride in his voice made fury rise inside, the worst rage she’d experienced in a
lifetime. “So you set the fires after the pub blaze?”
“That’s right.” His next laugh came out hoarse. “But this is my best one. George was
a fool.”
“You say ‘was’ when you talk about George. What do you mean?”
“You won’t have to worry about him anymore. The police in Clifton have found him
by now. He met me in the park. Creep didn’t know it really was one last deal. I think he
thought I’d be his partner until the end.”
Sweat broke out on the back of her neck. “Are you saying you killed him?”
“You bet your sweet ass.” His voice filled with sarcasm. “He deserved it. He was a
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