Identity Withheld. Sandra Orchard

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      “What do you think?” She cradled her wounded arm.

      “Lady, you were running away. What do you think I thought?” His department had been called in to assist this neighboring town’s volunteer department. He hadn’t caught the name of the missing victim. Her name.

      The sheriff radioed the news to the chief. The firefighters who’d been searching for her inside soon emerged from the house.

      Kara gulped. “They were all looking for me? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

      “Didn’t realize?” Jake ground his teeth to reel in his tone. “My men were putting their lives at risk while you watched from the bushes. I have a five-year-old boy at home who doesn’t need to lose another parent.”

      “I—” Her expression crumpled. “Please, no one was hurt, were they?”

      Jake let out a pent-up breath. “No.”

      The sheriff cleared his throat. “I still need you to answer a few questions, and I think you’ll be more comfortable doing that in the back of the ambulance than a squad car.”

      Her breathing quickened. “Okay, yes. You’re right. Of course.”

      Since she’d stopped complaining about his hold on her elbow, Jake guided her toward the ambulance. As they stepped into view of her neighbors huddled in their yards, their Thanksgiving dinners forgotten, Kara clung to his coat. Jake scanned the crowd, looking for anyone suspicious. A bulbous-nosed man stood alone and seemed particularly intent on the firefighters’ actions.

      “It’s the tenant,” a woman exclaimed.

      A young man cut across the yard and raced toward them. At Kara’s sharp inhalation, Jake instinctively angled his body to block her from view.

      The guy raised something in his hands. A camera.

      “It’s okay. It’s just a reporter,” Jake said, shifting back.

      But at the camera’s flash, Kara buried her face against his coat. “Please, just get me to the ambulance. Please.”

      His conscience pricked at her sudden trust, or maybe the way she trembled against his chest. He curled a sheltering arm around her. “Sheriff, I think those questions better wait until after the paramedics check her over.”

      Jake pulled back just enough to see Kara’s face. His initial assumptions weren’t adding up. He scrutinized her breathing, her eyes, her skin, for signs of assault, shock, something that would explain why she’d run from help.

      Besides the obvious—fear of getting caught.

      * * *

      A section of roof crashed to the ground, spewing black smoke and debris into the air and over her car. Kara forced herself to draw deep breaths, to release them slowly. The paramedics were bound to insist on taking her to the hospital, and she couldn’t let that happen. Especially now that Jake’s suspicions had confirmed her worst fears. The fire was no accident.

      The taste of smoke turned acrid in her mouth. Deep down she’d known the fire was meant for her. That was why she’d called the marshal overseeing her protection the instant she’d gotten out of the house. She shook her head. And then she’d almost let her real name slip to the overprotective firefighter. Thank goodness Mrs. Harboyle had been away at her daughter’s for Thanksgiving.

      Kara’s vision blurred. Her landlady’s home was destroyed, along with sixty years of memories, and it was all her fault.

      “Hang on,” Jake’s husky voice whispered through her hair, an instant before his hands spanned her waist and hoisted her onto the back of the ambulance.

      Her breath caught. Oh. After the way she’d fought him back there, she hadn’t expected him to be so nice.

      He ditched his hat on the end of the rig, and his sandy brown hair, damp with perspiration, curled over his forehead. “You okay?” he asked, his sweet, lopsided smile not helping her breathe any easier.

      Pressing her palm to her chest, she sank onto the gurney. Listen to her. She shouldn’t be noticing a guy’s smile. Never mind how her heart had twisted when he’d mentioned his motherless son. No one wanted a relationship with a woman with a price on her head.

      Kara startled at the touch of a petite brunette beside her and scrambled to catch up to the questions she was spewing.

      “I think she’s in shock,” Jake said, his deep voice quieting her frayed nerves.

      He seemed genuinely concerned. Could he be someone she could trust? Maybe. Except the marshal had warned her not to trust anyone. Not even the police, because a smart bad guy would pretend to be on her side, pretend to want to help her, pretend to be taking her to safety just long enough to get her somewhere secluded and then slit her throat.

      She gulped, sliding her hand up to her neck. Stick to the rules, the marshal had said, and she’d be okay. They’d never lost a witness who stuck to the rules.

      So how would Deputy Marshal Ray Boyd explain the fire?

      She pushed away the female paramedic’s stethoscope. “I have to go.” For all she knew, the paramedic worked for the adoption ring, too. She glanced from one blocked door to the other, her heart racing. Anyone here could work for it. Be waiting for the chance to finish her off.

      “It’s going to be okay,” the paramedic soothed in the kind of voice Kara used to use with her kindergarten students. “I can quickly dress this wound and then the sheriff can ask his questions. Okay?”

      The sheriff, right. Kara wiped sweaty palms down her slacks. She needed to stay calm. If they thought she was in shock, the sheriff might insist she go to the hospital. And it would be way too easy for her attacker to get to her there.

      “Kara?” the paramedic’s voice filtered through her frenetic thoughts.

      “I’m sorry, pardon?”

      “I asked on a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain in your arm?”

      “Oh.”

      Jake stood at the rear door, watching her, his warm blue eyes radiating concern.

      She ducked her head. The pain was bad, really bad, but if she admitted that, they’d dope her up and send her to the hospital and she’d miss her meeting. The marshal might not find her.

      “Kara?” The paramedic split open what looked like a ketchup packet. “How bad?”

      Kara shrugged. “Not bad. Honest. A four maybe.”

      The paramedic clasped Kara’s wrist and started squeezing the packet over the wound.

      Blinding pain streaked down her arm. “Ah!” She jerked from the paramedic’s grasp. Bandages tumbled to the floor.

      The paramedic swiped at the gel that had spilled from the packet onto her leg. “I’d better give you something for the pain,” she said through gritted teeth.

      Kara thrust СКАЧАТЬ