The Complete Colony Series. Lisa Jackson

I can’t be this close. Perhaps I can slip into the crowd, watch the spectacle unnoticed.

      I must melt back into the shadows.

      For now.

      The phone rang loudly on Becca’s nightstand and she shot into a sitting position, her pulse leaping. She fumbled for the receiver and glanced at the clock as Ringo growled from the foot of the bed. One thirty-six? Who would be calling? Oh, God…

      “Becca, it’s Hudson,” she heard as she pressed the phone to her ear. “Sorry to wake you. I thought you should hear it from me. Scott and Glenn’s restaurant is on fire.”

      “What?”

      “Scott just called. He thinks Glenn was still inside.”

      “What? What?” Becca snapped on a light, panic running through her. Ringo was now on all fours on the bed, the fur at his neck standing on end. “No…we were just there a couple of weeks ago.” An image of Glenn with his short brown hair and thick build came to her. “There must be some mistake.”

      “Something exploded in the kitchen, apparently. Or that’s what they think. Neighbors heard the explosion, saw a tower of fire shoot through the roof. It happened less than a half hour ago.”

      “And Scott called you?” Becca felt sick inside.

      “He’s panicked. Hoped that Glenn might have been at my house. I’m on my way.”

      “I’ll meet you there,” she said, climbing from the bed, her senses returning.

      “No, you don’t have to come. I just wanted to keep you informed.”

      “Thanks, but I’m going to come. See you soon.”

      “Be careful,” he said, then hung up.

      Be careful…

      The same warning Renee had issued at Java Man, as if she’d known something terrible might happen.

      The words followed her around as she stumbled into her clothes, brushed her hair into a quick ponytail, then ran out the door. She was in her car and driving to the scene of the fire before she’d really thought through what might have happened. The kitchen exploded? How did that happen? Faulty gas line, or a stove left on unattended, unwittingly? Or arson?

      Becca shook that thought aside. Certainly until the ashes had cooled and the fire investigators had done their job, no one would know. And maybe Scott was wrong. Maybe Glenn wasn’t inside. She sent up a silent prayer as she pushed the speed limit down the dark, deserted streets.

      Only when she was nearing Blue Note did the traffic snarl. She arrived to a blast of red and white flashing strobes from several fire trucks, their hoses arcing cascades of water on a brilliant orange and yellow fire that lit up the black night and sent choking smoke and heat at ever-growing clusters of bystanders, forcing them to wrap more fully in their jackets and robes and turn protective shoulders to the scene. The police force had barricades erected and the crowd was forced back several blocks.

      Becca parked in the empty lot of a bank nearly five blocks away, then walked quickly toward the inferno. Television crews had arrived, vans parked near the barricade, helicopters circling overhead, reporters with microphones and cameramen in tow.

      The noise was deafening. Over the roar of fire and hiss from the water spouting over the flames, firemen shouted and people stood talking. She found Hudson with one of the firemen who stood near a ladder truck, his eyes on the scene.

      Narrowing her own eyes against the dense smoke, she headed their way, only to be stopped by a policeman and told to wait. Hudson, too, was pushed behind the barricade and he found Becca waiting. His jaw was set, his eyes dark, and Becca knew as he approached that the worst had happened, their fear for Glenn was realized.

      She felt ill. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

      Hudson nodded and ran a protective arm around Becca’s shoulders, tucking her to his side, which made her want to bury her face into his chest. The warmth of him brought memories circling just beneath her conscious thought, memories of making love to him. It felt ghoulish to be so intent upon her own internal thoughts with such a spectacle around them. A wall of heat burned over her right shoulder.

      “What about Glenn?” she asked.

      “They found someone inside. It was too late. No ID yet, but…”

      “Dear God,” she whispered.

      He told her he’d gotten the information from one of the firemen—Dave. They knew each other slightly, she learned later, so Hudson was offered up some information that he might not have otherwise gleaned.

      Dave remained at the fire truck staring at the still-raging flames.

      Hudson pulled Becca away from the barrier, deeper into the crowd, and she could feel the relief from the searing heat almost instantly, her hot cheeks cooling in the frigid night air.

      “How could this have happened?” she asked, her throat dry and tasting of the soot that filled the air.

      Through the crowd she saw Scott, who had spotted Hudson. He walked briskly toward them, his bald head shining in the fire’s hot light. He looked haggard and wild-eyed. Shocked. “The whole place,” he said. “The whole place. Jesus, all gone…and…Glenn…he was drunk.”

      “You saw him?” Hudson asked.

      “Earlier. Drinking in his office. He must have gone home…he must have…” He looked around himself. “But Gia…she’s hysterical.”

      “Is she here?” Becca asked.

      He put a hand to his head. “Oh, my God.”

      They followed his look. Gia Stafford was being held up by a fireman who’d just caught her as she started to fall. She was crying, pulling at her hair, a down jacket covering her shoulders and torso while the hem of her nightgown dragged in the water from the fire hoses.

      “They found a body, Scott,” Hudson said. “Dead.”

      “No…” He shook his head, unable to take it in.

      The crowd had edged closer, and one of the other firemen barked at them to get back. Hudson and Becca stood near a neighboring building and watched in silence for a while as Scott staggered away. They stayed long minutes, immobilized, mesmerized. Becca’s eyes strayed often to Gia, who softly blubbered and clung to anyone who came within reach of her arms.

      It seemed to take forever before the flames came under control and the building became a smoking, stinking hulk with areas that glowed inside like yellow eyes in a twisted, blackened mess.

      “You people need to leave,” one of the firemen stated grimly to the group as a whole. “Right now.”

      Hudson suddenly inhaled a sharp breath.

      “What?” Becca looked up at him.

      “I think they’re bringing a body out. That’s why they want the crowd to disperse.”

      Becca glanced past him to a stretcher being carried by two grimy firemen. A black tarp covered the contents but a charred appendage slipped out. A blackened arm.

      She turned away in horror as the odor of seared human flesh made her gag.

      “Come on,” Hudson said, “I’ll take you home.”

      “No—I’ve got my car—”

      Gia’s cries became shrieking wails and two of the firemen hustled her away from the scene though she clawed at them, desperately trying to stay.

      “Mr. Walker?”

      They both turned to see Detective McNally approaching them, his face grim. Not now. For God’s sake, not now! Couldn’t the damned cop just leave them alone? Becca looked away, aching inside. She wanted to make love to Hudson. She wanted to fuse her body with his and push all this away. She felt like shrieking and crying but she had no energy. Instead