Identity Withheld. Sandra Orchard

      Kara could have died in that fire.

      With lights on in the upper part of the house and her car in the driveway, there was no way the guy who torched the place couldn’t have known that someone was in there. But did he know that someone was Kara?

      * * *

      Where was the marshal? Kara had almost lost her supper when two steps into the coffee shop she’d yelped, “I made it,” and the man who’d turned in the booth to gape at her had been a stranger. Part of her had wanted to bolt right back outside, but instead she’d shaken her hood off her head and griped about how wet it was outside, then sank onto one of the stools lining the long counter.

      The waitress pushed a coffee-stained menu her way. “What can I get you, sugar?” she drawled, sounding as if she belonged in Texas, not Washington State.

      Kara dug into her pocket and came up with a wrinkled buck and a couple of quarters. “Uh, just a coffee, please. Black.” She pushed the money across the counter as the waitress filled a white mug from a pot that had probably been sitting around all day. “I guess you haven’t had too many people in tonight?” Kara fished.

      “Not a soul until Bruiser—” the waitress hitched her elbow in the other patron’s direction “—stopped by to keep me company.” Returning the coffeepot to the burner, she glanced at the clock. “You only just made it. Be closing in twenty minutes.”

      Kara swallowed a mouthful of the bitter brew. Not a soul? She twisted on her stool and scanned the dimly lit lot through the main windows. Would Ray have waited for her outside? “No one all night?” she clarified.

      “Nope, not since before supper.”

      Before the fire, too. What did she do now? He should’ve been here hours ago. Did he get her message and go straight to the hospital? But then why not phone to let her know?

      The waitress deposited the money in the till, then looked curiously at a business card and pushed it back across the counter. “This must be yours.” She resumed her conversation with Bruiser.

      Kara glanced at the card, realized it was the one Jake had given her and breathed in his lingering scent—as calming and steadfast as a pine forest. He’d looked ruggedly handsome in his jeans and flannel-lined jacket. She traced her thumb over the number he’d scrawled on the card. Had he volunteered to assist the fire investigation so he’d have an excuse to see her again?

      If only...things were different.

       If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

      How many times had she recited that nursery rhyme to her students to encourage them to act instead of sitting around dreaming?

      If only she were free to act...

      She stuffed the card back into her pocket and twisted the mug of coffee between her chilled hands, the brew as black as her future seemed. As much as she wanted to believe that she’d merely been the victim of a random arsonist attack, she didn’t think she’d imagined the guy in the parking lot coming after her, or that nurse’s less-than-subtle attempt to stab her with a needle.

      And what made her think Jake could be trusted?

      Seemed way too convenient how he kept showing up when she was in trouble, acting like someone she could depend on. Hadn’t she once thought Clark was a guy she could depend on?

      Look how wrong that perception had turned out. They’d dated for six months, but he’d walked away the minute the Boston paper had hit the stands with a front-page story on an unidentified kindergarten teacher who’d exposed an illegal adoption ring. Unidentified, that was, if the reader didn’t look too closely at the grainy picture of her that accompanied the article. Worse than that, he’d all but said “I told you so” after a bomb had nearly killed her later that same day. He’d never cared about her. Only himself. Just like her father.

      No, Jake would turn out to be like every other man in her life—never there when she needed him most.

      Not even the marshal showed up when needed. And he was paid to protect her!

      She closed her eyes and let out a bone-weary sigh. Lord, can I count on You?

      She sipped her coffee and slipped her phone from her pocket. No missed messages.

      The coffee curdled in her stomach. She was wet and cold, had no money, no ID, and in twenty minutes—correction, seventeen minutes—she’d have nowhere to go. The last place she wanted to show her face again was at the hospital. The whole way to the coffee shop, she’d had the creepy feeling someone was following her. She glanced at the window and shrank at the realization of how easily someone could be watching her even now. The thought of going back out there without the marshal made her stomach lurch.

      She thumbed a text message to Ray. I’m at the coffee shop. Where are you?

      She set the phone on the counter and forced down another gulp of coffee as the clock’s second hand ticked its way around the clock face. After four minutes went by, she punched in his number. It immediately went to voice mail. Maybe he’d been trying to call her. She waited another three minutes. Checked her messages.

      Nothing.

      The screen on a small TV mounted in the corner above the counter flicked to an image of a bloated body being pulled from the Charles River in Boston. She choked on her coffee as the camera zoomed in on the man’s face. She couldn’t believe it! It was the man she’d seen collecting money for the child he’d handed over. If the adoption ring would kill its own employee...

      Her heart hammered in her chest as she punched Ray’s number into her phone again. Again, it went straight to voice mail, and a scarier thought gripped her. What if they’d gotten to him, too? Gotten his phone? Heard her messages?

      They would’ve guessed she was at the hospital anyway, but now they’d know she was at a coffee shop, and there weren’t that many of those in a town the size of Hadyn. Not to mention, they’d have her number, be able to track her phone.

      She turned it over in her hand. She had to get rid of it.

      Snatching up her spoon, she pried open the back of the phone, pulled the battery. But what if that wasn’t enough? She had no idea how GPS tracking worked. She slipped into the bathroom, tossed the phone into the trash can, stuffed crumpled swaths of paper towel in over top.

      Only...now, Ray had no way to reach her.

      It couldn’t be helped. She finger-combed her hair, scrubbed smudges of soot from her face. When she was far away from here, she’d find a pay phone and try calling him again.

      Except what if they were already outside waiting for her?

      A high-pitched scream pierced the air.

      “Down on the floor,” a deep male voice barked, followed by the crash of dishes.

      Terror squeezed her chest. Oh, dear God, please don’t let them find me.

       THREE

      After checking on his injured firefighter in the E.R., Jake hurried back out to his truck to get home to his son. The poor little guy wouldn’t be happy to learn his dad had volunteered tomorrow’s day off to consult on the arson investigation. The least Jake owed him was some cuddle time tonight. Kara’s frightened face flashed through his thoughts as he stopped at the hospital parking lot’s exit. He still had an uneasy feeling about the supposed friend she’d gone to meet. It would take only a couple of minutes to stop by the coffee shop to see if he, or she, had shown.

      An ambulance whipped out of the next lane and veered across his path, sirens blaring.

      Jake glanced after it and his heart rammed into his throat at the sight of swirling emergency lights two blocks down. He peeled his truck out after the ambulance. Cruisers blocked the streets around the coffee shop.