4
“LOOKS LIKE YOU’VE had company.” Jackson grabbed the flaming abomination, taking it outside where he set it on the grass.
“Ohmigod! How can you be so calm?” She hugged herself, shivering despite the warm night air.
“Because I’m guessing if we’re not on camera, whoever did this is still very close. I don’t see the point in giving him a show, do you?”
She shook her head, but said, “I’m scared.”
“Look…” He nodded to the tray. “The accelerant has already burned itself out. Nothing to fear there. But we do have a problem when it comes to staying here. Where are your parents?”
“I would imagine at their house? It’s further north—about five miles.”
“Is anyone else staying here? At the inn?”
She shook her head. “On nights when we have no guests, it’s just me.”
“No security guards?”
“There’s never been a need.”
“Right. Pack a bag. We’re sleeping at a motel.”
“But wouldn’t we—” She opened her mouth, presumably to launch a protest, but then eyed her open front door, then the charred tray. The arsonist had strolled inside her bungalow as if he’d been an invited guest. Zero signs of forced entry.
The thought sickened him.
“Come on,” he slipped his arm around her shoulders. “I’ll help.”
While she packed an overnight bag and toiletries, Jackson sat on the foot of her bed, watching Miranda’s every move. It was pushing four a.m., and he was tired, but had no intention of showing it.
She’d been right, something about this place was unnerving, but odds were he wouldn’t discover a logical reason any time soon. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but his stomach was tight and spine tingly, as if the devil danced on his back. Since he doubted the bungalow was haunted, there had to be a more tangible cause for the discomfort.
“Got a flashlight?” he asked once she’d finished and they were on their way out the door.
“Sure. In the kitchen.” He followed her to where she took a civilian model from a junk drawer. His halogen beam had been another casualty of the car fire.
“Thanks. Let’s go.” He took her car keys, keeping her close while they wound along the meandering brick path to her ride—a white VW convertible Bug. He used the keyless remote to unlock both doors, then opened the passenger side for her. “Get in, I want to check it out before starting the engine.”
“You think there could be a bomb?” Her wide eyes shone bright in the gloom.
“At this point, I’m not ruling anything out.” He tossed her bag in the trunk, then dropped onto his stomach to shine the light on the vehicle’s undercarriage. He felt under the wheel-wells, then looked over the engine for anything that didn’t belong. Jackson was just about to close the hood when he eyed something odd affixed to the body—a black object that was a smidge larger than a deck of cards. Though held in place by a high-powered magnet and wired to draw juice from the car’s battery, it was easy enough to pluck off. When the task was completed, he closed the hood and crossed to Miranda’s side of the car.
She sat sideways, with her feet resting on the blacktop parking lot and her cheek against the passenger seat’s leather. Her eyes were closed, but upon hearing him approach, she popped them open. “Find anything?”
“This.” He handed her his prize.
“What is it?” she asked with a confused expression.
“GPS device. You mentioned your dad owns a car lot. Is this something he would have placed on your ride as a safety precaution? It allows whoever put it there to track your every move in real-time.”
Hand over her mouth, she said in a voice barely loud enough for him to hear, “This is going from bad to worse.”
“Pretty much. Just to be thorough, we’ll ask your dad about it in the morning. Parents of teens put this kind of stuff on their kids’ cars, but you’re a little old for that. On the flipside, if your dad did install it, it could be a theft recovery issue. We won’t know till we ask.”
“What are you going to do with it now?”
“I’m embarrassed to say I probably already tipped our hand by alerting whoever placed it there that we’re on to him or her. I should have re-rigged it to an alternate power source, but in my defense, I’m fresh out of batteries.”
Miranda sighed. “I need sleep, so here’s what I’m going to do.” She stepped out of the car, dumped the GPS unit in a nearby fountain, then returned to fasten her seatbelt. “Let’s find a place to crash. I’ve got a full day of meetings. And would love at least a few hours’ rest.”
“Yes, ma’am. FYI—next time I hand you a piece of possible evidence, could you maybe not dump it in water?” Jackson climbed in beside her and drove through still sleeping Brutal Bayou to the next town up the highway. He booked them a room at a clean-looking mom-and-pop place, then escorted Miranda to their home for the night.
“I’m sorry,” he said upon flicking the overhead light switch to find the clerk had given him a king instead of two doubles as he’d requested. “I asked for two beds.”
“I don’t even care.” She pulled back the spread, kicked off her wedge-style sandals, then climbed into the bed.
“I’ll sleep on the floor.” He closed the door, turning the deadbolt, then flipping the steel safety latch. For added precaution, he grabbed one of the two chairs from a small table, then wedged it beneath the doorknob. Not a foolproof method if someone wanted in bad enough, but at least it bought time by making a lot of noise.
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re both adults. Get in bed.”
He pulled the curtains closed, turned off the light, took a quick piss, then unlaced his combat boots before lying down beside her. Her soft, even breathing told him she was already asleep. He wished he could join her in slumber, but something about the GPS find still bugged him.
Whoever was watching her, feeling free to enter her home, also had full access to her car. This also upped the odds of them getting their grubby hands on her phone—which was also probably being tracked. Which meant this exercise of leaving town had been a waste of much-needed sleep time.
More likely than not, the arsonist was someone Miranda knew.
A fact that made that night’s calling card more chilling. Jackson wasn’t just dealing with someone who had a thing for fire, but Miranda…