Page 18 of Over the Flames

The truth tunneled deep into her bones, and she retraced the last few sets of tracks back to the clearing’s edge. They were deeper than the ones before, more stable against the onslaught of rain. Her instincts screamed to run. He hadn’t disappeared. Brent Hayward had doubled back. He’d known he was being followed.

She backed away from the trail, from the direction of safety, from Lawson. She shouldn’t have come out here. She should’ve waited. She should’ve stayed in the SUV.

A flash of movement in front of her face was all she had the chance to see before pain erupted around her neck. The leather constricted, cutting off her air faster than she thought possible. Scarred hands pulled her back into a wall of flesh and bone as she struggled to get her fingers under the tight seal of the belt. There was no room between her skin and the leather. Only pain. The baton was heavy in her hand. If she dropped it, she’d have nothing left to fight back. Her heart pounded hard behind her ears as numbness spread through her fingertips. Black lines lightninged across her vision, and her only weapon slipped from her grip. The thud of metal against dirt hammered the finality of these past two years into place.

Lawson.

She’d battled to forget him, to pretend he’d never existed, because the reality of what they’d gone through had been too much to emotionally survive. But the truth had stared her in the face after she’d found Baldwin’s remains in that warehouse. She hadn’t been able to escape him. He’d walked straight back into her life every inch the powerful, intense agent she’d fallen in love with all those years ago. He’d put his life at risk in the line of duty to protect the innocent. He’d dedicated himself to the safety of their family, but it hadn’t been enough. They’d still lost the only person either of them had cared about more than themselves. She hadn’t forgotten him. She hadn’t forgotten how much she’d admired him, and she wasn’t ready to let him go. He was all she had left, her last connection to Rey she hadn’t seen until now.

Rocking forward, Arden desperately reached for her weapon, but the belt’s edge cut into her neck. She tried to scream, tried to gain control, but the pressure increased. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Every self-defense move Lawson had taught her during their marriage had been shut in the tight box she’d refused to visit since that final day in the courtroom. Heaviness pulled at her muscles the harder she struggled. The more she fought, the sooner she’d burn through the precious oxygen still in her lungs. She had to slow down. Had to think. Her husband had taught her how to get out of a strangulation hold. She just had to remember.

Arden relaxed her head back against her attacker’s shoulder and wrapped one hand around his wrist. She jerked down hard, gaining a small amount of slack in the leather and ducked her head. She lunged for the ground and away, digging her toes into the soft earth. Violent coughs spasmed from her lungs as she clawed through mud, dead leaves, and puddles of water toward the path that would take her back to Brent Hayward’s house. Back to Lawson.

Her attacker latched onto her arm and flipped Arden onto her back. Rain blurred the outline of her attacker above a split second before a hard strike to her temple threw her into unconsciousness.

Chapter Sixteen

Their suspect wasn’t here.

Lawson holstered his weapon and walked through the home. Sheriff’s deputies had searched the entirety of the house. The mug of coffee on the counter was still warm. Brent Hayward—the man they suspected had killed and burned all three victims over the past two months—had either run when they’d arrived or had gotten a heads-up SWAT was ready to breach. Either way, he wouldn’t make it far. Sheriff Sanders had already issued a BOLO to surrounding counties and police departments. His legs grew heavy as adrenaline from the search drained from his veins. He handed off the evidence bag of pieces of Phil Anderson’s, Jacqueline Day’s, and Baldwin Webb’s article he’d recovered from the trash can downstairs. “The fire marshal knew all the victims were working together to identify him as the Arsonist. Brent Hayward has the means, motive, and the opportunity to make sure that information never came to light.”

Sheriff Sanders flipped the bag over in her hand, studying the evidence. “This looks to be the same draft as we recovered from Phil Anderson’s home. I recognize the notes in the margins. They’re identical. You think he tried to destroy it before he ran. How did he get his hands on a copy in the first place?”

“That’s something we’re going to have to ask him when we find him.” Lawson pulled his cell phone from his pocket. No service. “Have your deputies keep searching the house. I need to find a spot around here that has service so I can update the Seattle office.”

“I’ll let you know if we find anything telling us where he might’ve fled,” Sheriff Sanders said.

Exhaustion released the tension along the muscles down his spine as he headed for the front door. He and Arden had been chasing leads and uncovering connections all day. Hell, he hadn’t had much more than coffee twelve hours ago. Once he and Sheriff Sanders had tied up the search, he’d take Arden to get something to eat. Something greasy and fattening to make up for all the extra energy he’d burned in the past twenty minutes.

The smell of atmospheric rain chased back the burnt odor still lodged in his lungs from that damn basement. Who the hell used kitty litter to cover up the smell of a fire? He retraced his original path back to the SUV down the block. A former fire marshal who knew everything there was to know about accelerants and arson. Stood to reason Brent Hayward would know how to hide the signs. Lines of water cascaded down the passenger side window of his SUV as he slowed his approach toward the vehicle. Mother Nature had turned against them out here. Even the thick density of trees surrounding the property would inhibit the manhunt.

“Son of a bitch.” If Brent Hayward had known SWAT and the FBI were at his door, their suspect might’ve made a run for those trees. The park extended for miles back as far as Lawson remembered. If this had been his own home and he’d wanted to work out an escape route for him and his family, that was exactly where they could disappear. He checked the service on his phone, water drenching the button-down shirt beneath his vest. He’d told Sheriff Sanders the truth. He needed to brief the special agent in charge of the case in the Seattle office, his superior as long as he was here on assignment, but that hadn’t been the only reason Lawson had headed back toward the SUV. He had to check on Arden. He hit the car’s lock release button so as not to scare the living hell out of her and wrenched open the passenger side door. “We’re almost done here—”

Her seat was empty.

He leaned in and craned his head back toward the rear bumper to search the rest of SUV. She wasn’t here. Hints of her shampoo clung to the headrest where she’d sat less than twenty minutes ago. Son of a bitch. He’d told her to stay here. He slammed the door closed and faced the expanse of property going back several acres. The hairs on the back on his neck stood on end. “Arden!”

Five seconds. Ten. No answer.

He’d pulled Sheriff Sanders out of the command tent to organize the search of the rest of the house and off guarding his ex-wife, and Arden had slipped away. Why?

“Agent Mitchell, we’ve got something!” A SWAT member waved at him from down a short decline at the corner of the back of Brent Hayward’s property.

Jogging through slick, knee-high weeds, Lawson caught sight of a set of footprints in the mud a few feet away. Hesitation flooded through him, and he slowed. Boot prints, the kind with a square back heel matching Arden’s size. His instincts kicked into overdrive as he visually followed the tracks toward the tree line. Arden wouldn’t have any reason to leave the vehicle and disappear into the forest. Not unless she’d been forced, but there were no other prints he could identify from here. Lawson pointed to the officer who’d called to him and yelled over the incessant pound of rain. “Grab your partner and come with me!”

He took off toward the trees, his heart in his throat. Every cell in his body screamed danger as he followed her hurried path into the growing shadows, and he withdrew his weapon. It didn’t matter why Arden had left the vehicle. Something was wrong, and he wouldn’t stop until he found her. Because, despite her beliefs, she mattered to him, and he wasn’t ready to give up on her as easily as she’d given up on their marriage.

The rain beat harder against him as though warning him about what waited on the other side of the unknown. Lawson slowed as he approached the trailhead, a small well-worn dirt path that’d been used frequently over the years. Mud crested and dipped with the addition of a second set of footprints, slightly larger than Arden’s. He tracked the patterns along the trail. His breath heaved in and out of his chest as two deputies closed in from behind. “She saw someone.”

Keeping clear of both sets of footprints, he called back over his shoulder to the officer directly on his trail. “Have Sheriff Sanders call in a forensic team. Someone fled from Brent Hayward’s house tonight, and I want to get casts of these prints before the rain washes them away.” He pointed to the second officer. “You’re coming with me.”

“Yes, sir,” the first officer said and turned back to meet up with the team.

“These aren’t more than a few minutes old. If we hurry, we might be able to catch up with him.” Lawson checked that the safety was enabled on his sidearm and followed the path deeper past the tree line. Branches reached out, scratching at his face, neck, and clothing, but he couldn’t take the chance of destroying the evidence. Arden hadn’t taken the risk either considering her boot prints clung to the edge of the trail instead of directly in the path, and a dose of respect shot through him. She’d sided with an entity he couldn’t trust, but his ex-wife sure as hell knew how to handle herself during a homicide investigation. He wouldn’t forget it.

He and the officer walked for another two minutes before the trees thinned up ahead. A clearing, not more than ten feet in diameter, allowed the last remnants of light to penetrate from above and highlighted multiple sets of chaotic prints. And drag marks. Lawson slowed, his weapon heavy. His stomach churned as he narrowed down the movements of both sets of prints, and he signaled for the officer behind him to stop. “There was a struggle. I need more officers out here. I want every square inch of these woods searched until we find Arden Olsen and Brent Hayward.” The officer didn’t move at his instruction. “Now!”

“Yes, sir.” The deputy ran straight back the way they’d come.

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