Page 16 of Burning Hearts

“She’s there?” Skye asked, apparently as curious as everyone else. “You found her?”

“I’m helping her, and then I’ll hike up. Tell you everything.”

His friend said, “Be careful.”

Then Jade said, “Keep us posted.”

“Thanks. Out.” Logan toggled the switch off and left the closet.

A few of the men who occupied this compound had come back. He saw a couple of shadows pass the cloudy glass on the window. The rest were pursuing Jamie, or so they thought, hopefully going far enough up the hill that it would take time to come all the way back. She was safe and sound, tucked away in a closet and working on their computer network. Tristan was…wherever Tristan was.

In the meantime, Logan planned to thoroughly distract them.

He needed to draw the militia guys away from the entrance to the compound so he, Jamie, and Tristan could escape in the direction of Jamie’s car. Tristan had suggested they grab guns to protect themselves, but the look on Jamie’s face had shut that down quick. She didn’t want to be in a fight with deadly weapons.

He stacked kindling and wood in a pile in the center of the room, close to the lawnmower side. He opened the gas caps so the fumes floated out. Same with the only intact motorcycle, whether it had gas in it or not. Didn’t look like it had worked for a while.

With any luck—or rather, the hand of Providence—he would be able to get a sizeable blaze going in this building.

Logan poured at least a quart from a gas can over the wood and kindling. He flicked on the lighter and fixed it so the flame didn’t go out when he let go. Then he tossed it at the blaze and stepped back at the same time.

The gasoline ignited and flames whooshed up toward the ceiling.

Heat filled the room along with the scent of burning fuel. The wood crackled and snapped.

Logan raced over and dragged up a window on the side of the building, then climbed out, praying no one would be hurt by the fire. He left the window open so the fire had access to oxygen that would help it keep burning. He prayed the safeguards these guys had in place—Brian Howards had been right that they were prepared—would keep the fire from spreading to the neighboring building. No one would be injured by the flames.

He also prayed they would be able to do what they needed to do and get out of here.

He ran to the back corner of the building and looked around, toward that cold firepit in the center of the gravel between the structures.

Someone, a male, yelled, “Fire!”

A second later, a guy sprinted toward the front of the equipment shed.

Two guys raced after him. One shoved the other away from him. “Go find Tristan! He’s gonna answer for this.”

The one ordered to go stumbled but caught himself before he went down. Turned and headed off in the other direction.

Logan waited a second, praying no one would see him race to the office.

Then he sprinted as fast as he could in his boots on the gravel. He skidded to the back door of the office building, a prefab structure that had clearly been trucked up here and then pieced together like a puzzle. He ran in while more shouting erupted outside.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the sound echoed down the empty hall.

Tristan had told him where to find them.

Logan headed for the second door on the right and opened it to a room with metal desks and old computers that should’ve been upgraded decades ago. A phone sat on a desk, not plugged into anything. Two windows gave him a view of outside through broken blinds. He’d have to be careful not to be seen.

But no Jamie.

Where are you?

Had she and Tristan been forced to hide? Or even to make a run for it without him?

In that moment Logan, was twelve years old again. Sitting on the curb in the dark outside the middle school, waiting to be picked up.

Forgotten.

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