Page 37 of Legal Trouble

CHAPTERNINE

Noah leapedfrom the bed and glanced around the bedroom. No flames or broken glass here.

“Don’t move,” he ordered over his shoulder as he sprinted from the room, searching out the source of the danger.

He skidded to a halt in the living room, where smoke snaked and coiled from the kitchen. The pungent scent of gasoline hit his nostrils milliseconds later, which meant this was no accident. He managed a single step in that direction when something exploded through the bay window to his right and sent glass flying at him. The heat forced him back, and he all but tripped over Emma.

“Noah!” She slapped at his leg with the long sleeves of an oversized terry-cloth robe, and he realized his pant leg was smoking.

“Forget about that,” he said through a fit of coughing. “I need to get you out of here.” He took her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. The kitchen blaze reached fiery fingers toward them, blocking their path to the front door. “Where’s the backdoor?”

“No, not the backdoor.” Holding one side of her robe over her mouth and nose, she pointed to a door on the far side of the living area. “If we go through the garage, we won’t have to mess with the gate in the dark.”

“Then let’s go.” He took her hand and turned for the exit, but she instantly jerked free.

“Laverne and Shirley,” she exclaimed, before sprinting back through the house.

“Emma!” Damn it, they had to get out of here. The smoke was already burning his lungs.

She disappeared through a door on the opposite side of the house as their planned exit. He took off after her and nearly ran her over when he barreled into the room. She held a large cage, two white rats fretting around inside as if they, too, were aware of the danger.

“I wasn’t leaving my girls,” she said defiantly.

He didn’t argue, just took the cage in one hand and her wrist in the other. “Now, let’s go.”

“Right behind you.”

The smoke making tears run like rain down their cheeks, they sprinted to the garage. As Emma stuffed her feet into a pair of oversized rain boots by the door, another window shattered. She reached for the button that would send the garage door lumbering open.

“Emma, wait!”

But it was too late; the door screeched and clambered its way up.

He placed the cage on the concrete floor, dug his cell from his pocket, and thrust it into Emma’s hand. “Call 9-1-1, and then, hold tight for just a second while I make sure the coast is clear.”

“What do you—”

But her question fell away, and realization widened her eyes. Whoever had thrown those gas bombs had been here as of five seconds ago, when the third window shattered, and even over the roar of the flames as they devoured everything they reached, he doubted the perpetrator had missed the sound of the garage door.

Would the noise send them fleeing or moving toward him and Emma when they realized they’d made it outside?

He pulled her in for a quick, hard kiss before grabbing the shovel that hung on the wall with several other gardening instruments. Holding the tool like a bat ready to swing, he eased around her car. His eyes still burned, but the watering had slowed so that he could make out probably eighty percent of his surroundings. He hoped whoever was out there didn’t want them specifically, that this was some random stupid attack, a couple of dumb kids out doing something equally dumb—although he didn’t believe that for a second. Too much time had passed between each broken window, as if one person had thrown all three.

Light one, toss it, move to a new location.

Light another, toss it, and so on.

To his way of thinking, that didn’t equal a couple of kids throwing and running. That spoke of deliberation. That spoke of someone who wanted to cause great pain to the house’s single occupant. But who in the world would want to hurt Emma? Only one name came to mind: Franklin Bishop.

The growl of an engine roaring to life had Noah moving faster, and he caught sight of a dark sedan, maybe ten or fifteen years old, shoot away from the curb. He couldn’t make out a license plate, though. Had that been Bishop? Had the idiot been stupid enough to park in front of Emma’s house?

Had the idiot been stupid enough to go after Noah’s woman?

Fifteen minutes later, Emma cradled in his arms, they stood outside the yellow crime scene tape as the fire department battled the blaze. Police arrived on scene a few minutes after Emma called 9-1-1. They’d evacuated the surrounding homes, as well as set up a perimeter.

At last count, a dozen people stood outside, sporting a fashion trend he’d dubbed “getting ready for bed.” Not everyone looked as if they’d been on the verge of calling it a night, though. Some wore “on-air” fashions and spoke into cameras.

Damn reporters.

---