Page 57 of Into the Fire

My subject was home.

She pulled into her driveway. Stopped in front of the garage door. Sat there for a full minute.

Why didn’t she open the door?

At last she emerged from the car and hurried toward the front door. Seconds later she disappeared inside.

Was Travis responsible for her dash through the rain? Had he somehow disabled the garage door?

But what was the point? No harm done, other than wet clothing and perhaps a minor repair.

Fifteen minutes passed.

Nothing happened.

All at once Holmes’s car rolled down the street, lights off.

Should I follow him or hang around here?

A jagged slash of lightning illuminated the sky, followed by a crack of thunder that shook my car and sent a shiver rippling through me.

Decision made. I was out of here. Who wanted to risk getting fried in an electrical storm?

I twisted the key in the ignition, put the car in gear, and pulled away from the curb. I’d have to wait to find out what mischief Holmes had done tonight.

And I would.

My source was excellent.

But whatever petty plot he’d hatched, he was thinking way too small. For my brilliant plan to work, he had to up his game. Fast.

And I knew just how to convince him to do that.

ELEVEN

“YOU’VE GOT TO BEKIDDING ME.”

As her garage door lumbered up, Bri gaped at her car—what she could see of it under the large maple tree limb that had fallen on the roof—while her shocked words echoed in the quiet, early morning air.

This was so not how she’d planned to start her Thursday.

The hint of a headache began to pulse in her temples, and she set the remote opener on the trash can. Leaving her laptop, purse, and tote bag in the garage, she slowly approached the Camry, circling around to the left for a better view.

At least the base—and heaviest part—of the limb was resting on the asphalt.

Summoning up her courage, she peered under the branches splayed across the roof and against the passenger side.

It was impossible to gauge the damage with a mass of fall-burnished foliage blocking her view, but if she tried to pull it off by herself, that could inflict more scratches and dents. It would be prudent to round up another set of hands rather than attempt to extricate the car alone.

A tall, dark, and handsome ATF agent came to mind, but she’d already accepted his offer of a lift downtown after the tire fiasco. Asking for a second favor could be pushing it.

Safest route was to call Jack. At this early hour, it was possible she could catch him before he left for work.

But when his cell rolled to voicemail and her text went unanswered after five minutes, she moved on to plan B.

Marc.

Unlike her brother, he answered on the first ring.

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