The Wrong Girl

67

“Jane!” Jake raced up the front walk, jacket flapping, his cruiser’s wig-wags bluing the snowflakes and siren wailing. Jane’s car sat across the street, behind a blue Accord. He’d instantly seen both were unoccupied.

What the hell was Jane doing here?

He saw the open doorway. Her unmistakable silhouette in the dim light from the home’s interior. Smoke puffed from an obviously broken basement window. The street seemed deserted, except for a light-colored van up the block. Half his brain noticed the van pull away.

“Jane! Stop!”

He reached the door, ran inside, grabbed her by the shoulder, yanked her toward him.

Was she crying? Her hair was coated with a melting layer of sleet, drops of water lining her face. She wore only one glove.

“Jane, what the hell are you doing?” He pulled her out the front door, feeling her stumble and shake him off, then stop resisting. “There’s a god damn fire.”

“I think there’s someone in there!” She pointed toward the house as he pulled her down the path to the sidewalk. “Ella Gavin. From the Brannigan. She told me she needed to get something of Lillian Finch’s. That Lillian had given her keys. I told her not to, but-”

Jane gulped, hands on knees, catching her breath. “So I had to-”

“You were going in?” Jake grabbed his radio, raising his voice over the siren. “Dispatch, this is Brogan at twenty-seven Margolin. Reporting an emergency. Confirm smoke is showing from basement window. Reports of a person or persons who may be trapped inside. Please advise of your ETA.”

He pulled Jane behind his cruiser, clutching her hand, snow swirling around them. “You’re completely crazy. Listen. Get across the street. Behind your car. Stay there. Stay down. Hear me?”

He turned her to face him, needing to let her know this was serious. Dangerous. She was crazy, his Janey, thinking she could go into a burning house.

He was going to kill her.

But first he had to go in. Try to save whoever was in there. “Do not go near that place. Engines are on the way, the fire isn’t even-”

There was a sound. A whoosh. A flash.

Jane ducked into Jake’s shoulder, shielding her eyes. Ella was inside. Jane knew she was, had to be, and it seemed she’d been inside way too long, and the fire department hadn’t even arrived, and someone needed to-

“Down!” Jake pulled her close, held her hard, his breath warm against her ear. Smoke plumed from the house. “Get down!” She’d never heard his voice like this. He clicked his radio.

“Dispatch? You copy?”

Jake yanked her, so hard her knees buckled and she grabbed his car door handle to stay standing. He was trying to protect her, she understood, but Ella was in there. Inside. Someone had to save her. Someone had to help.

“Jake! We have to-”

“I know, Janey. Dispatch, this is Brogan. Requesting all available fire and rescue units.” To Jane. “I’m going in. But it’s-All units. You copy?”

Orange flames licked from the basement window, and then another sound, another whoosh, and another window exploded with black smoke, flames following the darkness out of the shattered glass.

“Go, go, go!” Keefer yelled, one fist pumping the air as Kellianne’s head slammed into the seatback. Kevin must have floored it. The van lurched forward, sliding on the slick street, tires slipping in the slush, Kev ignoring the stop sign again and hitting the gas, careening onto Mass Ave.

Looking out the back window as Kev hit full speed ahead, Kellianne had seen the fire. So that’s what they were doing.

“You set-”

“The house was empty, right? But full of our stuff. Only Hennessey knew we were there, right, and not like he’s gonna rat us out. Get him in as much trouble as us. So, adiós, house. We started in the basement. One match to that disinfectant stuff alone’s enough to-hey-whoa, watch it, bro! That’s a goddamn bus!”

Kev yanked the wheel and slammed on brakes, as a T bus turned a corner right into them. The van lurched to the right, up the curb onto the sidewalk. Kellianne clutched the side strap with one hand, her tote bag to her chest with the other, closed her eyes, felt the van bump back on the street. She risked opening her eyes, but couldn’t let go of the strap. They were fine. Driving again. Holy shit.

To cover up what they did when that old guy died, her stupid brothers had set the whole freaking house on fire.

The tote bag of ’bilia seemed to get heavier on her lap.

No one would connect them to that house, right? There’d been no contract, no formal business deal except with the Hennessey cop, and Kev was right, he sure wasn’t gonna rat. Their cleaning supplies would burn up in the fire.

She guessed that was the whole point.

The streets of Boston whizzed by, snow splatting on the windshield. Kevin finally keeping to the speed limit. The fire was way behind them, out of their lives. Who’d ever blame them for it?

She nodded, grudgingly giving her brothers some props.

This could work.