Safe From the Fire

SAFE
FROM THE FIRE

Contents

PROLOGUE
.
3

CHAPTER ONE
.
4

CHAPTER TWO
..
10

CHAPTER
THREE
.
17

CHAPTER FOUR
.
25

CHAPTER FIVE
.
31

CHAPTER SIX
.
37

CHAPTER
SEVEN
..
43

CHAPTER
EIGHT
.
49

CHAPTER NINE
.
54

CHAPTER TEN
..
59

CHAPTER
ELEVEN
..
64

CHAPTER
TWELVE
.
70

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
..
76

CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
..
81

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
..
86

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
..
92

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
..
97

CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
..
102

EPILOGUE
.
107

It
was a mistake.  An unbelievably
stupid
mistake, and now he had to face
the consequences.

This
isn’t my fault
,
he thought, but guilt got the better of him and he resigned himself to the fact
that the shit had landed in his lap and he was just going to have to deal with
it, whether he liked it or not.  Above all, he had to avoid suspicion, and
destroy the evidence before it came back to bite him in the ass. 

He
knew what that meant, what he had to do.

Standing
in the dark electrical room of the small office building, he carefully poured
lighter fluid over a rag and stuffed it into the casing of the computer tower
closest to the air vents.  He’d already disabled the sprinklers, but left the
alarm system intact.

No
sense in burning down the whole fucking block.

By
the time the firefighters arrived, he’d be long gone and the building would be
beyond saving.  He’d planned it oh-so-precisely.

I’m
not a bad man,
he assured himself.  No one would get hurt.

The
match flared in the dark and he shivered with anticipation at the enormity of
what he was about to set in motion.

It’s
the only way,
he thought, and touched the match to the soaked rag.

His
eyes gleamed as he watched the fire jump, climbing the wall and reaching for
the vents in an eerily beautiful and deadly sheet of flame.

And
then he was gone.

GRACE
MALLOW KNEW SHE was being stalked.  She’d felt eyes on her from the moment
she’d locked up her little blue house that morning and made the fifteen-minute
walk to work.  She’d felt them on her as she and Fiona Morton opened the
library for the day, greeted the regulars, and dealt with the morning’s
returns.  She’d felt them as she read to the preschoolers during story hour and
started putting up the library’s Halloween decorations.

It
wasn’t unusual for Grace to feel like she was being watched.  She knew her look
was eye-catching, and was used to the stares of disapproval whenever she wore
her violet-streaked reddish hair down, and whispers as she swished past the
good people of Bright’s Ferry in Gothy boots and black lace.  She wasn’t a Goth
in the true sense, and would never insult the friends that committed to the
lifestyle by pretending to be, but Grace liked her life a little dark and
spooky, and wasn’t about to apologize for it.

And
a little kinky,
she
admitted to herself,
and I’m not going to apologize for that, either.

She’d
lived in Bright’s Ferry all her life, and when she’d suddenly started wearing a
lot of black and listening to darker music in high school, her parents and teachers
had panicked.

You’re
such a bright young lady,
they all said, followed by dire warnings about
ruining her life by hanging out with the wrong crowd, getting caught up in
dangerous things, and so on. 

Grace
ignored them all and did her own thing.

That
didn’t sit well.  Bright’s Ferry was full of thoughtful, good-hearted people,
but they also had a tendency to be judgmental, straight-laced, and opinionated
about everything, whether it was any of their concern or not.  Even before the
Mallows gave Bright’s Ferry a serious reason to disapprove, Grace had known she
didn’t stand a chance.

It
wasn’t exactly fair.  The truth was, aside from some very naughty private tendencies
that Grace didn’t feel were anybody’s business but her own, she was basically a
goody two-shoes.  No drugs, no cigarettes, and only the occasional drink with
the girls.  She was a librarian, for Pete’s sake.  Sure, she had a few sexual
kinks, but finding someone to share them with who wouldn’t be shocked or,
worse, take them too far, was proving to be difficult.  She wasn’t looking for
some sticky emotional connection, just mutual satisfaction.  Anything deeper
involved dates and meeting families and public acceptance, and the last thing
Grace wanted was to wrap her self-worth up in what someone else thought of
her. 

Still,
even finding a decent lover was proving to be impossible. Too often over the
last few months, Grace found herself sitting in a dark club across from a
too-pale, clueless wannabe Dom with greased hair and tight leather pants,
explaining to him that no, she wouldn’t be wearing a collar to work or doing
his laundry naked.  Some women would probably swoon over the offer, but it just
wasn’t Grace’s cup of tea.  She needed something specific and just hadn’t seen
anything she liked yet.

That’s
not true.

The
image of hot blue eyes and impossibly broad, muscled shoulders drifted into her
brain, and Grace suppressed the tingle that snaked down her spine and
resolutely pushed the seductive picture away to focus on hanging the sparkly spider
webs over the front entrance.

No
thinking about Matt Harris,
she reminded herself sternly,
You
plus a sweet, wholesome firefighter equals disaster.  Think about Halloween. 
You love Halloween.

Grace
did love Halloween, from the pumpkins to the candy to the spooky, witchy
feeling that came with the whole month of October.  It was the one time of the
year that she didn’t feel like a total outsider in her own town.  At Halloween,
she fit in.  Not that she cared about fitting in.  Really.

Just
me and all the other freaks.

Grace
sighed and stepped off the foot ladder.  Feeling uneasy, she scanned the little
library, looking over her morning’s work with a critical eye.  Cobwebs took up
the corners and festooned the tail of the “Are You A Bookworm?” mural that
dominated the Young Readers section.  There were gourds and pumpkin lights in
every window, and a bowl of candy – but no gum, of course – on the counter of
the main desk.  Grace felt a little trill of satisfaction wind its way through her
body – regardless of what the town thought of her, the library was her kingdom,
and she was proud of it.

At
the main desk, Fiona patiently tracked down old Mr. Muir’s latest long list of
exotic bird books while a handful of seniors browsed the stacks and the young
man with messy brown hair and a worn backpack stared at Grace from the Self-Help
section, looking anxious.  Grace frowned.

“Adam?”

For
a moment he looked like he was going to bolt, and then the young man raised a
hand in tentative greeting, with that little crooked smile she remembered.

“Adam!”

Grace’s
screech was loud enough to have the entire library looking over in disapproval,
but she didn’t care, because the next moment she had her arms locked around her
younger brother in a delighted hug.  After a surprised second, Adam hugged her
back with a little laugh.

“Hey,
sis.”

Grace
held on, burying her face in his shoulder to contain the swell of emotion.  He
seemed to understand, because he patted her back and let her get a grip on
herself.  Finally, Grace pulled back to scrutinize the young man, adjusting her
crooked glasses.

Adam
was still slim, but taller than he had been.  He was more a man than a boy now,
with new weariness in the soft brown eyes that matched her own.  He hadn’t had
that when he entered juvie almost three years before.  Back then, Adam’s eyes
had been filled with anger and reckless rebellion, and his increasingly
dangerous stunts had driven their parents to early retirement in Florida,
unable to handle the town’s lingering resentment over his behavior.  Grace was
made of heartier stuff, and refused to be driven from her home by a few
mean-spirited gossips.

“What
are you doing here?”

The
words tumbled out more astonished than she had planned, and his pleased
expression at her enthusiastic welcome dimmed.

“I
didn’t mean it like that.  Of course, I’m thrilled you’re here.  It’s just…I’m
surprised, that’s all.”

“Mom
suggested it.”

“You
talked to Mom?”

It
was impossible to keep the shock out of her voice, but Adam only smiled.

“Yeah.”

Grace
was bursting with questions, but Fiona chose that moment to sidle up to them.

“Who’s
your friend, Grace?”

“Fiona,
this is my brother, Adam.”

“Hi,”

The
pretty young African-American woman held out a hand, gifting Adam with a dazzling
smile that brought out the dimple in her cheek.  He looked a little stunned.

“You
probably don’t remember me,” Fiona said, “We were a couple of grades apart.”

“I
remember.  Nice to see you again.”

Grace
didn’t like the way Fiona was sizing her brother up, evaluating him as a
potentially tasty snack.

“Hungry?”
she asked her brother, and his eager nod made her wonder when he had last
eaten, “I’m going to take Adam over to Mary’s.  Can you handle everything for a
few hours?”