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I’m surprised he returned to work after something like that. Most people wouldn’t.
The report says Sean managed to get in and drag Marcus out before he succumbed to smoke inhalation. I make a mental note to have a chat with my landlord the next time I see him. Running into a fire takes guts.
Leafing through the latest notes, it’s clear the investigation hit a dead end. Nobody saw who lit the fire. It was definitely arson and it wasn’t just a warning. Accelerant was found near all the exits. Whoever set the blaze wanted there to be casualties but seemingly hasn’t stuck again. Natalie and Marcus’ pursuit of every lead is evident. Yet I still find it hard to believe that they have no suspects at all.
Closing the documents Van illegally borrowed from the police department, I pull up the video but hesitate. My finger hovers over the play button on the uncovered dashcam footage. I crack my neck from side to side. Natalie’s pretty face enters my head, and I know that, really, I should hand over this new evidence to her immediately. It could be crucial to their investigation.
Huffing, I press play and lean forward, eyes glued to the screen. I’ll give it to her as soon as I know what’s in it.
I’m holding my breath as I stare at the grainy dashcam footage, and the guesthouse fills the frame. Whoever’s vehicle this is, it was parked straight across from the entrance, the angle perfect to capture what happened that night. The camera must have been triggered into filming by the movement of people streaming out the door, because it cuts straight to the action. They emerge, arms wrapped around each other, coughing hard, and an elderly gentleman encourages them to move farther away from the building.
The fire is insane. The entire guesthouse is already engulfed and it’s immediately obvious that multiple fires were set at the same time. Blazes burn on different sides of the property, set like that to cause maximum damage. It’s a miracle everyone survived. My chest tightens as I see Zoe talking to Marcus, who has just raced into the picture. He’s a giant of a man with a thick beard, and he uses his size and presence to push everyone back from the inferno.
He knows it’s going to come down.
Whatever Zoe says catches his attention and he lifts his head to face the fire, pulling his shoulders back and dragging a hand down his beard. He runs to Sean, speaking quickly in his ear, and, without hesitation, lifts an arm to shield his face as he heads back inside.
Even though I know he makes it out, it’s gut-wrenching and incredible to watch it all unfold. He must have known it was more than likely he wasn’t coming back out.
Despite reading how it happened, I’m stunned when he appears in the top window, lifting a limp form into the frame. I jump to my feet when he shoves her out, cursing out loud when Sean catches her before she smashes into the ground. I definitely need to have a conversation with him: he’s a big guy, but that was something else.
A fire truck appears, its flashing lights hitting the front of the guesthouse and making the scene feel even more desperate. Firefighters immediately raise the lift to the first floor, one man scrambling to the top to try and reach the Sheriff. Marcus pushes the man away and I squint at the screen, trying to work out why he’s refusing help. Then, in the blink of an eye, Marcus is gone.
The women standing over to one side scream and gasp as plumes of dust billow from the blown-out windows and doors. Sparks fly into the air and the loud crash tells me the moment the floor inside has given way.
A shadow appears from behind the camera, sprinting toward the building. Sean catches them by the waist, holding this person back from entering the building. It’s a deathtrap. Nobody would be crazy enough to go in there, even getting near would be dangerous, especially for someone not thinking straight.
The burly bartender gets a sharp elbow in the ribs for his trouble and it’s enough to make him loosen his hold for a split second. The person wriggles from his grasp and moves closer to the guest house. As soon as I see the profile, I know who it is.
Natalie Lennox.
I curse, watching rapt as she tucks her long hair under her hood and pulls the strings tight to shield her face from the heat. As if that’s going to make any difference.
“She can’t be that fucking stupid!” I hiss at the screen, stooping to pick it up and pace as I watch her scan the area one last time then duck inside, a flashlight wrapped in her sleeve. Freezing, I grip the laptop as the seconds tick by. What the fuck was she thinking?
She has no breathing apparatus, no protective gear. The building is literally falling down around them. Even if she could find him, he’s twice her size. How would she get him out?
Movement to the side of the screen catches my attention. A side door to the property bursts open and a dark shadow slowly emerges. It’s hard to make out against the blackness of the forest, but as it continues to edge its way out, another more easily identifiable shape emerges: Marcus. Lying prone on the floor, being dragged along, inch by inch, by the back of his dust-covered shirt.
When his boots are clear of the doorway, two firemen appear and swoop to take over, gripping him under the arms and hauling him to safety.
Stunned, my eyes stay fixed on the dark blob that just hauled a three-hundred-pound unconscious man through a burning building. What the hell is that? Finally, it moves, and I tilt my head, trying to work out what I’m looking at. Then it turns, its big head swinging from side to side and, for a brief second before it slips into the forest, I see its face as the light from the fire illuminates its features.
A bear.
A fucking bear rescued Marcus from the fire?
Blinking, I press my fingers into my eyes hard and replay the last fifteen seconds. I’m not hallucinating; it’s a bear.
The clock continues to roll, but Natalie never emerges. Sean never looks for her. When the firemen start to tackle the blaze, they’re not acting like there could be anyone trapped inside. An ambulance crew treats Marcus at the scene and then races off, lights on and siren blaring. They don’t act like they’re expecting anyone else.
Exhausted, I flop down onto the sofa again, laptop tossed to the side, and reach for my hip flask, downing every drop that’s left inside. I blink, hard, and then stare at the wall, confused and completely shell-shocked.
For once in my life, I have no words. Van was right. Holy shit, indeed.
CHAPTER 8
NATALIE
