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PROLOGUE
Her flesh burned away like tissue paper. The smell hit her first, even before the pain. Some part of her mind had already closed down, trying to protect her, but she knew it wouldn’t be enough to shut out the agony that was coming. A thin coil of smoke rose from the apparatus he had used. He tossed it aside, metal clattering against concrete. He gave a low whistle as he regarded his handiwork. Then he licked his lips, looking more satisfied than she had ever seen a human being look. As the pain struck her, first with a searing punch, and then in hot, intolerable waves that made her entire body shiver, he looked even happier. A glance at her hip revealed that it was no bigger than an index card. Gritting her teeth, she wondered how something so small could hurt so much.
She had burned her hand once, getting it caught in a cloud of steam from a pot she’d been handling. It had been horrific. It seemed to go on for days, no matter what remedies she tried. But this…This was something else altogether. He paced back and forth before her as she writhed on the floor. She opened her mouth to beg him for something, anything. To untie her, to let her go, to splash it with cold water, at least.
As if reading her mind, he knelt next to her and tangled his hand in her hair. His breath smelled like stale beer. He whispered into her ear, “You’re not going anywhere.”
Now she wondered what else he was capable of, and whether or not she’d ever see the outside of this rancid room again. If she did, one thing was for sure: she was going to run, as far and as fast as she could, and never look back.
ONE
A small explosion boomed from the direction of Josie Quinn’s backyard. From her place at the kitchen table, she heard an object thump against the outside of the house. Seconds later, there were shouts. The sooty smell of smoke filtered into the room. Josie’s twin sister, Trinity Payne, leapt up from her seat and ran to the back door, flinging it open. Josie followed, snatching up the small fire extinguisher that she and her husband kept next to their microwave. Thick gray smoke rolled through the open door as Josie and Trinity pushed outside. Josie held the nozzle of the extinguisher like a weapon, waving it back and forth, searching for the source of the smoke.
On the edge of the small patio outside the kitchen door, flames rose from a mangled gas grill. Josie’s husband, Noah Fraley, backed away from it, covering his face with his hands, while Trinity’s boyfriend, Drake Nally, batted at the flames with his coat. On the grass, Josie and Noah’s Boston terrier, Trout, barked furiously, jumping nervously from side to side, but thankfully staying out of range of the fire. The once-chrome lid to the grill now lay in a blackened heap near Noah’s feet. Their home’s white siding bore a dark smudge the approximate length of the lid.
“Get out of my way,” Josie said, nudging Drake aside. “Trin, get my dog, would you?”
Lightning fast, Trinity shot across the patio and scooped Trout into her arms. Drake and Noah joined her on the grass, well away from the grill.
Josie pulled the fire extinguisher’s pin and aimed the nozzle at the flaming grill. Spraying from side to side, and keeping even pressure on the lever, she put the fire out in seconds. Once she was finished, she put the spent extinguisher onto the patio and strode over to Noah.
“I’m fine,” he said as she cupped his cheeks with her hands and stared into his face. A clump of hair on the left side of his head was singed but he didn’t look injured. His hazel eyes offered a silent apology. He reached up and clasped her wrists, pulling her hands from his face. “Really,” he added. “I am.”
Trinity hugged Trout’s wriggly body to her chest and regarded Drake with a withering look.
He grinned at her, holding his charred coat in both hands. “I’m fine, too, by the way.”
Trinity shook her head. “How many grown men does it take to grill a steak?”
Trout whined.
“We weren’t even grilling yet,” Noah said. “Drake was showing me how to work it.”
Josie took Trout from Trinity and kissed the top of his furry head. “It’s February.”
Drake said, “You can grill all year round. Besides, it’s like, forty degrees.”
Trinity pointed at Drake’s coat. “That’s ruined. Throw it away. Also, you live in New York City. What business do you have teaching someone how to grill?” She looked at Josie. “And why do you and Noah even have a grill? You can hardly even handle the kitchen.”
“Hey,” Noah protested.
Josie shook her head. “She’s not wrong.”
Noah appeared to give it some thought and then declined to argue. The two of them were well known among family and friends for their legendary lack of culinary skills. Josie was a disaster when it came to cooking. She had burned more cookware than she had prepared food. From the standpoint of her waistline, marrying Noah hadn’t been a very sound strategy. He was only passable in the kitchen. If not for the kindness of friends, who often had them over for meals or dropped things off, they’d subsist almost entirely on takeout. Recently, their friend’s seven-year-old son, Harris, had challenged them to up their game in the kitchen. It wasn’t going very well.
Noah said, “This was not our fault. I got this thing from a guy at work. He was getting rid of it. I figured it would be good to practice on.”
Drake piped up, “I think there was a leak in the line. Maybe that’s why he was getting rid of it.”
Ever the journalist, Trinity launched into a list of statistics about grill fires and explosions. Drake continued to smile at her. He was still stupidly in love with her, Josie thought. No one could look at another person that way while they talked about properly operating a gas grill if they weren’t stupid in love. Josie buried her face into Trout’s fur and laughed.
When Trinity finished, Noah said, “Duly noted.”
Josie said, “Do we not get enough danger on the job?”
Josie and Noah worked for the Denton City Police Department, she as a detective and he as a lieutenant. Denton was a small city in Central Pennsylvania, nestled in a valley surrounded by several mountains and bordering a branch of the Susquehanna River. Drake was an FBI agent from the New York City field office.
Noah sidled over to Josie and slid an arm around her waist. With his other hand, he stroked Trout’s face and was rewarded with several anxious kisses. “We’ll get it cleaned up.”
