Faces Of Evil: Traceless Part 13

She ran across the yard, bounded onto the porch. Going in through the front door was impossible.

The flames were devouring the living room like a hungry beast that hadn't been fed in a really long time. The front window had already shattered from the heat. She should have heard the window break ... or maybe that was what had awakened her.

The crackle of the fire sent goose b.u.mps spilling over her skin. A whoosh accompanied the flight of embers through the air.

She called 911, didn't remember closing her phone afterward or sliding it into her pocket, but somehow it was no longer in her hand.

She rushed around to the back door of his house.

Locked. She twisted the k.n.o.b and pushed hard. No use. She peered through the window next to it. The fire had blocked off the doorway going from the kitchen into the living room. That route wouldn't work.

She ran to the next window on the back of the house. Closed. Locked. The room beyond was dark. She couldn't see a thing except... maybe a bed. Her pulse vaulted with the hysteria swiftly climbing into her throat.

Next window. Open. No screen in the way. Thank G.o.d.

It was dark. She stuck her head inside. The white linens on the bed allowed her to make out a darker lump in the middle.

"Austin!"

She braced her hands on the ledge and levered her body upward, swung one leg inside. Her blouse snagged on something. She jerked it loose and fell into the room.

"Austin!" She scrambled up, rushed to the bed. "Wake up!"

She held her breath, recognized on some level that smoke had invaded and started to burn her lungs. Would have been much worse had the bedroom door not been closed.

She shook him. He didn't grunt... didn't react.

She shook him harder. "Austin! Wake up, dammit!"

Where were the sirens? Shouldn't the fire trucks be here by now?

"Austin!"

He groaned... tried to cough.

"Wake up!" She reached to shake him again and a hand clamped around her arm. His eyes opened. He jumped up... staggered... coughed... but held on to her with an iron grip.

"What the h.e.l.l you doing?"

"The house is on fire!" she cried, her arms and legs trembling now. "We have to get out of here." She gulped the air infused with smoke and her lungs seized, making her cough.

He hesitated as if he needed to gather his wits, as if he didn't trust her to tell him the truth.

"Hurry!" She coughed again... the burn in her lungs renewing her urgency.

He hauled her to the window and practically tossed her out, following right behind her. They tumbled to the ground. He jumped up and dragged her toward the barn. The fire roared and something collapsed. Emily didn't look back until they'd moved away from the danger.

The fire burst through the roof.

If she hadn't awakened him, he would be dead now. If she hadn't been parked in front of his house...

Someone had tried to kill him.

Her knees buckled, but his grip on her arm kept her vertical.

The reality of what she'd done hit her. She'd gone into a burning house and rescued Clint Austin from certain death.

The action hadn't resulted from conscious thought. The fire had kicked in her survival and rescue instincts. She'd reacted.

She looked up at the man beside her. The light from the flickering flames allowed her to see the shock and devastation on his face. The urge to do something... to reach out to him somehow was a palpable force inside her.

But there was nothing she could do.

Troy's a.s.surance that he would take care of Austin personally echoed in her head, sent a blend of tension and fear coiling through her. Surely he wouldn't do something like this.

This was attempted murder.

Her gaze shifted back to Austin. She'd wished him dead a thousand times. She'd prayed he would rot in prison.

She'd saved his life.

3:30 a.m.

Clint felt numb.

Parts of two outer walls were about all that was left of his home. The fire was out, but the air was still filled with the smell of smoke.

Vultures from the various media outlets within a fifty-mile radius had arrived. A couple of Ray's deputies were keeping them away from the house and yard. But zoom lenses would capture more than enough.

The paramedic had wanted Clint to go to the hospital for further evaluation because of the smoke inhalation, but he had refused.

The week had caught up with him last night. The vandalism, the way the whole community treated him, all of it had come crashing down around him just like Ray warned Clint it might. But mostly it was her. All this time, all this pain, and she still made him want her. So he'd drunk himself as close to oblivion as a twelve-pack of cheap beer would take him, but he was stone-cold sober now.

He would be dead... if it hadn't been for her.

His gaze settled on Emily Wallace where she huddled against a squad car as Ray questioned her.

A shudder rocked through Clint.

He'd been dead to the world. Nothing would have awakened him... if she hadn't...

His eyes started to burn again. From the smoke probably.

He wasn't surprised by someone's attempt to kill him. h.e.l.l, he'd expected it He just hadn't antic.i.p.ated he'd live through it and lose every d.a.m.ned thing else.

He'd moved his car once the water had started to contain the fire. Hot-wiring it had been necessary, since his keys had been inside the now-destroyed house. At least he still had his car. He had no idea if there was insurance for this.

Clint scrubbed his hand over his face and wondered why the h.e.l.l he even cared. Because he was a fool. He'd told himself that when and if he got out he would come back here and prove his innocence. More for his mother's sake than his own.

He'd been back five days and the only thing he'd proven was that the whole d.a.m.ned town hated him and believed just as deeply as ever that he was guilty.

His attention settled on the charred remains of the house that his mother had worked so hard to keep.

Maybe this was a reaction to his prods. He'd punched Marvin Cook's b.u.t.tons and he'd a.s.suredly told all his buddies. Then Clint had gone for Sid.

Oh yeah, Clint should have seen this coming and been better prepared. He'd let the bulls.h.i.t get to him instead of staying focused, and this was the result.

Whoever set this fire wanted Clint dead. Maybe the culprit thought he deserved to die because of the murder rap or maybe because someone wanted Clint silenced forever.

He knew he was innocent.

Heather Baker's real killer knew it, too.

"Clint."

Ray's voice hauled Clint from the past. The smell of smoke lingered in his lungs and the reality tore at his gut. Everything was gone.

"Clint, I have to ask you some questions now."

He turned to face the other man. Clint looked past him to the road where Emily Wallace's car still sat.

"Where's..." Clint swallowed in an effort to soothe the burn in his throat.

"Deputy Fitzpatrick took her to the Valley Inn. She didn't want to go home." Ray glanced at the news vans. "I guess she was afraid they would follow her. She doesn't want her parents upset. We'll see that her car gets to her later today." He turned back to Clint. "Why don't we do this in the barn?"

Suited Clint. He wasn't going to make this easy for those d.a.m.ned reporters. Ray contacted one of his men via his radio and ordered him to push the media to the opposite side of the road. When Clint and Ray reached the barn, he dropped into a crouch and flipped to a clean page in his notepad. He tucked his flashlight under his arm, directing its beam at the paper.

"Let's start with what time you came home last night."

Clint had no idea just how exhausted he was until he sat down on the ground and leaned against the wall. He watched the chaos around his house, the idea of what it all meant startling him all over again. He answered Ray's questions, provided any additional details he could think of, including the fact that he'd drunk himself into oblivion. Ray chose not to mention that the beer had violated a condition of Clint's parole. He could bring it up later, but right now Clint was too tired to care.

Dawn started its slow creep across the horizon. Pinks and purples streaking the dark sky as the firemen started to pack up their gear. An investigator from the fire marshal's office would be here later this morning to look for evidence.

Five days. Clint had been released less than a week and already he'd lost everything.

What the h.e.l.l was he supposed to do now?

"Just one more question." Ray pushed to his feet, stretched, and made a sound that said he was about as exhausted as Clint.

Taking that as his cue, Clint got up, did some stretching of his own. Felt like he'd been sitting there for hours.

Though he'd said he had another question, Ray closed his notepad and stuffed it into his pocket. "Do you think Emily Wallace started this fire?"

Means, opportunity, and motive. It was all there. Anyone who'd sat through Clint's trial knew the necessary elements evaluated when considering a crime. Still, he and Ray were talking about Emily Wallace. They both knew she wasn't capable of anything like this. Clint studied Ray a moment, tried to a.s.sess whether he was serious or not.

Evidently taking Clint's continued silence for a mixed response, Ray went on, "I searched her car, searched the area around it. If she brought any accelerants, there's no indication. But we'll look a little closer just to be sure."

"She didn't do it."

"She didn't?" Ray kept his face clean of whatever he was thinking.

Clint had a feeling Ray was more interested in gauging his reaction to the fire than in determining if Emily Wallace had committed arson.

"I'll tell you who didn't do it," Clint said, deciding that he would just say what was on his mind. "All these good citizens who believe I killed Heather Baker and who want to see justice done."

Ray didn't interrupt.

"None of those folks are criminals." Clint knew criminals. Had spent the last ten years with the worst kind.

"So," Ray ventured, "what're you saying?"

This was the kicker. "I'm saying that whoever did this is the person who killed Heather Baker."

The silence thickened for a handful of seconds that turned into a full minute heavy with tension before Ray reacted.

"You can't know that."

Clint's gaze narrowed at the defensive tone. "I know I didn't kill her."

More of that throat-grabbing silence.

"You have to let this go, Clint. Things will only get worse if you don't. We've talked about this already. Poking around in the past is going to get you nowhere fast. Folks around here have suffered enough. It's time to move on."

Maybe it was the total lack of emotion in Ray's words or the dull, flat look in his eyes, but what he said made Clint sure of one thing. "I will find the truth. No one, not even you, is going to stop me."

Ray exhaled a blast of fatigue. "Look at what you and Emily are doing. Her folks are all torn up. The Bakers are worried sick about her. They just want her to let it go. The whole town is in an uproar, Clint. It's my job to keep the peace, to take care of the citizens of Pine Bluff, and you're both making my job d.a.m.ned difficult. You've got to put the past behind you and stop trying to make it right. It won't ever be right, no matter what you do, and that's the G.o.d's truth."

Clint laughed, the sound a perverse mockery of amus.e.m.e.nt. "So I'm just supposed to pretend it never happened. Just sit back and let whoever did this do it again?" He stared out at the pile of rubble that used to be his home.

"We'll get to the bottom of this," Ray promised. "We won't let anything like this happen again. You have my word."

Ray wasn't going to change his mind. That left Clint with only one option. He looked Ray square in the eye and let him in on the revelation: "I want to see the case files."

Ray choked out a laugh. "What?"

"You heard me. I want to see the files on the Heather Baker murder investigation. I have the right to request a look." He'd learned that in prison. Legally, Ray couldn't refuse. He could delay approval, but he couldn't refuse.

"And what in the h.e.l.l do you hope to accomplish, Clint? Just tell me. You know there wasn't a trace of evidence to indicate anyone else was in the room. Going through those files won't help you find what you're looking for." Ray held out his hands, palms up. "And what if you did find something?" he pressed. "Something Ledbetter overlooked, which, as you know, isn't likely. Even if you could prove your innocence, you know as well as I do that the folks in this town will always see you as guilty. You can't get those years back, Clint. There's nothing you can do about any of this but live with it. Things will get better; people will forget... if you'll just let them."

"Sounds like you're the one worried, Ray." Clint let Ray know with a look that he was dead serious. "I want to see for myself just how badly you and your buddies screwed up. Seems to me you'd want the truth. I'm innocent; that means a murderer is still out there."

CHAPTER NINETEEN.