His smile disappeared almost as quickly as it arrived. His shoulders stiffened, and he headed for the door. Daisy heard the inner door click as it latched behind Chris, and she hurried back up the stairs to her bedroom window, turning off the lamp on her way.
Resting one knee on the window seat, she watched Chris and the sheriff cross the street as they headed toward the empty house. While Chris took a detour to the parked squad, collecting a black case from the cargo area, Coughlin fiddled with the lockbox hanging from the knob on the front door. He must have gotten the code from the owners or the realtor, since he unlocked the door and held it open for Chris.
The two men disappeared into the house, and Daisy sagged into the window seat, knowing it was going to be an endless few hours of staring at the blank outside of the house. The large front window lit, clearly showing the interior of the living room and the two men moving around inside. Room by room, they turned on the lights. When the owners had moved, they’d apparently taken all the blinds with them. The only window that stayed dark was the one that had shown flames the night before.
Once almost the entire house was illuminated, Chris and Rob returned to the living room. It was like watching a muted movie on a very small screen. Not for the first time, Daisy wished for binoculars. She leaned forward until her forehead was pressed against the glass.
Even with the distance, it was easy to tell that the two men had worked together for a long time. They moved around the room in an efficient rhythm, and Daisy hoped that meant the search would be quick, and Chris would be back at her house even before she had a chance to get bored watching them collecting evidence.
There was a thump downstairs. Startled, Daisy jumped from the window seat. She strained to listen, but her heart pounding in her ears drowned out any other sounds. Creeping toward the bedroom door, she flinched as a floorboard creaked under her foot. She paused in the doorway, but she still didn’t hear anything.
Daisy started wondering if she was imagining this, like she’d imagined the intruder the other night. This sound had been loud and definitely inside the house, though. Taking a couple of steps out into the hall, she inhaled a deep, steadying breath—and froze.
She smelled smoke.
As her heart began to gallop, she reversed her steps, hurrying back into her bedroom toward the bedside table where her phone was charging. Chris was just across the street. She’d call him, and he’d be inside her house in seconds. Grabbing her cell, she pushed the main button, but nothing happened. Daisy stared at the black screen as she pushed the start button over and over. It was charged and only a few months old—why was her phone dead?
Giving up, she rushed out of her bedroom. There were fire extinguishers. She could use those to put out the fire before it got out of control. As she descended the stairs, the smell of smoke grew stronger.
In the downstairs hall, she flicked the light switch, but nothing happened. Could something electrical have blown, causing the smoke and a loss of power? Strangely enough, the thought was almost reassuring, that there was an explanation. As frightening as an electrical fire might be, unexplained thumps and smoke and power outages were even more terrifying.
As she entered the kitchen, intending to grab a flashlight from the utility drawer, she stopped abruptly. Flames flickered in the entryway, coloring the kitchen red. The smoke was thicker, burning her throat and making her cough. Pressing her sleeve against her mouth and nose, she grabbed the fire extinguisher from under the sink. When she turned around, pulling the pin to unlock the device, a backlit, menacing figure was standing in the kitchen doorway.
With a shriek, she squeezed the lever, dousing the person with foam. He lurched toward her, so she threw the extinguisher at him and ran into the living room. Blinded by the darkness after she’d stared into the fire, she crashed into a chair and tumbled to the ground, landing painfully on her hip and shoulder.
As soon as she hit, she was scrambling to her feet again, running almost before she had her feet untangled from the chair legs. Unable to resist a glance behind her, she saw Tyler moving slowly from the kitchen, pouring something from a rectangular can onto the floor.
It felt like time slowed as he put the container down and pulled out a matchbook. Tyler struck a match, the small flame standing out against the red and orange of the burning kitchen, and looked at her, smiling faintly, as he tossed it to the floor. Fire zipped along the line of accelerant, lighting the fumes in a tiny wall of flame.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he called over the roar of the fire. “But you saw him with King and refused to shut up about it. I had to do it. I had to do what needed to be done.”