But they both knew that wasn’t true.
“The fire department is on their way,” Quinn said, motioning toward the spot where Bennet stood talking into his phone and openly examining the two of them. “That’s Bennet. He’s a cop.” She ignored the question in Walker’s eyes. “I’m going to check on Lucy.”
“Not without me.” He gave the bat a little swing as if testing its weight, and then laced his fingers in hers.
The house was just down the hill, but Quinn couldn’t shake the feeling that they shouldn’t have left Lucy alone for even a few short minutes. She found herself racing, clinging to Walker’s hand for purchase as they hurried toward the open front door.
The cabin was dark. Quiet. Almost hysterical, Quinn ran across the floor and wrenched open the utensil drawer to dig around for the ice pick. Then she raced over to Lucy’s door and popped the skinny metal rod into the hole in the door handle. She wiggled the ice pick until she heard and felt a tiny click.
Deep breath. Lights off. Quinn squinted, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark and hoping with every fiber of her being that Lucy would be safe and sound. Asleep. She was, and when Quinn saw the little comma of Lucy’s body curled beneath the blankets, all the air went out of her in a rush. A tear slipped down her cheek and she pressed her knuckles to her mouth. Walker squeezed her shoulder and backed away so that he wasn’t framed in the doorway with a bat in his hand.
“The doors are all locked,” he whispered. “If there’s a cop on the hill and the fire department is in transit, I can’t imagine that anyone would dare to try anything.”
“Go,” she told him. “Go figure out what’s going on.”
“I won’t let the front door out of my sight.” Walker picked his phone out of his pocket and made sure the volume was turned all the way up. “Call me if you need anything at all.”
She nodded.
Walker brushed the back of his hand against her cheek, wavering, but Quinn gave him a little push. He turned and disappeared down the hallway, shutting the door carefully behind him. A second later Quinn could hear the key in the lock, sliding the dead bolt home. She couldn’t decide if it made her feel safe or terribly alone.
Quinn would have closed Lucy’s bedroom door and spent the night with her back against it, but as soon as Walker was gone, Lucy stirred in her bed and turned over.
“Quinn?” Her voice was small in the shadowy room. Tremulous. It was the first time Lucy had called her by name.
“Yes?” Quinn sniffed and ran a hand beneath her nose. She took a small step forward.
“Nothing.”
“Are you sure, honey?” Quinn struggled to make her voice sound normal, comforting. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Do you need a drink of water? The bathroom?”
Lucy was quiet for so long that Quinn thought maybe she had been asleep the whole time. Sleep talking. Quinn herself had been an epic sleepwalker back in the day. She’d once unlocked the front door and taken off down the driveway before her mother caught up with her. Quinn was about to back out of the room, but as she edged toward the door Lucy pushed herself up on her elbows. She said, “Would you lay with me for a while?”
“Of course,” Quinn whispered, her voice breaking.
Lucy pushed back the covers and slid over to make room in the queen-sized bed. If she cared that Quinn was still in her party dress, that she smelled like smoke, she didn’t let on. Instead, she blinked in the darkness as Quinn crossed the room and climbed in beside her. Then she rolled onto her side and pressed her back into Quinn, yawning as she settled her cheek into the pillow.
Clearly, blessedly, Lucy knew nothing of what was going on outside, the fire and the fear, the huge trucks that would come racing down the gravel road. Quinn could already see the flicker of their lights between the blinds and was grateful that the fire department had a policy of not using the sirens in the dead of night. Grateful that Lucy was beside her, already more than half-asleep.
“Good night,” Lucy whispered.
It was so natural, so sweet. In the midst of the madness that roiled outside, Quinn automatically put her arm around the little girl and tucked her in close. She was bone and muscle, sinew and air. But her skin was creamy soft and warm, and Quinn traced circles on the back of her hand that held the stuffed red fox. Lucy’s breathing was deep and steady in no time, but Quinn kept rubbing, smoothing her curls away from her face and running her palm along the curved line of Lucy’s spine.
Quinn fell asleep like that, one arm snug around Lucy as her silent tears dampened the pillow they shared.
NORA
“SHE MUST HAVE USED the hand pump in the yard.” Nora plucked the box of hair dye out of the dry sink and held it between her fingers as if it were something filthy. Vile.
“If the water and electricity are turned off, why would the yard pump work?” Ethan swept the beam of his iPhone flashlight app around the tiny bathroom, illuminating the gossamer strands of broken cobwebs and highlighting the years of dust that had settled on every flat surface. Mirror frame, bathtub ledge, shelf. Nothing had escaped the thick, gray film except the sink where Tiffany had obviously changed her appearance. Dramatically. Beneath the cardboard box, the bowl was filled with long dark hair.
“Because it draws from a cistern. We used it when we were kids to put out bonfires. Lorelei used to hang a five-gallon bucket from the handle. It might still be there.”
“Nobody cared that you had bonfires out here? This place is a tinderbox.”
“Obviously we didn’t have fires in the house.” Nora rolled her eyes, but Ethan’s back was turned to her.
“Still.”
“It probably bothered Lorelei. But it wasn’t like she could stop us. Besides, out of sight, out of mind. There’s half a mile and an old oak grove between the farmhouse and this shack.”
Ethan spun toward her and smiled. In the slanting, shadowy light he looked slightly maniacal. “You’re such a badass.”
“Were,” Nora corrected. She tossed the empty box of dye back into the sink and left the bathroom. “I’m straight as a pin these days.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Ethan followed close behind, illuminating her path as she led him back to the abandoned living room. It was just as tiny as the rest of the house, with barely enough space for a sagging couch and a plaid La-Z-Boy. “This whole situation is a little off the grid.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Nora had stopped abruptly, and Ethan walked right into her. “Sorry,” he said, catching her about the shoulders. But Nora didn’t want to be touched. She pulled away. “I didn’t mean anything by that,” Ethan said, holding up his hands. The light from his phone glowed white on the water-stained ceiling.
“No, you did mean something by that.”
“I’m sorry.” Ethan searched her face, his gaze earnest. “Bad joke. Nerves. I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like this before.”