Free On Deadly Ground by Lauren Nichols

grateful.” But she couldn’t think about rebuilding right now. She was too worried that she might have inadvertently caused the fire. “Do you know how it started? I can’t think of anything I did that might have—”
    Caruthers glanced aside for an uneasy moment, then said, “I can’t say, Rachel. That’s up to the fire marshal to determine. I expect he’ll be here tomorrow.” He exhaled heavily. “In the meantime, what are your plans? Do you know where you’ll be staying? We’ll need to get in touch with you.”
    A firm voice came from behind her. “She’ll be staying with me.”
    Rachel turned sharply and her eyes welled with tears again. “Jenna.”
    “I’m so sorry,” Jenna murmured, hugging Rachel close. “I’m so, so sorry.”
    Rachel tried to keep her voice from cracking butfailed. It was nearly daybreak, and Jenna should have been in her kitchen preparing breakfast pastries for her guests. “Jen, you shouldn’t be here.”
    “Of course I should. You’re my friend.”
    “You have an inn to run.”
    “Not for another three days. I’m not reopening until Monday.”
    Rachel sighed. That was right. They’d talked about it yesterday. Or was it the day before? She couldn’t think. Everything except the present was a blur. “How did you know about the fire?”
    With a cheerless smile, Jenna turned her to face Jake, and there was no need for her friend to answer. “You’ve been a busy boy tonight,” she murmured.
    He ambled closer. “I figured you’d eventually get sick of me, and want someone who could actually do you some good. I phoned Jenna when I took Maggie back home.”
    “But how did you—?”
    “—know to call Jenna?” He smiled. “You’ve mentioned her enough times that I knew she was important to you. Not all men have selective hearing.”
    Gratitude cinched her voice. “I owe you.”
    He shook his head. “Anyone who knows you would have done the same.” He glanced around, seemed satisfied that she was in good hands, then backed away. “I’ll see you later. If you need anything, holler.” He turned to Jenna. “You have my phone number. Thanks for coming.”
    “Thanks for calling,” she replied. “I just wish you’d done it sooner.”
    Then Rachel watched as he strode back to the campstore where his truck waited and—not for the first time tonight—thanked God for his friendship.
    Why wasn’t she
dead?
Why wasn’t this
over?
    He was far from the madness of smoke and flames now, but his heart still pounded so frantically that he feared he’d stroke out. Rushing to the bathroom medicine chest, he snatched a bottle of aspirin from the shelf and turned on the cold water spigot. Pills clacked against plastic as he shook out two tablets, then swallowed them with a handful of water. He jammed the bottle back inside the mirrored chest and stared at his reflection.
    He could still feel the heat of the fire, still feel the weight of his gear and the SCBA mask pressing into his face. And despite his shower, he could still smell the stench of smoke.
    He wet his hands—pumped liquid soap into his palm and scrubbed his face. Pushed frothy bubbles into his nostrils to cover the smell.
    He’d been smart about the fire—used a common accelerant that would positively point to arson and rule out an educated fireman. In this day and age of forensics, it was nearly impossible to create an “accidental” fire. Kerosene and gasoline would have done the trick because they had low flash points. But ultimately he’d chosen one that fit his purposes better in the event that Rachel lived through the blaze. He’d used the same stove-and-lantern fuel she sold in her store, and in doing that, planted a little seed that she might have started the blaze herself.
    He walked around, fretted, wondered if the aspirin was burning a hole in his stomach lining. He’d heard ofrepressed—or was that suppressed?—memories. What if she woke up one morning and realized he was the man she’d