She tried to be philosophical about the plan. A few broken bones were going to be a nuisance, but they beat the heck out of the alternative.
“It’s okay, I just came up that way,” Luke whispered. “Hold on to my wrists. Go over the side. I’ll lower you as far as I can. It’s all grass and shrubs down there. Soft landing, guaranteed.”
“Oh, sure.” She looked over the side. The view reminded her of the one time she had mustered the courage to climb up to the high dive board at a swimming pool.
She had taken one look at the long drop to the water and immediately climbed right back down. “What about you?”
“Believe me, I’ll be right behind you. That bastard is saturating the house with whatever he’s using fo n accelerant. When he puts the torch to it, this place is going to go up like a bomb.
Move, woman.”
As soon as his powerful hands tightened around her wrists, she took heart. His fingers felt like iron manacles. He would not let her fall.
She scrambled awkwardly over the side and found herself dangling a short distance above the ground. Luke released her. She dropped lightly onto the lawn, stumbled and sat down hard.
That hadn’t been so bad, she thought, scrambling to her feet and brushing off her hands.
She looked up just in time to see Luke swing himself over the side of the deck. He hung there for an instant, found the edge of the breakfast nook window frame with one foot and then bounded down t he ground in one easy motion. She realized that it was the window ledge that had made it possible for him to climb up to the deck in the first place. Men and their upper body strength.
He grabbed her hand. “Let’s go.”
They plunged into the trees.
The muffled roar of a distant freight train shattered the night.
Except that there were no train tracks anywhere near Dunsley Irene thought.
She did not need the whoosh of the flames or the wave of heat behind her to tell her what had happened. The intruder had ignited a firestorm.
Luke drew her to a halt.
“Stay here,” he said. “Got your phone?”
“Yes, but—”
“Call nine-one-one.” He turned away.
“For God’s sake, where are you going?” she called after him.
“To see if I can find the bastard. He’s on foot, same as us. Probably parked out on the road somewhere. Maybe I can catch up with him.”
“Luke, for the record, I think that is a very bad idea.”
But she was talking to the night. Luke had melted away into the shadows.
Glass exploded. Irene watched, stunned, as the flames engulfed the house with breathtaking speed. She yanked her phone out of her pocket and dialed the emergency number.
Somewhere in the distance an outboard motor roared to life. She knew then that Luke was not going to be able run down the arsonist. The intruder wasn’t fleeing toward a car. He had used a boat.
Sixteen
I need a drink.” Luke shut the front door of the cabin with a sharp, definitive movement. He slamme he bolt home and headed for the tiny kitchenette. “Got any of that beer left?”
“In the refrigerator.” Irene watched him warily uncertain of his mood. This was the first time he had spoken since they had finished talking to Sam McPherson at the scene of the fire. That conversatio ad not gone well, in her opinion. Luke’s silence in the SUV afterward had not helped. “Look, I’m sorry you got involved in this thing. I never meant—”
“If you say that one more time, I will not be responsible for my actions.” He opened the refrigerator,
took out a bottle and popped the top. “You know, for the first time in my life I’m starting to believe that there just might be such a thing as bad karma. Nothing else can really explain why I ended up with you for a paying guest here at Sunrise on the Lake Lodge.” He took a long pull on the beer, lowered the bottle and looked at her with narrowed eyes. “I mean, what are the odds?”
It dawned on her that he was coldly furious. The unfairness of it all annoyed her. She stood in th iddle of the room and folded her arms.
“I didn’t ask you to follow me to the Webb house tonight,” she said.
“No, you sure as hell did not.” He leaned back against the counter, crossed his feet at the ankles and drank more beer. “In fact, you drove out of here with your headlights off in an effort to make sure I didn’t see you.”
“This isn’t your problem.”
“Maybe it wasn’t in the beginning, but it sure as hell is now.” He raised his brows.
“You do realize that McPherson is currently contemplating the possibility that you and I are responsible for that fire tonight?”
She swallowed hard. “Yes. But we’re the ones who called in the alarm.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time that an arsonist set a fire, called the fire department and then hung around to watch the excitement.”
“I’m aware of that. But Sam has to realize that we have no motive. Neither of us stands to benefit from any insurance policy that the Webbs might have on the place.”
“A lot of arsonists don’t do it for the insurance money. They’re addicted to the thrill of the flames. But that’s beside the point in this case. You want to talk motive? Fine.
Let’s start with me.”
She frowned. “You don’t have one.”
“Exactly.” He nodded, as though trying to encourage a slow student. “You, on the other hand, do.”
She nearly choked on her outrage. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“It wouldn’t take much to make you look like a prime suspect. Everyone in town knows you’re obsessing over the idea that Pamela Webb was murdered. You want to force McPherson to conduct a serious investigation, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Setting fire to the victim’s house is certainly one way of getting his attention and ensuring a nvestigation of some kind.”
She was horrified. “That’s weak. Very, very weak.”
“If you believe that, you’re in denial.” Luke studied her with a hunter’s cold, calculating gaze. “No matter how you slice it, I’m your alibi for that fire tonight and you’re mine. Problem is, neither of us has a lo f credibility here in Dunsley. I’m the new guy in town. No one knows much about me. That makes m natural suspect. But you’re in an even worse position because you’ve got a history around here. McPherson would have to be a really bad cop not to be suspicious of both of us.”