“Bastards,” he muttered under his breath, allowing a trace of anger to keep him focused and alert. Every minute delayed was eating at his control. He knew when he found the man who had been stalking Shay he was going to need it, every damned ounce.
He’d called the Warren County sheriff’s office from Raleigh. The dispatcher said the sheriff and his deputies were out, part of an investigation over a hunting accident. She’d have someone check on the cabin as soon as they could shake loose. So far, he’d heard nothing back. Shay still wasn’t answering, either.
Eyes locked on the road ahead, he blocked the feeling eating him up inside whenever Shay drifted into his mind. He had wasted more than two hours going all the way to Raleigh. He should have known better.
Raleigh police had been by Shay’s place of work only to be told she no longer worked at Halifax Bank. Nor was she at Logital Solutions when they checked. Finally, as James was entering the city limits, a final call came in that turned him north, toward the cabin.
Shay wasn’t at home. But one of her neighbors had come over when she saw a police officer at Shay’s door. She told the Raleigh officer he was the second law enforcement officer at Shay’s door in two days. She also told him that she had seen Shay packing her car earlier in the afternoon. And then she related the incident about the run-over cat the night before, and that Shay had been drunk when she did it.
Driving drunk. That didn’t sound like Shay. Going to ground for the weekend at the lake cabin did. Shay probably thought she was running from the threat of a civil suit. If only he could warn her that she was running from something much more dangerous. An ex-con with an open-ended authorization to take care of her.
He hit the steering wheel with the flat of his palm. Why the hell didn’t she call back? Was what he had done, or not done, so unforgivable?
He had a suspicion that it was.
He pressed the gas pedal harder.
From the rearview mirror he saw a second vehicle coming up fast behind him in the darkness with flashing lights and an earsplitting siren. This was a fire department vehicle, a pumper.
Cursing under his breath, he pulled over, his cruiser’s tires kicking up gravel and red dirt as he hit the unpaved shoulder. He yanked the wheel to bring him back on to the tarmac and floored it, gaining speed until he was almost on the bumper of the truck.
Okay, so there was a fire somewhere. It wasn’t much farther to the lake itself. The vehicles would have to turn soon.
A few moments later he saw through a thinned-out line of trees a small orange glow off to the right ahead. The hair lifted on his nape. That was the direction of Shay’s cabin.
Something raw and wrathful swept through him. If the bastard had hurt Shay—
Bogart pushed his muzzle into the opening, and began to vocalize softly. James took a breath. His partner was feeding off his heightened emotions.
“It’s okay, boy.”
Sucking air until it whistled between his teeth, James struggled to rein in his most savage emotions. This was not the time to lose control. This was the time to think and act like a lawman. He and Bogart would get the asshole. But they’d do it the right way.
He had to brake hard when the fire truck swung off the tarmac onto the gravel lane that led to the cabin. When it pulled over near a red fire hydrant, he shot past it.
There were already people in the yard, neighbors who had left their homes to come and help. What filled his vision was the cabin. Smoke poured through the open doorway while flames danced behind the glass of the windows.
Dear God, don’t let Shay be in there.
He slammed on his brakes, halfway out of the cruiser before he skidded to a stop.
His heart was pounding so loudly he couldn’t make out any individual voices, but he swept the face of everyone he passed looking for Shay. Not here. Somehow he knew that. She wasn’t in the yard. The only place she could be was inside.
He didn’t hesitate. He broke into a trot, heading straight for the door.
Someone checked him, throwing him off balance, and then a gloved hand pressed hard into his chest, forcing him to a stop.
He turned to shove the intruder off and saw a man maybe twenty years his senior in seventy-five pounds of firefighting gear. Their gazes met, an older unyielding purpose matching younger single-minded determination.
The fireman dropped his hand and pointed at his comrades from the pickup, geared up and ready to go in. “This is our job. Let us do it.”
“There may be a woman in there.”
The man looked at James only a second longer, then shouted to his companions, “Possible woman inside!” He turned back to James. “We were told it was empty.”
James noticed the firemen didn’t head for the front door where smoke billowed. They headed for the back of the house where there were no flames or smoke visible. James followed. The man who’d stopped him stayed by his side.