Jeffery Deaver - XO

His slapping at the flames wasn’t doing much to stop the spread, though he’d beat out a narrow path down the stairs to the ground floor.

She made her way along this now. He was pointing into the den. “We can get out that way, through the window!”

But she said, “You go! I’m going to fight it.”

“No, we can’t!”

“Go!” she shouted and turned the small extinguisher on the flames.

Edwin hesitated, coughing hard, and returned to flailing away with his jacket. “I’ll help you.”

She gave him a smile and called, “In the kitchen, there’s another extinguisher. Beside the stove!”

Choking, Edwin staggered through the arched doorway and returned a moment later with the extinguisher, much bigger than Kayleigh’s, and started to douse the flames too.

With a horrified glance at Alicia’s burning body, Kayleigh ran out the back door and returned a moment later with her garden hose. She began attacking the stubborn fire as Edwin, next to her, blew bursts of foam from the big extinguisher. They both retched and coughed and tried to blink away tears from the smoke.

The singer and her stalker held their own but only for a time. Soon Edwin’s extinguisher ran out and an outrider of fire melted her garden hose.

Too late… no! My house.

But then sirens sounded and outside the evening darkness filled with flashing lights as the first fire trucks arrived. Men and women in their thick yellow outfits hurried into the house with hoses and began battling the flames. One fireman bent over Alicia’s body, no longer burning but smoldering badly, and felt for a pulse. He looked up and shook his head.

Another ushered Kayleigh and Edwin toward the front door and they staggered outside. Kayleigh made her way down the stairs into the yard, coughing and spitting the terrible bits of soot and ash from her mouth. She paused on the lawn and vomited painfully. Then she looked back, realizing that Edwin was lagging behind.

She saw him on his knees on the porch. His hand was at his throat. He lifted his fingers away and looked at them. Kayleigh saw the digits were dark but not stained with soot, as she’d thought. Blood was flowing from a wound in his neck.

Alicia had shot him before he wrestled the gun away from her.

He blinked and looked at Kayleigh. “I think… I think she…” His eyes closed and he collapsed backward on the wooden deck.

KATHRYN DANCE WAS sitting next to Kayleigh Towne on the steps of her house. They were bathed in a sweep of colored lights, blue and red, with flashes of white. Beautiful and troubling.

The young woman was diminished, her posture collapsed-chin tucked, shoulders slumped. She was smeared with Edwin Sharp’s blood, from trying to staunch the bleeding. In kinesic analysis Kayleigh’s carriage could be read as defeat and acceptance, the goal of every interrogator. But the pose was also an indication of exhaustion or disbelief.

P. K. Madigan was directing the FMCSO’s crime scene team in their search of the house, and the fire department was making sure there was no chance of the flames sprouting up again.

“I don’t understand any of this,” Kayleigh whispered.

Dance explained what they’d learned about Alicia and found in her apartment. “And in her truck? There was a Baggie filled with things she stole from Edwin’s rental. She was going to plant them here.” Dance then explained the why. “There was a note too. She’d forged your handwriting and did a pretty good job of it. If anything happened to you, you wanted her to take over the band.”

“She asked Edwin here tonight too so it’d look like he’d killed me. He gets arrested and nobody believes him when he claims he’s innocent.”

“Exactly.”

Kayleigh rubbed her face; her jaw tightened. “Alicia wanted to be me. She wanted fame and money and power. That’s what this fucking business does to people. It twists them, seduces them. I’m sick of it! I’m so sick of it.” She looked toward the medics. “I told him not to come. I knew he’d get blamed if anything happened. But he came anyway.”

As some EMTs got Edwin into one of the two ambulances, another approached them. “Agent Dance. Ms. Towne… Mr. Sharp’s lost a lot of blood. We’ve stabilized him as best we can but, I’m sorry to say, it’s not looking good. We have to get him to the hospital for surgery as soon as we can.”

“Is he going to live?” Kayleigh asked.

“We don’t know at this time. Was he a friend?”

Kayleigh said softly, “In a way. He’s a fan of mine.”

TWO HOURS LATER, a tired-looking surgeon, a South Asian man in green scrubs, walked slowly down the bleached-lit hallway of Fresno Community Hospital toward the waiting area.

Dance looked at Kayleigh and together they rose.

The man didn’t seem to know whom to deliver the news to: the famous Fresno singer or the tall woman with the gun on her hip. He spoke between them as he said Edwin Sharp would survive. The blood loss was bad but he would ultimately recover fully. “The bullet missed the carotid and his spine.” Edwin would be coming out of the anesthesia now. They could see him for a few minutes if they wanted.

They found the recovery room and stepped inside to find Edwin staring groggily at the ceiling.

“Hey,” he mumbled. “Hey.” Blinking. “Feels like it did when I had my tonsils out.” His voice didn’t seem to be affected; he spoke softly, though, and a bit garbled. And he seemed completely drained.

Kayleigh said, “You look pretty good, all things considered.”

Though the bullet hole would be fairly small-about nine millimeters, of course-the eggplant-colored bruise extended well beyond the thick bandage covering the wound.

“Doesn’t, uhm, you know, hurt much yet.” He studied an IV drip, probably morphine. He added, “And I’m getting some pretty nice pills after I’m out, the, uhm, doctor tells me. The doctor, you know.

“I’m getting discharged tomorrow.” He had a loopy grin on his face and for once the smile wasn’t the least bit weird. “I thought I’d be here, you know, for a week. Maybe more than a week.” His eyelids dipped and Dance wondered if he was slipping off to sleep. They then opened once more. “A week,” he repeated drunkenly.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Kayleigh said. “I was pretty worried.”

He frowned. Speaking slowly: “Didn’t bring me flowers, I notice. No flowers. Afraid I’d misinterpret it?” Then he laughed. “Joking.”

Kayleigh smiled too.

Edwin’s face grew somber. “Alicia… what was that all about? Did she go crazy? I mean, Alicia. What happened?”

Dance said, “She was going to kill Kayleigh and plant some things she got from your house so you’d get blamed for it. She forged a note saying that Kayleigh wanted Alicia to front the band.”

“She did that ? Killed Bobby Prescott too? And attacked your stepmother?” Edwin asked.

Kayleigh nodded.

Then, echoing the singer’s comments of a few hours earlier, he added, “She did it…” Focusing again. “She did it to be famous. Everybody wants that, I guess. It’s like a drug. Like writing Harry Potter, being Daniel Craig. They want to be famous.”

Her eyes damp, Kayleigh whispered, “I don’t know what to say, Edwin… What a mess this’s all been.”

He tried to shrug but winced from the pain.

“You didn’t need to come to the house, Edwin. I told you it was dangerous.”

“Yeah,” he said, maybe being sardonic, maybe not quite grasping what she’d said. He was really drugged.

“What happened back there?” Dance asked.

He tried to focus. “Back there?”