not even there yet. They’ve got two trucks en route.”
“Like, a brush fire or—”
“I don’t know.”
Owen stopped and leaned his head in. “Hey, the chief called. There’s a fire at the lighthouse.” He looked at Joel. “He said Miranda’s there.”
* * *
* * *
Miranda sat on the tailgate of the red pickup, trying hard not to puke. For the last twenty minutes she’d felt queasy. Nauseous. Like everything she’d eaten in the past twenty-four hours was about to come up.
She looked across the parking lot to the lighthouse. Firefighters had set up klieg lights to illuminate the scene as they combed the grounds, searching for evidence. Miranda watched them, feeling strangely disconnected from everything, as though she were watching a movie.
She hadn’t jumped.
Two men had rushed over from the campground and yelled at her to wait while they dragged the scaffolding over. One of them had scaled the bars like a gymnast and helped her climb down, all before the first fire truck made the scene.
Miranda looked around the parking lot now. She wanted to thank the man—she’d been practically incoherent earlier—but she didn’t know where he’d gone.
She bent over and rested her hands on her knees, acutely aware of Joel only a few feet away, watching her every move. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her since he’d arrived, even when he was interviewing witnesses.
Miranda examined the long cut in her forearm from when she’d punched her fist through the glass. The bleeding had stopped, and Emmet’s brother Calvin had given her a bandage for it. Both he and Joel had offered to take Miranda to the clinic to get it checked out, but she’d refused.
She peeled the gauze back to look at it. The blood was like glue and she pulled up a layer of skin. The pain hit, and she felt queasy all over again.
Miranda pushed off the tailgate and walked to the water’s edge, turning away from the chaotic scene behind her. The last bit of sunlight had faded over the marsh, and the sand now felt cool under her feet. She focused on gripping the sand with her toes to take her mind off how badly she wanted to puke.
“You okay?” Joel’s voice was low and gruff behind her, and she didn’t turn around.
“A little dizzy.”
“You sure you don’t want to get your arm checked out?”
“It’s fine. Just needs a butterfly bandage, and I’ve got some at home.”
She turned to face him. His brow was furrowed, and his blue eyes were filled with worry.
“I’d like to go home now,” she said.
“I still have to interview a couple more witnesses.”
“I’m not asking for a ride. I’ve got my car here.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “Hang on.”
He walked off, and she turned back to face the water. She didn’t want to be here. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold it together. She’d gone through her story three separate times, with three separate people, including Joel, and each time she’d done it she’d felt her stomach churning.
“Screw it,” she hissed.
She hiked across the beach to the fire department pickup truck and collected her shoes and camera from the tailgate.
Joel walked over. “McDeere’s going to follow you home.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked him to.”
“That’s totally unnecessary.”
“I’ll come by as soon as I wrap up here.”
“You don’t need to—”
“Miranda.” His sharp tone cut her off.
“Fine,” she said. She didn’t want an argument. Not now, and definitely not here, in front of half the police department. She just wanted to leave.
“It shouldn’t be too long,” he said.
She returned to her Jeep and stashed her stuff in the front seat. The parking lot was jammed, and she maneuvered around all the emergency vehicles.
The lighthouse was a stark tower in the glare of the lights, and she noted the blackened streak where smoke had billowed from the broken window. As she pulled onto the highway, she caught McDeere’s patrol car in her rearview mirror.
Miranda focused on the road in an attempt to steady her nerves. She felt shell-shocked, and the shriek of the fire engines still echoed through her brain.
She tried to get her head around what had happened, but it still felt unreal. She’d been trapped in a burning building. She’d been seconds away from making a twenty-foot jump. If those men hadn’t helped her, she could easily be in a hospital right now with a slew of broken bones. Or worse.
And what if that window had been hurricane glass?
Just the thought made her queasy again. She bit