Star Witness - By Mallory Kane Page 0,29
the darkness. She was seeking safety. If she had the slightest notion of his unprofessional thoughts, she’d be away from him like a shot and any trust he’d managed to build with her would be gone.
“Hey,” he said, peering intently at her. He could barely make out her features in the darkness. “It’s just a storm, that’s all. You live in south Louisiana. It’s not like you haven’t been in a storm before, right?”
She stiffened and pushed away. “Right,” she said shakily, then cleared her throat. “Sure. I’m fine. I’ve got a flashlight on my key ring. It’s in my purse in the bedroom—”
“Hang on. I’m sure there are candles around here somewhere,” he said. “Check the kitchen drawers.” He turned and reached out for a drawer handle, found one and pulled, then searched inside. “Ow!” he exclaimed. “Be careful. I just pricked my finger on a knife.”
“Is it bad?” she asked, sounding more like her old self.
“Nah.” He stuck his fingertip in his mouth for a second, then continued searching. His hand closed around the distinctive shape of a lighter and next to it, the waxy tapered length of a candle. “Here we go,” he said as he pulled them out.
He thumbed the lighter and lit the candle. The flickering light gleamed eerily as it reflected in her wide eyes. Her mouth was set in a tight line.
“Here,” he said. “Take this. I’m sure there are more. I’ll see if I can find something to hold them.”
She held out her hand, her eyes glued to the flame.
Outside the thunder rumbled loudly and lightning flashed, lighting up the windows for a split second. She flinched and scrunched her shoulders. She was definitely afraid of storms. He felt a different emotion take hold of him. An urge to shelter her, protect her, hold on to her and reassure her that everything was going to be all right. It surprised him that he felt so protective toward her. She was one of the strongest, most determined women he’d ever met.
He touched her sleeve and felt her stiffen. “Storms really bother you, don’t they?” he said gently.
She tried for a casual shrug, but her shoulders moved jerkily. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. Tell me why storms scare you.”
She sniffed in frustration. “Why storms scare me. Well, my father died in a tornado when I was seven. Maybe that’s why.”
“That’s an awful thing for a little girl to go through.”
She shrugged and the candlelight outlined her sad face in shadows. “I had this image of the tornado as a big whirling monster that ate everything in its path. When it storms like this, I can’t wipe that image out of my mind.”
Thunder rumbled again and she hugged herself.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”
Her gaze snapped to his, and her chin lifted. “I said I’m fine.”
He considered what he’d been thinking about her seconds before and amended it. She was one of the strongest, most determined and most stubborn women he’d ever met.
He shrugged and turned his attention back to the drawer, looking for more candles. He found a few that had been burned down at least halfway. Those would be easier to set up. He lit one and began dripping wax on a saucer he took from the drain board.
“I have to get my purse,” Dani said.
Harte nodded, still busy with the candle. He got it stuck to a saucer with wax, then started on a second one. “Now we’ve got several candles,” he called. “This should last us until they get the power back on—”
A crash drowned out his words. His head snapped toward the window. Was that glass breaking? Or just the noise of the thunder?
“Harte!” Dani’s panicked voice came from across the room.
“Dani?” he asked. He stuck a stubby candle and the lighter in his pocket as he hurried toward her.
“What was that—?”
He saw her and halted. Something wasn’t right. The way her body was lit—the way shadows were flickering, almost dancing, as if tossed around by a fire.
A split second later, he knew what was wrong, but that was a split second too late. Dani had figured it out too. She was screaming and pointing behind him. He turned, already certain of what he would see.
In the middle of the hardwood floor, in front of the big picture window, surrounded by broken glass that glinted red and yellow and orange, was a bottle belching flames from its mouth. Flames that licked at the curtains and crawled across the floor.
Chapter Eight
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