Fireproof

afternoon,” she said, changing the focus from her. “He hasn’t come back yet.”
    “You want me to take a look around for him?”
    “Patrick checked all over for him.” Suddenly it occurred to her that Jake probably wouldn’t come to Patrick’s voice or command. Why hadn’t she thought of that sooner? Maybe if she went out and called for him. “It’s late,” she told Ben. “And it’s raining.”
    “I don’t mind,” he said. “I can be there in fifteen to twenty minutes.”
    From the patio window Maggie could make out the ridge at the back of the property, beyond the privacy fence. Pine trees stood like sentries guarding the corners. Streetlights didn’t reach back that far. Her subtle landscape lighting was only enough to create shadows.
    “Lucy says he’ll be fine. That he’ll come back on his own. I can’t keep racing after him and dragging him home.”
    A spot of light flashed on the other side of the fence. She could see it through the wood slats. It flickered, then moved along her property line. As suddenly as it appeared, it was gone.
    Maybe it was a reflection? Maybe her imagination was playing tricks on her.
    She rubbed the back of her neck, fingering the sutures. Patrick’s wine had actually settled the throbbing in her head. It was quiet, contained for the time being, but her neck ached.
    “Lucy’s probably right,” Ben finally said, only Maggie had already forgotten what it was that Lucy might be right about.
    She shut off the lamp and paced from window to window, trying to see the light again. The house was dark except for the muted television. Red and blue reflections of her life according to Jeffery Cole lit up the corners of the living room. Maggie moved to the kitchen and the back door. That’s when she saw another flash.
    “I’ll have to call you back,” she told Ben. “I need to check something.” She clicked off before he could ask any questions.
    The spot of light bounced behind the fence and skipped a path to the edge of the ridge. Despite the mist, Maggie could see the silhouette of a person following the beam of light.
    “What’s going on?”
    Patrick’s voice made her jump. He stood in the entrance to the kitchen in pajama bottoms, nothing else.
    “Someone’s out there,” she whispered, noticing that her heart had already started hammering in her chest.
    Patrick was looking over her shoulder before she said, “It’s probably nothing. Someone looking for a lost dog.” The exact thing she was contemplating doing just minutes before.
    “Or that asshole neighbor tracking Jake.”
    He spun around and darted for the stairs.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Putting on some clothes and shoes.” He stopped halfway up the stairs just long enough to add, “Bring your gun.”

CHAPTER 32

    Jeffery had begged Sam to get the photos he needed for part two of his profile piece and have them ready for him first thing in the morning. She should have done it earlier but Otis P.’s tall tale, whether fiction or fact, had freaked her out. She couldn’t help wondering if there was some poor woman’s body stuffed in a culvert, her orange socks hidden by mud and leaves.
    When they left the prison all Sam wanted to do was go home. All week she had gotten home late, after her mother and son were already in bed. After Otis P.’s tale, Sam wanted to be with her family. She had decided to go home instead of straight out to get the photos Jeffery ordered. For once she’d put work second.
    She had dinner with her mother and son, almost like a normal family. Then she cuddled up next to little Ignacio, or Iggy as most of his friends called him. He read to her as they snuggled in his bed, roles reversed. They both fell asleep. When her mother woke her, Sam wanted to stay put. The day had already been a long and crazy one, but she had promised Jeffery.
    She was used to his giving her a laundry list for background photos or footage that he absolutely had to have. She had given up asking questions a long time ago. She’d clock the extra hours andhe’d make sure she was compensated. These days she could use the extra cash, and taking photos at all hours was still better than waiting tables, which is what she did for too many years while she went back to school. She’d never have been able to do any of it without her mother taking care of her precious son.
    Rained slowed interstate traffic. By the time she arrived at the address Jeffery had given her it was late. On nights like