Page 21 of The Pact

Aaron heaved it shut. He spun, started toward the window to see that Kevin was already there, trying to open it.

“It’s stuck!” Kevin cried.

“Step back!” Turning, Aaron broke the glass with his elbow.

Cold air and snow rushed in as he chipped away shards.

Kevin leaned out, coughing.

Aaron followed suit. When he looked down, his heart dropped into his stomach and he wondered if God had a job for him up in heaven because, by the looks of things below, they weren’t getting out of the house any time soon.

Tomasetti and I move through the woods at a brisk pace. We’re on a narrow path bordered on both sides by a solid wall of new-growth trees. He’s a few feet ahead of me, the yellow cone of his flashlight in plain view, so I shove my mini Maglite onto my equipment belt and hit my radio.

“Yeah, Chief?” comes Mona’s voice.

“I need the location of the old Leyendecker place,” I tell her. “Long and lat.”

“Stand by.” Keys tap on the other end of the line. “I just sent you a text.”

My cell pings. “Thanks, Mona,” I say, and end the call. Still moving, I glance down at the screen, tap the link, watch as a map of the area appears.

“Kate, do you smell that?”

I nearly run into Tomasetti, who has stopped. Though the wind is gusting, I discern the unpleasant stench of something burning. “Not woodsmoke,” I murmur. Unease moves through me. “The wind is out of the north.” I glance down at my cell. “The Leyendecker place is due north. Half a mile.”

His gaze meets mine, his eyes reflecting the same worry I feel burgeoning in my chest.

Turning, he starts off at a jog. I follow, hitting my lapel mike. “Glock, I’ve got smoke. I want you to head south toward the old Leyendecker place.” I recite the coordinates. “Expedite.”

“Roger that.”

I call Dispatch. “Mona, ten-seventy-three the old Leyendecker place. Get the fire department out there. Expedite. I’m ten-seventy-six.”

“Ten-four.”

Tomasetti picks up the pace. He’s a good runner. Long strides that cover a lot of ground. Ten feet ahead. We’ve traveled maybe half a mile when I see the orange glow of the fire.

Tomasetti curses. As a single unit, we pour on the speed. Too fast for the trees and deadfall, but I don’t care. I’m no longer aware of the snow and sleet stinging my face. The only thing I’m aware of is the stink of smoke in my nostrils and the fist of dread unfurling in my gut.

We burst into a clearing. I see the outline of a two-story house ahead. The yellow glow of flames in a downstairs window. A rope of black smoke coming from an upstairs window.

“Aaron!” I yank out my Maglite. “Kevin! Police department!”

Without slowing, Tomasetti veers left toward the front door. I sprint right, scanning the darkness, looking for any sign of the boys. Overgrown yard. The billow of smoke overhead. No sign of the boys.

I reach the rear of the house and hear Tomasetti call out. “Kevin! Aaron! Police!”

He’s a seasoned LEO, and knows well the myriad dangers of a house fire. He’s too close to the structure, moving too fast, worried for those boys. A rise of fear sends me toward him.

He rushes to the porch. Standing aside, he yanks at the plank of wood covering the door. Glass shatters. A tremendous whoosh! sound. The fire sucking in oxygen, feeding, gaining momentum. Tomasetti raises his hand and staggers back, stumbling from the porch.

“We can’t get in,” he growls. “Fully engulfed.”

“Let’s try the other side.”

We’re midway there when I hear a voice over the roar of flames.

“Help! Fire! Help us!”