Forsaken by Sarah Ballance

paused, his hand on a stack of papers. “Me too. Out, now.”
    She whirled around, swallowing panic when she saw the sea of boxes and junk they’d climbed over blocking the way to the door. Smoke navigated the ceiling-high junk like clouds maneuvering mountaintops, the acrid scent thickening and growing heavy in the air.
    Seconds later, flames followed, attacking both exits once.
    They were trapped.

Chapter Eight
    Time froze, but the flames did not. Through the smoke and the squalor, the fire inexplicably licked both of the room’s doorways—one near the front of the house, and the one Riley and Gage had entered near the back.
    It made no sense. What kind of fire started everywhere at once? Gage jerked around, his attention immediately drawn to a window. He tugged on the back of Riley’s shirt.
    She spun, eyes wide. She’d already pulled her shirt over her mouth and nose, but the dry fabric wouldn’t help long.
    He pointed to the window and without waiting for a response, waded through the junk, falling twice, fighting coughs, and trying not to breathe. An upended wooden chair made for a nice battering ram, so he grabbed and shoved it through the glass. Then, without missing a beat, he yanked the flimsy metal curtain rod from the wall. He ran the pole across the bottom of the pane in an effort to knock out the remaining shards of glass, grateful the cheap casements held one big thin panel, which saved them valuable time.
    With the escape route as clear as it was going to get, he turned to Riley. The flames were spreading fast, the smoke so thick he didn’t see her at first. One, then two desperate steps back and he saw her, crouched near the floor. He waved at her to approach, then ushered her ahead to their improvised escape.
    Riley pushed her feet through the opening, kicking loose glass off the sill as she went. Seeing that she’d rolled to safety, Gage followed after her. The drop was meager, but the shock of fresh air was almost startling—as much as he wanted stop and feast on it, he didn’t. Instead, he stayed on Riley’s heels, first crawling, and then fleeing the burning house.
    “Trees.” Still gasping for breath, he choked on the word. His gunshot arm burned as much as his lungs did. He focused on staving off a coughing fit. Just get to the trees , he told himself. Then we can worry about the rest. He was no expert on fires, but he’d bet his good arm there’d been an accelerant in that house—even with the boxes and papers all over the place, fire didn’t simultaneously land in two spots at once—and he wasn’t taking chances an explosion wouldn’t follow.
    Something more than coincidence triggered that fire. Tom Rigby had something to hide, and he was doing an impressive job of hiding it.
    Riley stopped at the tree line, edging into the shadows. When she turned to Gage, her eyes were rimmed with red, her skin streaked with dirt.
    He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. She smelled of smoke and that frightened him, made him realize how close they came to the unthinkable. He could not— would not— lose her again. “You okay?”
    She nodded. “That was close,” she said, echoing his thoughts.
    “Too close. You ready to make a run for the truck?”
    “Is that wise? Fleeing the scene?”
    Even tacked with fear, her voice hadn’t lost that wry quality he adored. Gage held her tighter, scared at how he felt in that moment. He loved her. God, he loved her. But he laughed, trying to settle his own nerves and hoping he’d ease hers in the process. “Versus what?” he asked. “Waiting for the authorities to arrive?”
    “Don’t you think that woman reported your license plate by now? I bet she had it memorized before the sun came up. Even if she hasn’t noticed we’re back, I kind of doubt she’ll chalk this up to an unrelated incident.”
    Gage snorted. He reached for her hand as he stepped away. Threading his fingers through hers, he gave a tug and she followed,