Killer Dreams by Iris Johansen

instinctively hit the brakes.
    “Get out! Both of you.”
    His tone was so urgent she didn’t hesitate. She opened the door. “Michael, get out.”
    “Mom, what…” But he was scrambling out of the car as he spoke.
    “Good.” Royd was getting into the driver’s seat. “Now take him to my car, the tan Toyota parked on the street. The keys are in the ignition. Get him out of here. I’ll call you when it’s safe to come back.”
    She hesitated.
    “Get the hell out of here.”
    She grabbed Michael and ran toward the Toyota.
    A moment later they were halfway down the block.
    “Mom, who was—”
    “Hush.” Her gaze was on the rearview mirror. What the devil…Her van was rolling toward the open garage. As she watched, the van suddenly lurched forward.
    Royd jumped from the vehicle and rolled over and over on the front lawn as the van entered the garage.
    What on earth?
    Michael was peering over his shoulder. “What’s he doing? Why did he tell us—”
    The house exploded!
    The windows of the Toyota rattled with the force of the blast.
    Flames.
    Wood, doors, and glass were shattered all over the lawn.
    Royd!
    Where was Royd?
    The last she had seen of him, he was on the lawn, but black smoke was curling out of the wreck of the house and the grass was covered with burning beams.
    Her phone rang.
    “Go around the corner and drive to the end of the street,” Royd said. “Don’t stop until then. I’ll meet you.”
    “What happened? What did you do?”
    He was gone.
    She dropped the phone and made the turn at the end of the block. She caught a glimpse of people running out of their houses and up the street toward the inferno that had been her home.
    Her home. Michael’s home.
    She looked down at him. His face was pale and his hands were clenched on his book bag. “Hold on, Michael. We’re safe.”
    He shook his head as he turned around to stare straight ahead. He was probably in shock.
    Who could blame him? She was in shock too.
    Royd was standing on the corner. She pulled over to the curb.
    He jumped into the backseat. “Drive. Get out of here. I don’t want you seen.”
    She could hear the wail of a siren as she pressed the accelerator. “Why not?”
    “Later. Get out of the subdivision and turn left at the cross-street.” He flipped open his phone and dialed a number. “All hell’s broken loose, Jock. Meet us at the La Quinta Inn on Highway Forty.” He hung up. “Pull over and you and the boy get in the backseat. I’ll drive.”
    “Stop ordering me around, Royd.” She tried to steady her voice. “All I need from you are answers.”
    “That may not be all the boy needs,” he said quietly. “And I can’t help him right now.”
    He was right. Michael had just seen his home blown to bits and she had already decided he was dazed and in shock. He did need her. She pulled to the curb. “Come on, Michael. We need to get in the backseat.”
    He didn’t argue, but his movements were stiff and uncoordinated as he obeyed her.
    “It’s okay, Michael.” That was a lie. “No, it’s not okay.” She slipped her arm around his shoulders. “It’s terrible, but we’ll find a way to make it okay.”
    He didn’t look at her. His gaze was fixed on Royd as he got into the driver’s seat. “Who is he?”
    “His name is Matt Royd.”
    “He blew up our house.”
    “No, he didn’t. He doesn’t want to hurt us.”
    “Then why did—”
    “I’ll explain when I know myself. Can you wait until we get to this motel and we have a chance to find out? Jock is going to meet us there.”
    He nodded slowly.
    “Good.” She leaned back and drew him closer. “I won’t let anything hurt you, Michael.”
    He lifted his head to stare into her eyes. “What kind of schmuck do you think I am? I’m not scared something will happen to me. It’s you, Mom.”
    Her arm tightened. “Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “Well, I won’t let anything happen to me either.” She lifted her gaze to meet Royd’s in the