“She’s wrong.”
“Okay.”
But maybe she wasn’t. She knew she loved Mark. He was there now. Being kind to her.
Which would indicate that she still had a chance with him. “Why are we here?”
“You don’t recognize it, do you?”
Shaking her head, she looked around. “Not at all,” she said. “I’ve never been here before. I—”
Mark’s gaze was so intense it scared her. “Yes, you have.”
How would he know?
She looked around. And then it hit her.
“No.” Vigorously shaking her head, Addy backed up. One step. Then two. “No. Uh-uh. No.” Stumbling, she backed into the street. Taking more backward steps. Away. She had to get away.
And she backed into something that didn’t move. A rock-solid wall. Mark’s arms came around her. “I have to go, Mark.” She was leaning forward now, pulling away from him.
“Addy.” His voice was firm, but gentle, too. Warm and soft. Like he’d said her name the night they’d slept together.
That night had been good.
So good.
Better than any night she could remember.
And then there was the other night she’d never forget.
“I want to relive the fire with you, Addy. So you can accept it for what it was and come out the other side. I’ll sit with you in burning hell if that’s as far as we get. I’ll stay there with you if you can’t get out. But you have to know this, Addy. He didn’t do it.”
What was he talking about? She had to go.
“Water,” she choked.
A plastic bottle appeared in her vision. She stared at it. Mark loosened her grip on his arm, the arm that was holding her, and fastened her fingers, one at a time, around the cold, moist bottle of water.
With the bottle in her grasp, he unscrewed the lid, all the while holding her close with his other arm.
Shaking, she watched as the clear, cool, liquid splashed out on her hand.
“Your father didn’t set the fire.”
She was so thirsty.
“Greg Richards agrees, as does the fire marshal.” Mark kept talking. She heard him.
“Twenty-five years ago, they didn’t have scientific bases by which they determined causes of fires. They didn’t have fire forensics labs like we do today. The conclusions were anecdotal, mostly based on logical guesswork.”
She understood. But she couldn’t look up. Didn’t want to know, to remember any more than she already couldn’t forget.
“Do you know what a flashover is?”
She shook her head.