Stolen Daughters (Detective Amanda Steele)

She was left with two options. One, go out the door she’d just opened to safety. Two, go up a staircase that ran along the wall.

If Daniel Ross had set the fire, his MO usually meant there was a body to hide. But could she live with herself if Logan were still alive and she hadn’t tried to save him?

She coughed and watched as the fire lavishly danced across the fallen beam like it was putting on a show for money.

More crackling wood. The fire was growing rapidly and taking on more power.

She should just leave and let the firefighters do their job. They could be too late, kept playing in her head.

Then she heard it over the din of the blaze. A voice. Faint at first, then a bit louder. A scream? A call for help? But where was it coming from?

She coughed. The smoke was curling around her face in long tendrils and wreaking havoc on her lungs.

The person shouted again, and this time, she could discern it was coming from upstairs.

Amanda put her hand on her gun and headed up, taking each step slowly, her back against the wall.

A couple of steps from the top, she could see into the loft—though only a few feet ahead of her, as the smoke was thick. The fire itself seemed mostly contained to the right of where she was. Two forms were struggling, but it was hard to make out faces. Daniel and Logan? Had Logan gotten free? And who was crying out for help?

She breathed shallow, trying not to cough and reveal her position before she was ready, and crept up one more stair. She drew her gun. “Prince William—” She coughed, and both people stopped and appeared to be facing her. “Police!”

They lunged toward her, their steps moving in close unison and eating up floorboards. They were approaching as a front against her, but that wouldn’t make any sense if one of them was Logan. She fired a high warning shot, but that didn’t stop either of them from advancing on her. She stumbled, lost her footing, and felt herself falling backward. Her heart jackhammered—but she caught her balance.

Her gun, though, had slipped from her wet palm and clattered down the staircase. She hurried to retrieve it, sensing impending danger, and found her Glock a few steps down. She turned again to face the loft area. The pair was still coming toward her—still working as a team. It was clear now that neither of them was Logan. In fact, one of them was a woman.

“Stop right there!” Amanda barked, but they paid her no attention.

She squeezed the trigger again, but her aim faltered. Torso hit. Red spray cut through the smoke, and a body fell toward her and tumbled down the stairs. The woman’s.

A quick glance behind her—at the unnatural position of the body—told her the woman was probably dead.

Amanda turned around to look up into the loft again, but the other person was gone from sight.

The smart thing to do would be retreat. Breathing was getting harder. Her body and clothing were drenched with sweat. She turned to leave but stopped at another cry for help.

She couldn’t just ignore it—even with the other man still in the loft and posing a threat to her. She rushed up the stairs and stumbled around through the haze. The place was finished and furnished like an apartment. She had to stop to cough, but eventually made it to a closed door. She banged on it and called out, and a voice came from within. A girl’s voice.

She reached for the doorknob, stopping just shy of contact. It would be scalding. She covered her hand with the base of her shirt and—

She was grabbed from behind and thrown to the floor. Her gun flew out of her hand and down the stairs to the floor below. Her skull hit wood, and her vision flashed white.

Daniel Ross shadowed over her. “You came.”

He was holding something in his hand, and Amanda used all her energy to kick his arm. The object skittered across the floor, and he went after it. This gave Amanda the precious seconds needed to spring to her feet. But Daniel turned on her, and swept out a leg, brushing both of hers out from beneath her.

She flew forward and smacked her chin on the floor. She scrambled to get upright. She could sense Daniel coming at her, but she didn’t want to look back. She just wanted to move. She had to. She couldn’t give in to the paralyzing power of fear.

Her hair was yanked from behind, and she was flipped to her back. Daniel pinned her to the floor, and his hands went for her neck and squeezed hard. She fought against him, but she could feel her strength quickly fading away. Her eyes rolled back, and her arms reached out, her fingertips searching—and then she felt something! Was it what Daniel had been holding? She worked her fingers around it—a knife.

She raised it and thrust it into his side with all the force she could muster.

His eyes widened—the anger in them melting away and softening to relief. “You see me.” Daniel’s voice was barely above a whisper in the din of the fire’s roaring, but there was the hint of a smile on his lips. His grip weakened, and his body sagged and fell to the side of Amanda.

She let go of the knife and lay there, struggling to catch her breath. She considered giving in to the darkness when there was another scream.

She had more than herself to think about. She scrambled to her feet and returned to the door, covered her hand with her shirt, and twisted the handle. It was locked. She choked on smoke, and a violent coughing fit erupted from her lungs. She lifted her shirt to cover her mouth and turned to search for something to bust the knob. She thought of the knife. It had felt large in her hands.

She made her way back to it and realized it was probably the Bowie knife he’d used on Fox. She returned to the door, pierced the blade into the door jamb, and wormed the door latch from its hole. She blinked away tears from the smoke as she opened the door.