Later.
After I see my daughter and my woman alive in one piece. The fact that Andrea’s not picking up her phone and neither is Peace has me scared shitless.
Crazy or not, I have to fucking stop Justin from inflicting his pain on anyone else.
A whole lot more people, because apparently the townspeople aren’t listening when Warren and the others try to get them to leave.
Most folks don’t even hear the announcement.
They’re too caught up in their chatter and funnel cakes to cast more than odd glances at the crazy men waving their arms around everywhere and shouting.
I shove my way through the dazed, milling crowd, toward Leo, who’s closest, standing on the fence around a pen with thickly furred woolly sheep dressed up in cute costumes for kids to play with.
“Hey!” I bark, reaching up to snap my fingers for his attention. “Andrea! Where’s Andrea?”
Leo stops shouting and looks down at me, then growls and vaults off the fence in front of me. “No goddamn clue, man. I’ve turned this place inside out, and I can’t find her or Peace.”
I swear under my breath, pacing roughly left and right.
Fuck.
I need a plan.
Shame all my training and emergency response skills go right out the window when it’s my daughter and the woman I love possibly in danger.
I make myself stop, take a deep breath, press my fingers to my temples, and calm down. Just like the way Peace would. I can almost hear her soothing voice washing over me.
Wait.
That ain’t my imagination.
I hear Peace. Her voice echoes over the intercom system mounted to the power poles spaced around the area.
She’s singing.
This slow, intense, oddly distorted version of “Ring of Fire” I’m not sure what old Johnny would ever make of.
And it sounds like she’s never wanted to sing anything less in her life. The pain and fear in her voice make every word tremble. It’s ugly and unmistakably different from those soaring sweet notes from the heart I love so much.
Leo lifts his head, staring up at one of the mounted speakers. “What the hell is that?”
“Trouble,” I mutter. Just like that, people start clustering toward the middle of the carnival grounds, milling around and staring, whispering among themselves in curious tones. “And we’d better put an end to it now.”
That’s when I realize I’m hearing Peace’s voice twice.
Once over the intercom.
And echoing from the center of the carnival grounds.
Where people are streaming toward her, gasping out. Some seemingly delighted by what they’re seeing like it’s some kind of show, others crying out in concern.
I shove my way through the crowd, using my size to my advantage to part the sea of people.
Until I reach the front.
I stop, staring in horror.
Peace stands on the tall wooden stage that’s been erected for the silent auction later tonight.
She’s perched on a stool and surrounded by a literal ring of fire.
Some kind of accelerant must’ve been sprayed down on the wood and ignited. Now, it leaps up around her, and she’s trapped on all sides, no more than two feet of space in any direction from the stool where she huddles, strumming her guitar.
And singing her heart out.
I don’t understand.
I don’t get what’s happening.
Why she’s singing her heart out, when past the flickering flames I can just barely make out her face, the sweat beading on her brow, mixing with tears.
That’s why her voice is so thick.
She’s sobbing.
And my heart hits my throat like a bullet.
Especially when I see the side of her face, red like someone struck her.
Someone hurt her.
Someone hurt my girl.
“Peace!” I roar, reaching out, charging toward the steps.
Her head snaps up, her eyes widening, fear transfixing her face as her tear-bright gaze locks on me. “Blake, don’t!” she cries, the song breaking.
Too late.
I just don’t realize it till my foot comes down on the bottom step.
And I feel something snap under the sole of my boot.
Some kind of trigger, I realize—freezing far too late, sudden flashback, the feeling of a shell exploding too close on a hot, Afghan day.
But it’s not the earth around me that explodes.
It’s the snow around the temporary windbreaker fence built around the carnival grounds.
Plumes of snow rocket up in sharp blasts, followed by gouts of flame, jetting up in red-gold tongues from concealed devices beneath.
Holy fuck.
Those fence planks are just dry wood, not very dense, and—
And it’s like throwing a match into a stack of newspaper, they’re so flammable.
They go up instantly, illuminating like fireworks, flame racing up along the planks and spearing toward the sky in a roaring rush, wood crackling, a ring of flames completely encircling the carnival grounds in hellish light. Heat that melts back the snow so furiously the wetness doesn’t even have a chance to dampen the sparks.
The barrier that was supposed to protect the townspeople from the cold traps them in an orange-flickering cage of fire.