“And yet you’re wondering if the fire was intentionally set.”

“I’m a police detective’s daughter, Sergeant. I ask questions.”

“Fair enough. I’ll try to answer them. Like I said, the cause of the fire is undetermined. The fire investigation unit is conducting its search. The coroner is on his way to the scene. Should anything suspicious be found, the investigation division of the sheriff’s office will take over. Given the loss of life, the state police will probably get involved. If need be, they’ll bring in specially trained dogs to sniff for accelerants. No stone will be left unturned. I hope that helps ease your mind.”

“Nothing will ease my mind except hearing that my mother wasn’t in that cabin.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Montgomery—pardon me, Dr. Montgomery,” he corrected himself. “I wish that were the case. But it doesn’t look good. I’d suggest you advise your family.”

“I intend to.” Devon was far from ready to accept what she was being told. “Sergeant Jakes…” She grabbed a pen and pad. “Please give me your contact information.”

“Of course.” He gave her his office and cell-phone number, and she scribbled them down.

“And your address?”

“We’re on Route Nine in Lake George. But—”

“I’ll let you know if I decide to drive up.”

“Dr. Montgomery, I’d strongly recommend you stay put,” the sergeant advised her. “There’s nothing you can do here. Not yet. We’ll give you a call as soon as we’re finished at the scene and know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

Devon didn’t respond to his not-so-subtle hint. She merely gave him her cell-phone number and her direct line at the clinic. “Please keep me posted on every detail,” she requested. “I’ll be in touch.”

With a shaking hand, she dropped the phone in its cradle.

She sank back on the sofa, tunneling her fingers through her hair. Lane. She had to call Lane, get him on the next plane to New York. And Meredith. She’d be a wreck. She was so sensitive, and so attached to their mother. On top of that, she was in Albany, halfway to Lake Luzerne. Restraining her from rushing up there to try to find their mother was going to be a near-impossible task.

Dozens of thoughts tumbled through Devon’s mind as she considered what had to be done.

But when she picked up the phone again, it wasn’t either of her siblings’ numbers she punched in.

PETE MONTGOMERY, OR “Monty” as he’d been dubbed since his Police Academy days, lowered his binoculars and leaned back in his well-worn Toyota Corolla. He was in a foul mood. For four days now, he’d been trailing this rich Scarsdale broad who was cheating on her millionaire husband. The case was laughably easy, since the woman had sex more often and more openly than he had lunch. The pictures he’d shot were beyond incriminating. They were his client’s ticket to “bye-bye alimony.”

But something was bugging Monty. He had a gut feeling that this woman and her biceps boyfriend had something else on tap, something bigger than just milking her rich husband in divorce court, then scooting off to Rio. And when he got a gut feeling, he always went with it. Because nine times out of ten, he was right. Consequently, he wasn’t turning over these porn shots until he figured out what was really going on.

He flipped open his file and began scanning the seemingly insignificant aspects of his case notes.

His cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, the pucker between his brows softening as he punched the send button. “Hey, sweetie. What’s the matter—you’re off a few hours and already going stir-crazy?”

“Where are you, Monty?” Devon asked.

He frowned, hearing the somber note in her voice. “Outside a motel in White Plains. Not far from your neck of the woods. Why?”

“I need you to drop whatever you’re doing and come over. Now.”

“Done.” He shoved the cell phone into its hands-free cradle, then shifted the car into drive and veered out of the parking lot and onto the road. “Devon, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I…” She cleared her throat, obviously striving for control. “Let’s not get into this on the phone, okay?”

“No, not okay. You’re a wreck. Are you hurt? In trouble?”

“It’s not me. It’s…” Something inside her seemed to shatter. “It’s Mom. She’s…I just got a call….” Devon sucked in her breath. Gone was the strong, composed woman who never exposed her vulnerability. In her place was the little girl whose tears he’d dried.

“Your mother? What about your mother?” he demanded.

“I’m not sure…She might be…” Her anguish tore at his heart. “Please, Daddy, just hurry.”

Monty flinched. How long had it been since Devon had called him Daddy? And Sally—what in God’s name had happened?

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