Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2)(91)

“Jeff?” John said, rounding the corner from the side of the house. “And Ted? What are you doing here?”

“I was chatting with Ted at the station when he got a call from Carter. It sounded interesting, so I thought I might come and take a look, too.” Jeff raised one dark eyebrow at Liz’s brother.

“Look all you want. I haven’t done anything wrong,” John said.

“If things are so up and up, why is Rick here?” Jeff pressed.

“I didn’t want anyone asking questions. It’s a surprise. Or, was. Plans have changed.”

“What’s a surprise?” Liz asked from the stoop.

“It’s good you’re here, Officer Dayton, because this guy is trying to shaft me.” Rick hooked an accusatory finger at John.

“Just return it all,” John mumbled.

“They don’t take returns,” Rick shot back.

“Actually, Rick, we have some questions for you,” Jeff began. “You’re not in any trouble, but we—”

And, that’s when they heard the cyber-screaming from the side yard.

“Mom! Mom!” Ben yelled, running toward the grown-ups, the tablet held in front of him as Mrs. Beacon screamed ‘fire!’ hysterically from the seven inch screen.

“Fire! Fire!” Mrs. Beacon yelled again.

“Mom!” Trish said, grabbing the tablet from her son. “Call 9-1-1!”

“No you call 9-1-1!” Mrs. Beacon screamed back.

“No you have to!” Trish yelled at the tablet. “And, get out of the house!”

“I’m not the one that’s on fire!” Mrs. Beacon yelled back.

“What?”

Everyone looked at each other for one stunned moment, and then all hell broke loose as they started babbling at once.

Carter shoved Liz toward the house and bolted for the side yard, the others hot on his heels. He skidded to a stop. Bright yellow and orange flames raced up the side of the storage shed, fueled by the dry old lumber, licking at the branches of the apple tree nearby.

“Get a hose!” someone called from behind him.

“Get back!” Carter yelled, turning and gesturing wildly as Liz’s relatives poured around the corner of the house and ran around excitedly. “Get back! Get back! John! Get them all BACK!”

John met Carter’s gaze across the yard, recognition dawning, and screamed at everyone to run, goddammit, RUN!

Carter charged forward as the first explosions hammered out the shed door and whizzed by his ear. A brilliant rocket of color exploded in the bushes above a black silhouette of kissing children. A second rocket flattened the silhouette as a third whizzed through where they’d been.

Screams and a handful of startled curses colored the air along with the wild explosions of dozens of fireworks let loose. They shot by him, exploding on the ground, in the trees, zinging toward the driveway and all their cars, popping all around like toy guns run amok.

He saw Jeff Dayton hunkered down by his squad car, yelling into his radio.

John screamed, “Valerie? Valerie! Get down!” across the yard at the same time Carter charged toward the front of the house… and ran smack into Liz.

“What the hell are you doing?” he cried, pulling her upright off the lawn.

“We need to put out the fire!” she yelled, as she stood in the grass in bare feet, her dress flapping open, working frantically to uncurl the hose from its reel.

“We need to get the hell out of here!” he hollered back as another rocket exploded mere feet from where they stood. Why the hell weren’t they going off all at once, for Christ’s sake? Carter grabbed her elbow and shoved her toward the front door where the others were taking refuge even as John, foolishly, bolted across the front lawn toward the driveway.

Liz stubbornly turned on the spigot anyway and started spraying around Carter at the cinders on the front lawn. She shot him in the chest.

“Liz!” He hollered again, as she tried to drown him with the hose. “Get inside! Now!”

“But—”

“Inside!”

More fireworks exploded in a shower of sparks nearby, and he heard a scream from the driveway. He turned to grab Liz, but she tripped and pitched forward, falling hard to the ground in front of him.

Carter threw his body over hers to shield her at the same moment the shed exploded like a sonic boom.

His heart pounding in his ears, he let his face sink into Liz’s hair and waited for the sirens.





CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

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“SHE’S AWAKE.”

Liz heard the whispered words somewhere outside the drumming fog in her head. Her forehead throbbed, and when she tried to open her eyes, her right eye, in particular, stubbornly refused.

“She’ll sport quite a shiner.”

That was Aunt Claire. Liz recognized the gravely deadpan tone, although the slight hitch at the end was unusual.

“Liz? Can you hear me? It’s Trish.”

A hand covered hers. Liz soaked in its warmth. She tried to open her eyes again. “Anyone catch… license… of the truck… ran me over?” she mumbled.

Her voice felt disused, raspy, and she scowled, or tried to, as the air filled with relieved, low chuckles.

“No. No one else to blame for this one,” said Aunt Claire. “For such a smart girl, you’d think you’d know enough to break a fall with your hands, not your face.” She was cracking a joke, but you could hear the underlying concern in her no-nonsense voice.