“Then do it. I'll rest for a few minutes and then go release Jason and my father. They're tied up in a bedroom upstairs. Don't worry, I'll be fine.”

His gaze raked her face. “Yes, you will.” He turned and headed for the door. “This shouldn't take long. I probably won't get there in time to be of use to George. He moves pretty fast.”

She leaned back and closed her eyes after he left the room. Lord, she felt weak.

She took another couple minutes to gather her strength. She was drained. It seemed impossible that it was over, that the evil that was Trask had vanished from the earth.

But Jason didn't know he was safe, and it wasn't fair to leave him in ignorance.

She slowly got to her feet and moved sluggishly toward the kitchen. Find a knife to cut the ropes and then go upstairs and free them. Where was the cutlery drawer? The smoke seemed heavier in here. She opened three drawers before she found a butcher knife.

She heard it as her hand closed on the hilt of the knife.

Crackling.

Above her, through the ceiling of the kitchen.

Where the bedrooms were located on the second floor.

She stiffened. “No!”

She whirled and ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Smoke, everywhere. Not from the barn. Here in the house!

You still won't win, Trask had said. The bastard had set a timer to go off automatically on Firestorm if he didn't press the remote.

Flames licking the banisters of the staircase just as they had in Jason's house in Macon.

No, it was more like the fire in the brownstone all those years ago.

Mama, where are you?

Right behind you. Get help, Kerry.

I don't want to leave you.

Why was she remembering that night now? She wasn't a little girl anymore. She wasn't helpless. She could save Jason.

She tore toward the bedroom door that was outlined in fire.

Smoke. So much smoke. Cover her face.

No time. She threw open the door and ran into the room. The curtains and carpet near the window were blazing.

Jason was slumped forward against the ropes but he was still conscious, coughing. “Get out of here, Kerry!”

“Don't talk, breathe shallow.” She sawed at the ropes.

The fire jumped from the curtain to the bed, and the bedspread caught fire.

“Get . . . Dad,” Jason gasped.

She glanced at her father.

A man standing under the light post.

Blue eyes.

“After I get you free.”

“That whole bed will be blazing in seconds. Get him.”

“I'll have you loose . . . in a minute.” The ropes gave way at last and she tore them off him.

He grabbed the knife from her and leaped to his feet. The next moment he was standing beside his father and cutting him free. Kerry ran forward and helped him tear the ropes away. Then Jason was picking him up and carrying him toward the door, lurching, coughing.

Kerry grabbed a throw from a rocking chair and covered her mouth and nose as she ran after him. The first floor was now ablaze.

God, the smoke was so heavy she couldn't see Jason anymore.

Where was he?

Then she saw him.

And she screamed.

Jason was on fire, his entire body blazing. Yet he still was clinging desperately to his father.

“Drop him, Jason. Get down on the floor.” She pulled her father out of Jason's arms, threw the blanket over Jason, and tried to beat out the flames.

“No.” His voice was choked. “Too late. Save . . . him.” He stumbled back toward the burning railing. “Have to save . . . him. Have to make—” The rail gave way and he fell backward into the flames below.

“Jason!” His name was a cry of agony.

Try to get to him. It seemed hopeless, but maybe there was a chance. . . .

She started toward the stairs and then stopped short.

Save him. Have to save Dad, Jason had said.

But she didn't have to save him. Not when there was the slightest chance of saving Jason instead.

Yes, she did.

She picked her father up in a fireman's lift and struggled down the stairs.

Smoke. Darkness. Blazing patches of intense flame in the living room below.

And Jason was in the center of one of those hellish patches of fire.

She'd been lying to herself. There was no possible chance. No one could live through those flames. He was probably already dead.

“I'll take him.” Silver was beside her, lifting her father from her shoulder. “Get the hell out of here.”

She looked back and knew she had to make a try. She started back toward the fire. “Jason. I can't leave him. I have to—” She stopped as she watched the staircase buckle and fall toward her.

Or was it the butt of a gun coming down?

Man by the lamppost.

Yes, that was it. Fire.

Mama.

Mama, who could never be saved.

Try! Run.

But the path to the lamppost across the street was like an unending tunnel.

It's too late.

The gun coming down.

Blue eyes . . .

Yellow walls. White linen sheets. A plump nurse moving quietly, adjusting the oxygen in the tank beside her bed.

Hospital.

“Where . . .” She sounded like a frog.

The nurse turned and smiled. “Hi, I'm Patti. I bet your throat could use a little water?” She put a straw to Kerry's lips and held it while she sipped it. “You're at Macon General, and you're doing fine. A few first-degree burns and smoke damage to your lungs. You were lucky. Evidently that was quite a fire.”

Jason ablaze as he fell into the flames below. She closed her eyes for a moment as waves of pain assaulted her. “Yes.”

The nurse's smile faded. “Well, maybe not so lucky, but you still have people who care about you. Mr. Silver hasn't left the waiting room since they brought you in. Would you like me to check with the doctor and find out if you can see him? He's making his rounds now.”

“Not yet. What about . . . my brother?”

She didn't answer. “I think I'd better let you talk to the doctor.”

Because the nurse didn't want to tell her that Jason was dead. “Is my father in this hospital?”

She nodded. “Two rooms down. He's doing fine. They'll be releasing him later today.”

“Would you ask him to come in and see me?”

“Now?”

“Please.”

“I think that would be a good idea.” She moved toward the door. “I'll check with the doctor.”

Jason.

She closed her eyes as the tears welled up and ran down her cheeks.

“You want to talk to me?”

She opened her eyes to see her father standing in the doorway. He didn't look as fine as the nurse had led her to believe. He looked tired and pale and . . . broken.

“Jason is dead?”

His lips twitched. “Yes. You made a mistake. You should have saved him and not me.”

“I tried. He wouldn't have it. He's the one who carried you out of that room.”

He flinched. “No one told me that.”

“No one but me knew it. The last thing he said was that you had to be saved.” She paused. “He loved you very much.”

“I loved him.”

“I know.” She paused. “You loved him so much that you protected him all his life.”

He stiffened. “I don't know what you mean.”

“He was the one who set the fire the night my mother died. It was Jason who was standing underneath that light post watching the house burn.”

“You're crazy.”

She shook her head. “It was Jason.”

He stared at her. “You remembered?”

“Tonight.” Her lips twisted. “I hoped it was you. But it wasn't. It was Jason who set the fire, Jason who hit me. All I want to know from you is why? Why would he do that?”

“He didn't mean to hurt you. He loved you. He was just a mixed-up kid.” His lips tightened. “It was my fault. Mine and that bitch Myra's. We tore him apart. You were just a kid, but he was an adolescent and he knew what was going on. He was always a sensitive boy, and all that quarreling . . . It nearly destroyed him.”