Page 67 of If the Boot Fits

The moon afforded enough light for him to pick out the shadowy outlines of buildings as he trotted past, searching out an orange glow that would pinpoint a source. A dog barked, nudging Asher into a lope. He turned west, then north again, not consciously aware of where he was heading until he reached First Christian Church. His gaze immediately locked on to the two-story house about a block farther down the street. A house he’d visited nearly every day during the last ten days.

An angry orange glow flickered from a window on the second story. The bedrooms. Samantha!

Asher took off at a dead run. A groggy neighbor stumbled onto his porch, where his dog barked and turned at the sound of Asher’s pounding footsteps.

“What’s going on?” he called.

Asher slowed for only a moment. “Fire at the preacher’s house. Ring the bells. Fetch the fire wagon.”

Without waiting to see the man’s reaction, Asher renewed his sprint, not stopping until he collided with the front door.

“Samantha!”

He grabbed the knob and turned it, but it wouldn’t allow him entrance. He pounded both fists against the door and shouted at the top of his lungs. “Samantha!”

Please, God.

The wood quivered from the force of his pounding, but it continued to block his path. He swiveled to set his shoulder to the wood, but something metal glimmered in the moonlight. He pulled back and reached for the object. Long. Flat. He squinted into the darkness, not believing what he was seeing. Someone had screwed a steel plate onto the door, bolting it to the doorframe.

He scratched at the restraint, trying to get a grip, desperate to tear it off.

Growling in frustration when his fingers failed to find purchase, he pounded the door with the pad of his fist.

“Samantha!” The anguished cry ripped through his soul.

He had to find another way in. The back door. No, a window. Whoever the fiend was who trapped them inside would have cut off the rear escape, too.

Asher set his palm to the banister and was about to leap down to the ground in order to access the parlor window when something thumped against the front door, vibrating the wood.

“Help!”

The voice was muffled and raspy, but it was hers.

He ran to the door and pressed his mouth to the crack between it and the jamb. “Samantha? It’s Asher. I’m here!”

“Thank God. Can you”—a series of coughs cut off her voice—“open the door?”

He banged his head against the wood wishing for a crowbar or an ax. “No, it’s bolted to the frame. You need to open a window. I’ll help you climb out.”

“I tried,” she said. “Someone—” More coughing. Deep and hoarse. God help him. He needed to get her out of there! “None of the shutters will open.”

“I’ll take a look.” Please let it be a problem I can solve. “Go to the parlor. First window.”

Asher leapt over the railing and ran to the first window. The smoke billowing through the seams of the shutters burned his eyes, making it hard to see. Groping for the shutters, his fingers ran over something that felt like leather. Squinting into the smoke, he discovered a leather strap wrapped around the closed shutters, right below the hinges, banding them in place. Looked like cut harness line. Something that would seal the shutters without alerting those inside, like nailing a board across them would. Thankfully, a leather band was easier to remove than a nailed board. Asher jabbed his fingers between the leather and wood near the crease where the shutters met and worked the strap downward with a series of sharp tugs. Finally the leather band fell away, and he yanked the shutters open hard enough to crash them against the wall.

Smoke poured from the window, forcing him to turn his head. He coughed and squinted through the smoke. “Samantha?”

Her face appeared in the window, streaked with soot and tears. “Uncle’s collapsed. He’s too heavy. I can’t . . . I can’t drag him over here.”

“Samantha Jane, you climb out of that window this instant. I’ll take care of Obadiah.”

Asher recognized the weak, smoke-roughened voice of Regina Hopewell, but he knew Samantha would never leave her aunt and uncle behind. He lowered the arms he’d lifted to help her out of the window and instead shooed her aside.

“I’m coming in.”

She stepped back as he pulled himself up and over the sill.

“He’s over here.”