Chapter 8

EIGHT

AS brIGGS DROVE away from the police department, his knuckles tightened over the steering wheel. Lahela had filed another report and that should’ve made him feel better, but he was still reeling over what happened.

He’d seen Lahela with her students and decided to grab a stupid bag of kettle corn, thinking maybe they could linger a little longer in the park. He wasn’t ready for their day to end just yet, but when he’d turned around, she was gone. The panic set in, and he had discarded their snacks in search of where she went. Motion from the corner of his eye had him turning to find her being backed into a corner. Even from a distance, he identified the alarm in her expression, and his fists were ready for a fight. “You’re sure it’s not him?”

“I looked at his phone, Briggs.” She ran her hands down her jeans. “I didn’t see any messages to my number.”

“He might’ve used a different phone.”

“Officer Sandberg said they’ll talk to Trevor.” She exhaled. “But unless there’s some kind of evidence...”

“There ’s not a lot we can do.”

Briggs wanted to be upset with the officer’s response, but how could he? Hadn’t he said similar things to other victims of stalking who made reports? He’d encouraged them to file an Order of Protection, but even if a judge were to grant them that piece of paper, it wasn’t enough to stop someone who was obsessed.

He throttled the steering wheel again. The images of the photos on Lahela’s phone flashed through his mind as he drove up her street. His gaze sharpened on the houses, the cars driving by, and anyone out in their yard like he expected to see someone watching them.

The photo of her with her students was especially disturbing, but at least she’d been in public. His experience told him most stalkers wouldn’t try anything around other people, but he still had his doubts about Trevor. And his concern was leaving Lahela at home alone. Maybe he could just park outside her house and keep an eye on things.

“Would you like to stay for a while?”

Briggs pulled into the driveway behind Lahela’s car and cut the engine. “I wouldn’t mind that at all.”

Her smile returned, but it wasn’t the same as earlier that day. “I don’t have kettle corn, but I can make us some popcorn and POG juice. Maybe we could watch a college football game?”

“POG juice?”

“Papaya, orange, and guava juice. My parents sent me some packets from Hawai‘i.” But she eyed him with a flash of amusement. “Only in Texas would a guy not blink twice at a girl’s offer to watch football.”

“Football is a way of life here.”

THE INSIDE OF LAHELA’S HOUSE was cheerful and bright. The cottage home had original oak floors and white shiplap walls. Lahela used throw pillows and artwork to add pops of color. And plants . Briggs had never seen so many plants tucked into corners, near windows, hanging on the walls. It felt lush and like the space was full of life.

“Sorry for the mess.” Lahela picked up a sweater from the back of a dining room chair and collected math pages it looked like she’d been grading. Nothing Briggs would consider a mess at all. “The remote’s on the coffee table.”

Briggs turned on the TV and left it on the first game he could find before he joined Lahela back in her kitchen. He admired the natural way she moved about her home, taking command of the space, so different from the hesitant version only moments ago. It pulled at something deep within him.

“So, football isn’t big in Hawai‘i?”

Lahela set two glasses of a pinkish-orange juice on the peninsula between them. “It is but mostly between rival high schools, and most of the really good players leave the islands to play for colleges on the mainland.”

Briggs was about to ask if her brother played football, but an acrid smell filled the air like something was ... burning.

“The popcorn!” Lahela rushed to the microwave and pulled out the half-popped bag.

The gray smoke clouding the room wasn’t coming from the popcorn. Briggs pivoted toward the living room. Through the large picture window behind Lahela’s couch, he saw orange flames dancing with black smoke on her front porch.

“Lahela, get out of the house!”

“What?”

He reached for her hand and pulled her to the back sliding glass door. That’s when she saw the flames on her porch.

“No!” Instinct or shock stopped her movement, her eyes widening in horror.

“Come on.” Briggs tightened his hand around hers. He already had his cell phone out and was dialing 911. “We need to get out of the house.”

Outside, Lahela pulled away and ran around to the front of her home. She gasped, covering her mouth, her eyes glued to the fire engulfing her new rocking chairs.

A flash of movement sped around him, and Lahela cried out as her neighbor charged up the steps with a fire extinguisher.

“Mr. Dunn, stop!”

The old man either didn’t hear her or ignored her as he kept spraying the flames, but the extinguisher wasn’t enough.

“Stay here.” Briggs handed her his phone and ran up the porch steps just as Mr. Dunn tossed aside the extinguisher and reached for a burning rocker with his bare hands.

“Mr. Dunn!”

Briggs tried to stop him, but Mr. Dunn’s hand was already deep into the flames as he tried to grab for the chair. He yelped and pulled back, sending the chair tipping to its side with a crash.

The black smoke was thick and the fumes were choking him, but Briggs took hold of the man’s shoulder and yanked him back down to the lawn. Anger flashed bright in Mr. Dunn’s eyes before resignation filled them as he stared at the flames consuming the rocking chairs.

Lahela rushed to their side with tears streaming down her face and fear blazing in her eyes. This didn’t feel like an accident.