Chapter 5 - Smoke on Oakridge Lane
My Humvee tore through the dark Charlotte suburbs, the engine roaring against the pavement. Oakridge Lane was nestled in an exclusive, gated enclave where sprawling ancestral mansions hid behind iron gates and towering hedges.
When I reached number 442, the iron gates were wide open.
A thick plume of dark grey smoke billowed from the back of the property, twisting up into the starless sky. The carriage house—the very place Abigail had been held captive—was on fire.
I didn't bother waiting for local fire trucks. I slammed on the brakes, unhooked the tactical fire extinguisher from my trunk, and sprinted down the gravel path. Through the rolling waves of smoke, a figure was struggling at the side door of the burning structure, trying to force it open from the inside.
“Stand back!” I shouted, kicking the heavy wooden door clean off its rusted hinges.
A young woman tumbled out onto the grass, coughing violently, her apron singed and soot staining her face. I hauled her away from the flames, wrapping my tactical jacket around her shoulders.
“Are you hurt?” I asked.
She looked up with terrified, tear-filled eyes. “They... they tried to burn it down. They knew I took the ledger.”
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“What ledger?”
She clutched a charred, leather-bound notebook tightly against her chest. “The logbook. Every time Nicholas hit her. Every time Chief Vance came over to cover up the arrests. The names of the judges they bought.”
