As I swung onto the dirt road that led down to the river and our cabin, flashes of red and blue began to cut through the trees—not from flames, but from emergency vehicle lights. My heart began to race a whole lot faster, even though I still had no sense that Rory was dead.

A police car blocked the road near the first cabin, forcing me to stop. I did so and rolled down the window.

“I’m sorry, miss,” the officer said, “but there’s been a fire, and we’re not—”

“We’re PIT associates.” Jackson leaned past me to give the officer his badge. “And we’ve been called in to investigate.”

The officer frowned as his gaze swept the badge. “I can’t see why PIT would even be here, let alone send associates.”

“Emberly here was staying in one of the cabins,” Jackson said. “What building went up? And have there been any injuries or fatalities?”

“It was the last cabin, and yes, there’ve been injuries. We’re still trying to determine the latter.”

I briefly closed my eyes and fought the urge to run into the area and find Rory. If he were dead, I’d know. I had to cling to that, if nothing else.

“We need to get in there, Officer. Now,” Jackson added when the officer hesitated.

“Wait here while I check with the inspector.” He stepped back and began talking into his two-way. I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel, my gaze on the lights up ahead. Smoke swirled through the night, but I couldn’t see any flames, and there was little in the way of heat riding the crisp air.

“Okay,” the officer said, handing Jackson’s ID back. “You’re cleared. But you’ll have to leave the SUV here—just pull it off the road a bit more.”

I did so, then grabbed my coat and climbed out. The farther I got down the road, the stronger the scent of smoke became. One of our neighbors nodded at me as we strode by, and the cabin nearest ours bore scorch marks. That fact alone suggested our cabin hadn’t just caught fire; it had exploded.

I rounded the corner and was met by a scene of utter destruction. There was little left of the cabin but a pile of smoldering wood. Even the old stone chimney hadn’t withstood the explosion—there were only a few bricks left at the base to indicate its existence. We were stopped again as we drew near the cabin, but once we’d both shown our IDs, we were motioned over to a somewhat disheveled-looking gentleman whose short gray hair stuck out in all directions and who seemed to be wearing a striped pajama top under his sweater.

“Inspector James Cobden,” he said, his voice gruff but not unfriendly. “What’s PIT’s interest in this case?”