Page 8 of Girl Anonymous

Mrs. Arundel looked so anxious, almost on the verge of tears, that Maarja took pity on her. “Of course. I understand. I’ll see you on the other end, in Montana.” She walked out the door and down the corridor to the elevator. She pushed the button and waited, and as she did, she heard a muffled crash behind her.

Had Mrs. Arundel somehow fallen?

She turned in time to see a blinding flash of light, hear the roar of an explosion.

CHAPTER 4

The floor rippled beneath Maarja’s feet.

She shouted, fell. As heat rolled over the top of her, she covered her head with her arms. In her head, she heard her mother’s voice.

Run, Mary. Run and never look back.

She had to run!

Maarja half rose and turned toward the elevator.

Another explosion shook the floor. She fell hard, flat on her face, knocking the air out of her lungs. Angry red stars swarmed her vision.

She lost consciousness, but in that loss she heard her own five-year-old self screaming,Mama! Mama! Mama!

And—

My fault. Mama, I’m sorry. My fault!

Maarja regained consciousness, and the panic remained, but had been transformed by memory into determination.

Dear God. Flames would engulf that faded kind woman in the wheelchair. Someone had to save her.

Maarjahad to save her.

Maarja crawled toward the library, ears ringing, blinking to clear her vision. “Mrs. Arundel,” she shouted. “Mrs. Arundel, I’m coming!”

Sooty smoke rolled out of the library, blackening the ceiling. Scarlet flames roared, reaching high out the broad doorway, blistering the pale cream paint until it turned a gruesome brown and peeled off.

Fear writhed in Maarja’s gut. She had trained in every aspect of security. She knew what to do to rescue endangered art. When she thought about it—and she did—she had expected her childhood experience to armor her against the shock and horror. She hadn’t foreseen she’d hear her mother’s voice in her head, commanding her to run, or that her childhood obedience would be replaced by the terror of knowledge.

She’d been here before.

Not here, not in this place, but staring into the flames, into the madness of shattered glass, shards of furniture, and broken bodies.

Desperately Mary wanted to go to her mother’s rescue. In despair, she realized what Mama had done, and why she had drilled those words into her little girl’s head.

Run, Mary. Run and never look back.

Maarja wanted to run, to obey her mother’s never-forgotten directive, but Mrs. Arundel was somewhere in that library. All Maarja’s old guilt strengthened her resolve. Mrs. Arundel could not be left to burn.

In the library, flames scraped the ceiling, blackening the toes of the artfully painted cherubs, and Mrs. Arundel’s wheelchair stood empty. For one cowardly moment, Maarja thought,She’s gone. I don’t have to—

She caught sight of the woman sprawled on the carpet face down, her black shawl covering her face and back, the hem of her green dress charred and smoking.

Gone? Of course she wasn’t gone. Maarja mocked herself with scathing intolerance. What was Mrs. Arundel going to do, get up and run?

The force of the blast looked as if it had come from theouter wall of the library, probably a projectile incendiary blasted through the window. Mrs. Arundel had been knocked out of her wheelchair, was probably now unconscious. Fire consumed books and shelves, advancing across the hardwood floor toward Mrs. Arundel’s prone body.

Maarja glanced around the elevator foyer, grabbed a quilted blanket used for moving, and used it to cover her head and her face. She took a long deep breath of oxygen, then kept low as she ran into the library and dropped to her knees beside Mrs. Arundel’s still figure.

She pushed the heavy wrap off her face—and jumped when Mrs. Arundel opened her eyes and snapped, “Maarja! What are you doing back here?”

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