{Excerpt} The Greatest Gift by Roxy Boroughs (with Giveaway)

Heather went numb. She must have misheard. “I know I didn’t go over the speed limit on the way home. The roads are icy and—”

“You’re under arrest for burglary and arson,” the same officer said, showing her the warrant, while his female associate revealed a pair of handcuffs.

“Arson?” Heather had so little air in her lungs, the word came out breathy, hardly above a whisper. “Of what? When?”

“A week ago, in—”

“Too much talking,” the male interjected. “Put the cuffs on her and let’s go.”

Heather tucked her arms into her chest and locked them there. “I didn’t do it. I’m innocent.”

“That’ll be for the courts to decide, ma’am.”

Lottie whimpered. “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy,” she cried, calling for her over and over again.

She tried to get to her daughter, but the male officer barred her way. “Please, let me say goodbye to her.”

“Best you come with us now, ma’am.”

“I will. But I need to talk to my daughter first. Please.”

The officers exchanged a look. Finally, the female spoke. “You’ve got one minute. Stay where we can see you.”

Heather ran to Lottie and hugged her tight. “Mommy? What’s going on?”

“There’s been a mistake, sweetheart. I have to go with the nice policemen and clear everything up. But I’ll be back. I promise.” Heather switched her gaze to Lottie’s grandmother. “Can she stay with you, while I straighten this out?”

“Of course. I’ll call your boss, too. Let him know you won’t be in for a while.”

Heather nodded her thanks. “If you could take Lottie to her room. I don’t want her to see…”

The older woman didn’t wait for the rest. She tore down the hall with Lottie looking over her shoulder. The little girl’s arms reached out, her mouth open wide in a silent scream. Heather jammed a fist between her teeth to hold in her own sobs.

“Hands behind your back.”

The cuffs encased her wrists, as the male officer read her rights.

“Spread your feet,” the other ordered, and gave Heather’s left foot a rough nudge to make sure she complied.

The woman searched Heather—checking coat pockets, patting her chest, her arms, her legs. Heather’s cheeks flamed with humiliation.

“What am I supposed to have robbed?”

“And torched,” the male added.

“A bar in Carol Falls. Billy Boy’s.”

The officers led her from the apartment, one on each arm. Without their support, Heather feared she’d fall over.

How, in God’s name, had she wound up like this? Accused of burning the same building her former lover had risked his life to save.