Excerpt from Moonlight Can Be Murder. A sequel is in the works.
A wind eddied through the building, flicking the newspapers and lifting the pages close to the candle. I had to get out of here, but how? I couldn’t reach the tape to peel it off my mouth and scream for help. My hands were tied behind me and the rope knotted around my ankles felt as if it cut into my flesh. At any moment, the wind could blow a paper against the flame and the whole building would be ablaze.
Every prayer and Bible verse I had ever learned fled my memory. Only one phrase churned in my brain, “Lord, help me.”
Through the turmoil in my mind, an idea surfaced. It was a chance, a very slim one, but I would take it. Maybe I could roll my way to safety. How I would roll with my arms stretched tightly behind me, I had no idea, but I would try.
Sliding away from the wall, I pushed with my heels and tried to roll. It was impossible. Pain in my arms prevented me from doing anything but rocking back and forth in a futile exercise.
Since that didn’t work, I dug the heels of my boots into the floor and scooted on my back, one slow inch at a time toward the door. 
The strewn papers hampered me, sliding under my feet and preventing traction. I pushed, grunted, shoved, and floundered toward that dilapidated door.
Paper crackled and smoke burned my eyes. Turning my head toward the stairs, I saw that the candle’s flame had caught one of the newspapers on fire. Like a live thing, the blaze ate through the papers, coming nearer and nearer to me. Tongues of fire licked hungrily at the ancient, dried timbers.
I knew I’d never make it out of this inferno, but the instinct to survive is strong. Struggling and pushing with my boots, I bumped frantically toward the door. Smoke clogged my nostrils and stung my eyes. The roar of the fire grew.
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