by Jenna Kernan
Mr. Lynch gave all three of them two halves of the toasted muffins that he’d browned in butter over a hot griddle. Their breakfast was served with orange juice and Lori finished first. When her mother offered to walk the children to school, Paige gratefully accepted.
Only after her mom, daughter and the Sullivan kids had disappeared did Mr. Lynch drop his smile.
“Logan thinks that fire was set. The inspector isn’t allowed to say, but I get the feeling he agrees. Mighty suspicious, your boss, his wife and your suspension. Then this fire.”
“What are you suggesting?” asked Paige.
“We need to circle the wagons. Something bad is happening here, and Logan is the man to keep you and your gal safe. But you are the one who needs to figure out what’s going on, Paige.”
She agreed with that.
“You need to use that brain of yours to figure out who is doing this and why.”
She knew why. Those tests that were missing. The batches of unknown product. What were they, where were they and who was making them?
The house phone rang, and Mr. Lynch took the call, hanging up after a short conversation. Then he faced her again.
“Fire inspector is on his way. Wants to interview you.”
Her stomach cramped, sending the muffin and coffee sloshing about her insides. If she had learned anything in the past week it was that things were not what they seemed, and being innocent was no protection from harm.
The fire inspector arrived just after noon, and Mr. Lynch ushered him in. After leading the way to the kitchen, he left them alone and the interview commenced.
She judged the inspector, Fulton Frick, to be in his midforties. He had prematurely gray hair the color of steel wool that bristled an even quarter inch from his head. His face was long, his mouth grim, and his nose twitched like a ferret catching the scent of a baby bunny.
After introductions, which included presenting his card, he withdrew a legal pad and a tape recorder.
“Do I have your permission to record this interview?”
Alarm bells sounded. He wasn’t law enforcement, exactly, but still...
Sensing her hesitation, his smile reassured. “It will help with my investigation. Get your insurance claims settled faster.”
“All right.” Had she just said yes?
Frick switched on the recorder. At first, the questions were simple and the inspector’s attitude sympathetic.
But within the course of twenty minutes, the questions he asked Paige went from easy to pointed with accusatory overtones.
“Did you remove anything from the home prior to the fire?”
“Like what?”
“Valuables, guns, jewelry, that sort of thing?”
“No. How would I have even known to do that?” She answered her own question. Someone setting a fire would know and might remove things that were too precious to lose.
“Would you be willing to let me have a look inside your vehicles, outbuildings and so forth?”
“Why?”
“Just part of the investigation.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Do you have any online retail accounts?”
“Yes.”
“Have you sold anything of value recently?”
“No!” Did she sound defensive or angry?
Did this guy really think she would burn down her own home?
Because he was acting exactly as if he thought she had burned down their house.
“You have smoke detectors.”
“Of course.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
“Locations?”
She told him and he nodded, jotting her answer on the pad he had before him.
“We found three.”
Paige shifted in her seat and glanced longingly out the window at the light snow that fell, covering everything in a pristine coat of white. What would the fire inspector do if she just got up, went outside and made a snow angel?
“And you say that the kerosene can is yours?” Frick waited with his ballpoint pen raised over the yellow legal pad. In the front pocket of his dress shirt sat an open pack of cigarettes. At first, Paige had thought that funny. Now she didn’t find a single thing about him funny.
Frick might be just as deadly as the house fire, and threatened her just as surely.
“I said that we had one that looked like that in the garage.”
He added to his notes and flipped to the next page. “How full would you say it was?”
“I don’t know. We used it when we went camping last summer at Schroon Lake.”
“And you have recently lost your job?” he asked, pen poised again.
Where had he heard that? “I did not lose it.”
“How would you characterize your status, then?”
“Suspended.” And then arrested and charged with corporate theft. If they made that stick, she would never get another job. In just under a week her life had fallen off the rails. Everything was out of control.
More scribbling.
“Would you say you are depressed?”
“No!”
“Have you considered harming yourself or others?”
Behind her the swinging door to the dining room opened. She stiffened, fearing that her mother had already returned early from picking up the girls at school, even though she knew this was dance class day. She didn’t want her mother or daughter to hear any of this. The entire line of questioning was humiliating.
She turned to see it was not her mother, her daughter, the Sullivan kids or Mr. Lynch, who had left for his Tuesday afternoon bowling league. It was Logan standing in the entrance. He stood with one hand pressed to the swinging door. His expression was thunderous, and his eyes were fixed on Frick.
Chapter Seventeen
“Time for you to go,” Logan said to the fire inspector.
Frick stood and switched off his digital recorder and dropped it into his coat pocket. Then he collected his notebook. Logan stepped aside and motioned toward the door.
“I’ll be back,” said Frick, his words seeming more threat than promise.
Frick headed out the kitchen door, his footsteps loud on the porch steps. A moment later she saw him out the window, venturing across the yard, leaving footprints in the newest layer of snow.
The sun glowed, a white sphere of light strong enough to break through the gray clouds that enveloped them. It was only midafternoon but already the sun dipped just above the tops of the tall pines to the west of the Lynches’ yard. Daylight savings was just over a week ago, but she still had not adjusted to it being fully dark before five in the afternoon.
Logan stepped up beside her at the window.
“Thank you for that,” she said.
“What?”
“For defending me.” She stepped closer, so close that she could see each coarse hair in the eyebrows that sank low over his intent eyes.
“You’re welcome.”
“He doesn’t think the fire was accidental, does he?”
“Seems not,” said Logan.
“I didn’t set that fire,” she said.
“Paige, I know that.” The smile he gave her radiated confidence. Then his smile faded.
“What?”
“I wanted to tell you yesterday, but you were so exhausted. It’s about Connor.”
She stiffened and her arms came up to fold protectively before her.
“I called Sheriff Trace and told him your suspicions about the coffee. I gave him the details and he’s investigating.”
He’d reported his brother. Believed her without speaking to Connor. The trust and the protection he offered her touched her heart.
“That must have been difficult.”
He nodded. “It was.”
&nb
sp; Her arms dropped to her sides as she stepped closer. “Thank you.”
He lifted a hand and cradled her chin on his index finger.
She craved that touch, couldn’t do without it for even one moment longer. She took hold of his hand and pressed his palm to her cheek, closing her eyes to savor the rough texture against her skin.
When she opened her eyes, it was to see his expression had changed from concern to heat. She knew that look, had seen it reflected in the eyes of his younger self. Back then, just a glance or a touch could set them aflame.
“Paige?” he said, his voice now deeper, almost a growl.
“Will you kiss me again, Logan?”
He slid his hand through her hair, cupping the back of her head as he angled for the meeting of their lips. The contact thrilled her with an electric charge of heat. A flood of memories washed over her, of a time when she had been younger and more trusting, believing that Logan would serve his country and come home safely to her.
She stepped forward, needing the pressure of his body against hers and lifting onto her toes to deepen the kiss. He drew her in, intensifying the contact of their mouths. Her tongue darted along his lips, and he opened for her. How had she survived all these empty days and nights without this?
Why had she denied them? It was all the same, exactly as it had been. Perfect. Strong. Unstoppable. His mind might have lost her, but his body remembered.
The heart remembers. The words danced through her mind as her skin turned to gooseflesh.
She stepped back, needing to look into his eyes. What if their kiss had sparked that place in his mind that had been damaged, those connections that stored their history together? She had to see. Had to know if he remembered them.
Logan struggled to keep her against him and then, seeming to realize she sought release, he let her go, moving her to arm’s length and stared down at her in wonder.
“Wow,” he said.
She could see the desire flashing in his warm brown eyes and the hopeful smile that curled his wet lips. His skin flushed and his pupils dilated. Was that recollection or need?
“Paige?”
She knew what his question meant. He wanted her. As much as she wanted him. She was tired of waiting, tired of being careful not to move too fast or repeat past mistakes. His father said she needed to make the first move and she wanted to take back some of what they’d both lost.
“Let’s go upstairs,” she whispered.
Yes, upstairs. Back to his bed and his life. She wanted him inside her, beside her, making her feel as only he could make her feel. Whole, wanted, needed.
She extended her hand, and they took the stairs at a run. Her mother was at dance class with Lori on Tuesdays, and Valerie was now joining them. Her brother was at basketball practice, and Logan’s father would be picking him up after his bowling league. They’d all be gone until at least five. She and Logan had time, precious time together and alone.
Down the hall, they hurried into his bedroom where he paused to throw the lock. She had removed her new tight boots and yanked away the socks before he even turned. When he did, it was to find her tugging off her jeans and kicking them away.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked.
In answer, she threw her discarded sweater at his head. He caught it easily and then dropped it. Then he tugged his shirt and fleece pullover off in one motion. Her gaze flicked to the bandage on his left arm.
“It’s fine,” he assured her.
She released the bottom button of her blouse, her fingers fumbling and clumsy with haste.
He now wore only his jeans, which were unfastened to reveal a tempting line of hair that threaded south from his navel and into the tight denim.
“Let me,” he said, stepping forward on bare feet. He began at the top of her blouse, opening each button and planting warm kisses along the naked flesh he exposed. She’d been dressed in a thick sweater and blouse and so had not bothered this morning with a bra. As he opened the two edges of the gaping fabric, there was nothing between his warm mouth and her skin.
The sound in his throat was a low hum of pleasure as he moved down to her navel and then back up. When he straightened, it was to smile down at her.
“Are you using protection?”
She nodded. Fool me once, she thought, having been on the pill since Lori’s birth.
“I have condoms. I’ll use one if you like.”
The offer to protect her made her smile. He had not always been so careful.
“All right,” she said, accepting his suggestion.
He moved to the drawer in his bedside table and then returned, offering her a small green packet that squished between her fingers.
“Will you do it?”
She smiled. “Love to.”
He slipped back the edges of her blouse so that the fabric slid over her shoulders, but instead of removing the garment, he bunched the fabric in his fists, drawing her shoulders together and lifting her breasts as she arched. He draped her over his arm and kissed her breasts, starting at the outer orbs and moving toward the peaked nipples, with such excruciating slowness that by the time his mouth finally took hold and sucked, she was nearly mindless with wanting. She panted as he pressed more tightly to her aching breasts.
He walked her backward until her legs contacted the side of his bed. Then he lifted his mouth long enough to draw her blouse away and strip out of all his remaining clothing.
She glanced downward to find him ready and wanting; the sight was inspiration she did not need, and she fell back upon the bed. He knelt beside her, kissing and licking over her breasts and down to her navel. He looped his index fingers under her panties and dragged them away. Logan followed their descent with his mouth, his tongue giving her a hint of what might be in store for her.
The panties dropped away, and Logan paused to cast her a long look that she believed was appreciation.
“You are more beautiful than I ever imagined.”
She smiled as he returned to his ministrations but something about his words bothered her. Imagined.
He was kissing her inner thigh now and she could not quite focus.
Ever imagined. Why was that wrong?
And then his mouth moved higher and Paige lost the power of critical thought. Logan was here with her again.
Chapter Eighteen
Logan lay on his back beside Paige with his arm around her shoulders. She rested on her side, nestled up against him, her hair a riot of curls fanning across his chest. He used his free hand to wind one of those curls about his finger, enjoying the satin of the strands and the heavy lethargy that filled him up like warm honey. She was warm honey, melting over him and around him. Taking him in and holding him tight as they both shattered. He’d brought her to her pleasure with his mouth and then again, this time together. He closed his eyes, remembering, as if he could ever forget.
Why had it taken so long?
Was it because he still lived with his dad?
He could have gotten a place of his own. But then he’d be farther away from Paige. He wouldn’t be able to walk her home from her work at night. And he would not have been there to answer the door when their house caught fire.
She and Lori would have died. That thought terrified him. Whether she knew it or not, Paige was his anchor. He just never expected her to come back to him. No longer felt he deserved someone as smart and perfect as Paige. If being her neighbor was all he could have, he would have taken it. But now, he hoped for so much more.
He wondered if she knew he still loved her or if she thought this was merely about need. He’d have to tell her. Risk her laughing in his face and tell her that he was madly in love with her. That he knew that she was too good for him, but he couldn’t help wanting her.
Ever since his injury, he’d become acutely aware of his imperfections and always felt
people were measuring him up, judging his competency. It shattered him to consider Paige might think him incapable of loving her because when he was with her, he felt whole again.
Logan kissed her forehead, and Paige sighed, nestling closer. She threaded her fingers through his wiry chest hair, her index finger circling his nipple.
He sucked in a breath and she chuckled, the sound as sexy as the woman herself. He glanced at the bedside clock and sighed, squeezing his eyes closed in denial. Their private time was up.
“They’ll all be home soon.”
Now the sound emitting from her throat was half growl and half groan. She opened her eyes and smiled at him.
He released the curl he had collected. Then he used his thumb to stroke the velvety softness of her cheek. The feathery lashes lifted as her gaze met his.
“Did you say that I was prettier than you imagined?” she asked.
“I said more beautiful.”
“Than you imagined?”
He smiled and nodded.
She pressed her hand to her forehead and rolled away, sitting on the edge of the bed, her drooping shoulders rounded.
“What’s wrong?” He came up to a sitting position behind her.
Paige ignored the slicing ache in her chest as she stooped to retrieve her discarded panties and jeans. She stood to slip them on and then snatched her blouse from the floor, shrugging into the sleeves. Then she turned to him, her blouse unbuttoned. His gaze snapped to the skin visible between her breasts and down to the waistband of the jeans that she now fastened. When his gaze finally drifted up to meet hers, she saw appreciation and hunger reflected there.
He lay on his side, propped up on his good arm, the covers tangled about his middle to reveal his long, muscular legs, dusted with dark hair, the tempting stomach and well-defined chest, and now she was thinking of pulling off her jeans again.
“Everything okay?” he asked, those heavy, dark brows lifting over speculative eyes.
And she did not know who she should be angry at—fate for throwing them into this situation, or herself for expecting a man who had suffered a brain injury to magically heal himself.
