Firestorm

by Iris Johansen

  “Michael said that you and your brother were close. I'm surprised he didn't step in.”

  “He tried. He always tried, but I wasn't having any of it. I finally exhausted myself sowing wild oats locally and took off and started wandering the world. I finally hit bottom in Tangiers and was considering going home and committing myself into the local loony bin.”

  “What stopped you?”

  “Ego. I decided that anyone who was as normal as me in every other way couldn't be nuts just because I was sucked into people's brains. So I gave myself six months to experiment and see if I was really nuts or if it was a true psychic ability. It was an interesting six months. I was lucky I wasn't psychotic after it was over. You'd be surprised how many nasty, twisted minds there are out there, and I dipped into some choice specimens. Sometimes the only way I could survive was to turn their reality into fantasy and alter it so that I could break free.”

  “Like you did with me.”

  He nodded. “Only their fantasies needed to be much filthier and more complex. I never knew that was part of my talent, but I got to be an expert from sheer necessity.”

  “What happened after those six months?”

  He didn't answer immediately. “You're very interested. Are you trying to find a gallows to hang me on?”

  “I'm trying to find a way to protect myself. I don't want to punish you. It's not worth my while. Besides, I may need you to find Trask.”

  “I'm relieved.” He pulled into the airport parking lot. “I don't mind baring my past if it makes you feel safer. What do you want to know? Oh, yes, you asked about what I did after my six months of learning my craft.”

  “Craft?”

  “Craft, skill, talent. Whatever you want to call it. I decided that I had to develop control and harness the craziness or I'd eventually slip down the path to insanity. I started looking for psychic groups and university projects that could teach me something. It was a very delicate operation to investigate without letting anyone know I was there on the outside looking in. While I was searching I ran across Michael and Melissa Travis. They weren't charlatans and seemed honest, but as far as I could tell there wasn't anyone connected with them with my particular talent, so they'd be no help. I had hopes for the Russian government project, but that didn't pan out either. I couldn't find any group or study that did have anyone like me.”

  “I can believe that,” she said dryly.

  “So I decided that I was going to be forced to develop it on my own. I joined a psychic think tank at Georgetown University that seemed to be doing some interesting things and I found my niche.”

  “What kind of niche?”

  He smiled. “Everything from espionage and helping with Homeland Security to doing my bit at local mental-health facilities.”

  She raised her brows. “My, don't you sound heroic and charitable.”

  “Heaven forbid. I was just learning and expanding my talent so that I ran it instead of it running me. I never wanted to feel as helpless as I did during those first months after I came out of that coma.” He met her gaze. “I think you can identify with that feeling.”

  She could identify, but she didn't want to admit to any bond with him. “I didn't know what was happening, but I never thought I was going crazy. I just thought I needed to get a handle on what was going on in my head.”

  “Well, our talents are a bit different. Yours came and went erratically. I couldn't get away from mine. Every day I had to face it. Before I developed control there was no telling whose mind I was going to be sucked into.”

  She tried to imagine what that would be like and shuddered at the thought. My God, she'd had only a small taste of what he must have gone through with Trask, and it was the seed of which nightmares were born. “Yes, it would be different.” Christ, she was actually feeling sorry for him, and that was a megamistake. No one was less deserving of sympathy than Brad Silver. He had faced his problems and found a way to solve them, but that didn't excuse him for invading her privacy. “But I didn't suck you into anything.”

  “True.” He parked the car and opened the door. “You're the victim and I'm the bad guy. I don't expect you to forgive me.”

  “That's good.” She jumped out of the car and let Sam out of the backseat. “Because I've no intention of letting you off the hook.” She started for the terminal. “Come on, Sam.”

  “I just had a thought. How good a flier is Sam?”

  “I've no idea. He's never been on an airplane.” She gave him a malicious glance. “But he does occasionally get carsick.”

  This is your house?” Kerry gazed at the white-columned mansion with the same amazement she'd experienced moments ago when they drove through the iron gates that enclosed the Oakbrook estate. “I'm surprised. It doesn't look like you.”

  “How can you say that?” He opened the door and helped her out of the car. “Don't I impress you as the Rhett Butler type?”

  “No.”

  “You're right. I inherited Oakbrook from Cam. He fit like a glove into the Old South scenario. But then, there weren't many places he didn't fit. He was one of those men who—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “He was a great guy.”

  And Silver had obviously loved him very much. “I'm sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too.” He climbed the steps. “He always tried to mold me into his image. He thought it was safer for me.” He smiled bitterly. “But it wasn't safer, was it?”

  “No, I guess it wasn't.”

  “He was going to ask me to help in finding Trask. He tried several times to get me to see him, but I kept putting him off. I was too busy. When I finally did come, it was the night Trask decided to burn Cam into a cinder.”

  “But you didn't know he was in danger. It wasn't your fault.”

  “I'm not playing the martyr. I just wish— Hello, George,” he said to the tall, dapper man who opened the front door. “How have you been?”

  “Bored, sir.” The butler gave Silver a resigned look. “Do you have luggage?”

  “Yep.” Silver handed him the car keys. “This is George Tarwick, Kerry. Ms. Murphy, George. George worked for Cam, and I'm a great disappointment to him.”

  “Not a disappointment.” George gave him a faint smile. “More of a challenge. When you give me the opportunity. How do you do, Ms. Murphy? I'm delighted you've come to stay with us.” He moved past them down the steps toward the car. “If you'll take Ms. Murphy into the library, I'll be right in to serve refreshments.”

  “Right.” Silver took Kerry's arm. “Come on, Kerry. We've been given our orders. Mustn't upset George. He has his way of getting his own back.”

  “Absolutely,” George murmured.

  Kerry glanced back at the butler as she reached the door. George Tarwick was moving down the steps with an athletic grace and vitality that was at odds with his august manner. At first glance Kerry had thought he was perhaps in his forties, but that stride and suppressed energy was that of a younger man. Thirties? His temples had just the hint of gray and his brown eyes were sparkling with intelligence and humor. “He's not exactly Mr. Jeeves, is he?”

  “No way. Before he decided on his present career, he worked for two years with the Secret Service. He's a black belt, was once a commando, and is an expert marksman.”

  “What?”

  “There are all kinds of discreet organizations that furnish butlers who serve as bodyguards. Four years ago I persuaded Cam to hire one. I thought it wouldn't hurt him to have a little protection. He was in the public eye and there are all kinds of nuts around.” He smiled crookedly. “But George couldn't stop Trask. Neither of us could. We stood there and let Cam burn to death before our eyes.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “Trask rigged the limo. It automatically locked so Cam and his wife couldn't get out, and then he turned loose a little Firestorm on them. So damn hot . . . They burned to death before we could get the car door open.”

  “Christ.”

  “So George and I have grow
n very close in the past months. We share a bond. Failure. And it bugs the hell out of us.”

  “Did you find any evidence that Trask was here when it happened?”

  He shook his head. “The grounds were being watched by the Secret Service at the time. Cam wasn't the first victim, and the President didn't want any more ‘incidents.' But there was no sign of him.”

  “I'd bet he was there. Maybe not close, but he likes what he does too much to set a trap and then walk away.” She absently stroked Sam's head as she thought about it. “And your brother was a difficult target. Trask would have wanted to see his child take him out.”

  “His child.” Silver grimaced in distaste. “Every time you say that it makes me want to throw up. It's . . . obscene.”

  “Yes, but then, you must be familiar with a lot of concepts that are obscene.”

  “But they didn't touch someone I cared about.” He opened the door of the library. “It gets beyond all the barriers I've learned to put up. I guess maybe I'm not as tough as I thought I was.”

  He was tough enough, she thought. And she didn't want to think about this streak of vulnerability. “No trace of Trask at the other crime sites?”

  He shook his head. “You say he was a block away from your brother's house?”

  “Yes, but he was having trouble controlling the fire. Do you know the range of Firestorm?”

  “Theoretically, with a small transmitter it can be controlled from a distance of a thousand yards. A larger transmitter permits access of a mile or two. Unless he's modified it.”

  “Which is possible.” She shrugged. “But I still think that he's going to want to watch. It's the one thing I believe he has in common with other pyromaniacs I've dealt with. There's nothing like watching, smelling.” She moistened her lips. “And if he's there, I think I'll be able to know it.”

  “I'm banking on it.”

  “That's right. You've spent so many months monitoring me. It would be a great disappointment to you if I let you down.”

  “You're damn tooting.” He paused. “But I don't think you will. You've come through with flying colors so far. I wasn't sure you'd even make contact for the first few encounters.”

  “This concerned people I care about. It could be an isolated incident.”

  “But you don't think so.” His eyes narrowed on her face. “You think that you reached him—and that you can do it again. Exactly how does your talent work? Do you ever have contact before the act?”

  She shook her head. “Once or twice I've seen it when it was going on. Other times I get a flash when I'm examining the crime scene.” She paused. “But this was the first time I felt . . . inside. It was as if I was Trask.”

  “Welcome to the club.”

  She shivered. “I hope I never feel like that again.”

  “So do I. I wouldn't wish that feeling on my worst enemy.” He grimaced. “Yes, I would. I'd wish it on Trask.”

  “Tea,” George said from the doorway as he brought in the silver tray. “And sandwiches. Ladies like tea.”

  “Do they?” Silver turned to Kerry. “Do you like tea?”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn't see any tea bags in your kitchen.”

  “And I didn't see your crystal ball.” She smiled at George. “I like the ceremony more than the beverage itself.”

  “I told you so,” George said to Silver. “Ladies have an innate appreciation for the delicacy and orderliness of tea. I've put your bags in the guest room at the top of the stairs, Ms. Murphy.”

  “Kerry.”

  He flinched. “I don't wish to be impolite, but it would violate my sense of what is proper. Suppose we accept your democratic good feelings and let it go at that.” He glanced at Sam. “May I take that animal out and give it some water?”

  “His name is Sam,” Kerry said as she handed him the leash. “And I think he needs something to eat.”

  “Probably,” Silver said sourly. “He threw up on the plane.”

  “I'll keep that in mind,” George said as he led Sam from the room. “Definitely a light repast.”

  Kerry stared after him in bemusement. “You're sure he was a commando?”

  “Oh, yes. But he was also raised in domestic service in England. He has firm convictions about the way things should be done, whether it's firing a Sam7 or serving a state dinner.”

  “Interesting.” She lifted the cup to her lips. “I'm surprised he's still with you. I wouldn't think he'd believe you worthy of his efforts.”

  “Because I'm a slob? He's hoping to reform me.”

  “But that isn't all?”

  “No. He wants to be around when we corner Trask. As I said, he doesn't like failure.”

  “What does he know about you?”

  “Only that my brother thought I was a bit of a screwball who studied hydrostatics at the university.” He took a swallow of tea and immediately made a face. “He did this to me on purpose. He knows I hate tea.”

  She smiled. “You know, I'm beginning to like George.”

  The bedroom she'd been given was as huge as the entire sleeping quarters at the fire station. It was decorated in blue and peach with restrained elegance, and again it jarred against her impression of Silver.

  “You're right,” Silver said. “I like warm colors and casual furniture.”

  “And Gwyneth Paltrow,” she murmured. Then she stiffened and said, “Were you spying?”

  “Nope. I told you that you were safe from me. But, considering how well I know you, it's not hard to read you.” He nodded at the buzzer on the table. “Ring if you need anything. I'll ask George to bring you some supper in an hour or so. Until then why don't you make a call to your brother and then relax. Take a long shower and let it iron out some of those kinks in your neck. You probably need time to adjust. Things have been moving pretty fast.”

  She did need downtime, but she resented him realizing it. It was almost as bad having him so familiar with her mental processes and responses as it was to have him inside her head. “And what are you going to do?”

  “I have a few calls to make.”

  “To Travis?”

  “And other associates.” He smiled. “My entire life doesn't revolve around Trask. It only seems that way.”

  She thought back to their first meeting. “Gillen? That's who you were on the phone with when I came into my kitchen that night.”

  He looked surprised. “You have a good memory. I didn't think you were paying any attention to anything but your friend Charlie's death that night.”

  “Oh, everything connected with you stands out crystal clear. Who is Gillen?”

  “The present bane of my existence. But no one you should be concerned about.”

  He wasn't going to tell her. “And when are we going to talk about Trask's prospective targets?”

  “Soon.” He turned away. “You only brought one bag. If you need any other clothes, just tell George and he'll have anything you need sent here from the local shops.”

  “I have enough to get by. I don't intend to dress for dinner.” She headed for the bathroom. “In spite of what George might think proper.”

  Two minutes later she was under the warm shower and muttering a curse beneath her breath. He was right. She did have kinks in her neck, and the shower was relaxing her. It was very annoying that he was so perceptive.

  Yet why was she so sure that he hadn't lied to her about not going inside her mind? She should probably be uneasy. But somehow she wasn't uneasy and she did believe him. Instinct? Whatever it was, she had to accept it. She couldn't keep doubting her feelings. She had to be confident that she was strong enough to know when he was trespassing. Otherwise their partnership would be a nightmare.

  Nightmare.

  She drew a deep breath as the thought hit her. This was the first time she would sleep since last night, the night of the fire. The night when Silver had assured her that she wouldn't dream of her mother's death. She hadn't believed him then, but there had been no real test
. Trask had seen to it that her dream of fire had become reality.

  She closed her eyes. God, she hoped she had no dreams tonight. Her nerves were so taut that she was near to breaking. But she wouldn't break. She'd gone through these nightmare cycles many times through the years. She could do it again. So stop being a wimp. Get out of this shower and get something to eat and call Jason.

  She'd worry about the nightmares later.

  I brought you a steak, salad, and a lemon pudding,” George said when she opened the door to his knock. “Substantial but not overpowering.” He entered the room and set the tray down on the desk against the wall. “But I suggest you eat it, since you didn't touch a bite of the sandwiches I brought with the tea.”

  “I wasn't hungry.” Good Lord, she was actually feeling guilty. This was ridiculous. “Where's Sam?”

  “I left him in the kitchen playing with the cook's son. He seemed to be enjoying himself.” He poured coffee into a cup. “He's very good with children.”

  “Yes, he visits the pediatrics ward at the hospital every week. The kids love him.”

  “Well, he certainly isn't going to intimidate them with his power and coordination. He almost knocked me down when I was filling his water bowl.”

  “He's a little clumsy.”

  “And he dripped water all over the kitchen.”

  “And a little messy.” She stuck out her chin. “If you don't like it, bring him up to me.”

  “I don't mind him. And the cook is already enamored with the beast.” He smiled. “He's just a surprise. Brad told me that he's an arson dog.”

  “You don't call Silver by his surname. Doesn't that strike you as improper too?”

  “Certainly. But he won the match, so I gave in gracefully.”

  “Match?”

  “Karate. He became annoyed with my politeness and told me to stop. When I expressed my displeasure, he told me that if I could put him down two out of three times, he'd drop the matter.” He shook his head. “I only managed to put him down once. But I'm already preparing for the next encounter.”