by Delores Fossen, Rachel Lee, Carol Ericson, Tyler Anne Snell, Rita Herron
He swung the door open, blinking at the morning sunlight with a frown. Dear heavens, he was a handsome man. Tall, built like a linebacker, a broad face, shadow of a beard, dark hair, deep brown eyes with flecks of gold.
“I’m sorry,” she sputtered, thrown by her reaction to him. Of course, any red-blooded female would be shaken by his raw masculinity. But she didn’t allow herself to fantasize that there might be a good man beneath the package.
Not anymore.
“Sorry?” he said his voice gruff. “What, are you lost or something?”
She shook her head, willing her voice to be steady and not reveal the fact that she was about to feed him a big fat lie.
Protecting herself and getting revenge were all that mattered. If she had to use this man to do that, then let the lies begin.
* * *
GRIFF STARED AT the woman in confusion. Strange, beautiful females didn’t just show up at his door early in the morning, not out here.
Hell, he’d been up half the night working the crime scene and felt as scruffy as he must look.
She lifted a dainty chin. “My name is Virginia—Ginny—Bagwell,” she said in a voice that sounded almost angelic. Or hell, maybe he was still asleep and dreaming. In deep REM.
“I’m an investigative journalist,” she continued. “I’m writing a special series on arson, specifically arsonists and their motives, and would like to interview you for my piece.”
Griff narrowed his eyes. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been up half the night working. Why don’t you contact my firehouse and talk to the captain? He has people who handle media coverage.” Griff hated the press. Being in the spotlight. Last night he’d left Jacob to handle the reporter at the salon so he could concentrate on his job.
“Please,” Ginny said with a soft smile that probably disarmed most men. Or had them falling at her pretty feet. And he bet they were pretty and girly although you wouldn’t know it from the plain black flat shoes she wore. They were as nondescript as the black sedan she was driving.
“I did my research,” she went on. “I know how well respected you are, that you’re a leader among your team. I saw the story about the fire last night. You worked it.”
Griff shifted. “So did other members at my station.”
She clamped her teeth over her bottom lip, a lip so plump and ripe that for a moment Griff’s body stirred with desire.
Good grief. What was wrong with him?
Sleep deprivation. That was all.
She fidgeted with the button on her jacket. “I’m sorry for bothering you. You obviously were up late. Maybe I could buy you a cup of coffee later? Or breakfast? How about it, Mr. Maverick?”
She was persistent.
“Who did you say you work for? A paper? Magazine?” Griff asked.
A second of hesitation, then she breathed out. “I’m not with anyone at the moment. I’m trying to get an in at a TV network, and the only way to do that is to come up with a good story.”
“You can get information on arsonists’ motives on the internet,” he said, sensing she was trouble.
“I don’t want simple rote facts,” she said. “I want the real story from someone who’s worked fires, who knows arson, who’s been in the head of a fire starter and understands his actions.”
He leaned against the doorframe. “Understanding means I sympathize with the arsonist, and I don’t. But I do recognize their motives. Human nature makes us want to know why people do the things they do, especially actions that hurt others. And knowing those motives can lead to finding the culprits.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” she said. “Please meet me for coffee later.”
She extended a business card with her name and phone number in black and white. “I’m going to book a room at the local inn. Just let me know when you’re ready to talk.”
Their fingers brushed as he accepted the card, and the sleeve of her jacket rode up slightly. Just enough to reveal a scar on the underside of her wrist. Puckered red skin. Raw looking.
A burn scar.
His pulse jumped. Ginny Bagwell might be researching a story, but she was holding something back. This was personal to her.
She’d come to him because she’d researched him.
That roused his curiosity.
“All right, I’ll call you after I get some sleep,” he said, hoping a couple hours of z’s would make her look less sexy when he talked to her.
Either way, he’d find out what she was up to.
* * *
GINNY STRUGGLED TO calm her raging nerves as she drove through the small town of Whistler. Nestled in the mountains only a couple of hours from Asheville, it looked like a quaint little village with its gift shops, handmade quilt store and signs for boiled peanuts and homemade fudge. The area catered to campers, hikers, white-water rafting, canoeing and skiing in the winter.
She’d read everything she could find on the town the night before. Five years ago, a terrible fire had destroyed the local hospital, caused several casualties and cost the Maverick brothers their father’s life.
Griff knew what it was like to lose a loved one. Her heart went out to him. Yet that fact could give them common ground.
Reminding herself to stay alert in case Robert was in Whistler, she scanned the streets as she drove and the parking lot of the Whistler Inn when she pulled into the drive. Set against the backdrop of the sharp ridges and hills beyond, it looked almost ethereal. Not that she could relax and enjoy it while she stayed here.
Not with her sister’s killer still on the loose.
She retrieved her overnight bag from the trunk of her rental car and started up the cobblestone walkway to the front door of the inn. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she turned and scanned the street again.
Robert couldn’t know she was here. Could he?
No. She’d been careful. Rented a car using her fake ID so it couldn’t be traced back to Reese Taggart. Her hair was a different color now and shorter. Thanks to colored contacts, her green eyes were blue.
Reminding herself that she was here to find him, and that she’d trained for the moment, she slipped inside the inn. The woman behind the guest-services desk smiled and offered her the room she called The Sunflower Room. Ginny expected it to be painted bright yellow, but it was white with muted shades of green and coral, and fresh sunflowers in a vase on the desk.
The room was so bright and cheery that it looked at odds with the reason she’d come. But it reminded her of a happier time when she and her sister had dreamed about their futures together.
Tess had lost her future because of her.
Tears blurred her eyes. Some days she made it through without succumbing to the overwhelming anguish. Other days, the grief came out of nowhere and hit her so hard it stole her breath.
It was the little things that triggered the memories and made her choke up with emotions and regret. Tess’s favorite ice cream was mint chocolate chip. On her birthday, Ginny ordered a cone of it to honor Tess, but halfway through she’d started bawling like a baby. Another time she’d heard her sister’s favorite song in a coffee shop, and she’d had to leave.
She swiped at the tears and forced herself to focus on her mission. Hopefully Griffin Maverick would call her.
If not, she’d find another way to see if the death of the woman in the nail-salon fire was connected to Robert.
She settled her suitcase on the luggage rack, then set her laptop on the desk. Her muscles ached from tension and tossing and turning all night. The dead woman’s face taunted her in her sleep. Joy looked so much like she had three years ago that Ginny felt like she was looking in the mirror.
If she’d never gotten involved with Robert, Tess would still be alive.
And if she’d stopped Robert a long time ago, he couldn’t have hurt anyone else, like
Joy.
She grabbed a bottle of water from the gift basket on the corner table, uncapped it and took a long drink as she sank into the chair and booted up her computer.
This trip to Whistler might not turn up anything on Robert. Joy Norris’s murder might be unrelated to Tess’s.
But that picture, Joy’s looks... She had to know for sure if she was another victim of Robert’s.
She spent the next hour combing the internet for pictures or any mention of Robert Bouldercrest. She checked local news reports and social media, trolling through random photographs people had posted.
But she found nothing.
Determined to explore every avenue, she decided to search online dating sites again. She’d met Robert on a site called Meet Your Mate and went there first in case he stuck to a pattern.
She created a new profile under the name June Embers and found a stock photo to use. She answered the questions in a similar vein as she had when she’d created her first profile.
If Robert had been attracted to quiet, shy journalism student Reese Taggart who lived alone and had just lost her mother, he might fall for bookstore owner June who’d grown up in foster care and wanted to get married and make a family of her own. She posted the profile, then added it to several other dating and singles sites.
Robert liked playing the savior, the knight riding in to save the lonely damsel. Like June.
And he had been chivalrous. Affectionate. Romantic.
Until he’d turned into a monster.
* * *
THREE HOURS LATER, Griff rolled from bed, still foggy from sleep. He felt as if he was in a phantasmagoric state, where real images and imagined ones blurred together. Had he been so exhausted he’d dreamed that beautiful woman had shown up at his door this morning?
His phone dinged with a text as he stumbled into the kitchen. Jacob.
One p.m. Meet at ME’s office for results of Joy Norris’s autopsy.
Griff sent a return text: See you there.
He started past the breakfast island to make coffee when he spotted the business card Ginny had left. So, he hadn’t imagined her.
He filled the coffee carafe with water and poured it into the coffee maker, inserted a filter filled with his favorite ground beans, then punched the start button. While the rich, dark coffee brewed, he picked up the card, turned it over between his fingers and studied it. Simple office stationery. Classic design.
The name Virginia (Ginny) Bagwell was scrawled in italics with the title investigative journalist printed below her name along with a phone number and address in Asheville.
He tapped the card between his fingers, his curiosity piqued. How had she gotten that scar? Why was this story important enough to travel to Whistler and knock on his door?
His pulse jumped as a random thought struck him. Could she possibly know something about the fire from five years ago?
The scar...could she have been at the hospital that day?
Chapter Three
The scent of chicory filled the air, and Griff poured himself a cup of coffee, carried it to his computer then sat down and retrieved the file he, Jacob, Liam and Fletch had compiled over the past five years. He plugged in the name Virginia (Ginny) Bagwell and ran a search to see if her name was listed as one of the victims in the Whistler Hospital fire, or if she’d lived in town at the time.
Nothing popped.
Even more curious than before, he snagged his cell phone and pressed the number on the business card. He had a couple of hours before meeting the ME and Jacob.
She answered on the third ring. “Hi. I didn’t know if you’d call, Mr. Maverick.”
He hadn’t known if he would either.
“It’s Griff. I can do a late breakfast at eleven at Mitzi’s Café in the town square.” The young woman had just opened, and he’d heard the food was good. She was not only attractive, but she made a mean stack of hotcakes with fresh blueberries and cream. He did have a sweet tooth.
“I’ll be there.”
He hung up, then headed to the shower. While she probed him for information about arsonists, he’d find out what she was hiding.
* * *
GINNY CHECKED TO make sure her auburn roots weren’t bleeding through before walking to the café. Outside, the sun was battling its way through dark clouds that hinted at rain, and the wind tossed debris through the air.
She checked over her shoulder a dozen times, keeping a lookout as she crossed the street and bypassed the mercantile and arts-and-crafts store.
Hunching her shoulders against the wind, she hurried past a dark gray SUV, averting her face until she reached the awning of The Brew, the coffee shop on the corner. She ducked beneath it, slipping into the shadows, then pulled her binoculars and aimed them at the vehicle.
Was Robert inside?
She hovered there for several seconds, watching. Finally, the man opened the door and stepped from the SUV.
Not Robert. This man was heavyset, bearded, with graying hair.
Relief surged through her, and she rushed down the sidewalk to the café.
Mitzi’s looked like a throwback to the Wild West with its saloon door and red-checked tablecloths. Country music wafted through the speakers, and the sound of voices, laughter and dishes clanging filled the dining area.
She stopped at the hostess stand and told the young girl she was meeting someone, then asked for the booth in the rear. She always faced the door, never put her back to an entry point. She also scanned the room for a rear exit in case she needed to make a hasty escape.
Once seated, she ordered coffee and checked her phone, searching for updates on the story about the fire. Nothing new.
Footsteps sounded, and she looked up and saw Griff approaching. His big body seemed to take up all the space, stirring a myriad of emotions inside her. Fear, because he was big and muscled and strong. Desire, because he was handsome as sin.
Just the kind of men she avoided. She glanced at the scar on her wrist as a reminder. Play with fire and you get burned.
Sometimes you didn’t survive.
She had to survive long enough to get revenge for Tess.
* * *
GRIFF NARROWED HIS EYES as he claimed the chair across from Ginny. He’d seen her outside on the street. Watched her checking over her shoulder as if she thought someone was following her. Saw her duck beneath the awning, pull out her binoculars and surveil the man in that gray SUV.
What in the hell was she doing?
Was she really here for basic information on arson or was she chasing another story?
She offered him a smile that instantly made his gut tighten. “Thank you for coming.”
“Had to eat,” he said gruffly.
She nodded and sipped her coffee. The waitress sauntered over and he ordered coffee and the stack of hotcakes with blueberries and whipped cream. She asked for the same except she chose strawberries for her topping.
She wasted no time but jumped in with basic questions about causes of fire.
“Many are accidental,” he said, playing along. “Faulty wiring. Someone left a candle burning or dropped a cigarette or left the stove on.”
“How about those recent wildfires?”
Their food arrived, and his stomach was growling so he dug in. “Could be campers or hikers not properly extinguishing their campfire. The March winds can whip up embers and spark flames even after the fire has been thought to have been snuffed out.”
“Is that what you think is happening?”
He shrugged. “Honestly I think some teens are the cause, but we haven’t found a suspect, or suspects.” He waved his hand. “This is off the record. Do you understand?”
“I do,” she said quietly. “You found an accelerant?”
He nodded. “A couple of packs of matches. Empty beer cans. Evidence of l
ighter fluid.”
“That does sound intentional. Is there a pattern with the timing?”
“Not really. Although two of them started at dusk. Just enough time for kids to get out of school, head to the woods and drink a few beers before their folks got home from work.”
He finished off his meal, then sat back and studied her while he sipped his coffee.
“Tell me about pyromaniacs,” she said. “They’re obsessed with fire, aren’t they?”
“True. Some have impulse disorders. They love the thrill of watching the flames burn. But that’s more rare.”
She licked whipped cream from her lips. “A large percentage of arsonists set fires to cover a crime, don’t they?”
Now he sensed they were getting to the heart of the matter. “As a matter of fact, yes. Fire can destroy valuable evidence and make recovering forensics difficult.” He paused. “But a fire doesn’t totally destroy a body. Specialists can still uncover important forensics and evidence by examining the remains.”
“Is that what happened last night at the nail salon? Do you think someone killed Joy Norris then set the salon on fire to cover his tracks?”
He folded his arms. “I can’t divulge information in an ongoing investigation.”
“But that’s what you suspect?” she pressed.
“Is that why you’re here?” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you know something about that fire last night or Joy’s murder?”
Her eyes widened slightly. “I explained that I’m writing a piece on arson—”
“I’m not buying it,” he said. He’d been lied to before by Joy and didn’t like it.
She shifted and traced a finger around the rim of her coffee mug. “All right. I’ll share if you do.”
A frown creased his mouth. “We’re still investigating. I’m supposed to meet with the ME and sheriff after breakfast to learn the results of the autopsy.” He snagged the bill and gave her a pointed look. “Now your turn.”
Her gaze met his for a tension-filled minute. He thought she might answer, but then she yanked her gaze from his as if he’d burned her.
