He let the automatic closer shut the front door in their faces, leaving them in the hall. Ten seconds later he was back. “No one,” he said letting them in. “But you’ve had a visitor.”
Tasha set down the groceries they had picked up on the way home. “Maybe the building manager had to look in? I did tell him that I would be away all week. Oh, and Mrs. Johnston came in to water our plants. I asked her to come twice. But she might have come every day.” Tasha’s neighbor was elderly and a little bored.
“Come and see my welephant, Daddy Danger,” Becky pulled her little roll-on suitcase down the hall to her room. Harrison strode after her.
“It smells worse inside,” declared Quincy at his heels.
“It does, doesn’t it?” Harrison murmured.
“Like a dead thing,” Quincy said innocently.
Harrison’s hands on Becky’s shoulders prevented her from going into her room. He surveyed the pink and white bower over her head. Twin canopied beds flanked a long low white dresser. White bookshelves and toy cubes filled up the wall beside the closet. Elephant had pride of place on Becky’s bed. He flipped on the light and the room exploded into flames. Tasha yanked both girls down the hall. Harrison slammed the bedroom door shut with himself on the inside. The smoke detector screamed.
She called 911 from the common hallway. “Leave the building,” the operator instructed. “Take the stairs. If it is on your way, pull the fire alarm as you exit the building. Stay on the line.”
Tasha numbly shepherded the two girls to the fire stairs. Where was Harrison? What had possessed him to shut himself up inside with a fire? In the stairwell, she dutifully pulled the fire alarm. Bells clanged.
“Are you still there, ma’am? Ma’am?” the operator squawked at her.
“Yes. I’m now in the stairwell. We are on the twelfth floor and heading down. I just engaged the fire alarm.”
“Is there any smoke in the stairwell?”
“No. But there are also no other people.”
“Did you say you had children with you?”
“Two. Girls. But this is a condo. There are lots of other suites.”
“Keep your children with you.”
As if she was about to let them wander off. But there was no time to argue. She hustled the girls and kept assuring the 911 operator that she was still alive and unharmed.
On the sixth floor, the fire door opened. A young man stared at her. “Is this fire alarm for real?” he demanded.
“There is a fire in my suite,” she said over her shoulder.
“What floor?”
“Twelfth,” she shouted up the stairs. What difference did it make what floor? She urged the girls down the next flight. The man disappeared. The fire door banged. He did not join them on the stairs. The operator wanted to know who she was talking to.
“Neighbor. My friend has not joined us.” Her throat closed around those words.”
“The firefighters are there, ma’am. They are looking for you. Where are you?”
“Second floor. West exit.” Tasha read the sign on the wall. Where was the man from the sixth floor? Where was Harrison?
The girls were slowing down. Quincy dug in her heels. “Where is my Daddy?” she demanded.
“I don’t know. But I do know he expects us to leave a burning building on the double,” Tasha replied. “He trusts us to do the right thing. Come on.”
“Is my Daddy dead?” Despite Tasha’s firm grip on her hand, Quincy’s feet moved glacially.
“No,” Tasha lied. Harrison couldn’t possibly be dead. Could he? But no one could have survived that instant inferno. Not even a phoenix. Yet hadn’t Cameron said something about them controlling fire? And couldn’t they regenerate? Weren’t they immortal?
“Don’t cry, Mamma T,” implored Quincy. Her face was wet and so was Becky’s.
* * *
As soon as the fire began, Harrison sprang into action. He slammed Becky’s door. Unfortunately the explosion had blown the window out. Fed by accelerant and oxygen, the fire caught instantly. He didn’t even think. He became one with the blaze.
Instantly, the out-of-control fire was reduced to a small patch of live flames that were Harrison. The center of the bed that the explosive had landed on was a black mess. Elephant was indistinguishable from the rest of the ashes. The canopy hung in black tatters from the blackened poles. Smoke boiled in the air. The smoldering mattress caught. Harrison merged with those flames and prevented them from spreading.
Becoming fire was excruciating. And yet it took hold of the senses and beckoned enticingly. To counter the seductive voice promising him paradise if he let himself and the mattress burn away to coals, he concentrated on Tasha and the girls. His girls were in danger. They needed him. And they needed him now. Whoever had set this fire wanted to kill Tasha and Rebecca. He had no time to fuck with transcendentalism, duty called. He made the transition from embers back into human.
He was unhurt, of course. Hard to kill a phoenix with fire. The remaining smoke didn’t even make him cough. But his clothes had not been so fortunate. They lay in smoldering rags on the floor where he had burst out of them. Oily ashes floated down over them. He stamped the smoldering residue out with his bare feet. And sighed. If he knew his woman, any second now, firefighters would be breaking Tasha’s door down.
He smeared himself with a handful of ashes and mussed his hair. Only his boots were mostly intact. He shoved his blackened feet into them. General Custer. He was going to be explaining his nudity to suspicious guys in yellow coats and rubber boots. Behind the door in the bathroom he found a man’s dark green robe on a hook. He recognized Tasha’s scent. He sure hoped it wasn’t her ex’s robe that she was hanging onto for old times’ sake.
Concentrate, D’Angelo. This was no time to allow the elemental and unruly emotions churned up by taking fire to take over. The robe was fine. It was more than a little short, but better than nothing. He met the firefighters at the front door before they could swing an ax. Three huge guys stomped down to Becky’s room. They surveyed the wreckage behind their visors. The paint had melted on the bed frames. The walls and furniture were covered in oily soot. Glass lay on the floor.
“What happened?” they demanded.
Harrison pointed to the remains of a lightbulb. “Gasoline bomb?” he suggested. “I got the fire out, but...” He shrugged.
“With your bare hands?”
“Not exactly.”
* * *
The first responders were competent, cheerful and efficient. They were braced to deal with an entire mid-rise building of burn victims. Three people merely in shock could be left alone. The EMS had tucked couple of space blankets around Tasha and the weeping children and moved off to tend to the people finally straggling out of the building.
Becky and Quincy were beyond speech. They buried their faces in her T-shirt and sobbed loudly. Tasha hugged them tight, but her heart felt sore. Harrison had to be dead. Who hated her enough to fire bomb her condo? The firefighters had listened stone-faced to her stammered answers and spoken curt orders into their radios. But she knew they would be back with more questions.
What had she told them? Daddy had always said that when it came to explaining the paranormal to normals, to keep it simple. Had she babbled about phoenix shifters? Or had she just given the facts? But what facts? They had returned after several days away. Her friend, Col. D’Angelo and his daughter had smelled something. Had she? No. How long had he left her in the hall? Ten seconds? Really? Not longer? No. Perhaps less. Her condo was just two bedrooms and an open space that was entryway, kitchen, living room, and dining room. Col. D’Angelo could have done a walk-through in seconds. And had.
Had he been carrying anything? No. He had set the suitcases he was pulling beside them and gone in empty-handed. What was he wearing? Blue, collared, button-front shirt and khakis. Daddy Danger had a blue shirt with red stripes. That was Becky. Who was Daddy Danger? That took some explaining. The firefighter’s brown eye
s had crinkled as if he found Rebecca’s explanation amusing, before he resumed his interrogation. And then the medic was there wanting to check the girls for smoke inhalation.
People began to fill up the parking lot as the firefighters evacuated the building. The babble of shocked voices was almost painful. But it couldn’t still Tasha’s grief. The side door opened. A cluster of big men emerged from the building. Two yellow jacketed firefighters escorted a taller man in a shabby hunter-green bathrobe and cowboy boots.
“Daddy,” cried Becky and Quincy. They unfastened themselves from Tasha and hurtled across the parking lot shrieking his name.
Tasha was right behind them. Harrison scooped up both girls and held them while he enveloped Tasha in his strong embrace.
“Why are you crying, Mama T?” demanded Quincy. “Aren’t you glad he’s alive?”
There was suppressed laughter all around. The emergency services workers had witnessed enough tragedies to be glad of a happy ending. But it was a reminder that they weren’t alone.
“Of course, I’m happy. I’m crying tears of joy.”
Harrison kissed the top of her head.
“Ms. Sutcliffe,” said the firefighter on Harrison’s right, “Can you identify this man?”
Reluctantly, she pulled away from Harrison’s embrace. She attempted a smile. “Certainly. This is Col. Harrison D’Angelo.”
Harrison put the girls down. Retied the sash of her daddy’s bathrobe. “My wallet is in my vehicle.”
“I thought you lost your clothes in the fire?”
“I did. My cell is gone. But my wallet is in the glove compartment.”
“Why? Did you expect trouble?”
Harrison seemed to grow larger. Despite the fact that he was wearing that old robe that had holes in the armpits and thin spots on the back, he was still the guy in charge. The firefighter took a step backward. “I always put my wallet there when I drive. Keeps it from wearing out.”
“Well, let’s see it.”
“Wait here,” Harrison instructed. “I’ll be right back.”
He returned five minutes later in street clothes. His face was still smudged with soot. The firefighter was carrying a black leather wallet. He had opened it and was taking out each piece of ID and examining it. He removed a photograph. “Who are these people?” he demanded.
Harrison looked as if he wished to snatch the snapshot from the other man’s desecrating hands. But Quincy spoke. “That’s my Mommy and my brothers.”
“Where are they, Col. D’Angelo?”
Again Quincy spoke. “They are in Heaven. Together.”
“Heaven, Texas?”
“No. They are with the angels,” Quincy explained.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“And then the fire chief asked what my relationship was to Harrison.” Tasha paused and rubbed her temples. Her brain felt too full and her nerves were still jumping. Harrison looked rock solid and calm. And deeply satisfied. Which made her feel both safe and annoyed.
“And Mamma T said she was going to marry Daddy,” crowed Quincy.
Caroline and George exchanged pleased smiles. “Congratulations.” They both stood up to hug and kiss Tasha.
Becky nestled a little closer to Harrison. He hugged her back and kissed the top of her head. “I’m going to be taking all three of my girls back to Yuma. I don’t know what the heck’s going on, but they’ll be a lot safer on a military base than they are in San Angelo.”
Telling the fire chief that Harrison was her fiancé had seemed an easy way to explain his presence in her house in a bathrobe. But Harrison and the girls were treating her impromptu explanation as a binding promise. Harrison was practically glowing with masculine pride and arrogance. Rage, comfort and bewilderment fought for precedence. She had expected an engagement of a decent length.
Harrison reached around Quincy and took Tasha’s hand. Her trembling stopped. He brought it to his lips. “We’ll get married as soon as we can. Dad, do you think Judge Thacker will do the job tomorrow?”
“I’m sure he’ll be happy to marry you,” George said promptly. “But there’s a three-day wait in Texas.”
“Not tomorrow,” Caroline said briskly. “Tasha will need to get a dress. And she will need rings. And as much as I respect the judge, I am sure that we can ask our minister to preside.”
George met Tasha’s eyes. “You grew up on military bases. You know that Col. D’Angelo can’t just be shacked up some strange woman and a couple of kids. There would be hell to pay if he did that.” His voice was calmly persuasive.
It was true. Military codes of conduct were decades behind the rest of the world. And what was perfectly acceptable behavior for enlisted men or noncommissioned officers was considered dishonorable, particularly in higher ranking officers. Plus, that terrifying half hour where she had believed that Harrison was dead was still making her shake. But marriage? Already? On the terms he had offered before?
“It’s too bad Lincoln and Pierce aren’t here,” Caroline said. “But don’t you worry, we’ll have a proper celebration anyway. I’m sure you can extend Cameron’s leave, Harry.”
And just like that, she was getting married. Quincy and Becky began to squirm and shout.
“We’ll go shopping tomorrow,” promised Caroline. “You can both be flower girls.” She winked at Tasha.
“We’ll tell you the rest later,” promised Harrison. “I need to throw myself in a shower. I had to put my spare clothes on over the soot and smoke. And these two need to be in bed. You have a big day tomorrow, girls.”
“Will you read us a story?” begged Becky.
Tasha closed her mouth. The girls had bounced back already. Her heart was still pounding, her mind was whirling, but all was right in the girls’ world. Daddy Danger and Mamma T were getting married and it was as if all the worry, fear, and excitement had never happened. Probably a good thing. But she was ready to stab someone – if only she had a sharp stick.
“You’ll have to settle for me tonight.” Tasha feigned calmness. “Daddy is going to shower. And you are going to bed.”
* * *
“What the heck is going on, Harrison?” Lincoln demanded. “Why are you on Mom’s phone?”
“I lost my cell,” Harrison replied. “Tasha had a fire in her condo. I had to put it out.”
“What the hell?”
“Someone set a bomb to go off in Becky’s room.”
Lincoln whistled.
Harrison explained. “Flipped on the light and the room exploded. The gasoline was probably in the lightbulb.”
Lincoln swore. “It’s a surefire way to commit arson – or murder.”
“I had to do a shitload of fast talking about top secret firefighting techniques to explain to the fire department how I put that damned fire out singlehanded.”
“I’ll bet. Did they buy it?”
“Yeah. There was a lot of grumbling about the military hanging on to information the taxpayers were entitled to. Guys had a point – if there was any such technique.”
Lincoln’s laugh was derisive. “They are probably checking you out eight ways to Wednesday, Harry. I can tell you, however, that Blaine Sutcliffe didn’t have spit to do with starting that fire. Not this weekend. Not in Texas. He’s still in Hawaii.”
“Could he have paid to have it set?” Harrison asked.
“Of course. And it’s probable. It wouldn’t be the first time.” Lincoln paused to let his words sink in.
“You mean you think he was behind the car accidents?”
“Not exactly. Although I think he was. I think Sutcliffe did his grandmother.”
“What?” Harrison retreated into his bedroom and shut the door. He sat down on the armchair by the window and stared out into the night.
“Blaine Sutcliffe’s grandmother died in what I can only think of as suspicious circumstances,” Lincoln said.
“What do you mean suspicious circumstances?”
Lincoln’s voice was flat as he reported. �
�Nancy Callahan was found dead at the foot of her staircase. Coroner ruled it accidental death even though she was dead when she hit the floor. The autopsy report said she had bruises consistent with falling down the stairs, and that’s true as far as it goes.
“But she was a very old lady, and she had bruises on her arms, legs, buttocks, back – you name it, Harry, and that body part had hit something hard. If someone assaulted her and threw her down the stairs to cover it up, her injuries wouldn’t have been much different.”
“Go on,” Harrison made himself lean back in his chair.
“The coroner ruled that Mrs. Callahan had tripped and fallen down the stairs and had had a heart attack on the way down. Rolling and bumping and getting marked up. But dying before she smacked into the marble. He based this on the fact that there was no blood on the floor but plenty of contusions and some internal bleeding. I don’t think he was a fellow with much imagination,” Lincoln concluded. “Cops didn’t find any blood on the staircase either.”
“Did they look?”
“Yup. But the coroner seemed anxious to close the case and label it accidental death.”
“How did Blaine benefit?” Harrison asked.
“That’s the part I haven’t exactly got straight yet. Mrs. Nancy Callahan left a very simple trust – harder to break than a will – that benefited only her four children. She was on record as stating her belief that skipping a generation did kids no favors. Blaine and his sister and their three cousins got nothing directly. And shouldn’t have expected to.”
“Hmm.” Harrison said.
“And there are no records that Sutcliffe’s mother – that would be Peggy Sutcliffe – shared her inheritance with her children. Yet within nine months of his grandmother’s death Blaine somehow had an extra fifty grand split between eight bank accounts. My people haven’t found out where the money came from. Give us a couple more days and we will know more.”
Phoenix Aflame (Alpha Phoenix Book 2) Page 13
