It was his turn to feel the heat climbing up his neck. “If you’d been interested, you could have found out back in high school.”
Her jaw dropped as she paused midstep toward the door, and he let out a laugh.
“What? You didn’t know?”
“No, I didn’t know. How was I supposed to know that?”
He felt a silly grin spread across his face. “You were a freshman, I was a senior. I was too cool to date a freshman.” He ducked his chin and glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “I wish I hadn’t been so cool.”
The flush that graced her cheeks made him grin wider. Then he frowned and sighed. “And my dad would have killed me.”
Alexia grimaced and tightened her jaw. “Yeah, couldn’t go against Dad, could you?”
He ignored her bitter words. “Then the night you and Chad and Christine all graduated . . . I realized I wanted to get to know you more—regardless of what my father would say. Then you disappeared on me.”
His confession seemed to knock her for a loop. She cleared her throat and said, “I had no idea, Hunter.”
“I know.” He shrugged. “I had just gotten home from college. It was the first time I’d seen you in three years, and you didn’t seem interested in me—or any other guy for that matter.”
“Well, that’s true. I’d pretty much sworn off men and dating by the end of my senior year. And,” she twisted the ring on her pinky, a nervous habit she’d broken but seemed to have picked up again recently, “I’ve been running for the past ten years.” She frowned and walked toward the basement door. Pulling it open, she looked down the steps, her shoulders hunched. “Now, I want to stop running. It’s time to start fighting my own battles.”
She headed down the basement stairs.
16
Wednesday, 8:46 a.m.
As she put one foot in front of the other, long-buried fears deluged her. The light tread of the footsteps behind her offered her more comfort than she wanted to admit. Part of her was relieved she didn’t have to do this alone, but another part believed she didn’t deserve to have company—or comfort.
Swallowing hard, she reached the bottom of the steps and flipped the switch. Just as before, the light illuminated the cluttered space.
Alexia walked straight to the area where Devin had died. His blood still stained the carpet. A dark brown spot with spatters on the wall. “The crime scene cleanup crew hasn’t been here yet,” she noted.
Then rolled her eyes at her statement. Duh.
But she felt better hearing her voice, trying to stay detached from it all, like she was working one of her fires. Noting details, doing what had to be done, but keeping emotion out of it.
“They’ll probably be here sometime today,” Hunter said.
Again his presence comforted her. And she was glad he didn’t try to dissuade her from continuing. The memories threatened to overwhelm her, but she shoved them back with effort, refusing to let them in.
She studied the area, then moved on to the door. “He came in here.”
“Yes, it looks like it.” Hunter studied the lock. “Probably wasn’t any trouble to either pick the lock or just jimmy it.”
“Or she left it open.”
“Or that.”
“Or Devin let his attacker in because he knew him.”
Hunter shot her a look, admiration glinting in his gorgeous eyes. “Or that.”
A bolt of warmth shot through her and she realized how much she cared about what he thought about her. Clearing her throat, she made a mental note to be on guard. His father hated her and thought her guilty of arson. Whose side would Hunter take if it came down to making a choice between the two of them?
A no-brainer in her book. And by even thinking along those lines, she was jumping way ahead of things.
Or was she? After all, he’d just confessed to wanting to ask her out in high school.
She jerked her gaze from him and walked into the room Devin had used for the past several weeks.
“He was a neat person. Everything looks organized,” she observed.
“Looks like he’d been living here for a while.” Hunter looked around. “No boxes sitting around to be emptied.”
Alexia walked to the nightstand and opened the drawer. “I feel weird doing this.”
“CSU has been all over this place. What do you think you’re going to find that they missed?”
Alexia shrugged. “Nothing probably. I just wanted to see . . . I don’t know. If he was the same person I remembered.”
“Probably not. It’s been ten years. Are you the same person?”
“Goodness, no.” She gave a little laugh and pulled out a picture. “Look. It’s him and Marcie . . . Marcie Freeman.” Hunter joined her to look over her shoulder, and she drew in a deep breath. “I like your cologne.”
His eyes dropped to hers. A little smile curved his lips. “Thanks.”
Alexia felt mortification sweep over her. As well as a flush like she’d never experienced before. She really needed to get control of her tongue.
Settling her eyes on the picture, she frantically searched for a way out of the awkward spot she’d just landed in.
A thump sounded overhead and Alexia froze, shot a look back at Hunter, and narrowed her eyes.
“Are you expecting someone?” he whispered.
She shook her head.
Before she could blink, he had his weapon in his hand and was headed up the steps.
Jaw set, determined to do her part to figure out what was going on, she hurried after him. Keeping her steps light and soundless, she grabbed his arm and pointed to the fourth step from the top. “Step over,” she mouthed.
He did. The door leading into the kitchen remained as they’d left it. Cracked. Feet planted on the second step from the top, his body edged sideways as much as possible, he swept the weapon in front of him. With a glance back at her, he motioned for her to mimic his pose—back flat against the wall.
No doubt, so if anyone shot into the basement, they would be out of the most obvious line of fire.
Fear reared its head, but she swallowed and complied. Alexia decided she much preferred the visible enemy of a good fire to murder, personal attacks, and home invasions.
Hunter eased the door open with his elbow.
17
Wednesday, 8:56 a.m.
When no bullets came tearing in their direction, Alexia allowed herself to breathe a little easier, although her nerves still hummed. Hunter eased his way into the kitchen. She stayed right behind him, eyes darting, probing, looking for anything that could be considered a threat.
Nothing.
Another noise from the direction of the den. So faint she wondered if she’d imagined it. Alexia swiveled her gaze from the kitchen to the opening that led to the living area.
Hunter sidestepped toward the noise. He’d heard it too.
The incident from the parking garage flashed through her mind, mingling with the fear she’d felt upon finding Devin’s body. Was there someone in her mother’s den? Had that person followed them? Or had he already been inside, lying in wait?
She wanted to grab Hunter, tell him to stop his slow move toward whatever lurked out of sight. She wanted to snatch her cell phone and dial 9-1-1.
Instead, she barely breathed as Hunter finally reached the door, edged to the side, and held his weapon ready. Again, he motioned her to move behind him.
She did.
His broad back blocked her view, shielding her from whatever lay before them. Heat radiated from him and she knew his adrenaline raced as fast as hers.
He moved, dropping to his knees. She did the same.
Hunter eased his head around the doorframe and pulled in a slow breath. “Clear in here,” he whispered in a voice so low she had to strain to hear him. But she understood what he meant. There was nothing in the den area.
But that was where the noise had come from.
Hunter rose and entered the den on silent feet. Once again
, Alexia followed.
She glanced around, nerves tight, tension knotting the muscles in her shoulders. What had they heard?
Her gaze fell on the one thing out of place.
A book on the floor by the end table nearest the front door.
The front door that was now cracked. She knew for a fact Hunter had closed it behind him when he’d followed her into the house.
Hadn’t he?
Movement caught her eye and she sucked in a deep breath. “There,” she whispered.
Hunter whirled, gun pointed.
A cat.
Just a cat.
Adrenaline still pumped. He kept his voice low. “Does your mother have a cat?” He didn’t remember seeing any bowls or other evidence that would indicate a cat lived here, but that didn’t mean the stuff wasn’t upstairs. It also didn’t mean there still wasn’t someone in the house.
“Not that I know of,” she whispered.
“Stick close.”
He felt her behind him. His senses tuned in to react to any immediate threat, he still couldn’t help noticing her light perfume. With her on his heels, he methodically checked the downstairs part of the house. “It’s clear down here. Let’s go up.”
They started for the second floor. Two bathrooms and three bedrooms were upstairs. One by one, they checked and cleared each room until he was satisfied no one lurked, ready to pounce.
Hunter dropped his weapon to his side. “I’m going to have a look around outside real quick.”
She nodded, still looking around the room like she’d never seen it before. “I’m going with you.” He lifted a brow and she flushed, even as she offered a nonchalant shrug. “I don’t want to be alone in here.”
Together, they walked down to examine the front door. She hovered close by while he checked outside.
Nothing. He also noted he never heard a car drive up or drive away.
His gaze shot up the street then back down.
No one.
Hiding places abounded. There was no one to chase, nothing to indicate there’d been an intruder in the house only moments ago.
But his gut said there’d been someone there.
Retracing his steps, double-checking the lock on the front door, he turned and said, “I didn’t see anything or anyone outside.”
She followed him back up the stairs, quiet and subdued. Back in the room they’d just left, she finally found her voice.
“It’s so different,” she whispered.
He looked around. Pretty white curtains hung on the windows. A matching bedspread covered the twin bed against the far wall.
“This was my room.”
A simple statement. He wondered if he was supposed to respond. “Nice.”
“Yes, it is.” She sounded almost puzzled as she took in the decor. Then, “It didn’t look like this when I was growing up.” She shook her head. “Nothing’s out of place anywhere else in the house. I guess you didn’t close the door that well when you came in. The cat must have let himself in, then knocked that book off the end table.”
“Looks like it.” He agreed with her words, but his brain still flashed warning signals.
“I don’t think the cat’s Mom’s. There’s nothing in the house that says, ‘Animal lives here.’”
“I noticed.”
Her voice softened. “She kept these.”
He stepped closer to look over her shoulder. Her light scent floated to him and he breathed deep. He’d be able to pick her out of a roomful of other perfumed women without trouble. Blindfolded.
“Look,” she said and lifted several necklaces for him to see.
“What’s so special about them?”
“There are six of them. A separate chain with each letter of my name. When you line them up, they connect and spell my name.”
Alexia demonstrated by slipping each silver chain over her head and around her neck. Soon all six silver letters interlocked to spell A-L-E-X-I-A. “The art teacher at school sort of took me under her wing my eighth grade year. She made these for me for my thirteenth birthday. I wondered whatever happened to them.”
“So all your memories here aren’t horrible.”
With a sigh, she hung the chains back on the little tree on the dresser. “No, at least not that one.”
Hunter turned to lead the way back downstairs when he saw something on the floor just under the edge of the white bedspread. Curious, he took the few steps he needed in order to lean down for a better look.
“What are you doing?” Alexia’s voice came from the door.
“Something doesn’t look right in here.”
“Nothing looks right in here,” she muttered. She came to stand beside him.
He reached under the bed and slid out a brown-and-black-striped box. Looking up, he noticed her wide eyes.
“What is it?”
“Put it back,” she demanded.
“Why?”
She paced from the bed to the wall then back. “I can’t believe she kept that.”
“What do you mean?”
“That box. It survived the fire. One of the few things that did. I had hidden it downstairs in the basement. The fire started in the . . . the den. Yeah.” Excitement flared in her eyes for a moment. “I didn’t remember that. I mean people told me, but I never remembered it until now. Other than water damage, most everything in the basement wasn’t touched.” Shaking her head, she couldn’t seem to take her eyes from the box. “That was one of them. And she put it up here. But why?”
“What’s in it?”
“A lot of memories I’d rather not revisit right now.”
Curious at her reaction, he cocked his head and studied her. “Like what?”
“Just stuff. Private stuff.” She grimaced. “Now put it back.”
“Sure.” He started to push it back into place when something on the box’s clasp caught his attention.
Pointing to it, he looked up at her. “I think that’s either rust . . . or blood.”
She blanched. “Blood? From what?”
“Can I open it?”
Biting her lip, she simply stared at him.
“What’s in the box, Alexia?” He kept his voice soft, as unintrusive as possible. He figured she was taking a mental inventory of the contents.
She swallowed and he watched her throat work. “A letter from Devin . . .” She looked away. “He apologized and begged me to come back to him. Newspaper clippings of the fire. A few birthday cards from my mother when she could sneak a couple of dollars from my dad’s wallet to buy one, a letter from a teacher who told me I had great potential.” She shrugged and he could see the flush on her cheeks.
Then she pulled in a deep breath. “Fine. If you have to open it, then do it.”
Hunter didn’t want to touch the clasp with his hands. He didn’t know why he was reacting this way to the box with what could be mud, rust, or any other substance on the clasp, but his instincts had kicked into high gear and he’d learned early on to listen to them. He looked at her. “In my car, there’s a kit to process evidence. It’s in the trunk. Will you get it?”
Puzzlement flashed across her face. “Why?”
“I want to take a sample of the stuff that’s on here.”
Realization marched in. “Oh.”
He winced at the fact that she knew he didn’t want to leave her alone in the room with the evidence. He could also tell she was hurt by it. He’d have to explain he was just protecting her. Hopefully, she would understand.
Within minutes, Alexia returned with the processing kit.
Hunter opened it and pulled out the necessary equipment, including a pair of gloves. He snapped them on. “Will you close the blinds?”
Again with furrowed brow, she did as he asked. With the flashlight, Hunter examined the box. Several prints leapt up at him. Working diligently, he dusted the outside of the box, using the graphite powder.
Following each step just as he’d been taught years ago, he expertly lifted the pri
nts and transferred them to the white 3 × 5 cards he pulled from the kit.
When he was finished with the prints, he lifted the substance around the clasp. After a drop of luminol, he held it up for her to see, not at all pleased he’d been right. “It’s positive for blood.”
“But whose?”
“I don’t know, but we’ll compare it to Devin’s.” Hunter stored the evidence on the Q-tip in the tube and placed it in the kit.
Now, to open the box.
With a glove-tipped finger, he slid the clasp to the right and lifted the lid.
His stomach churned as he pulled out the blood-encrusted knife.
She felt faint. For the first time in her life, Alexia thought she might actually pass out. Okay, for the second time, if she counted the fire.
Pulling in a calming breath, she focused on Hunter’s eyes. She had to know if he believed she put that knife there.
When she found no suspicion, the dizzying sensation passed and she said, “I don’t know how that got there. I didn’t put it there.” She winced. That’s what all criminals proclaimed when caught in the act, didn’t they? Maybe, but the difference between them and her was that she was telling the truth.
But did Hunter believe her? For some reason, that was the most important question buzzing around in her brain right now.
Thoughtful blue eyes stared at her. “I don’t think you did.”
She nearly wilted into the floor. Felt tears flood her eyes. Shocked at her reaction to his words, she simply stood still, fighting the emotion.
“I need to bag this, and it looks like I’ve got one big enough for the box, but I need another one for the knife.” He held the weapon by the end of the handle. Even from where she stood, she could see it was the missing kitchen knife.
“Right.” Grateful for the excuse to get out from under his watchful eye, she headed for the door. “Paper, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure.”
She bolted from the room, nearly tripping down the steps. The newly carpeted steps, she noticed. In fact, a lot of things looked kind of new around here now that she took the time to take in the details.
When the Smoke Clears (Deadly Reunions) Page 9
