by Laura Scott
Searching for the obituary had worked. There in black and white was proof that Simon and Ruth Penske were dead.
The date was October 3, the same day as the fire.
She sat back in the chair. “I told you they were dead.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t read it all the way through.” Linc tapped on the screen. “They’re presumed to have died in the fire. The fire burned so hot for so long, there wasn’t much left behind. Only a few human remains were found, but not enough to identify them.”
A chill rippled over her. “So you’re saying they may not be dead?”
“I’m saying, anything is possible.”
She shook her head, unwilling to believe it. Because even if the Preacher had survived, he’d have needed medical care. The guy wouldn’t be able to be in a hospital for massive burns without anyone knowing who he was.
Could he?
Chapter Seven
Linc stared at Simon and Ruth Penske’s obituary, his thoughts whirling. Logically, he knew the chance of the Preacher or his wife surviving the fire Jayme had described was slim to none. Especially if she’d thrown the lantern at the Preacher. His clothes must have caught on fire, and the burns he’d sustained must have been severe. No doubt, he’d have been the one who’d died, before Ruth.
Yet he couldn’t dismiss the possibility.
“Let’s say you’re right and the Preacher somehow managed to survive.” Jayme folded her arms across her chest. “Why would he wait thirteen years to come find me? And really, why not just torch my house while I was sleeping and be done with it? The Preacher was never subtle. Quite the opposite.”
He hated knowing the man who professed to be a Preacher of the Bible and of God’s word had instead abused the children in his care and attempted to rape Jayme. Burning to death in his own home was probably too good for him. Listening to her story without pulling her into his arms and holding her had been the most difficult thing he’d ever done.
And her inner strength, the way she’d gone through the next thirteen years to be sitting here now working as a physical therapy tech and supporting her sister’s education only made him admire her more. He tried to focus on what she’d said rather than his desire to kiss her.
“This is all theory and conjecture. It’s likely the Preacher and his wife are truly dead. But if he wasn’t, he’d need a lot of time to recover from his numerous injuries, then he’d have to find you. Which wouldn’t be easy since you’d left North Carolina, escaping through the Smoky Mountains into Tennessee.” He shrugged. “As to why he’s dragging this out over time? The man is certifiably crazy. I don’t think logic will ever explain what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling.”
The only thing Linc knew for certain was that if the Preacher had survived, he definitely had a reason to seek revenge against Jayme.
She rose to her feet and moved back toward the window, staring out at the beautiful trees turning red, yellow, and orange. After a long moment, she turned to face him. “If the Preacher is alive and here in Sevierville, then I’ll know him when I see him. He won’t be able to sneak up on me.”
“Understood. But this is why I’d rather have you stay here with me.” He held her gaze. “Don’t go back to your place. Not yet.”
She frowned. “Why do I think you’ll still be saying that tomorrow, Monday, and even a week from now?”
He couldn’t deny it. “Tomorrow, I’ll head back to the physical therapy clinic to begin my investigation. It’s very likely the person who threw the Molotov cocktail is the same one responsible for the smoke bomb and car fire. The police are canvassing the area; they may come up with a witness since the firebomb was tossed into the clinic in broad daylight.”
She sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know. It still seems more likely that I’ll catch him in the act if I’m staying at my place.”
“Give law enforcement some time to do their job.” He hoped she didn’t notice the undertone of panic in his tone. If she insisted on returning home, he planned on going with her. If she didn’t let him in the house, he’d sleep in his car.
Jayme grimaced and nodded slowly. “Okay, I’ll stay one more night.”
His shoulders slumped with relief. “Good. Now that we’re in agreement on that, I’d like to keep searching for arsonists who are known to work for hire before we figure out what to do for dinner.”
“Sure.” Her attempt at a smile was weak.
“Do you want to watch a movie? Or read a book? I have several mystery novels if you’re interested.”
“Mysteries?” She brightened at that idea. “I’d love to see what you have.”
He grinned, ridiculously pleased to have stumbled upon a shared interest. “Come with me. I have a bunch of them in my room.”
She knelt in front of his bookcase, touching the book spines as she reviewed them. “I’ve read these, they’re great, aren’t they? Oh wait, here’s an author I’ve never read.” She pulled the book out from the others. He was pleased she’d chosen a Christian suspense.
“You’ll love it,” he assured her. “But if you don’t, there are others to choose from.”
“I normally get books from the library.” She rose to her feet. “Thanks for letting me borrow this one.”
“You’re more than welcome. In fact, you can borrow my books anytime.” He made the offer as if they’d be seeing each other once the danger from this particular firebug was over.
She eyed him curiously but returned to the living room. As he sat at his computer, she curled up in the corner of his sofa. He liked having her there and knew spending time with her like this was something he could get used to.
Focus, he told himself sternly. They were friends. Being thrown together had brought a camaraderie he hoped might continue.
But he wouldn’t, couldn’t allow it to go any further than that.
As he worked, Linc found two distinct possible suspects. Terrance Foley, a known arsonist who’d gotten out of prison earlier this year. Foley’s address was listed as Memphis, which was on the other side of the state, a good six hours from Sevierville. The second possibility was Kevin Leib, another firebug who had a record for setting fires because he loved to watch them burn. But he’d been hired out by a guy who’d burned his own house down for the insurance money. Kevin was out on parole, his last-known address being Nashville, which was three to four hours away.
He called and left messages for both parole officers, requesting a call back. As it was Saturday, he doubted he’d hear from either of them until Monday.
But it was a start.
Linc worked for ninety minutes, before pushing the laptop aside. The chemical components he’d found at Jayme’s house and her car were not typical of Foley or Leib. Yet he wasn’t willing to rule either of them out.
When he glanced over at Jayme, he found her scribbling in a notebook. She must have gotten it from her duffel because it looked like something a college student might use. He didn’t have any of those types of notebooks sitting around.
“What are you working on?”
“Huh?” She looked up. “Oh, nothing really. I just had a new idea that I wanted to put in writing so I wouldn’t forget.”
“An idea for what?” Intrigued, he went over to the sofa. “Are you back in school?”
“No, it’s just silly stories that I come up with.” She closed the notebook as if to protect what she’d written from his prying eyes. “Nothing important.”
“A diary?” He wondered if keeping a diary had helped her cope with everything she’d been through.
“No, a diary is something that really happened. I just make up stories.” She set the notebook aside. “Did you find anything interesting?”
He wanted to ask what she thought of the Christian suspense but decided to let it go. After what she’d been through, pushing his faith on her probably wasn’t smart. In fact, she was incredibly well adjusted considering what she’d endured.
What she’d overcome.
�
��Linc?” Jayme’s voice broke into his thoughts.
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did. Come over here for a minute. I’d like to know if either of these guys looks familiar.” He returned to the computer and brought both suspects’ mug shots up on the screen.
Jayme took her time peering at one photo, then the other. After a long silence, she reluctantly shook her head. “This guy”—she tapped Leib’s photo—“looks a little familiar. But I can’t say when or where I’ve seen him. The other guy is a complete stranger.”
“Kevin Leib is an arsonist out on parole, currently living in Nashville.”
“Maybe we should drive over to pay him a visit.”
In a typical investigation, where he was working alone, he’d have done exactly that. But he wasn’t keen on taking Jayme with him or leaving her home alone.
“I’ve got a call into his parole officer. Since you can’t really ID him as someone who’s been hanging around recently, it’s better to go through official channels first.” He minimized both mug shots. “I know you didn’t recognize Terrance, but I’m still planning to place both of these guys as possible suspects in my report.”
“I guess that’s progress.” The doubt in her tone belied her words.
“I know this seems to be moving at a snail’s pace but trust the process. We’ll find the person responsible.”
“I trust you.” Her gaze met his. “More than I trust anyone else. Well, other than Caitlyn.”
“I’m honored,” he said with somber sincerity. Easy to see that Jayme didn’t trust easily. And he didn’t blame her.
That she trusted anyone at all was a minor miracle.
Her phone beeped with an incoming text. She drew it from her pocket and smiled at the message. “Sounds like Caitlyn and Annette are having a great time.”
It was tempting to ask when the last time Jayme had done something for fun, but he was afraid the answer might be never. “I’m glad to hear it.”
She typed in a quick response, then glanced up at him. “I should be mad at her for calling off work. But I’m relieved she’s far away from here. Away from the danger.”
“Hey.” He reached out to cradle her scarred hand in his. “Try not to think about it, okay? If Kevin Leib is our guy, then he probably doesn’t have his sights set on your sister.”
“But if the Preacher is still alive . . .” She didn’t continue the thought.
She didn’t have to.
“Come on, let’s find someplace to eat dinner.” He stood and drew her up too. “How about I take you out to a restaurant you’ve never been to?”
She arched a brow. “That wouldn’t be too difficult, I don’t eat out at restaurants. And you’ve already succeeded in that mission. Our lunch today at the Red Mill was someplace I’ve never been.”
“Okay, then we’re going to try something a little nicer.”
“Oh, no. I don’t have anything nice to wear. This”—she waved at her jeans—“is as nice as it gets.”
“You look fine.” Better than fine, but he reminded himself not to go there. “Everything here is casual, even if the atmosphere is nicer. Do you like steak or seafood?”
“I like just about everything, especially food that hasn’t been found in a garbage can.” Her smile was wry. “I can’t tell you how surprised I was to find the food pantry. I hadn’t even known they’d existed.”
When she made those types of statements, so casual like, they cut him off at the knees. To be that hungry, that desperate. He honestly couldn’t imagine. He cleared his throat and tried not to let her know how much she affected him. “Okay, then let’s try Sampson’s Steak and Seafood. It’s really great.”
“Do you know that owner too?”
He winced. “Not on a first-name basis.”
“Hmm. I take that to mean you do.” She placed the Christian suspense book on top of her notebook, then reached for her purse. “You really don’t have to keep feeding me like this. We could just as easily throw in a frozen pizza. I’m not that picky.”
“I’d rather treat you to something nice.” Not as a date but as a way to cheer up a friend.
She followed him outside, glancing around as he opened the car door for her. “Aren’t you worried that the arsonist might find me here? I don’t want anything to happen to you just because you’re being extra nice to me.”
The thought had occurred to him, but he’d dismissed it. “From what I can see, this guy is hitting places that are specific to you.”
“I guess that’s true.”
The drive to Sampson’s didn’t take long. It was a Saturday night, and busy, but thankfully the wait wasn’t too long. Once they were seated, she lifted her water glass and took a sip. “I don’t even have to see the menu to know the food here is expensive.”
“It’s not that bad. And remember, I’m the one who chose the restaurant.” He’d have given her the moon and all the stars in the sky if he could.
On the heels of that thought came the realization that he was slowly but surely letting this woman get too close. In a way that scared him.
He tried to conjure Gina’s face and the beautiful image of Melody, his two-year-old daughter.
Melody was easy to recall, but Gina? He almost reached for his wallet to pull out the picture he carried.
Because the only woman he could see clearly was the pretty redhead sitting across from him.
Jayme had been to three different restaurants with Linc. As much as she appreciated his willingness to spend his money on feeding her, she would have been more comfortable sitting at home and eating a frozen pizza.
The life Linc Quade lived was very different from hers. Eating out, buying books and keeping them to read whenever the mood struck. She couldn’t imagine spending her money so frivolously.
She hadn’t wanted to admit how much she was enjoying the suspense she’d taken from his bookshelf. There was a thread of faith woven through the story, but it was subtle rather than in your face.
It was also a little shocking to realize a book that even mentioned God and prayer was actually written by a New York Times Bestselling author. That meant there were a lot of people out there who’d read it. And loved it.
And maybe even believed in it.
Mind-boggling, to say the least.
Their server arrived and provided menus and rattled off a couple of the specials. Jayme tried not to show her ignorance about some of the menu items. She’d had steak, cooked badly, but had never tried swordfish or mahi-mahi. As predicted, everything was incredibly expensive.
Surely it would be cheaper to buy something from the grocery store and cook it?
“I’m going to have the swordfish,” Linc declared. “What about you?”
“I—uh, don’t know. I’ve never tried most of this stuff.”
“Why not order the mahi-mahi, and we can share. If you like mine better, we’ll swap.” Linc smiled. “I’m sure you’ll love it, though.”
“Sounds good.” She closed the menu. Really, how bad could it be?
“You know, if you don’t like the book you picked out from my bookcase, you’re welcome to try a different one.”
“What makes you think I didn’t like it?”
“Oh, well, because you stopped reading it to write in your notebook.” He grimaced. “I just figured you got bored with the story.”
“No, it’s a good book, thanks. When I get certain ideas, I’m compelled to write them down so I don’t forget.” She didn’t want him to ask about her stories. Her dream of being a published author someday was just that, a dream.
Something personal that no one could take away. Back when she lived with the Preacher, she’d often made up stories in her head as a way to escape the horror of her daily life. In her mind, she was often rescued by a handsome stranger.
Until the day she’d been forced to rescue herself.
Now her stories helped keep her busy, especially now that Caitlyn was moving on with her life.
“I’m glad to hea
r you like the book.”
She tipped her head to the side. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
He flushed, and she wanted to laugh at his discomfort. “I wasn’t sure.”
“I admit it was surprising to read about characters who actually believe in God,” she admitted. “But it would be silly to toss a book aside because they mention having faith.”
“There’s always something to learn from reading a book, even fiction.”
Having casual conversation over dinner was a novelty for her. Especially since this was their second meal together in the same day. “You know all about me, so how about you tell me what you miss the most about being a firefighter?”
“The guys,” he responded without hesitation. “Working as a team. My job now is rather lonely.”
“Do you wish you could go back to being a firefighter?”
“No, I like being an investigator. And I don’t miss the schedule.”
She remembered he’d mentioned being on twenty-four, then off for forty-eight. “But you get called to arson fires in the middle of the night too.”
“Yeah, but not as often as you’d think.” He took a sip of his water. “The other downside to this job is that, thankfully, there aren’t that many arson fires to investigate. Sometimes I get bored.”
“I can understand that. My job can sometimes be a little mundane. I like taking care of patients, but there are always those who cause problems.”
“Like Gary?”
“Exactly. Not everyone who comes to therapy is there to help themselves. Some come in with unrealistic expectations.”
“Did you ever want to go on to become a physical therapist?”
“Not really. It’s a long haul, and they expect you to have a doctorate these days.” She shook her head. “The pay is not worth it.”
“But what if paying for school wasn’t an issue? I mean, what if you could do anything you wanted?”
I’d be a writer.
Thankfully, their meals arrived, saving her from answering. Linc reached across the table and took her hand. She wasn’t sure why until he began to pray in a very low voice.
