Her empathetic tone cracked open his defenses about Grace. Lani’d known her in much better times. “When she started forgetting things, neither of us—Hank and me—realized what the decline meant. We were clueless idiots. Gradually she lost it. Stopped seeing her friends. Drove through traffic lights, wandered the East Road. Got lost in Bayport.”
“Dementia. Alzheimer’s?”
“Early onset. And meds for acid reflux weakened her bones. After she broke her hip in November, my brother took care of things. She couldn’t really participate in physical therapy so she’s in a wheelchair.”
“A third reason you’re back in Maine. Her care is up to you now? Where’s Hank?”
“He manages a boat yard in Portland. Has a wife and son. We see each other more now I’m here.”
She pressed her tongue to her upper lip and then turned away. Was she thinking about what he’d told her or was he reading too much into her silence? Lani could have a sharp tongue but when people were hurting, she was always kind.
“Before that summer,” she said, “you were majoring in architecture. The ATF, you joined because of the fire, because of Gail.”
At her interest, a pleasant buzz curled along his nape. “No denying it. I changed my major to criminal justice.”
“Your leg scar, that’s from a serious wound. Has your injury ended your ATF career?”
“PT helped. I’m okay. Stiffens up some but the muscle’s getting better all the time.” Now if only his internal scars could be healed by physical therapy and stretching.
After a moment, she said quietly, “I had a lot of therapy too.”
The anguish in her voice shook him. “Your burns were pretty bad.”
She tucked her bandaged hands beneath her arms. “Severe, yes, on the side of my face, my back, and shoulder. The Massachusetts General Hospital Burn Center kept me for months. I was wild with pain and grief for Gail. Medication put me out of it through the surgeries. I don’t remember much of that time.”
Reconstruction must’ve taken its toll. Maybe too much. “At the time, I heard burning debris fell on you from the loft.”
She nodded, lifting a hand to touch her facial scar. “Fixing this scar would’ve skewed in my hairline, so I let it go. I’m lucky to have my hair. Apparently I covered my head with a wet towel before I charged into the barn.”
“You pulled Gail out.”
“Too late. Getting knocked out by a beam, she inhaled too much smoke.” The pain in her voice reached into his chest and gave a good twist.
When they stopped at the traffic light marking the head of the peninsula, she said, “Go left, then Route 23 to Oak Mills.”
When they were headed that direction, he said, “I’m surprised Tyson agreed to see you.”
Her eyes brightened. “He didn’t, not at first. When I threatened to park in his driveway until he talked to me, he gave in. He said he kept his personal notes. Exactly my hope.”
The route took them away from the coastal fog and into clear skies. The narrow two-lane road climbed tree-covered hills and dipped into a valley where a lake gleamed like stretched blue plastic.
“We’re early. Tyson’s place is closer than I thought.” He pulled over at a public boat-launch ramp and stopped the vehicle. Three trucks with boat trailers sat in parking places, the owners out buzzing around on the lake.
He walked around to open her door, but Ms. Independence had managed in spite of her bandaged hands. The clean air smelled of wet sand and algae.
He stood by her side at the lake’s edge. Silvery minnows darted in the clear shallows. Squeals of delight rippled from the public beach farther down the shore. “So what’s this about you starting to remember?”
On a sigh of resignation, she turned to look at him. “I let the police chief think I remembered something. If what we learn from Tyson jogs my memory, maybe I will have something new. Then they’ll have to reopen the case. Maybe I saw something. Or someone.”
He touched her nose, pinked by the sun. “You’re poking your pretty nose in where it could get bitten off.”
A blush crept up her golden-tanned cheeks. Didn’t she know she was hot? Gail flaunted her looks and used them. But not Lani. Was it the fire that had taken away her self confidence?
She huffed and twitched her shoulders. “Dammit, Jake, finding some shred of evidence to get the case re-opened is worth the risk.”
He wanted to look away from the pain and longing in her eyes but forced himself to hold her gaze. Odd, but when he looked at her, he no longer saw Gail’s face. Too much shared pain between them for anything more than friendship, no matter how drawn to her he was.
But he couldn’t help himself. He lifted her chin and brushed a quick kiss on her mouth.
Or he meant to be quick but the trust in her eyes and the warmth of her lips and her lemony scent clouded his brain. And when her mouth clung to his, instead of pulling away, he wrapped her in his arms. Her taste went from sweet and warm to shock waves of heat through his system. Not dragging her down on the ground and going for more took all his will power.
When at last they separated, her eyes were at half mast and her lips were plumped from his kiss. He backed away. “I shouldn’t have done that. I can’t—”
“No big deal, Wescott. A kiss.” She dismissed it with an insouciant wave. But her cheeks flushed almost as red as her T-shirt. “You must be deprived. Just shut up and take me to Tyson’s.” She sashayed back to the Cherokee.
“Yes, ma’am.” Back in the driver’s seat—but only literally—he turned the key and steered back onto the rural road. He’d almost blown it back there. Sensations rocketed through him. The yearning of a man who’d been out in the cold for too long and had just found hearth and home. Was it Lani he wanted? Or was he remembering Gail?
Dangerous. He had to stash those feelings where they couldn’t pop out at him.
She rattled the paper with Tyson’s directions. “We should be almost there. It’s a cedar-shingled Cape.”
A few moments later, she leaned forward, peering ahead. “I smell smoke.”
He caught a hint of it. No surprise she was hypersensitive to fire. “Probably someone burning brush.”
Eyes wide with dread, she’d gone as pale as the paper she held. She pointed ahead. “I see Tyson’s mailbox up ahead, the red one shaped like a fire truck.”
Jake smelled charred wood but musty and sour and mingled with an acrid tang. He knew that odor better than she did and it wasn’t from burning brush. He braced for the worst as he turned into the gravel drive by the rural mailbox. Yellow police tape blocked the drive. He cut the engine and stared.
“Oh, God!” She pressed her bandaged hands to her mouth. “I talked to Tyson only last night.”
Two water-soaked walls and a brick chimney were all that remained of the house. A broken picture frame hung askew on soot-blackened stripes of wallpaper. A few blackened posts marked the location of the attached barn.
“He could’ve gotten out. Maybe he’s all right.” But his ATF sixth sense told him otherwise.
They left the SUV and stood at the tape barrier. Tendrils of smoke curled from smoldering embers in the granite-block foundation and that of the attached barn. Up close, the flat-out stink stung his nose and eyes.
“No, no, please, God, no,” Lani whispered. “It can’t be.”
Blue lights flashed behind them. He turned to see two black sheriff’s department cruisers pull in behind his Cherokee.
Chapter 7
By the time Lani and Jake made it to Birch Brook Farm, night had fallen. She was exhausted, mentally and physically, and her hands were bleeding.
The deputies had been watching for anyone who came to the scene. One escorted them to the sheriff’s office, where a state arson investigator questioned them. Frank Tyson died in the fire. The investigator revealed no other details, but the implication of arson was clear. Also clear was that Lani and Jake were under the microscope. Jake carried no official ID with him so his claim to be an agent on l
eave merely roused smirks. No worries, he told her. He’d clear things up later with the fire marshal’s office.
While they waited for pizza delivery, she sat at the table and Jake cleaned and re-bandaged her palms. Part of his ATF training, he told her. He dumped the old bandages in the trash and washed his hands in the kitchen sink. Over his shoulder he said, “You can’t blame yourself for Tyson’s death.”
She stared at her hands, palms up in her lap. The healing scabs stung and itched. An ache throbbed in her chest but the rest of her was numb. “He must’ve had something important in his notes. If I hadn’t phoned him—”
“Don’t guilt yourself.” He sat at the table with a beer from the refrigerator. “Whoever set the fire is the murderer.”
An icy finger trailed down her spine. “Don’t you think I know that?”
“Who knew you were going to see Tyson today?”
“No one. I didn’t mention him, only Oak Mills as my destination. I told Nora. Steve Quimby. I saw him in the general store. Buddy, of course.”
“Half the town, once Buddy got to the Wheelhouse. The killer knew exactly where Tyson lived, drew the logical conclusion. You—we—might not need to do more. This fire is tied to the old fire. No question in my mind” He sipped his beer, looking too in charge. Too settled in her kitchen. “Re-opening the investigation was our goal, remember? That could take awhile, so I intend to continue. He’s killed again, so there’s no time to waste. You’re in danger. Is there anything you haven’t already told me about the night of the fire?”
Grief dragged at her. On a deep sigh, she surged to her feet, unable to remain still. “I guess the part about Gail going out to the barn.”
A muscle in his jaw tightened and his mouth thinned under her gaze. He set down his half empty Sam Adams bottle. “Give me what went down and when.” He withdrew a spiral notepad from his back pocket and reached for a pen in the jar she kept on the sideboard. With a boyish grin, he shrugged in apology. Or by way of explanation. “Old habit.”
“I don’t remember much, although bits and pieces are popping up in my head like ghosts. The shrink described my lost memory as repressed because of the traumatic event, not amnesia.”
“I’ve had arson and bombing cases with the same outcome for the victims. Plays havoc with an investigation. Sometimes people remember later. Sometimes they never do.”
“You know that, yet you keep pushing me to remember. What if I never remember? What if I do, and nothing I saw or heard is any help? What then?”
“Whatever, we’ll deal. I know it’s painful, but anything might help.”
Painful? Wrenching. Increased nightmares. Most of the time, she could keep grief for Gail sealed in a back corner of her heart and soul. But forcing herself to think about it unlocked the cage so all that pain came roaring out as raw bleeding wounds. But if I want answers—
“I have to try. Being in this house brought back some of the evening. Where should I start? With when my parents left for the Blueberry Head Resort?”
“Sounds good. Shoot.”
She linked the tips of her fingers on the table’s cool surface and closed her eyes to picture her sister. Rich brown curls like their mother, hazel eyes like their father, but unless she looked at old photos, Gail’s features were becoming harder to conjure separate from her own mature and scarred ones.
Anguish pegged her dead center, a thump in the chest. But she remembered Gail being in a snit. Could picture her movements and gestures. She opened her eyes.
She crossed to the kitchen counter, leaning against it for support. “Mom and Dad left around seven for dinner at the hospital fundraiser. Around seven-thirty I went into the living room to watch TV. Gail was upstairs until you arrived.” Her throat turned to sand and her breath hitched. She blinked back tears.
Jake crossed to her. He laid a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t expect his touch to make a difference, but his warmth seeped into her and loosened the tension tightening her muscles.
“Take it slow, Lani,” he said. “Go on when you’re ready.”
“I’m okay.” She drew a deep breath. “You two were in the driveway. I heard your voices but not your words. I could tell you were arguing but I turned up the TV volume. Gail hated anyone eavesdropping.”
“I stayed only about twenty minutes,” he said. “Then what?”
“After she slammed in and dropped the bomb that she’d dumped you, Nora phoned. Neither of us had a car, so we were stuck at home. We were gabbing, playing Alanis Morissette CDs. Loud, I guess. Too loud for Gail. After about an hour, she ran out to the barn with some magazines. Said she was going there to read in peace.”
“Ten o’clock.” His gaze rose to the ceiling, as if he was calculating the time frame. “How long was she out there before you saw the fire?”
She lowered her head. When she looked up, tears blurred her vision but she willed them away. “Twenty minutes, maybe forty. No longer. I smelled smoke, so I cut off the music and went onto the porch. I had the cordless phone in my hand. No cell phone service on the peninsula back then. I remember seeing the flames. I yelled to Nora to call for help.”
He started to reach for her.
The last thing she wanted was sympathy, especially from Jake. His presence uncovered that insecure bookworm girl who always lurked beneath the surface. She had to force herself to be mature and not react with defensive snark. She held up a hand and shook her head.
“Lani, you’ve got guts. Going over all this is hard enough for me and I didn’t see the fire until it was out. What then?”
“A wall of red. Nothing more.”
He swigged down the last of his beer and closed the distance between them. The skin on his face looked stretched tight with emotion. He propped his arms on either side of her. His eyes bored into hers. “If I’d stayed, that bastard wouldn’t have had the chance to start the fire.”
He’d ditched when the relationship hit the rocks but his leaving wasn’t desertion. Even knowing the truth, it appeared he felt responsible, guilty.
Being so close to him made her skin prickle. She gave a wild shake of her head. “Allow me to repeat your own words—not your fault. You couldn’t have known. I loved my sister but she was a flirt and impetuous. Worse. She cheated on you big-time. Then she pushed you into breaking up with her.”
“Maybe.” His gaze swept over her face. He caressed her hair absently, almost as if he didn’t know he was doing so.
If her hands hadn’t been a damn mess, she’d have grabbed his collar and pulled him closer. “I have to keep looking for answers for Gail. And for my peace of mind.” She jabbed a finger at her scar. “You feel responsible. I feel responsible. Guilt makes no sense but there it is.”
His warm breath, yeasty with beer, puffed against her face. He gripped her shoulders, his big hands gentle and warm through her thin tee. “Failing Gail—and you—isn’t the only time I’ve screwed up. The explosion you read about in New Hampshire, I couldn’t protect the agent who died either. I hate the danger you’re in, but you’re right. We have to keep going.”
The anguish in his voice drilled her chest. Too ironic that he warned her against himself. He was removing from the equation the very thing she feared—having to rely on a man. She hated relying on anyone, but the cold North Atlantic tide was rising over her head. Almost did for real the other night.
Wounded palms out, she laid her hands on his chest.
His heartbeat thudded into her very bones and made her want to melt into his arms. She tried not to think about the feel of his arms around her at the lake. Or of the kiss. She’d kissed him back, absorbing his strength and his sun-warmed scent. Honorable and dedicated, tortured and sexy, he made her feel all squishy and liquid and needy. More compelling than sex was another need. A dangerous need that would lead to hurt and heartache.
She met his gaze. “Failure at protecting? Jake, that’s a load of crap. You’re a natural protector. Didn’t you come with me today in spite of yourself? But neve
r mind. I don’t want protecting. I want the truth. I want your experience, your expertise. You can help me question our old friends, the people Gail worked for—”
She stopped, thrown off balance by the blazing blue heat in his eyes. He wanted to kiss her. And God help her, she wanted him to.
He lowered his head and rocked his mouth over hers.
The first time he’d kissed her had startled her. This time every cell in her body thrummed and heated. His rough fingers glided up her throat, sparking wildfires in their wake. He wedged her into him and she felt him stir to life against her belly. She kissed him back, absorbing his strength and his scent. His tongue caressed hers, testing and enticing, making her senses reel and her center tingle.
“Aw, shit, Gail.”
His murmur against her mouth hit her like a slap. Sharp, stinging, scorching hot coals jolted through her. She shoved away from him, stumbling toward the hall.
She heard his rasp of breath behind her but didn’t turn around. She couldn’t bear to look at him yet.
“Dammit, I didn’t—”
A knock at the mud-room door announced the pizza’s arrival, and he strode away.
Weak at the knees, tingling from his embrace, she returned to the table and sank onto a chair. It wasn’t her he wanted. He saw Gail in her. Still wanted Gail.
She’d not be a stand-in for the woman he really wanted.
*****
Shifting from foot to foot in the mud room, Jake felt as if he’d stuck his finger—no, his whole body—in an electric socket. He stared at the pizza carton in his hands but saw only Lani’s face, blank with shock and ashen. And now he’d hurt her, when all he meant to do was... What had he meant, saying Gail’s name?
He cared for Lani, wanted her, but maybe he confused his feelings for her with his past feelings for her twin. Desire for her and surprise she seemed to feel the same for him. Growing respect for her determination and protective urges he thought he’d quashed for good. A growing fear she needed protecting from a murderer. For damn sure, his emotions were too jumbled to sort out now. When he could delay facing her no longer, he entered the kitchen. He had to say something, had to fix this.
Once Burned (Task Force Eagle) Page 6
