by Nancy Bush
Crowley pushed himself forward. “What’s that, Kincaid?”
Hunter tried to brush past him, but the older man grabbed him by the shoulder.
They glared at each other and Crowley snarled, “You got somethin’ to say, firebug?”
“I’ll say it to Raintree.”
“Rawlings was just repeatin’ what you’ve been sayin’ about me all along, wasn’t he?” Crowley’s face was a mask of rage.
“Get your hands off me, Whit.”
“Who’s gonna make me?” He grinned like a demon and Hunter felt Graves stiffen in readiness. Saw him also put his coffee cup down on the counter.
Hunter said tautly, “You want to fight. Good. I feel like a goddamn fight.”
“You’ll be out of a job, too, you little shit.”
“Might be worth it, though,” Hunter challenged, staring at his superior, ready for the battle.
He really did feel like punching Whit out. Slamming the bastard against the wall. Frustration was eating him alive. Someone was out there, killing women and animals, skinning them, setting fire to the Pioneer Church and the Dillinger foreman’s cottage. And this weasel was using his job, his authority with fire and rescue, to cheat innocent victims, the people who lived in his own hometown.
Something in Hunter’s expression apparently got through to Whit, who suddenly took a step back, then brushed past him, slamming out the front door, muttering obscenities. Hunter turned expectantly to Whit’s crony, but though Graves regarded him with hot, angry eyes, in the end he followed Whit.
Adrenaline still pumping, Hunter stalked down the hall to Raintree’s office and pounded on the door panels. When the fire chief called him in, he didn’t waste time. He burst inside and said, “Crowley’s cheating fire victims. He blames every blaze he can on their propane tanks and then sells them new tanks, jacking up the price. And they don’t even need ’em.”
Raintree, a granite-faced man with a solemn manner, pointed to a chair. Hunter shook his head. He had no intention of sitting down and being treated like a schoolboy.
Raintree said, “Sit down. Calm yourself.”
“I’m tired of Crowley’s intimidation. If you won’t do something about it, I will.”
“I thought you came in to talk about the Dillinger fire,” the chief said.
“I did. But I’m not putting up with Whit and his—”
“Have you got any evidence against him?”
“No. Not yet. Nothing tangible. But I’m telling you—”
“I know about Lieutenant Crowley, Kincaid. You don’t have to tell me anything. His days are numbered here, but it’s gotta be done right.”
Hunter had to clamp his teeth together to keep from continuing the argument. Crowley had gotten so far under his skin that it was all he could do not to rant on about him.
Raintree saw his struggle but chose to ignore it. “Last night’s fire was started with gasoline.”
Hunter nodded. With a supreme effort, he got down to the Dillinger fire. “Looks like lighter fluid as well.”
“Same as the Pioneer Church.”
“Not exactly,” Hunter said.
“You don’t think it’s the same doer?”
“The Pioneer Church fire had multiple points of origin. Looks like he wanted to burn the whole thing down. But only the Dillinger foreman’s house’s exits were set to burn. Like whoever did it wanted to trap someone inside, or keep them from going in.”
“So, what are you thinking?”
“I don’t know. The foreman’s cottage feels more like it was spur of the moment. Maybe someone who’s got something against one or all of the Dillingers. The electricity was cut and then it was torched. But the Pioneer Church was planned in advance. Somebody wanted to make a big fire, send us all there, probably because they needed time to go after Mia Collins.”
“You think we’ve got two doers?” the chief asked skeptically.
“I’m leaning that way. The first fire, the church, was set to make a statement. A big show. But the second’s smaller … not the same purpose. Most of the Dillingers were on a sleigh ride when it went up. There were some other people at the lodge. Ricki Dillinger’s daughter, Brook, who was supposed to be on the sleigh ride, was the only one in the cottage.”
“Think our firebug thought the place was empty?”
“Maybe … but those exits were torched for a reason. Feels like a trap for someone. Maybe he got the wrong person … ? Brook had to escape through a window.”
“Lucky she did get out,” Raintree observed soberly.
“Very lucky.”
“Got any theories on who?”
He shook his head. “Someone staying with the Dillingers? The foreman’s cottage is easy to access from the main lodge. Or, maybe it’s someone who’s got a grudge against them. They could have gotten the idea from the church fire.”
“A copycat?”
“It just doesn’t feel like the same doer,” Hunter said.
“So, what’s your next move?”
“I’m going to go out there. Interview the Dillingers some more.”
The chief almost smiled. “Want me to give that duty to someone else?”
“I handled it last night,” Hunter said. Sure, Ira would take offense at having Hunter asking more questions. Helping to douse the fire last night was one thing, but a Kincaid interviewing and re-interviewing the Dillingers, possibly digging into their backgrounds, would be quite another.
Tough, he thought, heading out to his Chevy truck.
He wondered if he should start with Delilah.
The foreman’s cottage stank of damp, burned timbers and it was guarded by a young man Delilah didn’t know who looked at her uneasily when she approached the building, carrying her black plastic bags.
“You’re not trying to go inside?” he said doubtfully.
“I want to rescue some clothes and get them washed.”
“There’s a lot of damage around the doors. It may not be safe.”
“The back door doesn’t look as bad as the front,” Delilah said, moving forward and increasing his discomfort.
“Mr. Kincaid will be here soon. Can you wait?”
Hell, no. “I won’t be long.” Delilah carefully passed through the gaping black hole of the back door and stepped into the kitchen area. It didn’t look quite so horrible, once she was through the burned area, but the whole place had a sorry, dispirited air from the smoke that had swept inside and stained the walls, ceiling and furniture.
Delilah moved to the back bedrooms and yanked out drawers in both Brook’s room and Ricki’s, piling clothes into the bags, one for each of them. By the time she was finished, she was eager to be gone. The cabin would be uninhabitable until it was thoroughly cleaned and patched up.
When she was back outside, she hefted the bags over her shoulders and ran straight into Hunter, just managing to keep from bowling over him, though her boots slid on the ice-crusted path when she tried to stop.
He caught her shoulders lightly. “Hey, Delilah. Saw you last night up at the lodge.”
“Uh-huh.” She hoped to God he couldn’t hear her heart, which felt like it was leaping in and out of her chest as if held by a rubber band.
He glanced at the bags on her shoulders. “What have you got there?”
“Clothes,” the young man burst in before Delilah could answer. “She said she had to rescue them.”
“I’m taking them to the lodge to wash them,” Delilah said.
“Let me help you,” Hunter said, grabbing both bags over Delilah’s protests.
“I can do it,” she said, but he was already striding away. Quickly, she hurried after him. “You don’t have to go to the house.”
“You mean you don’t want me to go to the house.”
“No … that’s … no …” She’d always been a terrible liar.
He shot her a sideways look and she was thrown back in time, when those blue eyes used to smolder with desire. Feeling breathless, Delilah tore h
er eyes away. It was so long ago that it really pissed her off that she noticed every little detail about him.
“You haven’t changed a whole helluva lot,” he said. “I kinda thought you would’ve.”
“Oh, I have. I grow glitter under my armpits. We all do in Tinseltown.”
He threw her a smile.
Devastating. That’s what it was. Delilah kept her gaze on the ground and followed him up the steps and through the front door, where from the kitchen the smell of frying bacon greeted them along with the loud voices of Rourke and Justin, and Haley’s softer tones.
“I can take the bags,” Delilah said, holding out her arms.
“Just point me in the direction of the laundry.”
She didn’t want him near the kitchen, or anywhere else, for that matter, so she led him back outside. Then they trudged through the six-car garage attached to the house and into the large laundry room that fed through a mudroom to the west end of the back porch.
Hunter set the bags down on the floor and then looked at Delilah. “You really don’t want to be seen with a Kincaid, do you?”
“You were great last night,” she said. “Especially with Brook. Everyone appreciates what you’ve done, what you’re doing.”
“But …” he said.
“No buts. I’m just saying thank you.” She crossed her arms over her chest and met his gaze directly.
“Why are you so nervous?”
“I’m not nervous. I’m just—busy.”
“With the wedding.”
“That’s right.”
“It’s going to be here now?” He inclined his head to encompass the house.
“Are you coming?” Delilah asked with sudden dread.
He gave her a long look. “Maybe. I was kinda surprised to get an invitation.”
No shit, Delilah thought. “How about the rest of your family? I’m going over the responses with Pilar today. Gotta know if we can fit everybody in.”
“I can’t speak for them, but the Major won’t make it. He’s not doing well.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Hunter nodded, taking her at her word, and why not. The Major had always been a decent man, no matter what Ira said. It was Georgina who’d been the problem, and maybe Mariah and Blair and Hunter. Hunter’s sisters, Emma and Alexandra, were the only Kincaids who were outside the feud, at least in Ira’s opinion.
“I think you’re pretty safe to knock us all off the guest list,” he said.
There was a moment of awkward silence and Delilah cleared her throat. “It would be okay if your family came. Ira and Pilar have invited half the town, maybe more, although our relatives haven’t been, apparently. Guess Dad just wants it to be local.”
“Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”
“About what?”
“The fire.”
“Last night’s fire?” Delilah repeated.
He nodded. “Just want to know if you saw anything, or remember anything. Maybe something small that didn’t seem important at the time. I want to ask the same thing of your whole family. Maybe someone saw something they haven’t put together yet about who could have set the fire.”
“Well, it’s the same person who burned down the Pioneer Church, right?” Delilah asked, watching him. “That’s almost a given. Two fires in Prairie Creek, just days from each other?” When Hunter didn’t immediately respond, she asked, “What? You don’t think it’s the same person?”
“The sheriff’s department will figure that out.”
“You think this fire was different,” she insisted.
“Possibly.”
“Damn it, Hunter. Just say what you’re thinking.”
“Whoever killed Amber Barstow set the fire at the church. That seems pretty obvious. But whoever set the fire here … it feels like a separate motivation.”
“Meaning?”
“More personal maybe. Possibly to trap someone inside. Ricki … or her daughter?”
“No.” She shook her head.
“You asked me what I thought,” he reminded her.
“Well, that doesn’t make any sense.”
“What’s your theory, then?”
He stared at her and Delilah had trouble staying on point. Her mind wandered to dangerous memories. Hunter taking his shirt off and diving cleanly into the river … Hunter dragging himself from the water and lying atop her … her fingers anxiously digging at his wet jeans, pulling them off him … Hunter sliding his shaft inside her while they stared into each other’s eyes and began a rhythm of love and desire …
“I don’t have any theories. That’s your job,” Delilah muttered. “I’ve got to get this wash done.” She practically shouldered him out of the way as she opened the bag with Ricki’s clothes and began dumping them into the washer all together. Separate, separate, separate. She could hear her mother’s voice in her ear and she paid no attention to it at all.
After several long moments of silence, Hunter headed back toward the garage.
“I thought you wanted to interview all of us,” she called after him.
“I’ll be back,” he said.
“You might even catch Ira with your mom here, later,” Delilah tossed out. “Now that they’re in business together, there’s bound to be another meeting.”
Hunter retraced his footsteps and leveled a look at her. “What business?”
“You don’t know about their oil deal? Something to do with Kincaid land?” She almost smiled, enjoying the feeling of knowing something he didn’t. “I don’t know what it’s all about, but it involves Century Petroleum.”
“Hell,” he muttered, clearly unhappy. He hesitated, then said, “I’ll give you my cell number,” which he then rattled off to her and which Delilah immediately committed to memory, then he said, “I’ve gotta go,” and stalked out.
Delilah pictured the conversation he was going to have with his mother and wished she could be a fly on the wall.
Davis entered the stables and moved the muscles on his face, which felt frozen from the brittle wind that had slapped at him all the while he was checking on the cattle, herding them toward the barns. He’d been anxious to get back to see the new colt and to check on Kit. She’d stayed with him reluctantly, refusing a bed, grabbing a sleeping bag and stretching out on the floor.
When he saw her by Babylon’s stall, he relaxed. “Sabrina wanted to come see Babylon’s foal,” he said to Kit. “I’ll give her a call.”
As he pulled out his cell phone, Kit said, “I need a driver’s license.”
Davis’s brows shot up. “Yeah … you could use one.” He felt almost elated by her admission. He’d wondered if she would ever even think in those terms. So far, her main form of transportation had been on horseback.
“Mia has a car,” Kit said.
“A Subaru wagon. It’s probably yours now.”
“That’s why I need a license.”
“You want some driving lessons?”
She slid him a sideways look. “Do I need them?”
“Pretty sure. And there’s a written test.” Carefully, because he didn’t want her to turn away from him by saying the wrong thing, he asked, “You might even want a GED?”
“A GED?”
“High school equivalency exam. You haven’t … attended class, as far as I can see.”
“Are there books for that?”
“I’d bet on it.”
She nodded. “I’ll need them, too.”
“Okay.”
She turned back to Babylon, then grabbed a brush and headed down the length of stalls, clearly intending to do some grooming. Kit had never shown the least bit of interest in conventions, and the fact that she’d said she needed a driver’s license and that she might even try to pass a GED was a huge step in the right direction. Her mother’s death had forced a change in her.
She stuck her head out of a stall at the end of the line and said to him, “I won’t be staying with you anymore. I’ve got my mom’s
house.”
“I’d feel better if you stayed with someone until they catch whoever killed her.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said in a voice that brooked no argument, and Davis could only nod in agreement, though he planned to keep an eye on her as best he could.
Pilar pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed dramatically. “I should have stayed in Jackson.”
“We’ll get this thing put together,” Delilah assured her. “I’m taking the Jeep into town and renting some chairs. You’ve already got flowers. And you’ve picked out a dress, right?”
“Yes,” Pilar said shortly. “The last one I tried on. But it’s not right for the stairs.”
“It’ll be fine. Perfect. And Carolina was always bringing the food here, so we’re good to go there, too.”
“What about the guests? They don’t know about the change of venue.”
“You sure about that?” Delilah asked dryly. “Prairie Creek isn’t that big. We’ll just call them up and let them know that the wedding’s here. I’ll bet you there aren’t two that don’t know already.”
“Ricki was right about you, Delilah,” Pilar said reluctantly, as if it was hard to admit. “You’re good at this.”
Delilah smiled. What she was good at was managing expectations. Making sure excitable personalities kept their eye on reality. That’s what years in Hollywood had taught her. “Have you got the guest list? Let’s go over it and see.”
“It’s on Ira’s computer.”
She left to retrieve the list and Delilah stretched her arms over her head. She was already tired and it wasn’t even ten o’clock. Colton had come in from the bunkhouse and rounded up the kids, and they’d all headed over to the stables to meet the new colt. Sabrina was driving over as well, and Nell had joined up with the group. Delilah didn’t know what was going on with Jen and Tyler and thought maybe she was lucky not to.
Ira had gone down to his den early and when Pilar came back with the list, he came with her. “You’re not gonna add anybody,” he warned Delilah. “I got enough relatives around here, and if they don’t live in Prairie Creek, they’re not gonna make it in time.”
“Fine,” Delilah said. She and her father had already gone over this enough. She didn’t agree with him, but it was his wedding. Glancing down the list, her eye caught on two names: Gil Flanders and Abby Flanders Bywater. Abby … “You invited the Flanderses? Gil Flanders doesn’t live around here anymore.”
