by Lisa Jackson
Despite the pain in her ribs, Shannon jogged down a now-wet and shimmering street. Smoke made her cough as she wended through the knots of people who were looking, staring, fascinated by fire and the sense of impending tragedy.
She reached the police barricade and was rebuffed. “No one past this line, ma’am,” one burly guard insisted.
“But this is my brother’s house!”
“No one past the line, ma’am.”
“Is anyone inside? Please, do you know?” she demanded, frustrated, her eyes searching the helmeted firefighters covered in protective jackets, hoods and pants, all looking the same. Was Robert among them?
Of course not. It wasn’t his shift. You saw him only a few hours ago.
What about Mary Beth?
Her gaze shot to the garage where the door was shut. She couldn’t divine whether a car was inside. And the kids…Oh, sweet Jesus, the kids. Surely they were safe. They had to be.
“Is…Was anyone inside?” she repeated.
“Listen, lady, it would be best if you just went home. You’ll know soon enough,” the cop told her.
“No way. Where’s the police fire investigator? Shea Flannery?”
Another officer, with a narrow chin and pencil-thin moustache, hitched a thumb toward what appeared to be the command center. “I think he’s over there, but you can’t cross this line.”
“I’m the sister of the owner of this house! My family might be inside!”
“All the more reason to stay back.”
She felt a hand on her elbow and spun quickly, expecting that some macho member of the Santa Lucia police or fire department was intending to escort her away. Instead she found Travis Settler at her side. A part of her wanted to crumble, to fall into his arms and pound her fists in frustration. She just needed someone to hold her, to tell her it would be all right.
Instead she looked up at him. “What’re you doing here?”
“Heard the sirens. The motel is only half a mile away. I thought…Christ, I don’t know what I thought.” His eyes were dark with the night. “But with the fire at your place, I just had to come and see, and now…” He shook his head, deep lines of concern bracketing his mouth.
“It’s a nightmare,” she whispered, the smoky, damp air filling her nostrils. She spied Shea talking with the fire captain and noticed Aaron weaving his way through the crowd toward her. Everywhere there was a fine mist, spray from the hoses.
“I got hold of Robert,” he said, and Shannon felt relieved knowing that her brother was safe. “He’s on his way.”
“What about the kids? Mary Beth?”
“The kids are still at Margaret’s. He left Mary Beth here.”
“Here…!” Her hand flew to her mouth, though she told herself not to imagine the worst. Mary Beth might have escaped the blaze. “Has anyone seen her?”
Aaron’s eyes were somber and she felt Travis’s hand, still on her arm, hold on a little tighter. Little lines of concern dimpled between Aaron’s eyebrows. He looked about to remark on it when his eyes shifted again, to a spot over Shannon’s shoulder, and his jaw clenched. “Stay here,” he said and took off at a fast, resolute clip. He angled past a group of men and women in slippers and robes, their faces blank as they remained mesmerized by the spectacle.
Shannon craned her neck and saw the object of Aaron’s quest.
Robert had left his beloved BMW idling and was running through the crowd. His face was twisted in horror, his eyes dark with fear. Though Aaron, keeping stride with him, was talking, Robert didn’t seem to hear. His gaze was fixed on the house, his gait increasing as he pushed past people, ignoring the cops, heading for the front door.
“Mary Beth!” Robert yelled, his voice raw with emotion.
A burly firefighter blocked his path at the door. “Nobody goes in,” he said, then squinted in recognition. “Robert?”
“My wife’s in there!” Robert dove at the door, pushing past his fellow firefighter, who stepped aside.
Shannon barreled in behind him, with Travis and Aaron at her heels.
“Mary Beth!” Robert leaped up the stairs, two at a time.
Shannon felt her eyes tear from smoke but she pressed on, up the stairs, into the hallway where two firemen kneeled on the floor.
She stopped short before the two men.
One was zipping a long, black bag. The other was cradling a body, so singed and charred that the corpse was barely recognizable as Mary Beth.
“Jesus!” Aaron whispered in awe.
“Don’t look,” Travis warned Shannon, but it was too late. She stared in disbelief and horror at the blackened remains of what had so recently been her sister-in-law—a vital, young mother.
Nausea burned up her throat and denial screamed through her brain. These seared remains couldn’t be Mary Beth! Couldn’t! Shannon staggered back to the threshold of her nephew’s room and wretched violently, Travis at her side, Aaron standing stock-still, his face chalky.
“Clear these people out!” someone ordered.
All the while the fire hissed in its inevitable death throes, smoke and ash billowing out through smashed windows.
And above it all, over the sound of the bullhorn, radios, barked orders and stomping boots was a keening wail that cut Shannon to her very soul.
In the soot-stained hall she saw Robert, standing between two firemen, fall to his knees.
Chapter 16
“Come on, I’ll get you out of here,” Travis said.
Her stomach still roiling, her ribs aching, Shannon said shakily, “No, I’ve got to be with Robert. I can’t leave.” Her mouth tasted foul and she felt like she’d been pulled through a wringer both ways.
“There’s nothing you can do here.”
“I can’t leave.”
“Your brothers can take care of him now.”
“I just want to talk to him…to…” She lifted a hand helplessly, watching as Shea arrived in the crowded living room and pushed through a small knot of firefighters to crouch at Robert’s side. Robert was openly crying, his face the color of the ashes upstairs, his body sagging under an unbearable weight. What could she possibly say to ease his pain, to balm his guilt?
“He’s right,” Aaron agreed, his gaze, too, fixed on their two brothers. Robert on his knees. Shea squatting beside him, speaking in low tones.
“But I want…to help.”
“Fine.” Aaron said. “What you can do is call Oliver. He can go over to Mom’s, unless you want to.”
Shannon felt weak inside again. “She’ll have to know,” she agreed tonelessly. “But I don’t have a cell. Mine’s missing.”
Travis whipped a phone from his pocket. “Use mine.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Thanks.” She turned her attention to Aaron. “I’ll call Oliver and we can go over there together,” she said and glanced up at Travis. “I can’t go home yet.”
“I get it.” His hand on her arm didn’t relax. “I’ll drive you.”
“I’ve got my own car.”
Aaron argued, “Really, Shan, don’t drive, but I need to stay here. Maybe he can help.” Aaron sent a speculative look at Travis, then focused his gaze on his brothers.
Reluctantly, Shannon dialed Oliver’s number. It was true: though she could be of little comfort to Robert, his brothers, always close, would be able to circle the proverbial wagons. Her brothers, singly or en masse, had often tried to protect their only female sibling, but she had never quite broken into their inner circle, never had been trusted or included on the same level. She figured it was because she was the only daughter of Patrick and Maureen as well as being the youngest of the siblings, an outcast on both counts.
Now she pressed Travis’s cell to her ear, smelled the lingering scent of his aftershave and waited as the phone rang six times before going automatically to voice mail.
“He’s not picking up.”
Aaron scowled. “I thought priests were on duty 24/7.”
“He’s not a priest yet,” S
hannon said, then added, “I’ll go see Mom.”
Aaron’s eyes grew sober. “You sure, Shan?”
“Positive.” She turned her gaze to Travis. “I think I’d better do this alone, but…thanks.”
He released her arm and she picked her way through the firefighters to the door. Outside, the crowd seeming to have grown rather than shrunk in the few minutes since she’d arrived. Sidestepping the curious, including a man in pajamas with a dog on a leash, as well as puddles of water and sludge and cars and trucks parked at odd angles, she made her way to her truck. The last thing she wanted to do tonight was face her mother, but someone had to be with Maureen Flannery when she learned that her daughter-in-law had perished in a fire.
She didn’t feel that she could wait for morning, lest her mother was up early and caught the news or some acquaintance should call to offer condolences.
Shannon braced herself.
Though her mother had dealt with her share of accidents and deaths, and the ever-present force of a blaze, Maureen would no doubt fall into a million pieces upon learning that the mother of two of her grandchildren had died.
Or been killed?
Didn’t someone nearly take you out? Hadn’t he started not just one fire, but two, if you count the fire that burned Dani Settler’s birth certificate? She grew cold inside at the thought that somewhere out in the darkness was a sick, twisted killer, a criminal who was holding Dani Settler hostage.
If the girl was still alive.
Shannon’s knees trembled. She refused to think that the girl was anything but living. Captive, but still breathing.
She wouldn’t let her mind wander into those murky, frightening waters. Right now she had to deal with her mother. “One battle at a time,” she told herself.
And what about Mary Beth’s parents? Her brothers and sister? Her children? Who would tell them?
Shannon’s heart seemed to weigh a ton as she thought of her niece and nephew growing up without their mother. Robert might remarry, but a stepmother wouldn’t replace Mary Beth, at least not in her children’s eyes. Shannon couldn’t help but think of her own situation, of the daughter she’d never met, might never even see, and wondered again how all this fit together. It seemed unlikely that the fires weren’t connected, and yet the idea that they were somehow linked, even set by the same person, also felt wrong. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of Travis Settler, still standing near Aaron, still watching her make her way to her vehicle. Instead of the sensation being weird or creepy it was somehow calming. It felt right. As if he was reliable.
You don’t even know the guy. He showed up at the fire at your house, too, remember? And now you think you can trust him? That you might be able to rely on him? Somehow Travis Settler, no matter how concerned he seems, no matter how attractive and sexy he appears, is mixed up in this. Don’t trust him. Do not trust him. Remember: the deadliest snakes are usually the most interesting.
She climbed into her truck and found that it was blocked in. Several cars, a news van and a police vehicle were in the way. “Hell,” she growled under her breath.
She looked back at the crowd through her bug-spattered and now-misty windshield. Drops of condensation drizzled down the glass, distorting her view, making everything seem more surreal than it already was. Through the shimmering glaze, she spotted Travis, a head taller than most of the onlookers, pushing his way past the crush of the crowd toward her truck. She rolled down the window.
Her stupid heart kicked up a beat or two and she silently berated herself for her reaction.
“Come on,” he said, now at the driver’s door. “Lock this up and we’ll use my rig. I won’t intrude, really.”
“Fine. Let’s do it.” She couldn’t stand another second of doing nothing. “Where’s your rig?”
“A couple of streets over.”
“Smart,” she admitted and followed closely at his side as they made their way along the dark alleys to a nearly deserted street. His truck was parked across from a grade school, the one Mary Beth and Robert’s kids would have attended had it not been that Mary Beth insisted they be enrolled at St. Theresa’s, the parochial grade school that bled into St. Theresa’s junior high and high schools that all of Robert and Mary Beth’s siblings had attended.
Travis unlocked his truck for her, strode around to the driver’s side and slid behind the steering wheel. The dome light clicked off as he closed the door and started the engine. “You’ll have to point the way,” he said, easing the Ford into the empty street.
“Right at the next intersection, then left at the light and follow that road until you reach Greenwich, which is about a mile and a half, I think,” she said. “Another right. It’s about four blocks down from where we turn.”
He glanced at her, flashed a small, understanding smile in the darkness. “Just let me know if I make a wrong turn.”
She glanced up sharply, wondering if his words had a double meaning, seeing the questions in his intense blue eyes, then decided she was overreacting. The long day and horrific tragedy were getting to her. Dear God, she dreaded what was to come. Her mother, always into theatrics, would absolutely fall into a million pieces.
They drove in silence, Travis not bothering with the radio, Shannon not caring that there were no words between them. They passed dark houses, parked cars and light poles. They met a few vehicles and a gray tabby cat darted in front of the car, only to slink into the shadows when Travis swerved to miss it.
“Geez!” he growled.
Shannon watched the feline hide in the shrubbery as they passed. She was cold to the bone. It didn’t matter what the temperature was outside, internally she was freezing, thinking about growing up with Mary Beth.
Could she really be dead? That vital, vibrant, opinionated woman? Shannon remembered her glimpse of the blackened body and her insides clenched violently, warning her that though her stomach had been emptied, she could still dry heave. Wrapping her arms around herself, almost glad for the life-affirming small jab of pain in her ribs, she fought the nausea.
Mary Beth was dead. Burned. God, it was unfathomable.
“Who would do it?” she asked herself, not aware she’d spoken.
“The guy who’s got Dani.”
Twisting her neck, she stared directly at Travis for the first time since climbing into his truck. “Why? You think this is all connected? The fires at my house? Mary Beth’s…death? Why?”
“Her murder, Shannon. Your sister-in-law was killed.”
Shannon shook her head, fought the chill of certainty as it clawed up her ribs. “How do you know?”
“I just do. Ten to one they’ll find evidence that the fire was intentional when they investigate.”
“But why? What does Mary Beth have to do with Dani? Why the fire at my place?”
“You tell me.”
“I can’t!” She wedged herself in the corner, farther away from this man, and stared at him, wondering what made him tick. Yes, she knew he was concerned about his child, worried sick even, but beyond that, what did she know about him? The answer was simple: not a whole helluva lot. Yet, here she was riding with him, on her way to give her mother the horrible news that Mary Beth was dead. “You’re still blaming me for Dani’s disappearance, aren’t you?” she accused.
“No.” He was adamant. “But somehow it has something to do with you. Otherwise why the burned birth certificate? Whoever’s got my child is flaunting it. Taunting us. Getting off on the fact that he knows more than we do.”
“But what would be the point?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, turn here.” She motioned to Greenwich Avenue, a street lined by trees that were overgrown, their shallow roots buckling the sidewalk.
Travis cranked on the wheel and headed down the narrow road that split perfectly formed city blocks, the two-storied, post-World War II houses looking like cookie-cutter replicas of each other. Some had bricks or stones to accentuate the siding, others had been remo
deled several times.
Shannon’s parents’ home, which she pointed out to Travis as they approached, had the same tired exterior it had started with over half a century earlier. The siding had been painted a different color each decade and now was a shade of soft green that had blistered from too many years in the sun. The roof needed to be replaced and the single-car driveway was choked by weeds and grass that were bleached and dry, matching the patch of front lawn.
“Want me to walk you in?”
“I can handle it.”
“Then I’ll wait.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know. But I will.”
She was about to argue but, in the dark, close interior of the pickup’s cab, she saw the resolution in the hard set of his jaw. There was no talking him out of it. Besides, she didn’t have the energy or the time.
She glanced at the house again. She couldn’t put off the inevitable. “Do you mind if I use this again?” she asked, still clutching his cell phone.
“Go ahead.”
She dialed quickly, punching out the numbers. Just after the second ring her mother answered. Maureen’s voice was groggy, but still there was an edge to it, as if she’d woken from a deep sleep and, realizing it was late, knew that no good news was coming over the wires. “Hello?”
“Hi, Mom, it’s Shannon.”
“Shannon? What’s wrong?” Her voice was sharp now, alert. Full-blown worry edging each syllable. From the truck Shannon witnessed the upstairs window of her mother’s bedroom illuminate as Maureen snapped on a bedside lamp. “Are you feeling all right? Your head okay?”
“I’m here at the house. Let me in.”
“Ohmigawd, what happened?” Maureen asked and through the blinds Shannon saw a silhouette: her mother getting up and reaching for the robe she always kept draped over one of the tall posts at the foot of the bed.
“Just open the door, Mom, and I’ll explain.”
“Oh, Lord, what now?”
Shannon hung up, handed Travis his phone and opened the door of the truck. By the time she’d crossed the lawn, the porch light was switched on, locks and latches clicked open and the front door, behind a screen, swung inward. Her mother, small and frail, red hair covered in some kind of net, a worn chenille robe cinched around her waist, stood on the other side of the screen door. “What happened?” she demanded, fear crowding her features as she fumbled with the hook that latched the screen door.
