Scorned

by Laura Marie Altom

  She found him a starched Nike golf shirt and matching pants.

  “Boxers?” she asked.

  “Thanks, but I’m okay going commando.”

  They returned to her bathroom where he made good on his earlier promises. After locking the doors to her bedroom and the bathroom, he showed her the window was closed and locked, then handed her his gun. “Safety’s off. I’ll let you decide the appropriate moment to pull the trigger. Have you ever used a gun?”

  “Sure. But just for target practice.”

  “Good enough. Hang tight. I’ll be done in a sec…”

  He made quick work of washing his hair with Miranda’s floral shampoo, them soaped off with an equally girly-smelling soap. Anything was better than the fire’s stench. It had taken forever to leave the scene. So many questions with a promise from the fire chief of many more to follow. The arsonist had used four homemade bombs made of diesel and fertilizer. He would have been clearly seen on the bar’s exterior security cameras had they not been destroyed in the explosions.

  Finished, he turned off the faucet and emerged dripping to find Miranda clutching his gun, aiming it toward the door. “Good to know you take your job seriously.”

  “Realistically, though, what good will a gun do when this guy blows things up? For all we know, this house could be next.”

  “True.” He toweled dry before dressing in her father’s too-small clothes. “What do you think?” he asked after striking a cheesy pose, desperate to coax even a small smile before the reality of their potentially dire situation consumed her. “Sexy, right?”

  “You’re a kook…” Hands still trembling, she set the gun on the white marble counter, grinning through silent tears. “I still can’t believe they’re gone. And for what? Some whack job’s perceived grudge? So senseless and stupid.”

  “Agreed. Which is why you need to not forget your grief and fear but replace them with resolve to get this job done.”

  Taking a tissue from a purple and black rhinestone leopard print holder, she blotted her eyes, blew her nose and nodded.

  “I already mentioned being a fan of the canopy bed, but I’m drawing a line at that sparkly tissue box.”

  As if just now noticing the garish decoration, she was smiling again. “I disagree. No one can ever have too many sparkles in his or her life.” Glancing down, then up, she said, “Thank you for being my own personal bright spot. There’s no way I could have handled what went down—the explosions, the endless fire department and police questions—without you.”

  “No biggee. All in a day’s work.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Granted, maybe not every day, but I’ve seen some twisted shit—pardon my French.”

  Nodding, blowing her nose one last time, she rose. “Let’s get all of these clothes in the washer, then get started on that list.”

  “Good call.” Before she had a chance, he dropped one of their used towels over their soot-covered clothes, then wrapped them into a ball. “With my hands full, can you temporarily handle gun duty?”

  “I’d rather handle the laundry.”

  “Nah…” He grinned. “A badass-in-training like you needs a gun.”

  “I like the sound of that. Badass-in-training. If I survive this, my next mayoral campaign will be a cakewalk.” They left the bathroom and then the bedroom to head into the dimly lit hall.

  “Wait—when is your next election?”

  “November.”

  “Could this all be about politics?”

  She started down the stairs. “At this point, anything is possible.”

  “We’ll make another list for political rivals.”

  “Sir—let me help with that.” A petite brunette wearing a black maid’s uniform with a white collar dashed up the stairs to meet him. “Hello, Miss Miranda.”

  “Betsy,” Miranda said, “how many times have I asked you to stop calling me that?”

  “Sorry, ma’am. But you know how your mom likes to keep a formal house.” She eyed the gun. “I-is everything okay?”

  “Not really,” Miranda cleared her throat. “But I’m working on it.”

  Once Jackson transferred the laundry bundle to the maid’s outstretched arms, he gently took the gun from Miranda.

  “Are you hungry?” Miranda’s mother exited the living room to pause at the base of the stairs.

  “Yes,” said Jackson.

  “No,” said Miranda.

  “Randi, hon,” her father joined them. “You need to eat.”

  “Thank you, Betsy,” Genevieve smiled at the maid as the younger woman passed by. “Would you mind letting Chef Morgan know our guests need a light meal.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I see my Randi found you fresh clothes,” Robert said to Jackson once he reached the bottom step. “Wish I had the muscles to fill them out like you.”

  Jackson shrugged. “My boss—your friend, Harding—likes our team in top-notch condition.”

  “Understood. Anything else you need?”

  “If you have one, a legal pad and a pen or pencil. I’d like to get started on a couple suspect lists.”

  “Of course. Great idea. Betsy!”

  The maid appeared just as the doorbell rang.

  Genevieve said, “Robert, send Betsy on your task. I’ll get the door.”

  “Let me.” Jackson darted in front of her, holding his gun out of her sight, but at his side.

  He pulled open the heavy wood door to find Mark Wells—the city councilman he’d met earlier at Miranda’s meeting.

  “I didn’t expect to find you here,” Mark said.

  “Until the arsonist is caught, wherever Miranda goes, I go.”

  “Interesting…” Dismissing Jackson, Mark brushed past to embrace Genevieve. “Looking gorgeous as usual.”

  “You’re such a charmer.” Miranda’s mother flushed with pleasure. “What a nice surprise. We didn’t expect to see you until this weekend at the club.”

  “Sadly, I’m here on official city business. Miranda, Lenny said I could find you here.” Lenny was the fire chief. Jackson didn’t understand why he’d have talked to Mark over Miranda? He nodded to her. “I’m sure you’re understandably exhausted, but this can’t wait. Robert, would you mind lending us your office for a brief chat?”

  “Help yourself,” Robert said.

  When Jackson followed Miranda, Mark held up his hand. “This is a private matter.”

  “As is Miranda’s safety. She goes nowhere without me.”

  “Ridiculous,” Mark said. “She’s a grown woman who—”

  “Mark—anything you need to say to me can be said in front of Jackson.”

  “But—”

  “I’d feel better with her protected.” Genevieve placed her hand on Mark’s forearm.

  “Me, too,” Robert said. “Jackson works for a longtime friend of mine. Anything said will be held in strictest confidence.”

  Mark shrugged. “A threesome it will be…”

  “Sir. Your supplies.” Betsy returned with the legal pad and pen.

  “Thanks,” Jackson said.

  “Ma’am,” he overheard the maid say behind him. “If you don’t mind, could I please leave?”

  “Now?” Genevieve raised her brows. “We have guests.”

  “Mom,” Miranda stopped to turn around. “Let poor Betsy go. She has a special date night planned.”

  “Oh?” There went Genevieve again with her brows.

  “Remember? I told you she and David are a couple. Tonight’s their first anniversary.”

  “How did you know?” Betsy asked.

  “Jackson and I ran into David at the hardware store. David mentioned it. He seemed very excited for your big date. Think he’s going to pop the question?”

  Mark sighed. “Miranda… This issue really can’t wait.”

  “Sorry.” She ambushed Betsy in a hug. “I’m happy for you. David has always been a favorite of mine.”

  After her release, Betsy fumbled
with her hands at her waist. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “By all means, go.” Genevieve shooed the maid on her way. “And if you do get engaged, be sure to let us know. Of course, we’ll host your ceremony at the wedding venue.”

  “Thank you, ma’am, but I don’t think David and I will—”

  “Nope.” Wagging her index finger, Genevieve said, “No negativity allowed on the topic of love.”

  Forcing a tight smile, Betsy nodded, thanking the lady of the house once more before darting off into the kitchen. Poor gal. This was straight out of an English manor scene from any given night on PBS—not that he was a fan, but since so many of his friends were now hitched, it was nearly impossible to get to any given man cave without passing by a chick flick or historical duke and duchess show.

  “Finally…” Mark muttered under his breath. “Miranda, this can’t wait.”

  “Of course.”

  With Jackson following, she left the black and white-marble tiled entry to turn left down a wide hall like the one upstairs. They passed a formal dining room with a table that seated twenty. A billiards room. Library. And then Miranda entered a dark-paneled room with an antique wooden desk worthy of royalty and more burgundy leather seating than Jackson had previously seen outside of a furniture store. The air smelled faintly of lemon oil and cigars.

  Once inside, and Miranda sat on the end of a sofa and Mark in the chair opposite her, Jackson closed the door and stood with his back against it.

  “Please tell your man to sit.” Mark looked away with a sneer. “He and his gun make me uncomfortable.”

  “Having four dear friends murdered in one night makes me uncomfortable.” A proud smile tickled the corners of Jackson’s lips when Miranda raised her chin. “He can stand.”

  “As you wish. Getting to the matter at hand, we have a situation.”

  “I should think that’s obvious.”

  “Not quite…” Leaning forward, Mark rested his elbows on his knees. “Lenny wants to call the incident at your bar arson, but to do so would—”

  “Of course, it was arson. Jackson and I heard four distinct explosions.”

  “The point I’m trying to make is that it doesn’t have to be. If we make this a criminal matter as opposed to say… a simple grease fire, all of our lives will get a whole lot more complicated.”

  “Four. People. Died. These men were my friends. I’m not going to sweep their deaths under the proverbial rug so an oil company feels more secure setting up shop in our town.”

  “What if I told you that the decision has already been made?”

  Miranda shook her head. “Excuse me?”

  “The rest of the council and I met an hour ago, and in light of this deadly fire, we’re prepared to impeach. I will become the acting mayor until a special election can be held.”

  “On what possible grounds could you impeach me?” Miranda stood to pace. “Far from doing anything wrong, I’ve been a victim in all of this.”

  “Moody has spoken with his father, and if you agree to our terms, we will make this process as harmless as possible to your reputation. Instead of impeachment, you may prefer to resign, stating you need more time to run your remaining business.”

  It took every shred of Jackson’s willpower not to slam this bastard into the next parish.

  “Know what I think?” Miranda asked.

  Mark shrugged. “Wouldn’t have a clue.”

  “I think you set off the bomb at my bar. I also think you arranged to have Jackson’s car bombed in some sick attempt to run him out of town.”

  “That’s ludicrous. Keep talking like that and we’ll have you impeached on the grounds of mental instability. But you know what? Even if I did arrange for your dive bar to be blown to kingdom come, it would have been for a noble cause. You think you know how to run this town, but you don’t have a clue. Time to step aside and let a grown-up tackle the job.”

  “I think it would be best if you leave,” she said.

  “The council and I will expect your decision in the morning.”

  9

  WITH MARK GONE, Miranda couldn’t stop shaking. She’d worked so hard to be mayor. She’d transformed the town from a speck on the map off I-10 to a destination. How could all of her efforts be blown away? Mark’s words hit her like a category five hurricane. “Why is this happening?”

  “People do a lot of sick things for money.”

  “How can I fight this?” Fearing her knees would buckle, she sank onto the sofa. “I could take my case to local and even state-wide media, but will our bustling tourism industry be killed by the undeniable fact that the town’s most popular bar—along with four employees—was blown to smithereens by a madman?” She laughed sharply. “A madman who just happens to lead an even crazier bunch of elected officials who comprise our city council.”

  “If it makes you feel better, my boss and my buddies roll in next week.”

  “Please, tell them, thank you, but no. If something happened to them, I couldn’t live with myself.”

  “Being one hundred-percent honest, I could use the help. Your good buddy Mark has done a bang-up job of incriminating himself, but my gut tells me he’s not behind the small stuff. Or hell, maybe he is? Anyone ever tell you this is a crazy town?”

  “No.” She sniffed back tears. “In fact, before all of this, we were voted #17 on Southern Living’s top Romantic Weekend Destinations list. Up until now, we’ve never made it at all. It might not seem like a big deal, but to me, it is. I want this to be a nice place.”

  “It is.” He sat beside her, slipping his arm around her shoulders. “And tell you what, as soon as we catch whoever’s behind all of this mess, I bet Brutal Bayou not only climbs higher on that list, but makes many more.”

  “You think?” She rested her head on his strong shoulder, wanting more than anything to clasp his hand.

  “I know.” Flashing a slow and sexy grin that despite her messed-up life made butterflies dance in her tummy, Jackson held up his phone.

  “What’s that mean?” she asked.

  “It means I recorded Mark’s rant, and that to secure your mayoral seat, we might want to take this evidence to your sheriff, then sit back to watch Mark’s impeachment plan be the last thing in this town to explode.”

  “Really? You got it all?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m so happy I could kiss you.”

  “Be my guest…” He leaned in, meeting her more than halfway.

  Miranda’s pulse raced fast enough that she struggled to find her next breath. Kissing him wasn’t exactly professional. On the flipside, with it looking as if Mark may have been behind all of the fires, this case could be declared closed. Meaning she and Jackson were no longer co-workers, but merely a man and woman. A woman who wanted nothing more than to ease forward, relishing the moment her lips finally learned the pleasure of touching his.

  When she landed against him, her body felt supercharged—electrified as if together they could conquer the world. He swept his fingers under her still-wet braid, pressing her closer, urging her mouth open for a thrilling sweep of their tongues.

  He drew her onto his lap where she felt his attraction and need. She felt the same—hungry for him. The past couple of days had been filled with darkness, but now he’d taken her hand and guided her into the light.

  Groaning, she sadly pulled away.

  “Come back,” he said.

  “Oh—I will.” She smiled. “But first, let’s get your recording to the sheriff. It feels good to finally be in an offensive position.”

  “Understood.”

  After a few more quick kisses that promised more, they left her father’s study to find her parents in the casual living area located off the kitchen. They nursed martinis and while her mother skimmed Pinterest on her iPad, her father watched Naked and Afraid, letting the contestants know what he could have done better.

  “Mom? Dad?”

  “Oh, hey.” Her father paused the TV. “Where’s M
ark? I wanted him to try one of my new cigars.”

  “Mark had to go. He’s got a full plate.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Guess we’ll try them another time.”

  Jackson cleared his throat. “I need to get Miranda to her office. The police and fire chiefs are meeting us there to follow up on the fire and arson investigation.”

  “Good,” her father said with an aggressive nod.

  “Before we go,” Jackson said, “I have a couple of things to go over with you.”

  “Shoot.” After setting down his martini and the remote, her father straightened in his chair.

  “Coming directly to the point, I found a tracking device on Miranda’s car. By any chance did you or anyone at your dealership install it as a theft prevention measure?”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  Miranda felt part relieved, part terrified to find her father’s expression one of genuine shock. Because if he hadn’t installed the spyware, that meant that Mark was most likely behind that, too. Disgusting.

  “Thank you for your candor. One more thing—while Miranda was in the shower, someone entered her bathroom window and left a message on the mirror.”

  Miranda’s mother gasped. “What did it say?”

  “It’s not important, Mom. The only reason Jackson brought it up is to have you and Dad be extra cautious. Lock all your windows and doors.”

  “Are you okay?” her father asked.

  “Fine.” With Jackson’s support, she surprisingly was. “I’m a little shaken, but optimistic. I’m expecting a good meeting followed by a full night’s sleep.”

  “Good luck, honey. Be careful.” Her mother rose to give her, and then Jackson, hugs. “Thank you, Jackson, for your help.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Her father shook Jackson’s hand. “Harding assured me you’d get results. I never expected them to be this fast.”

  Jackson winced. “Let’s not declare this investigation officially over just yet, but it’s looking good. Just in case, please don’t forget to lock up.”