Harlequin Intrigue March 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Cindi Myers

  She gulped down the rest of her lemonade to cool the blaze he’d ignited and turned her attention to her pie. Another collapse of the logs in the bonfire had them both bolting from their chairs to the wood pile. They almost collided there, forcing Jackson to reach for her to keep her from falling over.

  Electricity sparked between them, and Rhea rushed back to her seat.

  Jackson took his time feeding the fire, needing to control what he was feeling for Rhea. Banking the flames burning inside because he worried that if he released them, it might consume him. He was unused to such feelings, being, as Rhea had said, normally uptight and by-the-book.

  But Rhea had loosed those bounds he’d lived with all his life, first as an athlete, then as a Marine and finally as a cop.

  It couldn’t have happened at a worse time, he thought. Rhea’s emotions were too fragile, and he had to stay focused because so much was at stake, including his career. But more importantly, he had to keep Rhea safe.

  His Crime Scene Unit was working on the cruiser, trying to get paint and metal samples in the hopes of identifying the vehicle that had attacked them. They were also trying to locate any CCTVs along the route that might also yield more information. The Avalon police were determining if Matt owned any other SUVs that fit the bill and still trying to get a warrant to search his property.

  With a cruiser parked in front of his own home, he hoped that would be enough to safeguard Rhea.

  The vibration of the cell phone in his pocket warned that they’d hit the time limit for their bonfire.

  “Is it time?” Rhea asked.

  He nodded. “We need to let it die down and see what we have.”

  “I’m ready, Jax. No matter what happens, I’m ready,” she said and met his gaze, hers unwavering and filled with the kind of determination he’d come to expect from her.

  “We’ll be ready, Rhea. And if this doesn’t work out, we’ll move on,” he said, wanting to reassure her.

  “I know.” She reached across the short distance separating their chairs, holding her hand out to him.

  He grasped her hand and twined his fingers with hers. The comfort he offered her with that touch rebounding to bring him peace, as well.

  It took another hour for the fire to die down enough for them to check out what had happened.

  Jackson grabbed a shovel that Declan kept for feeding and controlling his smoker fires. Carefully, he shifted the still red-hot embers in the firepit, moving them away from the center to try to expose what, if anything, was left of the pig carcass. It was hot work, and sweat bathed his body from the heat.

  As he moved the embers toward the edges, he had to take a step back to cool off.

  Rhea was immediately there with another tall glass of lemonade.

  “Thank you,” he said. He swiped his forearm across his brow to wipe away the sweat and chugged down the drink.

  After a few deep breaths, he resumed shoveling the embers until he had revealed a large portion of the carcass. Or at least what remained.

  He stood beside Rhea, hands on his hips, staring at the pile of bones in the center of the pit. A dark residue, probably from the animal’s fat, stained the area around bones that were relatively intact. Some spots near the edges, where the fire hadn’t been as hot, still had minute remnants of flesh. Ashes and embers circled the pig remains close to the pavers.

  Maybe if they allowed more time for it to cool down, the central section with the bones might be closer to the crime scene photos that the Avalon Police Department had taken in the days after Selene’s disappearance. But is it close enough? Jackson wondered.

  “It’s not similar, is it?” Rhea said, dejection obvious in every line of her body. Her shoulders drooped, and deep frown lines were etched beside her lips. The blue of her gaze was dark, like the lake waters during a storm.

  He eased his arm around her shoulders and tucked her close. “Let me get the embers back in place, add another pile of logs and then let the fire die out naturally. We’ll come back later to check it out and, if that doesn’t do it, we move on, right?”

  She nodded and, in a tiny, hardly audible voice, she said, “We move on. I’ll get you another drink.”

  Rushing away, he watched her go, aware she was barely holding it together. He quickly returned to work, piling the glowing embers back into the center of the pit. He added another mound of logs and hoped that by doing so the end result might support continuing their investigation of Matt because the other alternative...

  Rhea didn’t want to believe that Selene had killed herself. He found it hard to believe, as well, but no one knew why someone would choose such an end. Why they didn’t ask for help and kept it bottled up until the emotions were just too much to handle.

  The sound of a footfall drew his attention, but it wasn’t Rhea. It was Declan, with another tall glass of icy lemonade and deep furrows across his brow.

  “Your...friend is... Maybe it’s time you guys went home. Took a break. I can finish up here,” he said with a flip of his hand in the direction of the fire.

  Jackson hated to leave their experiment unfinished. But as he looked at Declan’s face, his friend was obviously as worried about Rhea as he was. “Do you mind us leaving it here until later?”

  “Until tomorrow, Jax. You need to take a break. A long one,” he said and clapped him on the back, gently this time.

  In truth, whether later or tomorrow it wouldn’t matter. Not to mention that the ache he’d been feeling off and on in his back all day was blossoming into major pain. “Tomorrow,” he said and followed his friend into the restaurant where Rhea was sitting in one of the booths.

  The lunchtime crowd had died down, and Declan’s staff was getting ready for the dinner rush.

  He eased into the booth across from her and their knees bumped beneath the table. He laid a hand on her knee. Squeezed reassuringly. “How about we head home?”

  She nodded, but remained silent, her face flat. Shoulders still fallen.

  Declan hurried over and laid a pizza box on the table. At Jackson’s questioning look, his friend shrugged and said, “Figured you might not want to cook dinner.”

  Jackson rose and bro-hugged his friend hard. “Thanks for everything, Deck.”

  His friend dipped his head in Rhea’s direction, urging Jackson into action.

  Jackson held his hand out, and she slipped her hand into his, but peeled away for a moment to hug Declan. “Thank you. We really appreciate all that you’ve done.”

  “Anything for friends,” Declan said as he embraced her.

  “Let’s go,” Jackson said, and Rhea seemed only too eager to leave. He understood. Their experiment was leading them on a path to other scenarios.

  One of which included Selene’s suicide.

  Normally he’d be relieved when he eliminated one scenario during an investigation and moved closer to solving a case.

  He felt no such relief today.

  The short ride to his home was quiet, but Rhea’s disappointment was almost palpable. In just two short days, they’d eliminated the idea that Matt had disposed of Selene’s body at his client’s location and probably the possibility that he’d cremated her in his firepit.

  But that didn’t eliminate Matt or their other scenarios, including the one where Selene was still alive.

  “Matt could still be a suspect,” he said, but as they pulled past the police cruiser stationed in his driveway, instinct said something was wrong.

  “Stay here,” he said and opened his door while unclipping the thumb strap on his holster. As he did so, the smell of smoke drew his immediate attention. A slight breeze carried smoke from beyond his home.

  He leaned down and drew his backup Glock from his ankle holster. Bending, he held it out to Rhea and said, “Do you know how to use this?”

  Rhea took the gun from him and pushed the butt
on to remove the magazine and check it before slipping it back in. “I’ve got it.”

  “Good. Stay put.”

  Rhea eased the safety off the Glock and watched as Jackson walked toward the police cruiser. When he got there, he immediately acted, reaching in for the radio and calling for an ambulance.

  The hackles rose on the back of her neck, and she hoped the officer wasn’t badly injured.

  She searched the area in front of the home, but the fading light of dusk and the tree line around the home created too many shadows. But her gaze caught on a brighter swirl of white above the home. Smoke.

  No, not Jax’s home, she thought and opened the door. The smell of smoke was impossible to miss now and, as Jackson rushed around the edge of his home, gun drawn, Rhea couldn’t just sit there doing nothing.

  Ignoring Jackson’s instructions, she dashed from the cruiser, gun in hand. Following the path Jackson had taken, she ran into him as he stood on his deck, pulling a garden hose from a reel. He ran with it toward the shed. Licks of flame were just beginning to escape from a broken window at the front of the structure.

  Jackson turned the hose on the shed, trying to keep the fire tamed. He had holstered his gun and was radioing with his free hand. She walked over and took the hose from him, and he mouthed a “Thank you.” With his hands free, he drew his weapon again and finished calling for the fire department since the garden hose was barely keeping the flames at bay. If they spread to the deck or to the pines behind...

  She didn’t want to think about the fire destroying Jackson’s home because of her. Because of me.

  Keeping the hose aimed on the flames, she also kept her eyes and ears open for signs of anything out of the ordinary. Like the scream of sirens approaching and the lights flashing through nearby woods. Reds and blues escaped through the underbrush and tree branches as police cars, an ambulance and a fire truck raced up the road.

  The crunch of gravel and pounding footsteps signaled that help was on the way. Jackson joined her a second later and said, “Whoever did this is long gone.”

  “I’m sorry, Jax. How is the officer?”

  “Awake. He thought he heard a noise, opened his window to investigate and got cold-cocked. EMT is with him, and it seems like he’ll be okay,” Jackson explained and held his hand out for his backup weapon.

  She returned it, and he strapped it back into his ankle holster. As he did so, he asked, “How did you know how to use the Glock?”

  “Dad was a cop. He taught us how to safely handle a weapon,” she explained and began to hose down the edges of his deck as the heat of the shed fire warned it was in danger.

  Luckily, a crew of firefighters dragged a fire hose from the front of the house and turned a burst of water on the shed, beating back the flames. But the fire had done major damage to the structure, and it collapsed with a loud crash, sending embers flying all around.

  The firefighters moved closer to douse the burning remnants, as well as the area all around, to avoid the spread of the fire.

  Rhea stood there, more worried about Jackson losing his home than the likelihood the fire had been set because of her. Jackson came up behind her, wrapped an arm around her upper body and drew her against his chest. She went willingly, the comfort and security of his arms welcome.

  The firefighters shut off the water and walked over to inspect the remnants of the shed. One of them shook his head, tipped his hat back and walked to where they stood. He glanced at Jackson and said, “Can’t say for certain yet, but I think an accelerant was used.”

  “I kept gasoline in there for the chain saw and mower,” Jackson advised.

  The firefighter took a look back toward the shed and nodded. “Probably used that, since it was handy. We’ll know more once the arson investigator has his look at it.”

  “Thanks, Max. You guys did an amazing job,” Jackson said and leaned over to shake the man’s hand.

  “Appreciate it, Jax. Sorry this happened to you,” he said and shot a look at Rhea, as if wondering if she was the cause. Rousing her guilt again about what had happened.

  Jackson and she followed them to the driveway, where the EMTs were pulling away and Jackson’s colleague was standing by his car, chatting to the police chief.

  “Stay here and, this time, do it,” Jackson said and reinforced his instruction with a slash of his hand.

  Since the chief shot her a look that was both annoyed and concerned, she decided to stay put as Jackson had instructed.

  Jackson spoke to his injured colleague and the police chief in hushed tones, making it impossible for her to overhear what was being said. The chief waved to officers standing by another cruiser, who joined them as discussion resumed.

  Not long after, the injured officer got into his car and pulled away, and the police chief did the same, leaving the one cruiser with the duo of officers. Jackson spoke to them for another few minutes. With a series of handshakes and some backslapping, the conversation ended, and Jackson returned to her side.

  “Are we good?” she asked, wondering at what they’d planned.

  “We’re good. They’ll stay all night and run hourly checks on the grounds,” Jackson advised and opened the door on his cruiser to remove the pizza Declan had given them.

  At her questioning gaze, he said, “Dinner. A man’s got to eat.”

  Despite his comment, he handed her the pizza box at the front door and said, “First, a quick check through the house, although I doubt whoever did it is in here.”

  “Why?” she wondered aloud.

  “If they really wanted to do damage they’d have torched the house. The shed was intended to be a warning,” he said and, once again, drew his weapon.

  He didn’t need to say the words. His warning glance rooted her to a spot by the door, pizza box in hand.

  She waited, patiently, as Jackson did a sweep of his living room, dining room and kitchen, and then went up the stairs. Long anxious moments later he came bounding down the stairs, his gun holstered once more.

  “All clear,” he said and took the pizza from her. But as they entered the house, the smell of smoke on them was powerful.

  She wrinkled her nose and said, “I think I’d like to shower and change.”

  Jackson sniffed the air, as well, and said, “Me, too. I’ll get this in the oven while we shower.”

  “Thanks,” she said and rushed up the stairs and through her shower.

  She beat Jackson to the kitchen, scrounged through his refrigerator to make a salad and set place mats and cutlery on the breakfast bar, trying to stay busy. Keeping busy was definitely a way to keep from thinking about the fact that someone was trying to stop their investigation.

  Was Matt that desperate? she wondered, but didn’t have time to dwell on it too much as Jackson came into the kitchen in a T-shirt and sweats. The T-shirt hugged hard muscle, and the sweats hung loose on his lean hips. Her brain went somewhere dangerous, especially as he came by to snag a piece of lettuce from the salad and brushed against her.

  He smelled of soap and man. All man, but she had to contain that awareness of him. It was just too dangerous, too distracting, considering all that was happening. But try as she might, it was impossible to ignore his presence. Powerful. Comforting. Tempting in a way that no man had ever tempted before.

  And surprisingly, despite all that had happened that day, hunger awoke as Jackson pulled the pizza from the oven. He cut the slices with a big knife, his movements competent. Almost elegant, which made her itch to sketch him. She’d been so crazed in the last couple of days she hadn’t even touched her sketch pad, but maybe she’d try tonight.

  If Jackson would model for her, that was.

  Working together as if they were an old married couple used to routines, she served the salad and he brought over the pizza and sodas. A glass of wine might have been nice, but they had to stay alert, not to m
ention that a little wine might make him even more dangerous to her control.

  The pizza was delicious and unusual. “I’ve never had grilled pizza with barbecued chicken before.”

  “It’s one of Deck’s specialties. People love that he turns things on their heads,” Jackson said and stuffed the last bit of crust into his mouth.

  “He’s been great. Please thank him for me,” she said, grateful for all that Declan had done.

  Jackson leaned back in his chair and focused his gaze on her, his eyes locked on her face. “Your dad was a police officer?”

  She nodded and nibbled at the pizza crust. “He was. My mother was a music teacher, like Selene.”

  Jackson dished out the last two slices onto their plates and said, “I guess that explains the information you gave me. It was as neat and complete as any case file I’ve ever read.”

  “Dad was a stickler for being orderly and for doing the right thing,” she said with a lift of her shoulders.

  “That also explains why you’re so determined to make things right for Selene,” he said, grabbed his slice and took a big bite.

  Although she picked up her own slice, she held it before her, unsure how to answer without having him worry. But he’d been nothing but honest with her, even admitting that assisting her might cost him the position as chief. So she charged on. “The only thing that would make things right is to have Selene home again, Jax. That’s what I want more than anything.”

  Jackson set down his slice and this time when he gazed at her, the gray of his eyes was almost charcoal with worry. “I know you want that—”

  She raised her hand in pleading. “Let’s just leave it at that. Please.”

  He did as she asked, finishing the rest of his slice in silence while she nibbled at hers.

  They washed dishes much the same way, standing side by side in silence, Jackson washing and Rhea drying. When they were done, Jackson leaned against the counter. “It’s not that late. What would you like to do?”

  It came out of her mouth before she could stop it. “I’d like to sketch you.”