Jim shot her a glance and asked, “Can you track down who did it? Will it be easy?”
“Depends on what else we discover. If this is a serial arsonist, he’ll probably strike again.”
Scarlett exchanged another glance with Jim. They both knew this was no serial arsonist. She’d been targeted.
“When can Ms. Easton go home?”
“You can go home now, Ms. Easton. Just stay out of the areas cordoned off with yellow tape. We’ll be sifting through the remains. When we’re done, you can clean the place.”
She blew out a breath. “There goes my privacy.”
“I can’t say that bothers me much.” Jim pushed away from the table and joined her at the counter, squeezing her hand. “You’re too isolated back there. Maybe it’ll even improve your cell reception.”
The investigators stood up. “That’s all we have for now. If we discover anything else or need to ask you any more questions, we’ll contact you.”
Jim walked them to the door. When he shut it behind them, he turned and said, “You wanna go home?”
“Yes, it would be nice to put some pants on. And shoes—shoes would be good.”
“You want to put on a pair of my sweatpants for the ride back?”
“Absolutely. That Lady Godiva stuff is okay for the wee hours of the morning, but I could get arrested for that this time of day.”
He quirked an eyebrow at her, and she could feel a surge of warmth in her cheeks. She’d never blushed so much in her entire life than she had these past few days with Jim—must be her heightened sense of awareness...or how he looked in a pair of jeans.
“I have a clean pair of sweats in the bottom drawer of the dresser in the bedroom.”
“I’ll find them.” She made for the bedroom and crouched in front of the dresser, pulling open the last drawer. She plunged her hands into the soft material and her fingers stumbled across some hard, metal objects.
She parted the sweats and sweatshirts and closed her hand around one of the objects, pulling it out of the drawer. She held it up, the dull gold of the medal glinting in the light.
She ran her thumb along the raised lettering on the disc. It was some kind of medal for bravery. She peered into the drawer at the other medals. If he wore every one of them at once, he’d be bowed over from the weight.
These couldn’t all be recognition for surviving and escaping his capture. He’d been a sniper. He must’ve gotten medals for killing people—lots of people.
His imprisonment and torture must’ve gone a long way toward alleviating any guilt he’d felt about that. She stuffed the medals back into the drawer. Somehow she didn’t think Jim would feel guilty about doing his job, about killing the enemy and saving his brothers in arms.
“You ready?”
“Just about.” She snatched up a pair of dark blue sweats and pulled them on. She pushed up the elastic to her calves and cinched the waist as much as she could.
“Ready.” She stepped into the hallway and Jim met her with a helmet.
“I do have this for you.”
She took it from him, tucking it under her arm. As they walked out the front door, Dax revved the engine of a Harley parked next to Jim’s.
“This one’s a beauty. Mind if I keep it for myself?”
“Take what you like, Dax, but leave a couple since I promised Scarlett’s cousin he could buy one.”
Jim flipped up the kickstand on his bike and mounted it. He dipped it to one side. “Hop on.”
With a lot more confidence than this morning, Scarlett hitched one leg over the seat of the bike and settled behind Jim. She even leaned against the backrest, hooking her fingers in Jim’s belt loops, but when he started the bike and rolled onto the road, she grabbed him around the waist.
When he pulled up in front of her mailbox, she dug her fingers into his side. Her cabin stood in the center of a ring of blackened and charred trees and foliage. Soggy, yellow tape stirred in the breeze, waving a sorry welcome.
Jim steered his bike up to her front porch and cut the engine. “Looks like a war zone.”
She lifted the helmet from her head and shook out her hair. “There goes my little hideaway. The cabin is completely visible from the road now.”
“You can replant, but give yourself a clear view of the road this time.”
“I hope everything doesn’t smell like smoke in there.” She slid from the bike.
“You’ll probably have to air it out and clean up.”
She jogged up the two steps to the front door and tried the handle. “Great. It’s unlocked.”
She pushed open the front door and hovered on the threshold, sniffing the air. “It doesn’t smell too bad and I don’t see any damage from the fire hoses or flame retardant.”
“You should check your studio. You’re probably going to have to clean all those windows in there.”
Jim left the door open, and she edged down the hallway toward the studio. The door had been left open. Had the firefighters come inside her place? She never left that door open.
Pushing the door back, she scanned the room. Her current canvas was in place and undamaged, but Jim had been right. Streaks of flame retardant and rivulets of water clouded the glass walls of the studio, practically blocking the view to the outside world.
“I’m going to have to get a professional window cleaner in here to take care of this mess, unless my cousin Annie can do it.”
“Add a professional landscaper to clean up the mess outside.”
Scarlett wandered around the room, unease tickling the back of her neck. She flipped through some canvases and took a step back to scan one wall covered with her landscape paintings.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure. Something feels off.”
“Something missing? You do have an inventory, don’t you?”
She tapped her head. “The inventory is up here.”
“And?”
“Can’t put my finger on it yet.”
“Make sure you check all your stuff, and if there’s anything missing, make a report.”
Scarlett paused in front of an easel with her current project clipped onto it, the smell of paint tickling her nose. Glancing at the tray, she noticed a pot of open black paint and a dirty brush.
Her pulse thrummed in her throat as she ran a fingertip across the damp ends of the brush. “This is weird.”
“What?” Jim joined her at the easel.
“There’s an open pot of paint and a used brush. I always clean up when I’m done.”
“You mean someone broke into your place, came in here and painted a picture?” He scratched his head.
She dabbed her fingers across the painting on the easel. “Maybe someone just wanted to be helpful and finish this work for me.”
She barked out a short, dry laugh and licked her lips. She turned toward the wall of paintings again, her gaze scanning each row.
“Does the second row from the bottom look crooked to you?”
Jim squeezed past her, and his head swung from side to side. “Yeah, it’s this bunch here on the right.”
He shuffled to the right and reached up to adjust the frames on the wall. “Scarlett!”
She jumped at the sharpness of his tone. “What’s wrong?”
“You might want to have a look at this forest painting.”
She tripped forward, grabbing onto Jim’s arm as she leaned toward the painting.
She gasped, her fingers digging into his biceps. Someone had altered one of her landscapes—adding three stick figures at the edge of the forest, holding hands.
Chapter Ten
A chill snaked down Scarlett’s spine, and she took a step back, dropping her hold on Jim.
Jim leaned in fo
r a closer look. “You know what that’s supposed to be, don’t you?”
Scarlett swore and pushed past him. She grabbed the painting from the wall. “Some crude representation of the Timberline Trio. It’s sick. Who would do this?”
“Put the frame down and don’t touch the paintbrush or paint.”
She dropped the painting on the floor. “You really think the sheriff’s department is going to come out here and fingerprint over what amounts to a bad paint job?”
“When we tell them what was painted, they will. They’re investigating this fire as arson. They’ll be interested.”
She flicked her fingers at the painting. “What do you think it means? Who is it that won’t let this case die?”
“Maybe it’s a warning to do just that—let it die. There’s been a lot of attention focused on the case these past few months. The kidnapper or kidnappers were never caught and the children never found—dead or alive. This spotlight on the case must be making someone nervous.”
“I get that, but why me? I haven’t opened an investigation into the Timberline Trio. And what does it all have to do with Rusty?”
“Or my brother.”
“So you don’t believe he’s here looking at your dad’s bikes?”
“Too coincidental—him, Rusty, Chewy. What are they all doing here at the same time?”
“A biker reunion?”
“Right.” He put his hand on the small of her back and steered her out of the studio. “Let’s go outside and call the police to report this.”
A deputy came out faster than Scarlett expected but found only one set of prints on the paint and the frame, which had to be hers.
The deputy took it more seriously because of the fire, but he didn’t know what to make of it any more than she and Jim did. He took pictures and notes, but there wasn’t much else he could do.
When he left, Scarlett collapsed in a chair and crossed her arms behind her head. “I don’t get it. What do I have to do with the Timberline Trio? I was just a kid when it happened.”
“Have you ever questioned your granny or any of the elders about why they wouldn’t discuss the case?”
“They shut me down every time I tried.”
He nodded toward the studio. “Maybe it’s time to try again now that you’re involved.”
“I never did drop off that yarn I picked up for Granny.” She pushed out of the chair. “How about it? Feel like a trip to the reservation?”
“Don’t think I’m welcome.”
“The Quileute had an issue with your dad and Dax, never you.”
“Guilt by association.”
“Well, you’ll be with me.”
Jim glanced at his watch. “What time are we taking this field trip?”
“Do you mind?”
“No. I want to know as much as you do, but I want to talk to Dax, too.”
“Do you think you can get him to admit what he’s really doing here?”
“Nobody can get Dax to do anything he doesn’t want to do—the only one who could was the old man and he used threats of violence.”
“Okay, you talk to Dax.” She held up her dead cell phone. “I’m going to charge up my phone and call a few landscapers. I’m also going to buy a landline phone and hook up my service.”
“Good idea.” He hesitated by the front door. “Are you going to be okay here by yourself?”
“I’ll be fine. Besides, my cabin is fully visible from the road now.”
“That’s not a bad thing, Scarlett.” He raised his hand and slipped out the door.
* * *
WHEN JIM PULLED up to his cabin, Dax looked up from tinkering with a motorcycle and wiped his hands on a rag hanging over the handlebars of the bike.
Jim parked his Harley and joined his brother. “You need any help?”
“You can hand me that wrench by your right foot.”
Crouching down, Jim swept up the tool and handed it to Dax.
“Took you long enough to get back. Did you and that feisty chick finally get it on?” Dax loosened a spark plug with the wrench.
“No, and if we had, I wouldn’t be telling you about it. Someone broke into Scarlett’s place and defaced one of her paintings.”
“That sucks. You think it’s the same person who set the fire?” Dax squinted at the spark plug he was trying to remove.
“Probably. You know what the person put on her painting?”
“Something obscene?”
“Kind of. Someone painted three stick figures at the edge of a forest scene, holding hands.”
Dax dropped the wrench and swore. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s obviously the Timberline Trio.”
“Obviously? How’d you get that out of three stick figures?”
“Holding hands?”
“Maybe it’s supposed to be like a threesome or something—I told you, something obscene, although...”
Jim kicked his brother’s booted foot. “It wasn’t supposed to be a threesome, Dax. It was a representation of the Timberline Trio.”
“Bro, you’re obsessed with that case.” Dax threw his ponytail over his shoulder.
“You know why I am.” Jim picked up the wrench and tossed it from hand to hand. “What do you know about that night? The night someone tried to abduct me?”
“I don’t know nothin’, J.T. I was sleeping, remember?”
“What are you doing in Timberline, Dax?” Jim rose to his feet and crossed his arms over his chest as he loomed over his brother.
“This is gettin’ old. If you don’t want me to have any of Slick’s bikes, just say so.”
“It’s not about the...forget it.” Jim dropped the wrench onto the ground and went to the house.
Dax had tried to cover it, but he’d been rattled when Jim told him about the stick figures. Why?
The sudden appearance of Rusty, Chewy and Dax meant something, and Jim had a sick feeling that their presence in Timberline was related to the fire at Scarlett’s.
Jim cleaned up the rest of the breakfast dishes and went into the bedroom for his laundry basket. He fingered the T-shirt Scarlett had folded on top of his bed and then pressed it to his face.
The sweet, clean scent triggered all kinds of memories of the early morning hours he’d spent with her. He tossed the shirt into the basket. He couldn’t believe he’d had that woman in his bed, right beside him and had been able to resist her.
Not that falling asleep next to her warm, soft body had been easy. He’d felt every breath from her parted lips, every shift in movement, every touch as her hand or leg brushed against his body.
It had been torture.
He threw his laundry in the washer and wandered back outside to help his brother, who eyed him with suspicion.
Jim held up his hands. “No more questions. I’m just here to help you.”
The brothers worked side by side for over an hour until a call from Scarlett came through on Jim’s cell phone. He wiped his hands on the rag and answered the call.
“What’s up, Scarlett?” He ignored Dax’s raised eyebrows.
“I’m picking up a phone today and my service should be turned on by tomorrow. I also got two estimates from a couple of landscapers, and I’m going with the one my cousin Jason knows. Are you ready?”
“I’ve been helping Dax work on a bike. I need to shower and change. Do you want to go over on my motorcycle?”
“Sure. My car is filthy from the fire.”
“I’ll be kind of conspicuous on the bike. Are you sure you don’t want to keep my visit a secret?”
“Kind of hard to keep a guy your size a secret.”
“Let’s just try not to draw attention to ourselves. Nobody needs to know why we’
re there.”
“I have every right to visit Granny and bring an old high school friend. Is a half an hour enough time for you?”
“Sure. Tell you what. You bring your dirty car over here and I’ll have Dax wash it for you.”
“If you think he won’t mind.”
Jim watched his brother through narrowed eyes. “He likes anything having to do with cars. Bring it over.”
Scarlett ended the call, and Jim tucked his phone into his front pocket.
“Hot date?” Dax pushed a lock of hair from his forehead with a dirty thumb, leaving a smudge of grease.
“We’re going to the reservation.”
Dax narrowed his eyes. “What for?”
“Scarlett is going to drop off something for her grandmother.”
“And she needs your help, why?”
“She just wants the company.” If Dax could be closemouthed about his motivations, so could he. He’d told his brother plenty and had gotten nothing in return. “You mind washing her car if she leaves it here?”
“No problem.”
By the time Jim had showered and changed, Scarlett had pulled up to the cabin. He charged outside before she could get into conversation with Dax. He didn’t want her telling his brother about their mission.
As she greeted Dax, Jim tried to catch her eye, but she ignored him.
“Is that one of the bikes you’re going to take?”
Dax stood up, shoving the rag in his back pocket. “If I can get it running. Why are you taking my brother to the rez?”
“My grandmother wanted to meet him after I told her he rescued me from the fire.”
Jim let out a measured breath. He didn’t have to worry about Scarlett.
“Yeah, that’s our J.T.” Dax pounded Jim on the back. “Hero material.”
“I hope you’re not being sarcastic, because he really was heroic when he barged through that fire to get to me.”
“I totally mean it. He was always the good brother—” Dax quirked his eyebrows up and down “—and I was the bad boy.”
“You didn’t have to be, Dax. You let Slick influence you too much.”
Army Ranger Redemption Page 10
