"So Rams was telling the truth." She looked ready to have a stroke. "Someone tried to kill him and now they’re trying to kill me."
"Rams? Was he the guy on the phone?" Doran gestured toward her phone.
She nodded, then smiled. "Mr. Doran-"
"Devlin."
"Mr - " She paused and tried to smile. "Devlin, do you happen to know where I can hire a good bodyguard?"
It wouldn't do to look too eager. Doran scratched his ear. “Quite a few of our clients employ them, and we’ve vetted a number of references, but I can’t think of anyone who isn’t working full-time, at the moment.” Kelsey put her face in her hands, a portrait of defeat. He sighed. “If you like, I can check out some sources when I get back to the office.”
"Could you, please?” He nodded, when she glanced up. “Dear God, this is rough. Do I drop out like Rams, or hang in there and hope I can survive long enough to improve life for everyone?"
"Ms. Lancaster mentioned politics. I hadn’t realized you were the MacLennan on the posters." Doran hoped his ignorant act looked convincing.
Kelsey took a calming breath. "My brother was initially running, but his vehicle was sabotaged.” She swallowed. “Just like mine, except his involved fatalities.” She cleared her throat then wiped a tear from her cheek. "His wife and daughter died." Her tears welled.
Doran exhibited the surprise he genuinely felt for her obvious emotion.
Kelsey fought for control. “With Abbey and Jenny dead, Rams is willing to allow a child killer to represent us instead of face another murder attempt.” Her jaw stiffened. “I know that Marvin Frederickson is behind the sabotage.” Doran shifted uncomfortably. “When Rams quit," she added, "the party agreed to let me run."
“I beg your pardon?” This time, his surprise was genuine.
Kelsey looked him in the eye, as if he should know what she meant.
He blinked. "I read something about the wife and kid of a candidate dying.” Doran frowned and if trying to recall the article that had infuriated him. “When his family died, the candidate’s rating soared and he became the leading contender, even though his drunkenness caused-"
"I know exactly what piece of garbage you read,” she interrupted. “It was so-called journalism at its most libelous. Rams was sober.” Kelsey’s eyes widened, as if she was surprised by her harsh outburst. “He ruptured some disks in his back, crushed his leg, fractured a hip and was in a coma for twelve days. Believe me, he suffered more than a sprain." Kelsey closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Don't believe everything you read, Devlin Doran," she concluded in a slightly more controlled tone.
He inclined his head, as if chastened. “I didn’t realize politics could be worse than mud slinging.”
“Only when the incumbent is desperate to keep his office so he can continue making a mockery of the legal system.”
“Mockery?” He frowned, blatantly showing his confusion.
“Outside the capitol, Senator Frederickson functions more like a Mafioso Don.” Her fury appeared genuine. Either the lady was one hell of an actress or his gut instinct about her family was one-hundred-percent wrong. And he was rarely wrong.
“Meaning?”
“Organized illegalities like murder, drugs, prostitution and all the garbage that goes with that. Payoffs, so that he owns the law or else he sets colleagues up with hookers, and makes tapes – tapes which he threatens to share with wives and voters. Of course, the philanderers don’t want that, so they vote with him and help protect him from prosecution.”
It looked like she could give an inspired emotional lecture on this topic indefinitely. “ Do you have proof?” Lips pressed together, she shook her head. He had to get her back on the subject that benefited him, but when he got back, he’d read over Frederickson’s file to see if anything appeared out of order. “And now that you’re running, you feel it’s necessary for you to have a bodyguard to guard you until the election.” Kelsey nodded. “So, unlike most executives, you’d only need protection temporarily.” Doran noticed a movement in the shrubbery outside the window. Without being obvious, he watched the window.
She nodded, again. “Until now, all I’ve been doing is making campaign speeches on my brother’s behalf.” She swallowed. “Obviously, Frederickson’s camp thought that my efforts were threatening enough to eliminate me.” She wet her lips. “Fortunately, they didn’t succeed in killing me, but Rams was so spooked by the attempt that he quit.” She gave a tired shrug. “Now that I’m officially running, I’ll be more of a target.” As if to underscore her words, a tongue of fire flared behind the shrub and a bottle’s ghostly shape appeared.
The flames blazed higher and moved outward, as the unseen person prepared to throw it. Doran lunged to his feet. The streak of light rocketed toward the picture window. He vaulted over the coffee table and tackled Kelsey, chair and all. She gasped in shock as they somersaulting backward. The bottle smashed through the thick plate glass with the sound of two freight trains colliding. Glass shards rained down as the wicker back struck the floor. She shrieked, then his weight landed on her, turning her scream into a cry of pain. “Sorry.” He covered her with his body.
Cutting shards created an explosion of tiny knives. Gas fumes stung Doran’s nose, when he looked back at the sofa. With a whoosh, a blinding pillar of flame exploded across the coffee table.
Thankfully, the chair protected them from the worst of it. Kelsey shrieked. As the flames streaked to the ceiling, Doran jumped to his feet, keeping the chair between him and the fire he yanked Kelsey upright. She stumbled, but caught her balance, then turned and stared transfixed at the blaze. Placing his body between her and the flames, he half-carried her toward the foyer. “You have a back door?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Kitchen. One slider to the backyard and a door into the garage.”
He altered course toward the kitchen’s archway. After he shoved her into the comparative safety. "Get into the garage. It should be safer, since the sonofabitch is outside. But don’t stay in there. Get outside, away from the house.” He drew his handgun from his shoulder holster and dashed toward the front door.
“Where are you going?”
“To catch the fucking arsonist." The smoke detector began squealing. “Get to safety, but don’t let the asshole see you.” Kelsey gave him a dazed look, as she nodded and moved toward the kitchen.
Doran rushed out the front door, hoping against hope that Trent had stayed on the job long enough to ID the perp, better yet, if he was still watching his back, he could help him catch the sonofabitch.
ooo
As soon as Doran sprinted out the front door, Kelsey recovered her wits and sprang into action. “Zoë,” she screamed. “Get out of the house… Now!” With that, Kelsey grabbed the fire extinguisher from its bracket on the kitchen wall, where she kept it as a precaution against cooking disasters and ran back into her living room. Intense heat enveloped her and smoke choked her as pointed the nozzle at the center of the flames. She held her breath and tightened her finger on the trigger. Nothing happened.
Dark gray smoke curled upward while flames licked across her favorite rug in a wave of destruction.
Tears streaming down her cheeks, Kelsey squinted at canister, then yanked out the locking pin. This time a stream of white sediment merged with the dark smoke. The flames leaped high around the powdery haze. Kelsey steadied her aim and moved the stream to thwart the ever-expanding circle of fire.
“What the hell are you hollering about?” Zoë shouted. “Jesus H. Christ! What the fuck!”
“I think it was a Molotov cocktail.” Heat clawed at her exposed skin and her stitches felt like they were on fire. Kelsey held her breath until her lungs threatened to suck in the entire cloud of dust and smoke. Still, she fought the blaze. Slowly, the flames subsided, but as they winked out, the smoke turned black as coal and cloying as death.
As the extinguisher spat out its last blob of talcum-like dust, she whirle
d away, fell to her knees, her lungs burning for air.
The tarry smoke blotted out all visibility. Kelsey frantically pulled her shirt up over her mouth, then took a shallow breath. Her lungs felt as if she’d inhaled acid. Her eyes stung and it felt like one of her stitches had torn.
She crawled to where she hoped the kitchen door was located. “I will not panic," she thought, "I will not panic. I will-" Her skull butted a solid surface. Pain radiated to her toes and she fell backwards Dizziness and searing heat enveloped her.
She wanted to lie down and die, but she had to keep going. Inch by inch, she crawled to her right. Cookies crunched beneath her weight. Thorns of hot glass dug into her palms and knees. Smoke filled her lungs. After everything she'd been through in the past few days, it would be anticlimactic to die of smoke inhalation in her own living room. "I will not panic. I will not panic. I will not panic." She focused on the thought while she made steady, painful progress forward.
Time lengthened. Her starved lungs felt as if she was burning from the inside out. Each movement felt more sluggish than the one before. Kelsey opened one eye for a peek and noticed gentle movements of gray amid the black. Convinced that she was hallucinating because of oxygen deprivation, she blinked, but the phantom shapes continued to drift and twine.
She could barely find the energy to move her left knee. "I will not panic. I will not panic…" She toppled forward and landed face-first. Stitches ripped. She gasped with pain.
A gust of fresh air fanned her cheek. She cautiously inhaled, then coughed so hard that it felt like her lungs were trying to turn themselves inside out. She inched her right knee forward, then the left, and again the right, until she was out of the smoldering black fog, and then, drained of energy, she lay down on the cool slate floor.
A soft breeze caressed her skin, bringing more life-giving air.
She opened one eye. A foot of clear air lay over the floor. Above that, shades of darkness swirled above her like phantom vultures in dark mist. Over it all, an acrid black smoke hung like the cloak of doom. She rolled onto her back and watched the dark movement with morbid fascination. Another gust of wind wafted through the open front door causing the shadows to swirl and the dark birds of prey to disperse.
The slate beneath her back felt like a welcome caress against her aching muscles. Devlin Doran had saved her life, but why had he run away? Why had he told her to escape instead of save her home?
Light from the distant streetlight painted streaks on the porch floor. Kelsey wondered why the house’s lights were off. Had a circuit breaker tripped or had Devlin Doran turned the lights off? If he had turned them off, why had he done so?
With ever breath, inhaling became easier and her thoughts became more coherent. It took longer for strength to return to her aching body. Kelsey lay still, content to watch the eddying smoke and contemplate how much Marvin had paid this latest hoodlum.
Her palms and knees began to ache. "I did not panic,” she murmured. She levered herself onto her hands and knees. Forehead pressed against slate, she whispered a new mantra, “I can get up. I can get-"
"What the hell is going on down there?" Zoë clattered down the stairs; a bulging suitcase in each hand. "What happened? Did the orchid guy try to kill you?"
"He saved," she paused to breath, "my life."
Zoë dropped her luggage, grabbed Kelsey's upper arm and yanked her upright. Kelsey’s legs wobbled. She grasped Zoë's waist to keep from falling. Pain streaked out in fiery rays from her palms and knees.
Zoë touched her forehead and her finger came away bloody. She moaned as if she were the injured one. "You have to quit." Zoë started crying as she tugged her toward the kitchen.
"We need go outside." Each syllable came from her throat in a raw, painful rasp, as she tried to guide Zoë back toward the life-giving air.
"Marv has terrible friends. You have to quit.” Zoë sobbed and yanked Kelsey off balance, half dragging her out of the doorway. “You have to hide. He’ll kill you when he finds out you’re still alive."
Zoë’s surprisingly strong grip propelled Kelsey into the kitchen. She paused to grab a damp towel and ice, then continued across the room, Kelsey clung to Zoë despite the tearing pain of having the makeshift icepack pressed against her head. They were going out the kitchen's sliding. Not good. Doran had told her to go into the garage. If she'd done it, she wouldn't have hurt herself. But if she'd done what he told her, she would have lost her home.
Zoë stopped. "What happened?"
Kelsey took the lead as they inched across the kitchen. "When someone threw a Molotov cocktail through the window, Devlin pushed me out of the way, and told me to go into the garage. I think Devlin went after them."
“How come all the lights are off?” Zoë, who had been afraid of the dark since Junior High, shivered.
“I don't know for sure, but it's sort of good because no one can see us.” Kelsey stretched her free hand forward into the darkness, feeling for the wall.
"So he didn't start the fire?"
"No. He saved me."
“How convenient.” Her voice trembled.
Her questing fingertips touched the back door’s handle, it moved. Kelsey gasped and yanked her hand back.
The door whisked open. Zoë screamed.
"Stay inside and keep down," Doran ordered. Legs already weak as noodles, Kelsey plopped to the floor. Zoë began hyperventilating. "I'll be back in a minute." Though Doran had initially seemed either terribly shy or embarrassed, he now appeared totally competent and in command of this horrid situation.
Kelsey recalled the aftermath of her car crash, the angry, scared man, and the tender gentleman. Could they be aspects of the same person? Could a crisis make Devlin Doran blossom? Zoë continued moaning. What had made Zoë so afraid after the accident? Zoë's trembling fingers touched her; Kelsey gave her a reassuring squeeze. Jolts of searing pain took her breath away in a gasp.
"You have to q-quit."
"Never."
Suddenly the lights came on. Zoë gasped. In the split second before she shut her eyes, Kelsey saw Devlin Doran holding a lethal looking handgun.
Kelsey waited for the click she always heard on television.
Time dragged while Zoë howled. Would this be the last thing she heard, or would she hear the gun fire a moment before she felt the bullet?
“Are you all right?” His soft, concerned tone was achingly familiar. She wanted to curl up in his arms and listen to the steady beat of his heart. She wanted to feel his arms wrap her in another protective cocoon and shut out the din of the world.
She squinted though her lashes. Doran had holstered his weapon. His black silk jacket draped over the armament as if it was made for wearing weapons. Kelsey opened both eyes and stared at him. How much more did his perfectly tailored jacket hide? It reminded her of her first glimpse of him, holding that lethal-looking switchblade. Except this time he seemed calmer.
What sort of person needed to carry a switchblade and gun? And appear calm after a Molotov cocktails burst through the window? How could he act like this was an every day event? Interesting that he’d been there for her twice in the past three days and each time she had nearly lost her life. A bit too interesting. Was he some sort of guardian angel with perfect timing or did he have a dark agenda? Doran hunkered down in front of her, grasped her chin in one hand then gently washed her forehead with a damp corner of a kitchen towel. “Know anyone who owns an older model Ford?”
“No,” Kelsey said through clenched teeth.
“I think it was red.” Doran sat back on his heals to survey her face and appeared satisfied.
“Did you see who it was?" Zoë’s pitch sounded strained. If it got much higher, her voice would shatter glass. Doran shook his head. "Male? Female?”
“Probably male, but not enough light to be positive,” Doran said. He picked up her hand, gently caressing her inner wrist with his thumb. “You’re hurt.”
Without a word of warning, he scooped her in
to his arms and carried her to the kitchen sink. Despite her doubts about him, this felt right. After placing her on the counter, he tenderly rinsed her injured hand. Gentle as a mother tending a babe, he extracted a shard of broken glass, then rinsed the wound and applied pressure.
Relief seeped through her arm. She smiled up at him. Zoë lurched up, went to a cupboard and poured herself a stiff drink, then downed the whiskey in one gulp.
"I can use a bit of that here," Doran said.
So much for the man only drinking water.
Zoë grabbed two more glasses and poured hefty slugs into each, then put the bottle to her own lips. Kelsey took the one that Zoë thrust at her, and set it next to her on the counter, because it was easier to do that then explain that she couldn’t drink while on antibiotics. Doran set his aside, also and maintained pressure on her palm, with one hand, while he tenderly washed the blood off her knee with the other. When he removed a long splinter of glass, blood ran down to her ankle. Zoë slammed the bottle down on the counter and looked ready to either faint or throw up.
“It might have been a Taurus," he said in a conversational tone, as he drizzled the liquor over her knee. It burned so badly that she had to clamp her jaws together to avoid crying out, and that set off another set of pains.
"A red Taurus?" Zoë yelped, then gagged and sprinted from the room.
Doran studied Zoë's retreating figure for a moment before he turned all his attention back to her. "Know anyone who has one?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t know a Taurus from a Sagittarius or a Capricorn,” Kelsey joked, to take her mind off of the pain.
He blinked and stared at her, then something infinitesimal changed and suddenly the reticent man returned. Doran dropped his gaze and continued to check her knees, but now, as he felt for shards, his touch felt like business instead of a gentle caress. Darn, she preferred the compassionate man, who could handle frightening situations like everyday events.
Deadly Rumors Page 10
