“I’m not stayi—”
Darius walked outside, shutting the door on her protest. She wanted to run after him, but she had a feeling the dark-haired behemoth, who was suddenly blocking the door, was not going to move.
“Might as well make yourself comfortable until he comes back,” he said, watching her through smoky-gray eyes.
“I’m not a prisoner,” she responded, but she felt like one, and she didn’t like the memories that evoked.
“You’re not a prisoner, but if you want to stay alive, you’ll pretend you are. There’s a fire at your place, and we don’t know how it started. Could be someone set it, and if that’s the case, he might be hanging around, waiting for you to show up.”
He had a point, and Catherine knew it. She didn’t like it, though. She also didn’t like that Darius had gone to check things out and put himself in danger to do so.
She walked into the living room, ignoring her bodyguard as she stared out the window that faced Eileen’s place. Even in bright daylight, she wouldn’t be able to see the house, but she searched the darkness for hints of fire, anyway, her heart sinking as she saw plumes of gray-white smoke shooting up into the dark blue sky. Not only had Catherine lost her grandmother, it looked like she was also going to lose the house she’d been raised in. It shouldn’t hurt so much. After all, Darius was right, a house could be replaced. But, as she watched smoke pour into the sky, she couldn’t help thinking that everything she’d experienced, everything she’d loved was pouring away with it. Soon, there would be nothing left of who she was.
When she’d been released from prison, that was the way she’d wanted things. A clean break. Nothing but Eileen tying her to the past.
The reality of the burning house changed things. She wanted to run across the weed-choked field, run into the house and grab the old teapot with the money and the necklace. She wanted to go into the makeshift bedroom Eileen had been using and pull out the small box of photos Eileen kept in her dresser drawer. She wanted desperately to have some keepsakes to carry with her when she left town.
She eyed the door and Tango, wondering how much effort it would take to convince him to escort her to the house. Judging by his grim, hard expression, a lot.
She’d try anyway, because she couldn’t stand in Darius’s house, watching the smoke and knowing that everything her grandmother had worked for was being destroyed.
THIRTEEN
Flames shot up from the back of the house, but the front facade remained untouched, the windows dark, the front door closed, locked and cool to the touch. Darius jogged to the back of the house, wincing at the carnage there. The entire kitchen was engulfed, the windows blown out. Fire ate at the outer wall of the house, consuming the siding greedily. Old and dried out, the wood seemed eager to feed the fury, and Darius didn’t think it would be long before the entire house went up in flames. There was time, though, and if he hurried, he could get in and out without dying in the process.
He shot the lock off the front door, kicked in the old wood and stepped into the foyer. Smoke snaked out of the kitchen, making the air hazy and thick. Three minutes. That’s what he was giving himself. If he couldn’t get what he’d come for in that amount of time, he’d abandon the plan and let it all be destroyed.
He pulled his shirt up over his mouth and nose, running to the room that Eileen had been using, searching through the closet and the dresser drawers, wondering what Catherine would want from the old and dusty things he found there. A small shoe box sat in the bottom dresser drawer, and he lifted the lid, saw dozens of photos inside. He grabbed it, checked his time. One more minute. The air grew thicker as he raced into the dining room, fire crackling at the threshold of the room. It took two seconds to grab the old teapot, tuck it under his arm and open the window. He climbed out, heat and smoke following him into the chilly morning air.
Done.
He glanced at his watch. Thirty seconds to spare. Not bad, but he couldn’t say he’d have been happy if Catherine had tried the same thing. Sirens screamed as he jogged into the front yard, the flashing lights of a fire truck splashing across the dirt road and reflecting off the gleaming hood of his truck.
Another fire truck raced up behind it, and he stepped aside as firefighters hooked a hose to the fire hydrant. They worked in synchronized rhythm, but he knew all their efforts would be in vain. Fire licked the roof, eating up inches of wood every second.
“Sir, is there anyone inside?” a firefighter asked.
“No.”
“Any animals?”
“The house is empty.”
“You’re the owner?”
“I’m a neighbor. The owner passed away this morning. Her granddaughter is staying with me until the funeral.”
“Sounds like the kid caught a tough break, losing her grandmother and her house all in one day. We’ll do our best to save the place, but these old houses are like dry kindling. They feed the flames so quickly it’s hard to control.” He hurried to join his crew, and Darius pulled out his cell phone.
He needed to call in, let the dispatcher know that the emergency was under control. Then he needed to call Tango and fill him in. Catherine had to be anxious. Maybe a little information would ease some of her worries.
Or, maybe, it would just make them worse.
She could probably see the smoke from his place. Maybe even smell it in the air.
He placed the shoe box and teapot on the floor of the truck, then called dispatch so they could clear the emergency. He called Tango, and frowned when he didn’t pick up. Tried again. Same result.
Had the fire been a distraction?
Had the perp planned it as a means by which he could thin Catherine’s wall of protection? Didn’t matter if it was. Tango knew his job, and he did it better than most. He’d keep Catherine safe. Darius had no doubt about that, but his body hummed with adrenaline, and he hopped in the truck, energy pulsing through him, demanding that he act.
He shoved the keys in the ignition as headlights flashed on the road beside him. An oversize black Jeep pulled up, windows tinted so dark that it was impossible to see inside.
Tango.
Darius knew the vehicle, and he unrolled his window, met Tango’s slightly confused gaze.
“What are you doing here?”
“Good question, Osborne. I said no about a hundred times, and at some point I must have said yes, because here we are.” He scowled at Catherine who sat pale and silent beside him, her gaze on the house and the flames that shot from its roof.
“You broke protocol.”
“Yeah, I know, but your girlfriend is pretty convincing.”
“I’m not his girlfriend,” Catherine muttered, her gaze never leaving the burning building.
“Whatever you are, you’re staying in the Jeep or Osborne’s truck. You step one foot out, and I’ll drag your butt back to the safe house,” Tango growled, obviously irritated with whatever weakness had allowed him to be convinced to bend the rules for Catherine.
“I told you that I’d stay in your Jeep, and I will,” Catherine responded, finally looking at Tango and then at Darius. “The fire is bad, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. It is.”
“Do you think they’ll be able to save the house?”
“They’re going to try.”
“You two want to have a chat, then how about we do a transfer?” Tango cut in, apparently still irritated with himself and Catherine.
�
��I’ll drive around.” Darius pulled to the other side of the Jeep, leaned over and opened the passenger door of the truck. Seconds later, Catherine’s door opened, and Tango nearly shoved her from the Jeep into the truck. Darius leaned over and snagged the door as soon as she was inside, pulling it closed quickly, his body brushing Catherine’s, heat shooting through him, filling him up and pouring out of him.
She felt it, too.
Her body stiffened, her breathing hitched as he backed away.
“Sorry about that.” He’d done the same sort of thing dozens of times on dozens of cases, but he’d never felt the need to apologize. Never felt heat pooling like liquid lava in his belly.
Never ever felt like he felt when he was with Catherine.
Not even with Melody.
“It’s okay. I just... It’s okay.” She seemed as shaken as he was, her hand trembling as she smoothed her hair, her attention on the house again, the fire and smoke that billowed out of it.
Firefighters sprayed water onto the blaze, but it seemed like a losing battle, the heat of the flames and the dry brittle wood conspiring against them.
“This place has been in my family for four generations,” she said quietly.
Darius squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back, the moment that had passed between them forgotten in light of the fire and Catherine’s loss.
“How about I take you back to my place? There’s nothing either of us can do here,” he said gently, and she met his eyes, hers swimming with tears.
“When I left prison, I didn’t want anything to do with Pine Bluff or this old house. I must have been crazy to think I could just turn my back on it.” A single tear slipped down her cheek, and he brushed it away, his palm settling on smooth, warm skin as he looked into her eyes.
“I can’t give you back your house or your grandmother, but I do have these.” He handed her the box and the teapot.
She stared down at them, silently, and he thought she might be crying.
“I can’t believe you did this,” she finally said, but she didn’t sound grateful, she sounded...annoyed.
“I figured you’d want a few mementos.”
“A few mementos? Do you think any of these things would matter to me if you’d died trying to get them?” She nearly spat the words, the heat of her response both surprising and revealing.
Darius was pretty confident she didn’t want him to be happy about it, but he was.
“It’s not funny, Darius,” she said, scowling at the teapot and box, but not meeting his eyes.
“I didn’t say it was.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I’m just glad to know that I’m more important to you than the things you’re holding.”
“Of course you are. You’re a human being, and that makes you much more valuable than a bunch of photos.”
“Is that the only reason why you’re upset?” He pressed her to acknowledge the truth, and she finally looked into his eyes, looked deep, searched hard. He wondered what it was she was looking for.
“No. I...care about you, Darius. You’ve done a lot for me, and you did a lot for my grandmother. You’re a great guy with a great heart, and if something happened to you because of me, I couldn’t live with myself.” Her honest response surprised him. He’d expected her to evade the question, answer with something vague and noncommittal.
“I’m glad to hear that, Catherine, because I care about you, too.” He leaned toward her, knowing he was about to cross the line. Knowing and not caring, because there was something special about Catherine. Something that he couldn’t deny himself any more than he could deny himself his next breath of air.
Her eyes widened, but she didn’t move away, didn’t pull back as he traced the line of her jaw, trailed his fingers to the pulse point in her neck. Her heart beat hard and fast beneath his fingers, and his pulse jumped in response.
Just inches separated them. Inches that he could breach easily. Just lean forward, taste her lips, feel their velvety softness against his.
He could, and he didn’t think she’d protest. Not before, and not after, because their hearts beat frantically for each other, and she leaned toward him even as he leaned closer.
But she was vulnerable, and he wouldn’t have her doubting what they’d shared.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, rested his hand on her cheek, felt her sigh more than he heard it.
“How about we go back to my place? Sitting here watching Eileen’s house burn isn’t going to help anything,” he suggested, moving back, putting some distance between them before he gave in to temptation and took what he wanted.
“I know, but I don’t feel like I can leave. This was my childhood home. When the sun comes up, it’s going to be gone. Nothing left but a pile of rubble.”
“All right. We’ll stay, then. Come here.” He tugged her across the bucket seat, wrapped an arm around her shoulder, watching with her as the fire continued to burn.
* * *
By dawn, the fire was out, smoke still rising from the ruins. Catherine’s eyes were gritty and hot from the tears she couldn’t let herself shed, her chest heavy with sorrow. Eileen gone. Now, her house.
What next, Lord? There isn’t anything left for You to take, is there?
The silent prayer surprised her. It had been years since she’d asked God for anything. Now, in the course of two days, she seemed to be constantly asking, constantly seeking, constantly trying to touch a Creator who seemed much too far away to ever reach.
He’d kept Eileen alive long enough for them to say goodbye, and Catherine was grateful for that. Maybe that’s why He seemed so much more real now than He ever had before. She had a feeling if she reached just a little harder, tried just a little more, she could touch His heart and understand the truth of who He was.
“You doing okay?” Darius asked, his eyes deeply shadowed, his voice rough. The past few days hadn’t been easy on either of them, and he looked tired.
“Are you? This is supposed to be your vacation, and you’re working.”
“It’s only work when I get paid.” His lips quirked in a half smile that stole her breath.
He shouldn’t be so handsome.
And he really shouldn’t be so nice, so dependable, so tough and disarming and altogether wonderful, because Catherine couldn’t resist a guy like him. No matter how much she wanted to.
“You should go back to your place and rest. I’ll be fine here. When the fire department is finished, I’ll ask for a lift to town and catch a bus...somewhere.”
“Somewhere isn’t going to be safe until we know who’s after you and why. We’re sticking together until we figure that out.”
“You aren’t obligated to me, and you don’t owe Eileen anything. She’s gone, and—”
“I made a promise to her. Even if I hadn’t, I’d still be here.”
She didn’t ask why. She didn’t want to know.
Or maybe she did.
Because, even if she wasn’t worried that someone was lurking in the weeds, ready to take a shot at her, she’d rather be sitting next to Darius than anywhere else.
That scared her, but she couldn’t find it in herself to move away from him.
A firefighter approached the truck, his broad shoulders and salt-and-pepper hair vaguely familiar. More than likely, she knew him and he knew her, but he didn’t acknowledge her as Darius got out of the truck.
“Stay here,” he instructed
, and she thought about ignoring him, but the morning air was chilly and tinged with smoke, and the scent of it burned her throat and her eyes, and reminded her of all the things she’d lost in the past few hours.
She slid into Darius’s seat, pivoted so her legs were hanging over the side of the seat. The firefighter nodded in acknowledgment, but kept speaking to Darius.
“You were first on the scene, right?” he asked.
“That’s right.”
“Did you see anyone leaving? See a car? A person? Anything that seemed out of place?”
“Nothing. Is there a reason why you’re asking?”
“It looks like an incendiary device was used to set the fire. We’ve found traces of it on the back door and the back siding.”
Someone had set the fire?
Catherine slid out of the truck, ignoring Darius’s dark look. She’d thought the fire was random. Or, maybe, she’d just hoped it was. Now, she knew differently, and she wanted to know who had set it and why. The house was old, the contents almost worthless. What was the point of destroying it?
Darius gestured to someone behind her, but she didn’t look. She was too busy staring at the shell of the old house. Fire had eaten through the roof, and a gaping wound revealed the soot-stained charred interior of her childhood home. She doubted there was anything salvageable there. Not that there had been much of value.
“I think it’s time to go back to the safe house.” Suddenly, Tango was beside her, his broad frame blocking the view of the house as he put a hand on her shoulder and urged her to his car.
She didn’t protest.
There was nothing left for her in the place where she’d grown up. Nothing but ashes and memories.
FOURTEEN
Four days locked in a house with Darius, trying to ignore the way her pulse raced when he was near.
Navy SEAL Rescuer Page 13
