Wrapped in Flame

by Caitlyn Willows

  “We need to let someone know we’re taking her car,” she said.

  “I’ll do it.” Berto had his seat belt off before CJ could stop the truck. He was out the door when CJ parked.

  “Make sure Mike knows Sandy said it was a smoky fire,” Bub called out.

  It felt like an eternity before Berto returned to tell them they’d gotten the all clear to take the car. During that time, Erica scanned the crowd for some sign of Keith or his sister, yet found nothing. It struck her as odd that in a town this size, with the publicity this case had received, there’d been no sign whatsoever of Keith. For a man who loved attention as much as he did, it was out of character. But then, what did she really know of the man?

  “We’re set,” Berto said. “I’ll ride with Erica.”

  That was fine by her. The last thing she wanted was to be alone. Not good when she was facing three days and nights without Mike by her side. On the quiet drive back to the hospital, she ran escape routes and scenarios in her head.

  “We can stay with you until Mike comes home,” Berto said, as if he’d read her mind.

  “I won’t refuse.” She’d worry about the next three days later. One day at a time.

  The men stayed by her side as she took the key up to the second-floor ward. Maude reported Sandy was resting comfortably, finally asleep. Upon leaving, the men tucked her more or less in the middle of their convoy of vehicles. The security unnerved her as much as the threat. By the time they reached Mike’s house, she was physically and emotionally exhausted. Then overjoyed to find Mike arriving home as well. He met her at her car, then tucked her under his arm. Comfort settled her fears.

  “Find out anything?” CJ asked.

  “Fire started in the garage. A cigarette, oily rags, paper bag. All near the door to the kitchen. Get some sleep, guys. I’ll see you in the morning.” Arm still around her, Mike walked them to the door while CJ, Bub, and Berto headed home.

  “I don’t really want to talk about this,” she said when they were inside.

  “Me either. A hot shower, you by my side, and a couple hours sleep are all I want.” He flicked the deadbolt. Worry etched his expression. Exhaustion added its own weight. By her estimate, he hadn’t slept in well over twenty-four hours, other than a quick snooze.

  “Go.” She pushed him toward the bathroom. “I’ll double-check the doors and windows.”

  He looked like he wanted to argue. Then his shoulders visibly untensed, like a weight had been lifted. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

  This is what their future held. One of them taking the load when the other needed a break. Neither one of them owning control but sharing it equally. Love squeezed her heart and nearly brought Erica to her knees. If they both weren’t so exhausted they were ready to keel over, she would have jumped his bones.

  She listened to the shower run while she checked the locks on every door, made sure the windows were secure and unbroken, and the rarely used garage door was in order and secure. Mike was in bed by the time she’d finished. Seeing him in a T-shirt and boxer briefs was a stark reminder of the danger they faced. His clothing was staged nearby to grab and go. Erica followed his example, making sure she could grab everything at a moment’s notice.

  Though a shower tempted her, Erica stripped to her underwear and crawled in beside him. He curled around her. In seconds he was sound asleep. She remained wide-awake, alert for any intrusion. Or at least she tried to be, fighting her drooping eyelids every time they closed. She hovered in that twilight area between wake and sleep until sleep won. Nightmares assaulted her.

  Smoke and fire were everywhere she turned. Knowing it was a dream didn’t help. She was trapped. Alone yet not alone, standing beneath the belly of the beast. Flames roiled and licked over her head. A firestorm rather than a thunderstorm, covering the sky as far as the eye could see. Breathtaking, awe-inspiring, mesmerizing…fearful. A dragon unleashed, threatening to consume her.

  Beads of sweat dotted her skin. Skin reddened from her close proximity to the flames that grew with every second. She could do this. She could survive. All she had to do was lie low until the storm passed.

  Heat consumed her. Erica fought her way across the floor, belly-crawling beneath the flames. “Mike!” He was here somewhere. Knew it, felt it. “Mike!”

  Arms wrapped around her. “I’m right here, sweetheart. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

  “Oh, Mike.”

  “Shh, I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

  She flashed her eyes open to the darkened room. Safe and sound in Mike’s arms. She rolled to face him, resting her head on his chest.

  “Nightmares suck.” He brought her fingers to his lips for a kiss.

  “It was a bad one,” Erica whispered.

  “I know. I can feel your heart beating a mile a minute. Want to talk about it?”

  “I was trapped in a burning building.”

  “I’ve had that one more times than I can count. No wonder your heart’s racing.”

  “I’m scared, Mike.” She hated to admit that, but him being on-shift for the next three days felt insurmountable. Anything could happen. “I worry about coming back to the house and find it’s been broken into. Or worse yet, burned to the ground.”

  “You’re echoing every fear I’ve had since this whole mess started.” He combed her hair back, urging her to look at him. Even in the dim light cast by the bedside alarm, she could see the love in his eyes. “I’ve never been torn between my job and personal life before. It’s killing me to leave you. I feel like I should be here, protecting you. On the other hand, you trust me to stay safe at work. You deserve the same respect, and as much as I want to smother and hover over you, I’ll trust you to stay safe as well.”

  It was the same, wasn’t it? Realizing that went a long way to diminishing her fears. Still… “He’s determined, though, Mike. A man was killed. Considering the fact gasoline was used as an accelerant and Keith purchased ten gallons of gasoline earlier, it’s very difficult not to connect those dots. Then Sandy—”

  “Wayne Trenton was killed first. The fire was set to cover it up. Sandy’s smoke alarms woke her in time to get out. No one realized the extent to which he’d go. Now we do. There are fire extinguishers in every closet in the house and smoke alarms in every room. You are a cautious woman who always has an exit strategy. You know what to do in a fire. You’re observant too. Nothing and no one will get by you. Knowing all that, trusting and believing it, is what gives me the strength to go to work.”

  All true. Comfort seeped into her veins. “Thank you. I’m good now. Go back to sleep.”

  They exchanged a kiss, then settled into each other’s arms. Mike was out in seconds. She wasn’t far behind.

  * * * *

  Mike woke before the alarm and slipped from bed to keep from waking Erica. Leaving was excruciatingly difficult, but even without work, he couldn’t be hovering over her 24-7. Scared as she was, Erica was an independent woman. She wouldn’t put up with smothering for long. Neither would he. Mike relied on that independence. He could go to work knowing she could hold things together on the home front.

  He went about his morning routine, thinking about the future to be, imagining children yet to be conceived…and the money. Mike couldn’t wrap his head around the figure or what they would do once the winnings came their way. They and their children would be set for life. Who wouldn’t want that? But was it a wise way to raise children? He didn’t want his kids having something for nothing. He wanted them to understand the value of working, of doing for others. Then use the money to do things for others.

  His angst lessened. A good move would be sitting down with a financial consultant. Mike found Erica’s to-do list on the kitchen table and added research financial consultants at the bottom. His watch beeped, alerting him that he had fifteen minutes before he had to get out the door. He used the time to set the coffeepot to brew again and sprinkle a few love notes around the house for Erica.

  That’ll put a smile on
her face. It did his.

  A thermos full of hot coffee in one hand, his duffel bag in the other, Mike left for work, trying to think of their reunion when he came back in three days and not how miserable he’d be without her. Maybe they’d be busy enough he wouldn’t have time to dwell on it, though that was a double-edged sword—being busy often meant someone was hurt or in danger. That was never a good thing, but then, that was his job. A job he loved. A job he was going to have to give up once…

  All that money. Mike shook his head. He’d find a way to make it all work. They’d find a way. He wasn’t in this alone.

  He regretted his wish to be busy when he got to the station, only to find the doors open and the bay half empty. Not a good sign, when they were changing shifts and were already out on a call. He slung his duffel over his shoulder and hurried inside for the scoop. Tim met him in the hallway.

  “Got another call in to assist in the National Park,” he said. “I’ll let you have it. Hikers out looking to photograph a herd of bighorn sheep this morning found a man down in a ravine. They can’t tell if he’s alive or dead. You’ll need rappelling gear. CJ and Bub are already on a run. It’ll have to be you and Berto. Chief Stanton’s here. April just walked in the door.”

  Berto zipped by with two of the reservists as Tim spoke. “Right behind you,” Mike told him, and he made good on those words. They were rolling out in less than five minutes, were at the entrance to the Joshua Tree National Park in less than ten. The ride to the site was tricky—narrow, winding roads that took thirty minutes of navigating. Once there, they had to load their gear and hike the remaining mile. Park Service personnel waited for them. A man and woman Mike presumed were the hikers sat on the rocks nearby.

  “Hey, Pete, what’ve we got?” Mike asked the ranger.

  Pete led them to the edge of a steep cliff. “I don’t think he fell.” He pointed to the trail of footsteps leading up to the cliff from the south. Morning sun glinted off something in the distance. “I’d bet that’s his car. About five miles. I think he got this far and couldn’t go up or around. How his car got there is anybody’s guess. I’ve alerted the sheriff’s office, because it looks like it’s off the park. But no telling which road he took to get where he did.”

  “I’ve got a chopper standing by if necessary,” Mike said. Meaning, if he was alive.

  The man lay sprawled on his side, facing the rock. From what Mike could see this far up, the footprints weren’t well-defined. Wind or animals could have stirred them, or the man was dragging his feet, barely able to hold himself up. Mike looked back at the body. He guessed the guy’s height to be six feet. His build looked solid, though it was hard to tell the way his long-sleeved, blue plaid shirt was unbuttoned and bunched. Red splotched the underlying white T-shirt. Injured, then.

  “I don’t know what’s going on lately,” Pete said. “It’s like people went crazy or something. And it’s not even a full moon.”

  “I know what you mean.” All too well.

  “You wanna flip for it?” Berto asked, already at work setting the lines.

  “No, I’ll take this one.” Mike mapped out his descent—vertical all the way—then hauled on his rappelling gear. “It might take both of us to get him back up, though.” No matter what his status, Mike couldn’t manhandle him into the basket alone. It was a two-man job. After a double, then triple check, he pushed off. He had a love/hate relationship with rappelling—the rush of descent coupled with all the things that could go wrong. Of all the things he had to do, it was his least favorite.

  Probably should have let Berto go. He and one of the reservists could have handled it. But Mike didn’t like to play the rank card. He preferred a system where everyone pulled their own weight, showed they were equal. Considering how relieved he was when his boots hit the sand at the bottom, Mike second-guessed that choice. He unhooked the rope, flexed his shoulders, and turned toward the victim, obscured now by a small cropping of rock and brush.

  “Fire department, sir. We’re here to help you,” he called out as he trudged toward him. No response.

  Mike cleared the pile of rock. Blood caked the top of the man’s head and covered his hands. Two more steps brought his face into view, sunburned, dirty, blood-smeared, and unmistakingly Keith Randall.

  “Fuck,” he muttered and covered the remaining distance.

  He squatted next to Keith to check his carotid pulse—still alive, despite the injury to the side of his head. The rapid pulse suggested heat stroke. From the condition of his skin, it looked like he’d been out here for days, suffering. His exposed skin was red and blistered in places. His lips dry and cracked. As far as Mike was concerned, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. His only regret was that Keith had managed to stay alive. He would play himself off as the victim yet again. Blame his circumstances on anything and anybody other than himself. Whatever incident caused him to be here would throw reasonable doubt on whether or not he’d killed Wayne Trenton and set the house on fire. It also meant that if he was here, then he hadn’t set fire to Sandy’s place. It still didn’t make him innocent. There was still his partner in crime to consider. Mike couldn’t think of Karen Trenton as anything other than that.

  He didn’t realize how much he wanted Keith dead until that moment. Mike checked his pulse once more just to be sure. Nothing had changed. The man who’d killed, raped, blackmailed, and essentially took whatever he wanted from decent people was still alive.

  And it would take little effort for Mike to change that.

  A twist of his neck.

  A little more pressure on his carotid arteries.

  Keith would be dead.

  The nightmare would end.

  Mike felt evidence of life fluttering beneath his fingertips. A life that had hurt so many people. Press, hold. It’d be all over in a matter of seconds. His choice was a simple one.

  * * * *

  Erica woke to an empty bed and her phone announcing a text message. Stretching, she reached for her phone and found Mike’s note beside it.

  Morning, sweetheart. Text me when you wake up. He’d added a heart.

  Smiling, she grabbed her phone. Sandy had been released and was headed out. Erica silently wished her a safe journey, then texted Mike to let him know she was up and would be by after she went to the bank. She added a heart of her own and waited for a response. When none came, she knew he was caught up in work. He’d get to her when he could.

  She found a pot of just-perked coffee waiting for her, along with an I Love You note. She poured a cup, took it to the bathroom while she showered, then dressed for the day. A day that felt endlessly long, despite the list of things she wanted to accomplish.

  Erica dwelled on that over her second cup and toast. Three days without Mike. Three days on edge, waiting for an attack that may or may not happen. She had two choices—stay in the house and anticipate disaster, or go about her business and live her life. Choosing the latter didn’t remove her fear, but it did shore up her determination. She’d get the lottery ticket from the bank and have Mike sign it. Find a lawyer who could kick Keith’s ass to hell and back. Then what? She’d go stir-crazy, staying around here all day. True, Mike considered it her house as well, and she could do whatever she wanted. But it was hard to nest and settle when everything else felt so…unsettled.

  That left going back to work. How wise a decision would that be? The press might have moved on to bigger and better news, but what about Keith? Would he be bold enough to put children at risk? At this point, she’d put nothing past him. Going to work was out. Which left an even bigger question. What was she going to do about her job?

  The lottery windfall loomed large. It was obscene how wealthy she and Mike were about to become. Why keep going to work, when there were other people out there who needed the income from those jobs? What would they do with themselves all day without work? And what would happen when the secret got out? Secrets change everything. What felt like a blessing now felt like a curse.

&n
bsp; Erica slapped her palms on the table and pushed to her feet. “This isn’t getting anything done.” She poured the remains of the coffee into a thermos, then left. First stop was the bank.

  She checked her rearview mirror constantly, fearful of being followed. No one was there, but she refused to be lulled into complacency. Mike trusted her to be diligent. Erica wouldn’t make him a liar. At the bank, she opted to cover her tracks a bit, removing an old savings bond to cash. Anyone watching or checking up on her would think that was her only purpose in being there. Still, it was damn hard not to clutch her purse to her chest when she made her way back to her car. It’d only take an instant for a thief to grab it, knocking her back down to normal from superrich.

  Would that really be so awful? She had Mike. What more did she need?

  The thought warmed her inside and out. She couldn’t contain her smile. It stayed with her until she arrived at the fire station and saw the doors open and the bay empty. Since he’d yet to respond to her text, it meant Mike was gone. She could go about her business or drop in for a status report. Chances were he’d be back soon. She didn’t have a problem waiting.

  Erica parked at the curb and walked into reception and turmoil. A distraught man pleaded with the station’s admin assistant and gatekeeper. God have mercy on the poor soul who crossed April. Like the poor man standing before her.

  “Please, I’m begging you.”

  He braced his hands on the edge of the desk. Erica suspected it was more to hold himself up than to intimidate. April had backed up as far as her chair and the wall behind it allowed. Her right hand was out of sight, and Erica wouldn’t be surprised if she was sporting a can of mace.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know where Sandy Freeman is.” Her southern accent might have dripped honey, but her eyes told him to fuck off. “And even if I did, I don’t know y’all from Adam.”