by Mina Khan
Curiosity overrode caution, he strode within inches of her. “Tell me.” He’d make the bastard pay.
“Why?”
“I want to help you get him.” He bunched his fingers into fists. “He’s wrecked havoc with people’s lives and I want him punished.”
“What makes you think the arsonist isn’t a she?”
The thought hadn’t occurred to him, but it was possible. Apparently anything was possible. “Whatever.” He licked his lips. “I want to help bring this person down.”
She unfolded herself from against the door jamb and stuffed her hands in her jean’s pockets. “Then stay out of my way.”
Jack gaped as she pivoted and sauntered down the corridor. He followed at a safe distance. “This is my town, my people, I’m not going to be ordered around by a —beast— a stranger.”
She stopped in front of the opening leading to the kitchen and looked back. “Oh, sorry to break it to you, but you are part beast too.” She smiled. “Have fun researching the family tree.”
With that she turned the corner and disappeared from his view. A tremble quaked through him at her words. Jack swayed and teetered, then his legs buckled.
Chapter 24
After a quick change of clothes, Lynn fled to her car. She didn’t even stop to say goodbye to Jen. Just grabbed her backpack and keys and ran.
“The gall of the man.” She revved the mustang and screeched out of Jack’s yard. Gripping the steering wheel hard, she wished her fingers were on his neck. He’d started the kissing and manhandling. She hadn’t asked for any of that. The two kisses they’d shared— her lips tingled as warmth hummed somewhere between her breasts at the memories.
A montage of his reactions tumbled through her thoughts— fear, revulsion, relief. No room for doubt. Damn dragon senses. Jack seemed to make every nerve ending in her body come alive, every sense leap to new heights. A tremor danced through her. She’d heard his thoughts as clearly as if he’d spoken them inside her head. She’d smelled his emotions —the sour tang of fear; the cool, wet scent of relief— as if she’d had her nose pressed to his warm, naked skin.
She almost ran the car off the road. Her hands shook as she pulled to the side and parked underneath a golden-leafed pecan tree. Every little breeze created a shower of leaves. Every little thought set off a flutter of feelings. Obaa-chan had once said if two dragons were emotionally close —really close— the connection could be amazing, like being one. Her breath stuck in her throat —a painful, pregnant pause. Close. When had she become close to Jack? She didn’t want to be close. She knew better.
He’d called her a beast. Beast. The word sank like a cold, hard rock and settled into the murky depths of her stomach. What else would he call her? After her thirteenth birthday, when she’d first started changing, she’d been curious. Curious enough to stand in front of a mirror while undergoing her transformation. She’d seen the dragon. And yes, it was a beast. No denying the truth.
Anger seeped out of her, replaced by soul-chilling emptiness.
A sprinkling of tears landed on her hands, arms, clothes. She snuffled like a horse as she wiped away the telltale wetness. Releasing a shaky breath, she restarted the car. Work. She needed to focus on work.
Lynn arrived at the Herald extra-early, 7:45 a.m., and found Hernandez’s approval of the FOIA letter waiting for her in her email inbox. She opened the document for a final review and was half-way through it, when her cell phone rang. Startled, she dug through her backpack, grabbed the phone and flipped it open. “News,” she barked.
“Hello, Lynn?” Her mother’s voice came faintly across, soft and unsure. Totally unlike her.
“Mom?” Lynn said surprised. “What’s going on?”
“Everything is ok now,” Ayako replied. “But I’m calling from the hospital.”
“What happened?”
“Your dad had a heart attack. But he’s been stabilized.”
“Oh my God. Oh my God.” She reached for her backpack. Her fingers traced the flying dragon carved into the red leather flap. Dad had spent an entire weekend hand-tooling the backpack for her sixteenth birthday. Worry flailed inside her.
“He’s ok Hana-chan. His doctor said he’ll be as good as new in a few days.”
Lynn took a deep breath. She searched for a piece of paper and pencil on her desk. “Are you ok?”
“Yes,” Ayako replied. “Especially now that your dad’s out of danger. But I’m tired.”
“I’m coming home,” Lynn said. “I’ll come today.”
“You don’t have to rush,” she said. “I mean, you have your work and Dad is getting the care he needs.”
“Mom, I want to.”
Her mother cleared her throat. “Well, it will be nice to see you,” she said. “We both miss you.”
Lynn found an empty piece of paper and a pen that wrote, and balanced the phone in the crook of her neck. “Ok, give me details, like hospital name, room number and name of doctor.” She scribbled down the answers. “I miss you both too,” she said and hung up.
She looked up and met Missy’s worried eyes.
“Everything ok?” Missy asked.
Lynn shook her head and felt tears stinging her eyes. She hurriedly blurted out the news. “I have to go home.”
Missy nodded. “Is there anything you want me to take care of?”
Lynn looked across at Hernandez’s darkened office. “Oh, where is he?” she said. “I can’t leave without talking to him.”
“Don’t worry,” Missy said. “You just do what you need to do and I’ll fill him in.”
“Thanks,” Lynn said. She made a quick call to Jen and updated her. Since most of her things were in Houston, she planned to head straight there from the office. Jen made her promise to be careful.
Next she did a public data search on Henry’s brother-in-law, Ben Barton, and got his current address in Houston. She printed both the address and the FOIA letter. She shoved the address in her jeans pocket and sealed the letter in an official San Angelo Herald envelope. Before hurrying out, Lynn gave Missy all her contact information in Houston. Then she hot-footed it to the county clerk.
The county clerk’s cheerful smile shriveled up as she read the letter. “Wow, that’ll be a lot of paper.” Martha put the letter down and pursed her lips. “It’ll take time to pull together.”
Lynn nodded. “I know it’s a lot of work and I really appreciate your help,” she said. “Anyway, you don’t have to rush because I’m not sure how long I’ll be in Houston.” She proceeded to fill in Martha about her father.
A look of sympathy flooded the older woman’s face. “Oh no,” she said. “You just go be with your dad and don’t worry about this. I’ll have it ready when you get back.”
“Thanks, Martha. You’re a sweetheart.” She headed for her car and Houston.
If it weren’t broad daylight, she’d have turned dragon and flown. San Angelo, a one-airline town, didn’t even have a direct flight to Houston. Forced to drive the rental, Lynn made it back in five hours instead of the usual six or seven. She pulled into the visitors’ lot at the hospital, parked the car and ran to the front entrance. The merry jingling of a bell and the Salvation Army Santa attached to it stopped her. With a start Lynn realized it was already November and Christmas was right around the corner. Time flies when you’re fighting off bad guys and getting your heart broken. Jack’s face loomed in her memory, about to kiss her one moment, wide-eyed and scared the next. Tears trembled through her, leaked out the corner of her eyes. No time for this. She had to see her dad.
Lynn opened the back pack and scrabbled around in it until her fingers found a pack of tissues and some change. After discreetly swiping at her eyes, she tossed her change into the red kettle and continued on her way.
“God bless you!” the Santa called out.
Please let Dad be okay. She hurried to the elevator and punched the button for the third floor.
Lynn checked in at the nurses’ desk. The woman on duty smiled sympathe
tically and gave her directions. “Perfect timing,” she said. “Your Mom’s with your Dad.”
As she rushed through the corridors, Lynn barely noticed the Christmas decorations the hospital had put up and they did nothing to cheer her up. Her eyes scanned the numbers and names on the doors. Finally, she arrived at room 315, the name “John Alexander,” her dad’s name, was written in green marker on the board next to it. Pulling in a breath, she opened the door and stepped into the darkened room.
Her father lay with his eyes closed in the hospital bed, hooked up to various monitors and IVs. The hushed beeps of the machinery mixed in with his rasping breaths. Her mom perched on the bed, her back to the door, holding his hand. They both glanced at her as she tiptoed to the bed.
“How’s my intrepid journalist?” His voice came across in a dry, scratchy whisper like old, fragile paper. It warned: handle with care, or all that preciousness would disintegrate to dust.
Lynn rushed over and hugged him, careful not to squeeze him too tight. “Not feeling too intrepid at the moment,” she mumbled against the regulation gown. “I hate seeing you in a hospital bed.”
Her father put his arms around her. “I hate being in one.”
“It’s good to see you.” Her mother’s cool, calm, polite voice interrupted the moment.
A frisson of resentment sparked through Lynn. No matter what happened, whether dealing with Obaa-chan’s death or a crying, broken mess of a daughter, Ayako Alexander remained professional and in control. Well, at least she knew Dr. Mom was fine.
Lynn managed a nod at her mother.
“I better go check on my other patients.” Her mom gave her dad a quick kiss and rose from the bed. She turned to Lynn. “I’ll see you later for dinner?”
“Yeah, meet you at the house.”
As the staccato clip of her mother’s steps faded, Lynn took her place on the bed.
Her father took her hand in his. “So how are you?”
A stab of pain tore through her heart as she remembered her encounter with Henry, a fight she’d almost lost but for Jack. The pain twisted inside. Jack. Then the phone call about her dad. Life could be better. Another thought dogged the first— it could also be worse. At least, she hadn’t lost it again and ended up in a hospital bed herself. Lynn met his gaze and answered honestly. “Much better than when I left here,” she said. “It’s been great hanging out with Jen and the job’s wonderful.”
“We’ve been reading you. Your mother’s taken out an on-line subscription to the paper,” her dad said, and then broke into a wide grin. “Ok, tell me all the juicy, off-the-record stuff.”
Lynn regaled him with stories about all the various assignments and their sideshows. She told him about traffic-stopping livestock and the interesting characters she’d covered, like Tavistock. While her words skipped over Jack, her mind taunted her with images. She told him about the fires, including her leads and her hunch about the culprit.
Her father let out a low whistle at the end of her monologue. “That’s one heck of a story,” he said. “Just be careful, ok?”
She nodded, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the shock of gray hair, the tired smile. He looked old. Vulnerable.
“I’m thinking of moving back to Houston soon.”
Her father raised his eyebrows quizzically. “Why?”
Lynn took a deep breath as she straightened his covers. “I’m your only child and I feel I should be nearer to you… in case you need me,” she said. “I want to be here for you.”
Her father recaptured her right hand in his left. His grip felt warm and strong. “You know what’s the best part of us all being adults here?”
Lynn shook her head.
“We can all lead our own lives and still be family.” After a pause, he cleared his throat. “The best gift you can give me and your mom is to live your life to the fullest.”
She looked at him, her eyes burning hot with unshed tears.
“That way we don’t worry about you,” he said. “And you can stop worrying about me. This heart attack was a wake-up call. I fully intend to take better care of myself and to really listen to your mother about diet and exercise.”
Lynn grinned.
He grinned back. “So we got a deal?”
“Deal,” Lynn said and sealed it with a hug.
Lynn’s stomach growled, reminding her that she’d missed lunch, so she grabbed her Houston map from the car and walked to a deli near the hospital. After ordering, she found herself a window table overlooking the sidewalk.
She spread the map on the table and pulled the piece of paper bearing Ben Barton’s address from her pocket. Her food was delivered just as she had hunkered down to study the tangle of throughways, freeways and byways that made up the Houston road system. She thanked the waiter, bit into her sandwich and continued planning. By the time lunch ended, she’d figured out the most straightforward route to Barton’s apartments on South Gessner.
Somehow, knocking on the door of a perfect stranger and asking questions seemed less daunting than returning to Paradise Valley and facing Jack again. Or, in the more immediate future, having dinner with her mom. Only the two of them, without her dad to play referee. Yeah, going to a known criminal’s apartment and asking intrusive questions sounded downright appealing.
Chapter 25
Lynn found Barton’s apartment complex quite easily. There was nothing green about Green Haven Apartments. The buildings looked aged and shabby, with yellow paint peeling off in places and graffiti decorating the walls. The strings of colored lights and faded plastic decorations dotting many of the balconies made the atmosphere even sadder. The hot Houston sun beat down on the cracked pavement alongside the buildings, denying that Christmas was less than a month away.
She pulled into a parking spot in front of the building, hopped out, and locked her car. A few feet away a group of six young men worked on a low rider. Loud Tejano music blared from the car’s interior. All of them stopped what they were doing and gave her the once-over. Some smirked and one gave her a lazy wave. Lynn ignored them and continued on her mission. She found Barton’s apartment on the top floor and jabbed the door buzzer.
A lean, muscular man in a sleeveless undershirt and frayed jean shorts opened the door. He stood barefoot. A heart tattoo, with “Angie” written across it, decorated his left arm. He wiped his hands on a faded dish towel. “Yeah?”
Three curious children peered out from behind him, shoving and giggling. He shooed them away and turned back to her.
“Ben Barton?”
After a beat he said, “Yeah. What do you want?”
She smiled and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Lynn Alexander, a reporter with the San Angelo Herald, and I’d like to talk to you about the fire—”
The man sneered, showing teeth. “For God’s sake,” he said, “can’t you all leave well enough alone? It was seven years ago and I’ve done my time.”
Lynn panicked as the door started closing. She hadn’t come all this way to leave without talking to Barton. She was a journalist after a story. An intrepid journalist. Before she knew what was happening, Lynn found herself jamming her foot in the crack of the door and pushing back.
“It’s not about you,” she said. “I want to talk to you about Henry Chase.”
Barton stopped pushing and eyed her suspiciously. “What about him?”
Not about to waste the temporary reprieve, Lynn rushed on. “He’s now in San Angelo, where I work, and there’ve been a number of mysterious fires there recently. I know he was in jail for arson once, but I want to make sure that wasn’t a one-time mistake before I do a story linking him to the fires.” She took a breath. “I wouldn’t want to hurt an innocent man.”
Barton laughed and opened the door. “Ok, Miss Reporter, I’ll talk to you,” he said. “It’ll be my pleasure.”
She entered the sparsely furnished apartment. The three children —about twelve-years-old down to five or six— pored over books at the kitchen tabl
e. On the wall behind them, a large red and yellow tin sign advertised “Eva’s Palm Reading.” Decorated with a large hand, the crescent moon and stars, the sign added a retro-coolness that was out-of-place with the ordinary apartment. “Nice sign,” Lynn said.
“Family heirloom.” Barton turned to the kids. “You lot, take a break from homework. Go on down and play, but stay near the apartment.”
They put away their books and then filed out the door lickety-split. Barton pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table. Lynn followed suit.
“Their mother works full time,” he said. “I’m a handyman, and I look after the kids.”
Lynn nodded. “Bringing up kids is an important job.”
Barton shrugged. “So what questions did you have?”
Taking a deep breath, Lynn pulled out her notebook, pen and tape recorder. “I’d like to record our conversation,” she said. “And the interview is on the record, for printing. Are you ok with all that?”
He stared at the black recording device for a long moment and then nodded. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “I don’t have nothing to hide.”
Lynn smiled at him. “Ok, so tell me about the fire at your electronics shop.”
Barton’s shoulders hunched and he pulled away from the table. He narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips together. He looked pissed. “I thought this wasn’t about me.”
“It isn’t,” Lynn said. “I just want to hear your side of the story.”
Barton exhaled and slumped in his seat. “You know about the fire?”
“What I read in the papers.”
He nodded. “Well, that was pretty much like it was.”
“So you asked Henry, your brother-in-law, to burn down your shop?”
Barton gazed down at his hands, clenched together into fists on the table. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
He looked up, surprised. “For the insurance money.”
She heard the unspoken “Duh” loud and clear, but plowed on. “Yes, but what did you want the money for?”
