Playing With Fire: A Loveswept Classic Romance

by Debra Dixon

  Turning his back on the view, Beau didn’t have to wait long for Garner and signaled with a wave. The senator was a tall man, who moved through the crowd like a gator through swamp water—silent, dangerous, and eyes focused on the prize. Tourists, who were only here for the view, gave him a second glance and a wide berth but didn’t actually recognize him.

  “Chief Grayson?”

  “Senator.” Beau extended his hand. “I appreciate your time.”

  “Then cut to the chase. Why is the Baton Rouge Arson Investigation squad interested in Sarah Alastair?”

  “Her name’s come up in an ongoing investigation.”

  Garner scoffed. “She died eighteen years ago. What could she or I possibly have to do with a current case?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out. The only way I can do that is to investigate the old case.”

  “What’s the new case?”

  “The Cloister hospital fire. The witness is Maggie St. John.”

  Not even a flicker of recognition betrayed Garner as he stared at Beau. “And how does this connect backward in time to Sarah, much less to me?”

  “You don’t know Maggie St. John?”

  Garner gave every indication of a man racking his brain, and then said, “No. Not a clue. You’ll have to help me out.”

  “She lived with the Alastairs at the time you dated Sarah.”

  “Oh, yeah.” The senator nodded. “The little fire-bug.”

  “Excuse me?” Beau asked, a part of him applauding Garner for his first strike. The man was good. Every politician knew the best defense was a good offense.

  “You didn’t know?” Garner sounded surprised. “She had a thing for fire.”

  “No, I didn’t. Juvenile records are sealed, but you probably know that.” Were probably counting on it.

  “You could talk to Alastair,” Garner suggested without missing a beat. “He still has a C.P.A. practice in Slaughter.”

  Beau felt as if the bedrock beneath him had begun to shift. Garner was too smart a man to offer a lie about Maggie that could be so easily exposed. As the truth sank in, every explanation of Maggie’s, every coincidence was suddenly open to reevaluation.

  No wonder she’d been terrified of the case file. One brief notation would have been enough to bring her house of cards crashing down. Even as he felt the sharp betrayal of trust, he also acknowledged Maggie had no choice about keeping her secret. Admitting a history of fire setting would have been self-destructive.

  “Grayson.” The senator interrupted his thoughts. “I don’t know what you’re fishing for or why you’re talking to me, but that little girl didn’t set the fire that killed Sarah. It was a cooking accident. Everyone agreed.”

  “You just told me she was a fire setter. You don’t have even the smallest suspicion that she could have done it?” Beau asked sharply, giving him a perfect opportunity. Beau expected him to pretend to struggle with his recollection, and then come to the reluctant conclusion that maybe it was possible after all.

  But Garner didn’t take the bait, didn’t take the chance to throw more suspicion on Maggie. Instead, he cleared her.

  “No. I don’t believe it. She was into wastepaper baskets and leaf piles. Nothing destructive. Sarah told me the kid was almost cured. Something to do with finally making the adjustment to foster care.”

  Training took over as Beau pushed the emotional reactions aside. “You seem to remember a lot about her for someone who didn’t even recognize her name.”

  Garner raised a brow. “Unlike you, pyromaniacs are not an everyday occurrence in my life. She’s still the only one I have ever met.”

  “If what you say is true, she wasn’t a pyromaniac. She was ‘acting out.’ That behavior isn’t the same as pyromania.”

  “Whatever you call it, the kid played with fire.”

  “So did you,” Beau suggested, moving the conversation toward Garner’s relationship with Sarah.

  “What are you getting at?” For the first time indignation colored the senator’s words. “I didn’t set that fire either, Grayson.”

  “I was speaking figuratively. Sarah found out you were sleeping with someone else.”

  “Yes, she did. What’s your point?”

  “You saw her the night she died.”

  “For all of about fifteen minutes. We fought … bitterly, and she threw me out on my ear. I imagine she did the same to Carolyn after she showed up. I didn’t stick around to find out. It was awkward enough.”

  “Awkward? Senator, are you telling me that you slept with Sarah’s best friend?” To Beau the question was only a formality. He’d already jumped ahead to the answer. Already guessed why Maggie fought so hard against her memories.

  Because to accept them would destroy the only family she had.

  FOURTEEN

  Maggie rubbed her arms and paced. The sense that her life was finally moving toward closure should have given her some measure of peace, but she couldn’t find it. Instead nervousness churned the acid in her stomach. She couldn’t make it go away. She couldn’t even settle it down. Watching the clock and the relentless endless march of the second hand only reminded her that she couldn’t stop the future or change the past.

  All of her life Maggie had hated waiting because it meant giving up control. Waiting had always made her feel powerless. That’s how she felt now. She had no idea what Webb Garner knew about that night or how much he’d tell Beau. Or what Beau would do then.

  All she could do was hurry up and wait. Watch Russell shuffle papers. Pace, and hope the chill inside her would go away. She needed something to do, something to take her mind off waiting. When she spun around to change directions, she knocked the phone book off the edge of the desk. It hit the floor with a thud that echoed in her mind, sending her back in time.

  “Maggie May, don’t come down here again!” Sarah’s voice was sharp and desperate, scaring her. Sarah took a deep breath, and tried to soften it with a smile.

  But Maggie knew the smile wasn’t real.

  “Go back to bed, sweetie. I broke my mama’s flower bowl is all, and it scared me. I’ll clean it up. No harm done. You go to bed. Okay? No harm done. Please?”

  Nodding, Maggie retreated from the railing, but she didn’t climb back in bed. She left her door open a crack and sat beside it, listening, afraid Webb had returned. She listened a long time before she heard anything. Then finally a woman said Sarah’s name, and she sighed with relief. It was Carolyn down there. Everything would be okay. If Webb came back, at least Sarah wouldn’t be alone. Carolyn could help.

  Maggie was about to shut the door, but Sarah’s voice rooted her in place. “Get out. I don’t want to see your face. You’re trash, and you always will be.” There was so much anger that when Sarah paused for breath the anger remained, hovering in the house. Carolyn tried to speak but Sarah cut her off, calling her something Maggie knew was had but didn’t understand. Something the men called her mother.

  A slap rang out as hard and fast as the insult. Maggie heard it connect, heard someone stumble backward and knock over a piece of furniture that landed with a thud. Then there was silence.

  Maggie closed her door and covered her ears. She didn’t want to hear any more fighting. It wasn’t supposed to he like this. She didn’t want to stay here if it was going to be like this.

  Maggie held her hands over her ears for a long time, squeezing her eyes shut as she heard the sound of a chair falling again and again in her mind. Each time was a knife in her heart because now she knew that Sarah never got back up.

  God, Carolyn, she was your best friend. How could you? Maggie knew the answer. Beau’s scenario of how Sarah had died was right on the money. Except that Carolyn had been the one who pushed Sarah. Carolyn had been the one to panic, not Webb.

  “Are you okay?” Russell asked from behind her.

  She jumped, whirled and lied—all on reflex. “Headache. It’s that blood sugar thing.”

  “You need a doctor?”

/>   “No.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Russell asked again and moved out of the doorway, ready to catch her if she sagged. “You look wiped.”

  “I’ve got some crackers and some aspirin in my purse. That’s all I need.” She reached for her purse. “Did you want me for something?”

  “I was going to walk over to the lab and pick up some reports, but I don’t think I should—”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m just going to sit here and eat my crackers. Promise.” She just wanted him to go away so she could think and sort it all out. He didn’t look convinced, so she eased into a chair, wordlessly reassuring him that she wouldn’t exert herself until he got back. The effort to smile was almost too much.

  “If you’re sure you’re okay? Beau does want these reports.”

  “Then go. He gets so cranky when he doesn’t get what he wants.”

  Russell grinned. “So you’ve noticed.”

  “Uh-huh. Go get your reports. Take your time. I’m fine.”

  As soon as he disappeared into the hallway, Maggie’s smile faded and she bent over to cradle her head in her hands. For a while she just replayed the scene in her mind. She needed answers, and she found none.

  Anger and hurt, betrayal and failure piled up inside Maggie until there wasn’t room for anything else. A trick of the mind assimilated all of the emotions into a need to confront Carolyn. Unlike Sarah, Maggie wanted to see Carolyn’s face. Up close. Maggie wanted to look her in the eye, wanted Carolyn to own her guilt. Carolyn had tried to destroy her, and Maggie wanted a pound of flesh.

  Even as she recognized the need, a sick premonition came over her, and her mind raced into a terrifying game of “what if.”

  What if Webb had given Beau enough information to piece it together? What if he was already on his way to Carolyn to confront her? What if Carolyn was waiting for him? What if Carolyn had arranged an accident for him?

  She didn’t know Carolyn anymore, didn’t know what she was capable of or how her mind worked. Years in the ER unit had taught her that the only element of human nature she could count on was survival instinct. If Carolyn felt cornered by Beau, there was no telling what she’d do.

  Someone needed to warn Beau.

  Maggie focused on the empty office around her, looking for help. Someway to contact Beau. And then she realized—it was after five o’clock. Everyone was gone, even the clerks. She’d told Russell to take his time. She didn’t know where the lab was. He said “walk over” and that probably meant it wasn’t in the building. She didn’t know when he’d get back or if she could wait that long.

  The headache she’d lied about became a reality. As she anxiously watched the clock, she kept repeating, “Don’t be a hero, Beau. Don’t try to save me by talking to her first.”

  In her heart, Maggie knew that’s exactly what Beau would do.

  When she saw Russell’s keys sitting on top of a stack of paperwork on his desk, she took them. She had no choice. If she hit every light just right, she could get to the shop before Beau.

  Afraid he was running out of time, Beau found a pay phone and dialed the office. Russell must have been sitting on the phone. It barely rung.

  “Arson.”

  “Russell, I want—”

  “Man, I’m glad you called! I was about to beep you. Maggie St. John took a powder.”

  “Dammit! I asked you to watch her!”

  “I did, Beau. She had one of those blood sugar attacks. I needed to go to the lab, and she didn’t look strong enough to go to the bathroom much less all the way to the lab. What was I supposed to do? She was gone when I got back.”

  “How long?”

  “Not very. Maybe five minutes. She took my keys. She knows my car and my garage spot from this morning. What’s going on, Beau? You want me to call it in as stolen?”

  “No, I think I know where she’s going. Don’t worry about the car. Find me an address on—” Beau switched the phone to his other ear. “—God, I can’t remember the business name. Hair salon. Shear something. Owner’s Carolyn Poag. I think she’s our torch. She’s been setting Maggie up all along to cover an old fire.”

  “I’m on it.” The sound of the phone book being slapped onto a desktop came over the line. “The lab came through. We got accelerant on Bennett’s fire—hair spray. Someone poured it over the stove and floor.”

  “The shoe print? Anything obvious?”

  “Woman’s size seven. One of those thick-soled jobs that supports and cushions the foot.”

  “Something that a nurse or a beautician might wear.”

  “Right.” Russell found the salons. “Here are the shop names. Shear Cuts, Shear Indulgence—”

  “That’s it. Give me the address.” Beau memorized it. “Find a car and meet me there. Don’t go in. I don’t know how tight Carolyn Poag is wrapped right now. She doesn’t need to see both of us.”

  “On the way.”

  “So is Maggie. One of us better make it there first.”

  And Beau was closer.

  Except for Carolyn’s car, the parking lot of the beauty shop was empty. Every mile of the drive Maggie had prayed she’d arrive before Beau, and now relief faded as she killed the engine and stared at the shop. Despite her fear, she’d opened the car door. Maggie needed the closure, and she didn’t think she had a chance of getting the truth unless she saw Carolyn alone first.

  She couldn’t wait for Beau. This was family business, That’s why it hurt so much. That’s why she couldn’t let it go or let someone else take care of it.

  No one had bothered to flip the open/closed sign to closed, so she flipped it. The shop was empty and quiet. There were no magazines changing hands, no preening customers, no combs clanking against glass bottles of disinfectant. Only silence and the smell of permanent wave solution. The day’s fading sun streamed in from behind her, but beyond the streak of light were gray shadows that gave the shop a tomblike quality.

  “Carolyn?” Maggie walked past the first barber chair, until she could see the back room. The office door was closed. “Carolyn? We need to talk.”

  Maggie’s heart jumped into her throat at the click of the lock, and she irrationally wanted to call a time-out. The office door opened a crack and widened so slowly, it didn’t seem humanly possible. Maggie knew the phenomenon. It happened in ER all the time. Stress created time warps, telescoping or stretching time.

  When Carolyn finally stepped out of the room, she wore a smile and then faltered as she read the truth on Maggie’s face. “You remembered.”

  “You knew I would.”

  “I tried to get you to stay at my house that night. I knew if you went home, you’d think too much. You left me no choice but to burn the barn.” Carolyn pulled a gun from behind her back and pointed it straight at Maggie. “You weren’t supposed to come. It was supposed to be that detective. I had it all planned.”

  “Then don’t worry. Beau’s not far behind.”

  As she made the promise, Maggie realized he always would be close behind her, and she finally figured out what her mother had never been able to grasp. There were no guarantees in the world, and never would be. Men weren’t shining knights who grabbed you up and carried you off to a perfect world. Beau’s job wasn’t to keep her safe, but to catch her when she fell. Beau’s job was to love her. No matter what.

  “You shouldn’t have remembered, Maggie,” Carolyn warned, coming closer. So close that missing her target would have been impossible. Close enough that Maggie could see the shaking hands that belied the resignation in Carolyn’s voice. “You’ve ruined everything.”

  The woman in front of her was a stranger, her eyes hard and haunted. Swallowing her fear, Maggie asked, “What are you going to do with that gun?”

  “I didn’t want it to be you.”

  “Like you didn’t want it to be Sarah?” Maggie asked as she heard a noise at the door. She didn’t turn her head; she knew who it was, and fought the urge to run to him. “You killed her, Caro
lyn, and for eighteen years you let me think I did it!”

  “I didn’t mean to kill her,” Carolyn said, shifting her eyes to Beau at the door and back to Maggie, talking to them both, pleading. “I thought she was dead. You have to believe that.”

  “Then what about Maggie?” Beau asked softly. “Wasn’t she asleep in that house?”

  Beau forced himself to focus only on Carolyn, trying to compare the woman he met earlier with the woman in front of him. How out of control was she? Was she capable of pulling that trigger? Beau had his gun out, but he wouldn’t risk the shot. He could hit Carolyn stone cold at this range. Any rookie could. But he had to worry about the reflex shot. When a gun went off, human instinct was to pull your own trigger.

  Right now Carolyn’s gun pointed at Maggie.

  “Were you willing to burn me up too?” Maggie asked.

  “I forgot you were there.” Carolyn’s justification and apology were robbed of remorse for Maggie because the gun never wavered. “I called the fire department. See? I wasn’t trying to kill anyone.”

  Maggie remembered how fast the trucks got there. The fire barely showed through the windows, yet they were already on the way. “It was too little, too late to save Sarah.”

  “I panicked. I was a kid. I didn’t have any choice.” Her voice rose with each sentence. Maggie guessed she’d told herself these excuses a million times over the years. And they hadn’t worked. Even now she could hear the doubts.

  “You’re not a kid anymore,” Beau told Carolyn, his voice as hard and unforgiving as the weapon in his hand. “You had a choice, and you set Maggie up. You were ready to send her to jail, ready to sacrifice her.”

  “You don’t understand,” Carolyn said, recoiling from the truth.

  “I do,” Maggie assured her. “You stayed in touch all those years I was in the group home, not because you cared but because you had to know if I remembered anything.”

  “Maybe at first but not—”