McQueen's Heat

by Harper Allen

  “What was that about?” With a frown she turned to Stone. “How did he know I had a connection to Claudia?”

  “I don’t know.” He was still watching Trainor and Knopf, now halfway down the block and getting into a nondescript sedan. “Jack said he played poker with him so I guess it’s possible Claudia’s name came up in the past.” The sedan pulled out into the stream of traffic and some of the stiffness seemed to drain from Stone’s posture. “But why offer his condolences?”

  “He could have been trying to make it obvious his fight was just with you.” She gave him a sharp glance. “Knopf was right, you were trying to jerk their chains.”

  “They were asking for it,” he growled. “Besides, I figured if I made them mad one of them might let something slip, although I’ve got to admit my money was on Tommy, not Bill.”

  “They’d like to pin the fire on you, wouldn’t they?” The notion was ludicrous. “You think those two ever heard of concepts like motive and means?”

  “Trainor came close to buying the roast-beef sandwich motive for torching the Red Spot.” He flashed her a grin before his expression sobered.

  “But hell, they couldn’t have picked a worse time to show up,” he said huskily. “About Claudia’s letters, Tam—I was way out of line there. I was out of line on everything I said. I just thought—” He stopped. “You know, that roast-beef sandwich is actually pretty good, and Chandra’s probably wondering where we are. How about I buy you dinner?”

  A corner of his mouth lifted, but she wasn’t distracted. “You just thought what?” He didn’t answer her, and her brows drew together. “I want to know, Stone. What were you going to say?”

  His gaze met hers directly. “Just that I get the feeling you’ve spent your whole life trying to prove something, although what it is I don’t know,” he said. “But you seem to need to keep up that tough facade at all costs. I want you to know I’m the one person you don’t have to keep up the facade for, Tam.”

  As if he couldn’t help himself, his hand went to her chin. Lightly tipping it up, he ran his thumb along the fullness of her bottom lip, his gaze never leaving hers.

  “Honey, I’m one of the world’s great losers,” he said softly. “I hit rock-bottom years ago, and I just kept going down. Over the last few months I started climbing back up again, but I’ve still got a hell of a long way to go. I’m no one you have to impress, sweetheart. If you need someone to hang on to once in a while when being tough gets to be too much, I’m your man.”

  Trust Stone, Tamara thought, staring speechlessly at him. Trust him to pick such an inappropriate time and place to disarm her so completely.

  “You’re such a jerk, McQueen,” she said unsteadily. Five minutes ago she’d thought she’d used up her quota of tears for the next few months, at least. It seemed she’d been wrong. She felt a pinprick tingle behind her eyelids. “You’ve seen what I look like when I cry. Why would you want to go and start me up again?”

  Definitely a jerk, she thought as he smiled at her. It wasn’t the sexy, hard-edged grin or the ironic quirk of his mouth she’d seen before, but a slow, guileless, incredibly sweet smile. Only a jerk would have kept that smile back until now. Only a jerk would have hauled that smile out at the exact moment when she was feeling almost vulnerable enough to fall in—

  Hold it right there, King!

  The voice inside her head was sharp enough to bring her musings to an abrupt halt—and just in time, too, Tamara thought, her sanity returning in a rush. For God’s sake, her first and only foray into dewy-eyed romance had been a total disaster. If and when she gathered up her nerve to take the plunge again, she intended to make darn sure she was diving into a crystal-clear pool, preferably with depth markers plainly painted on its sides, rather than taking an impulsive header into some seductive lagoon that was probably chock-full of jagged, barely submerged rocks.

  She tilted her chin higher and his hand slipped away.

  “Believe me, McQueen, the waterworks were completely out of character.” She managed a rueful smile. “I don’t really see myself needing a manly shoulder to cry on, but I’ll take you up on your first offer. You spring for the roast beef sandwiches and I’ll chip in for the pie and coffee, how’s that?”

  For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer her. Then that smoke-gray gaze changed almost imperceptibly, and she realized he’d taken a step away from her.

  “Not bad.” His tone was easy enough, she noted with relief. He put his hand lightly on her back as they began walking toward the diner.

  “Damned impressive, in fact,” he added. “In two sentences you not only managed to shoot me down in flames but you also stipulated we were splitting the tab for dinner. I just figured out why that neutered ex-tomcat of yours has such a pissy attitude…and hell, at least Pangor would have been anesthetized while the procedure was being performed on him.”

  “The procedure?”

  They’d reached the Red Spot, and she put her hand out to push open the diner’s door. He reached past her, his expression unreadable, and suddenly she got it.

  “For crying out loud, McQueen,” she said, feeling swift color flooding into her cheeks. As they stepped into the crowded diner she automatically raised her voice. “If I’d had any idea your masculine self-esteem was so fragile I wouldn’t have said anything at all.”

  “You think everyone heard you okay, honey?” McQueen muttered.

  “I know I did.” The dry rejoinder came from a table a few feet away by the wall. Lieutenant Boyleston, an empty glass by her elbow, held out a wrist and tapped wearily at the slim gold watch encircling it. “The big hand’s on twelve and the little hand’s on seven, McQueen. I’d just about given up on you.”

  “Cut me some freakin’ slack, will you, Chand?” Stone’s retort was edged. A waiter in what was obviously the eatery’s uniform of black pants, white shirt and fire-engine red suspenders attempted to move by him without making eye contact, but Stone snagged him by one suspender. “Not so fast, buddy,” he growled. “Another glass of red wine here.” He raised an eyebrow at Tamara, taking her seat beside Chandra.

  “House red’s good for me,” she said distantly.

  “Two glasses of red,” Stone corrected. “And I’ll have whatever’s on draft, as long as it’s not some watered-down microbrewery beer of the week. Got it?”

  He began to pull out the chair beside Chandra, and then stopped as abruptly as if he’d been shot. He turned back to the departing waiter.

  “Instead of draft, make it coffee.”

  “Coffee?” The waiter looked confused, but at McQueen’s glower he shut his mouth with a snap and hurried away.

  “How’d you remember I liked red wine, Stone?” If Boyleston’s question was an attempt at tactful diversion, it didn’t work. He glared at her as he sat down.

  “I’m an ex-drunk, Chand. We might forget our own names occasionally and apparently we even forget we’re on the wagon once in a while, but we never forget a drink. Let’s talk about something else, all right?”

  “Sure.” Boyleston smiled thinly at him. “We could talk about how I put my butt on the line trying to get that information you asked me for, McQueen. We could talk about how Trainor and Knopf have been putting the screws on me just because I know you. We could talk about the fact that I should be at home right now with a husband and a son I see rarely enough as it is, but instead I gave up my evening for you.”

  “And I guess we could talk about how did a sorry son of a bitch like me ever rate the friendship of someone like you.” Stone reached across the table for Boyleston’s hand. “Hell, I’m sorry for being late and for almost biting your head off, Chand. Why do you put up with me?”

  “Maybe you’ve forgotten why, McQueen,” Chandra said steadily, her gaze softening. “I never will.”

  Watching them, Tamara saw a flush of faint color suddenly appear beneath the tan of Stone’s skin. As their waiter approached with the drinks he disengaged his hand from Chandra’s.
>
  “God, let it go, woman,” he said uncomfortably. “That was years ago.”

  “Ten and a half, to be exact,” Chandra agreed. She picked up her menu. “Are we all having the roast beef sandwich?”

  “I’ve talked it up to Tam so I guess I’m going to have to.” For the first time since they’d arrived, Stone looked directly at Tamara, his eyes darkening slightly.

  “Tamara?” Chandra’s voice held a note of inquiry. “The special for you, too?”

  Disconcerted, she tore her gaze from Stone’s. “What? Oh sure, Lieut. Sounds good.”

  The use of the other woman’s rank was habit, but as soon as she’d spoken Tamara realized how stiffly formal it had sounded. As Chandra smiled at a comment of Stone’s and he began telling her about their encounter with Knopf and Trainor, she pulled her glass of wine toward her and took a hasty gulp.

  It was true, she thought in dismay. Why hadn’t she seen it in herself before? She did keep the world at arm’s length, from her insistence on addressing Chandra as a superior rather than a friend in a casual setting like this to the way she’d unthinkingly rebuffed Stone.

  “I’m the one person you don’t have to keep up the facade for, Tam.”

  He’d opened himself up to her and she’d shut him out. Why?

  You know why, King. You’ve known from the moment you first laid eyes on him. He was a stranger, but all it took was one look and you felt as if he’d handed you his soul. All it took was one look and you knew you’d just given yours to him. Terrifying, isn’t it?

  “Sorry, Stone, I just don’t buy it. It can’t be, not after all these years.”

  Chandra’s voice was firm enough to break into Tamara’s thoughts. Seizing on any excuse to silence her own inner voice before it came up with further uncomfortable self-revelations, she switched her attention to the conversation that had been going on around her.

  “I don’t buy it either—not yet. But what if Leung’s results show—”

  Stone fell silent as their waiter came up to the table. Not until the man had placed their meals in front of them and left again did he go on, his tone low.

  “What if his results reveal that the same accelerant was used, Chand? We’d never come across that compound before and since I resigned it hasn’t shown up again.”

  “It’s not exactly a fingerprint,” Chandra said. “It’s a bastardized version of rocket fuel, too unstable to be put to any legitimate use and probably developed in the fifties. You told me the retired scientist you talked to said he’d heard of people actually trying to cook stuff like that up on their kitchen stove, and blowing whole houses to smithereens.” She picked up her fork and speared a French fry. “If there was enough of that around seven years ago to start half a dozen blazes then it’s not impossible some other firebug might use it in the future. But your theory’s a little too close to—”

  She stopped. Popping the French fry into her mouth, she looked down at her plate, her face suddenly drawn.

  “A little too close to paranoia, Chand?” Smiling crookedly, Stone picked up half of his sandwich and took a bite, his gaze on Chandra’s bent head. “Don’t you think I know that?”

  Tamara felt her patience give way. “Would someone fill me in on what this is all about?” she demanded. “What theory? And why is it paranoid, dammit?”

  “McQueen thinks the arsonist responsible for the string of fires he was working on when he resigned took a little holiday himself,” Chandra said flatly. “And now he’s back.”

  “You put it like that and of course it sounds crazy,” Stone growled. “I told you, it’s still just a hunch.”

  “If it’s just a hunch, then why did you insist I find Glenda Fodor’s current address for you, McQueen?” Chandra’s lips tightened. “For God’s sake, arsonists don’t stop setting fires and then start up again years later.”

  She shook her head decisively. “We know he was never caught. That leaves only one explanation for why the fires stopped.”

  “For the same reason the authorities figure that rash of apartment fires in Baltimore ten years ago ended so suddenly,” Stone said curtly. “I read the textbooks, Lieutenant. I know even arsonists get killed in car accidents or have heart attacks.”

  “And that’s what had to have happened in this case,” Chandra snapped back. “What didn’t happen is that he took a time out and then decided to get back into the game.”

  Tamara picked up the massive slab of crusty bread and juicy roast beef, flicking a glance first at Chandra’s closed features and then at Stone’s shuttered expression.

  “Why the hell not, Chandra? I don’t think Stone’s theory is crazy at all,” she said, sinking her teeth into the thick sandwich. “Who’s Glenda Fodor?” she added inelegantly, her mouth full.

  Stone had been right. The Red Spot’s roast beef on a bun was pretty good, if messy. Hastily she leaned over her plate and grabbed for her serviette.

  He’d been right about the darn sandwich and he’d been right about her. How someone so incredibly inept at social interaction as McQueen had managed to read her as unerringly as he had was more than baffling, it was annoying. But he had. He’d only known her for a little over forty-eight hours, and he’d put his finger on something she’d gone twenty-seven years without recognizing in herself.

  Even her choice of career fitted. She rushed in and out of crisis points in other people’s lives, and the next day there was always another emergency to focus on, another fire to put out. She never actually had to stick around and get involved, and that was the way she’d wanted it till now.

  Arm’s length had been comfortable. Arm’s length had been safe. She was probably going to miss keeping the world at arm’s length, Tamara thought resignedly. But it was no use. Stone McQueen had come crashing into her safely detached existence and even if she wanted to, she knew she would never be able to erect all her barriers again. She was involved—not only with the investigation but with the man.

  And seeing as how she’d finally admitted it, there really wasn’t any point in half measures.

  McQueen had just gotten himself a partner. Partners backed each other up. She began to take another bite of her sandwich and then stopped.

  Two pairs of eyes were staring at her. The narrowed brown pair belonged to Chandra. The gray ones were Stone’s and they were fixed on her with a kind of uncertain hope. She gazed at him steadily, and slowly he smiled at her.

  She smiled back at him. Her heart did a foolishly show-offish triple-gainer as it dived off the cliff and into the lagoon.

  “I always suspected Glenda Fodor knew the arsonist’s identity. I was pretty sure she was his girlfriend,” Stone said huskily. His smiled faltered. “But maybe Chandra’s right, Tam. Maybe this whole thing is crazy. Hell, for the past seven years the only thing I’ve investigated is the bottom of a bottle. Maybe I drank away whatever skills I used to have.”

  She was such a jerk, Tamara thought shakily. Who had she been trying to kid? She didn’t think of him as her partner. A whole lot of the time they weren’t even friends. He was an irritating, abrasive, exasperating man, and if she didn’t do something right now to drive the last of the uncertainty from his gaze she was pretty sure she was going to start blubbing again.

  “Big deal, Stone, you hit the skids there for a while,” she said dismissively. “But you’ve been clean and sober for eight months now and no other essential McQueen elements like charm and personality got lost in the shuffle. Why would you suddenly have mislaid your ability to handle an investigation?” She picked up her sandwich again. “The pie here good, too?” she asked casually, taking an unladylike mouthful of roast beef.

  It was the horseradish, she thought. That was her story and she was sticking to it. Everyone knew horseradish made your eyes water. It certainly wasn’t because the damn man was looking at her as if she’d just handed him back something he’d lost a long time ago, for crying out loud. Even as she watched, his shoulders straightened belligerently and a corner of his m
outh lifted in a grin.

  “The coconut cream’s not bad.” His reply was as offhand as her query had been, and out of the corner of her eye Tamara saw Chandra watching both of them disbelievingly. “Pack that away first and then try a piece,” he added. “Hell, I’m buying, honey.”

  She swallowed with difficulty. With even more of an effort she managed to glare at him.

  “Of course you’re buying, McQueen,” she growled.

  Chapter Ten

  …and I’ve quit smoking! I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I’d let Petra down. For a five-year-old, she can be pretty stern! I wish I could pick up the phone to tell you, Tam-Tam, since I know how unlikely it is that you’ll ever read this. Remember when Aunt Kate took us to Cape Cod and we each put a secret message in a bottle and threw them into the ocean? That’s what my letters to you are. Maybe a long time from now you’ll be standing on a shore and the waves will carry one of my bottles in. You’ll have every right to throw it back into the ocean, but just maybe you’ll bend down and pick it up. It’s always the same message. I love you, Tam-Tam. I’ve never stopped missing you. And there’s not a day goes by that I don’t wish I could go back and change the past.

  All my love,

  Claudie

  Tamara folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope. Even as she did a wet splotch fell onto the address, blurring the ink a little.

  There had been similar blurs on the letter itself—some fresh and wet, and some that had dried long ago, before the missive had landed on Hendrick’s desk to be filed away in accordance with Claudia’s instructions to him. This one had been written two years previously, Tamara saw. It had been bobbing in the ocean for two years, and finally it had washed up onto shore.

  “Message received, Claudie,” she whispered. “I won’t throw any of them back. They’re all I have of you—the letters, and that little girl you left in my care.”