“He flunked the lie detector test down there.”
Now that was surprising. “He flunked?”
“He did,” Petit said. “And immediately lawyered up. Would you happen to know why?”
Meg sat, stunned. She and Shelby had worked together for a couple of years. About five years older than herself, he was quiet and kept to himself. She had never been interested in him in any way, although he had flirted with her at first, until she put a firm stop to it. He mainly managed communication with City Council members, community organizers, the kind of thing that involved hobnobbing. Charity dinners, fundraisers, things like that. She didn’t know him that well on a personal level.
“I want you to take a look at a photograph, all right?”
She looked at Hodges and nodded, her thoughts racing. Why would Shelby fail a lie detector test? What kind of questions had he been asked? “Do you think he might have had something to do with the fire? Or . . .” she hated to even think it. “With Tim’s murder?” Could he have done it for insurance reasons? “He’s not a partial owner or anything. In fact, he doesn’t have any money in the place.”
“But he does have access to you, to your paperwork, and your records, doesn’t he?”
“Well yes, but—”
“Take a look at his picture, please.”
He passed an eight-by-ten photograph toward her and then flipped it around. Curious, she leaned forward and frowned. What was this? It wasn’t a very good photograph; a man walking past a house along a tree-lined residential street. She didn’t recognize any aspects of the house behind him. It certainly wasn’t hers. She glanced up at him, questioning.
“Do you recognize him?”
She looked again. There was something oddly familiar about him, but only enough to maybe niggle at the back of her mind. “He seems slightly familiar, but . . . no, I don’t recognize him.”
“Are you sure?” Petit asked her.
She glanced at Petit and then back at the photograph. She studied the build. A big man, not fat, just solid. He was wearing a cheap suit and a narrow tie. Close-cropped hair, military style. Course features and a darker skin tone. Not African-American, but perhaps Hispanic, or even Mediterranean or Middle Eastern. It was hard to tell. He had a large forehead, straight though wide nose, eyes cast downward, frowning. No beard or mustache. Was she just imagining it, or had she seen this man somewhere in town? Recently or in the past? Frustrated, she glanced at Petit.
“Still don’t recognize him?”
Still? “Should I?”
Hodges shoved the picture toward Liam.
He too studied the photograph but shook his head. “Who is he?”
“His name is Mustapha. Mustapha al-Islam.”
Meg looked at Hodges, confused. “I don’t know anyone by that name. Why are you showing me this picture? Was it taken near my house?”
Hodges shook his head, glanced at his partner, and then explained. “He’s on the FBI wanted list. He’s a bomb maker who works for the highest bidder.”
“A bomb maker?” her heart skipped a beat. A bomb maker? “Do you think he has something to do with the arson? Why? Why would—”
“Maybe something to do with one of your other residents, Aliyah Habib?”
“Aliyah? Why would anyone want to hurt Aliyah?”
Hodges looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “In this day and age, you haven’t heard of honor killings?”
She stared, wide-eyed. Honor killings? Of course she had heard of them, but to associate them with Aliyah? She hadn’t done anything! But then she’d been there the night someone had tried to burn down the house. The thought was disturbing, to say the least.
“Why don’t you ask her these questions?” she said, her voice high. “Why are you asking me? Like I said, I don’t give my residents the third-degree about their background. Aliyah came to Promise House looking for shelter until she could figure out what she wanted to do. All I know is that her parents kicked her out of the house a few weeks ago.”
“And you don’t know why?”
“She told me was that they thought that she was getting too Americanized, whatever that means. She said they were angry she doesn’t wear a hijab. Resists their traditions, which to her meant subjugation to males. But she doesn’t have a boyfriend. She’s not promiscuous. She works as a bank teller, for crying out loud!”
“Not anymore,” Hodges said.
“What do you mean?”
“She hasn’t showed up to work for the past couple of days.”
Meg frowned. “So maybe she has a couple of days off. She hasn’t been there that long, at least not long enough to accrue vacation time.”
“She makes a little bit more than minimum wage,” Petit said. “Based on her work history, she could have afforded an apartment of her own. Do you know why she didn’t? Why she was seeking shelter at Promise House?”
“I don’t know!” Meg cried. “Again, I don’t give my residents the third degree. I don’t check into their finances—”
“Maybe you should,” Hodges broke in. “Turns out that Shelby Coultrie is having some money problems of his own.”
Meg’s head was spinning. A headache blossomed behind her eyes. What now?
“What kind of money problems?” Liam asked.
“Gambling.”
“Oh, God,” Meg groaned. She couldn’t take much more of this. She looked at the detectives. “What about Tim Jefferson?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.
“What about him?”
Now it was her turn to stare at Hodges with incredulity. “Do you think the person who set fire to Promise House is the same person that killed Tim? And do you think it’s that guy?” she asked, pointing to the photograph. “Why?”
Hodges shrugged, leaning back in his chair. It creaked ominously as he lifted his arms to link them behind his head. “Maybe Mr. Jefferson saw him? Who knows? We’re still trying to get to the bottom of things. I have to tell you, though, that the uncooperative nature of a couple of your residents does leave me with more questions than answers.”
The fact that he had referred to them as residents was at least a step in the right direction. Had Liam been right? Hodges just acted that way to put people off balance? To get them to admit to something they didn’t do, or maybe did. She glanced at Liam, who looked from the detectives to her, down to the picture and back again. What was he thinking? That the sooner he washed his hands of this case, the better? He hadn’t tried to even touch her or hug her since the kitchen incident. Was he looking to move on, too, as soon as he could?
“We’re looking into the incident down by the river this morning,” Petit said. “We’re going to continue asking questions. We’ll let you know if we find out anything. In the meantime, I suggest you stick close to home. Just in case there is someone out there who has it in for you.”
Meg barely contained her temper. What kind of fucking comment was that to make to an arson victim, let alone the shooting? If someone wanted to hurt her? If? She opened her mouth, ready to give the detective a piece of her mind when she felt Liam’s hand on her forearm. He squeezed gently.
“I guess that’s all for now,” he said, rising. His hand slid down her arm to grasp hers. Her skin tingled where he made contact and she saw the surprised look Hodges gave Liam.
“Come on, Meg. Let’s go back to the firehouse and see how the guys are coming with their chili and booyah.” His fingers slid between hers and he squeezed her hand.
17
Meg
Meg knew he was trying to distract her from her growing anger and frustration. Liam said a quick goodbye to the detectives and led her from the building. They said nothing as they headed for Liam’s SUV. Wordlessly, she climbed into the passenger seat, and waited while Liam climbed in, fastened his seatbelt, and inserted the key in the ignition. He glanced at her.
“Put your seatbelt on.”
She did, her hands shaking, her brain numb with the overload of information. B
y the time he pulled out of the driveway and headed down the rural highway, the anxiety began to catch up to her. She couldn’t control it. Couldn’t stop it. It attacked like an overwhelming wave. Her heart rate accelerated, as did her breathing. She’d never had an anxiety attack in her life. Is that what this was? A sound escaped her throat. Liam glanced over at her and immediately pulled the SUV into the first turn-out he came to.
“Meg? Take a deep breath.”
He opened his car door and stepped to the rear of his SUV. She heard him open the hatch and pull down the gate before he moved around to her side. He opened the passenger door, reached over her and unfastened her seatbelt, then grabbed both her hands and gently pulled her out of the vehicle.
“Come on, sit down here,” he said, urging her to sit down on the open gate of his vehicle. “Take some deep breaths. Smell the pine . . .”
He was trying to distract her, to calm her. She wasn’t sure if it was working. She did as he directed though and sat on the open gate. He sat down next to her, the vehicle dipping slightly with his weight. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, giving them a comforting squeeze. She lost it.
The next thing she knew, both his arms were wrapped around her shoulders, her cheek pressed against his shoulder. Warm tears oozed from her eyes and down her cheeks. She sniffled and then let it all out. She’d always prided herself on being able to keep her emotions under control. Even after the divorce, finding out in how many ways Ray had betrayed her, she had managed to maintain a sense of dignity and calm. What was it about Liam’s compassion that turned her into a weak-kneed, sobbing ninny?
She tried to push herself out of Liam’s grasp, but he only tightened his grip. His embrace was gentle, but firm.
“Let it out, Meg,” he encouraged. “Believe me, it will help.”
She didn’t question him about that, at least not at the moment. She allowed herself the freedom to cry for a couple of minutes. It did feel good. Cathartic. It was either that or let her doubt, anxiety, and frustrated anger take over again. God, she was angry. Not just at Hodges and his stupid expressions, not even only at Ray and the history that had once again been brought full force to the front, but the fact that her residents, or least a couple of them, didn’t rush to step up to her defense. It was stupid, she should understand—she did understand—but it still hurt.
Was she naïve? Did she treat her residents like they were her friends? Like roommates? Not temporary residents? She hadn’t thought so, but maybe subconsciously . . .
She felt Liam shift slightly, stroking his fingers through her hair, tucking a tendril behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her jaw, tracing its outline. The pad of his thumb wiped tears from her cheeks. The gesture was kind, tender, and nearly broke her heart. Meg cursed herself and her sudden weakness. It was the second time in a day she’d cried in Liam’s arms. She was stronger than this! She could and would deal with all of this!
She lifted her head, prepared to tell Liam that she was all right. Prepared to wipe the tears from her cheeks, to stiffen her spine, to find her resolve. But the look he gave her, his gaze, searching hers, tugged at her heartstrings again. Another stupid cliché, but it was true. Desire blossomed. Hot, burning, and needy. She wanted to cling to him, to grab on to him for support. All the while telling herself that she didn’t need to lean on anyone. That she could stand on her own two feet. That she could get through these troubles just fine all by herself—
His lips were on hers, soft at first, searching, nuzzling. She responded, and Lord knows she tried not to, but instinct took over and she opened her mouth to him, allowed him to deepen the kiss. Warmth surged from deep in her belly and bloomed outward. Her breath caught in her throat as she lifted her left hand and braced it against the back of his neck, urging him closer. Her right hand reached around his back, tucked around his waist, seeking more warmth.
She felt herself moving, almost as though she was dizzy, but then she realized that he’d shifted position yet again, pulling them both back into the shelter of the SUV. She half lay in his arms on her side, her breasts pressed up against his chest. Liam’s muscles bunched beneath her fingers as they half lay, half sat, their bodies braced against the supplies in the cabin of the SUV. She should stop this, right this minute. Somebody might drive by and see inside, even though the back of the vehicle couldn’t be viewed from the road.
She should stop this but she didn’t. Not when she felt the palm of his hand caress her cheek, his thumb once again swiping at a stray tear. His lips left hers, then kissed each of her closed eyes. She had never felt so . . . so cherished. Guys only did that in the movies. No guy had ever kissed her like this. Not with such tender gestures. With Ray, everything had been wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. Very little foreplay. No, usually he would wake her up before dawn in the morning, flop her over onto her stomach and dive into her from behind, taking care of his own needs and rarely thinking about hers. Roughly tugging at her nipples as he pounded into her, grunting and groaning to the point where she began to hate his touch. They had rarely kissed.
She forced Ray from her mind. This was Liam. A man she barely knew and yet one who seemed to instinctively know how to awaken her deepest desires, all with a gentle kiss and a soft touch. He had her more aroused than Ray ever had, and they were fully clothed. She shifted position, groaning low in her throat as more of her body pressed against his. She traced her left hand down along his torso, reveling at the solid, muscular form beneath her fingertips. The smooth fabric of his T-shirt, then the waistband of his jeans, and then the rougher fabric as she traced her palm down along his ass, then forward across his thigh. Holding her breath, Meg slid her hand around to the front and over his bulging hardness. A thrill ran through her, that she’d done that to such a powerful man.
Impatient, yet hesitant, not sure how far he wanted to take this, she stroked her hand slowly up and down his erection, then slowly trailed her hand upward, toward his waistband. He let her. Brazenly, she tugged his shirt from the waistband of his jeans and slid her hand underneath. The dips and ridges of his ab muscles tightened at her touch. His skin so warm . . . Liam sucked in a breath as her hand explored the rock hard ridges of his abs, then traced upward, feeling every rib, her hand tingling with the sensations his warm skin evoked within her. She found his chest, the small, solid nipple, and circled her finger around it. The action prompted a soft chuckle that rolled up from his chest as he tucked his arms around her, pulling her beneath him.
She should stop this. Now. Before she did something she would regret. But it felt too damn good. She had no expectations. Would make no demands. This was just for the here and now. At a time when she desperately needed, not just human contact, but the closeness. The sense of survival that elicited the most basic of needs.
It wasn’t just sexual neediness. She succumbed to the intense and inexplicable attraction that she felt for Liam. Not just attraction. It was almost like . . . affection. Affinity. There was something about him that was so compelling, so charismatic. She trusted him. God knows why, because she had been deliberately avoiding men since her divorce, but with Liam? As he stroked her back, clichés raced through her mind, memories of the romance novels she read. She’d wished that Ray could be like the heroes of those books, but he’d never even tried to be anything for her. She had left him, made a new life for herself. She wasn’t sad, nor alone. She didn’t hate men. She didn’t need a man to make her feel complete. So why did she find it so easy to literally fall to his arms?
Liam’s hand touched her collarbone, the trailed down her side, jolting her out of her thoughts again.
Just shut up and enjoy this!
She didn’t need to dissect every little thing right now, for God’s sake. She wasn’t looking for a commitment. She just wanted to feel good, for just a little while. Something that pushed the uncertainty, the fear, and the worry from her mind. To just enjoy the sensations thrumming through her body as Liam half rolled on top of her, their legs tangled, her arms now wrap
ped around his waist under his shirt. As she had done moments before, his hand slid underneath her shirt, reached upward and cupped her breast over her lace bra. His hand gently squeezed and then his entire palm slowly circled her nipple. Delicious and warm sensations enveloped her, sending almost sharp, electrical pangs from behind her breasts, down her spine and toward her pussy. She arched her back upward, wanting more. Demanding more.
He reached his hand behind her back, unfastened her bra, and pushed it upward. His lips still pressed to hers, his tongue urging her lips to open, he languidly circled the edges of her mouth. His hand returned to her breast, cupping it while his thumb slid several times over her hard nipple, which grew into a hard nub at his touch. She needed more. Wanted more. Once again he swirled his palm over it, then gently took the nipple between his thumb and index finger, rolling it, tweaked it, and gently tugged. She gasped, arching her back still more, her core wet and hot with desire. She lifted her thigh and nestled between his legs. His cock pressed against her, hard and unyielding.
She wasn’t sure who started it first, but soon they were both shirtless, her breasts pressed against his hard chest, her belly pressed against his, her leg, still nestled between his, pressing gently upward against his balls. The kiss deepened. His tongue stroked and then suckled her own, keeping time with his fingers, also gently tugging and swirling around first one nipple, then the other.
Suddenly his mouth was gone, his fingers no longer touching her. He lifted himself upward a bit and she almost moaned with protest. Almost. Her chest rising and falling with excited breaths, she watched as he knelt over her, readjusted his position, and then dipped his head, his lips finding the base of her jaw. His tongue traced a hot path along her throat, leaving a trail as he dipped his head even lower. Her core clenched and contracted with impatience. When his lips encompassed a nipple and began to suck, she nearly lost it. One hand found its way to the back of his neck, pressing him closer. The other slid between her leg and his crotch, stroking his cock, cupping him. He groaned, the sound reverberating through her nipple and spreading outward.
Fighting the Flames (Southern Heat Book 2) Page 13
