"I was worried about you." She said it quietly, but didn't step back into the room.
"I'm fine." Turning away, he topped off his coffee. "Want some of this?"
"No. I should have waited for you to contact me. I realize that." It was, she thought, like suddenly walking on eggshells. One night apart shouldn't make them so awkward with each other.
"If you had, I'd have been worried about you." He managed a smile. It was low, he decided, real low, to lash out at her because all at once he was deathly afraid of where they were heading. "Sit down. I'll give you the highlights."
"All right."
While she did, he walked around his desk and kicked back in his chair. "I had an itch, a hunch. Whatever. I decided to take a run by your plant—take a look around, check the security myself." He blew out a stream of smoke, smiled through it. "Somebody else had the same idea."
"Clarence."
"Yeah, he was there. It was a real party. He'd knocked out the alarm. Had himself a full set of keys to the rear door."
"Keys." Eyes sharpening, Natalie leaned forward.
"That's right. Shiny new copies. The cops have them now. There wouldn't have been any sign of break-in. He also had a couple of gallons of high-test gas, a few dozen matchbooks. So we started to have a little conversation. I guess Clarence didn't like the way it was going, and he made a break for it."
Ry paused, drawing in smoke, shaking his head. "I've never seen anything like it," he murmured. "I'm still not sure I did see it."
"What?" Impatient, Natalie rapped a hand on his desk. "Did you chase him?"
"Didn't have to. Your pal took care of it."
"My pal?" Baffled she sat back again. "What pal?"
"Nemesis."
Her eyes went wide and stunned. "You saw him? He was there?"
"Yes and no. Or no and yes. I'm not sure which. He came out of the wall," Ry said, half to himself. "He came out of the damn wall, like smoke. He wasn't there, then he was. Then he wasn't."
Natalie cocked a brow. "Ry, I really think you need some sleep."
"No question about that." Rubbing the back of his stiff neck, he blew out a breath. "But that's how it went. He came out of the wall. First his arms. I was standing a foot away, and I saw arms come out of the wall and grab Clarence. Then he was just there—Nemesis. Clarence took one look at him and fainted." Enjoying the memory, Ry grinned. "Folded up like a deck chair. So Nemesis hands him over to me and I haul him over my shoulder. Then he's gone."
"Clarence?"
"Nemesis. Keep up."
She blinked, trying to. "He—Nemesis—just left?"
"He just went. Back into the wall, into the air." He flicked his fingers to demonstrate. "I don't know. I probably stood there for five minutes with my mouth hanging open before I carried Clarence to the truck."
Brow knit, Natalie spoke slowly, carefully. "You're telling me the man disappeared. In front of your eyes. Just vanished?"
"That's exactly what I'm telling you."
"Ry," she said, still patient. "That's not possible."
"I was there," he reminded her. "You weren't. Clarence came to and started babbling about ghosts. He was so spooked he tried to jump out of the car while I was driving." Ry sipped at his coffee. "I had to knock him out."
"You… you knocked him out."
It was another memory he couldn't help but relish. One short punch to that moon-shaped jaw. "He was better off. Anyway, he's in custody now. He's not talking, but I'm going to interview him in a couple hours and see if we can change that."
She sat silently for a moment, trying to absorb it all, and sort it out. The business with Nemesis was fascinating, and not so difficult to explain. It had been dark. Ry was a trained observer, but even he could make a mistake in the dark. People didn't just vanish.
Rather than argue with him about it, she focused on Clarence Jacoby. "He hasn't said why, then? If he was hired, or by whom?"
"Right now he's claiming he was just out for a walk."
"With several gallons of gasoline?"
"Oh, he says I must have brought the gas with me. I'm framing him because I got burned saving his worthless life."
Insulted, Natalie lunged to her feet. "No one believes that."
Her instant defense amused and touched him. "No, Legs, nobody's buying it. We've got him cold on this one, and it shouldn't take long for the cops to tie him in with the other fires. Once Clarence realizes he's looking at a long stretch, he's likely to sing a different tune.
Nobody likes to go down alone."
Natalie nodded. She didn't believe in honor among thieves. "If and when he does name someone, I'll need to know right away. I'm limited as to the steps I can take in the meantime."
Ry rapped his fingers on the desk. He didn't like the possibility that someone in her organization, someone who might be close to her, could be behind the fires. "If Clarence points the finger at one of your people, the cops take the steps. And they're going to be a lot tougher on them than just firing them or taking away their dental plan."
"I'm aware of that. I'm also aware that even though the man who held the match had been caught and my property is safe, it's not over." But the tension that had knotted her shoulders was smoothing away. "I appreciate you looking out for what's mine, Inspector."
"That's what your tax dollars are for." He studied her over the rim of his cup. "I missed being with you last night," he said, before he could stop himself.
Her lips curved slowly. "Good. Because I missed being with you. We could make up for it tonight. Celebrate seeing my tax dollars at work.''
"Yeah." If he was sinking, Ry thought, he just didn't have the energy to fight going under for the third time. "Why don't we do that?"
"I'll let you get that shower." She bent down for her briefcase. "Will you let me know what happens when you talk to Clarence?"
"Sure. I'll be in touch."
"I'm going to plan on getting home early," she said as she headed for the door.
"Good plan," he murmured when the door shut behind her. Third time, hell, he thought. He'd drowned days ago, and hadn't even noticed.
Natalie arrived at work with a spring in her step, and called a staff meeting. By ten she was seated at the head of the table in the boardroom, her department heads lining both sides of the polished mahogany.
"I'm pleased to announce that the national grand opening of Lady's Choice will remain, as scheduled, for this coming Saturday."
As expected, there were polite applause and congratulatory murmurs.
"I'd like to take this opportunity," she continued, "to thank you all for your hard work and dedication. Launching a new company of this size takes teamwork, long hours, and constant innovation. I'm grateful to all of you for giving me your best. I particularly appreciate all of your help in the past couple of weeks, when the company faced such unexpected difficulties."
She waited until the murmurs about the fires had died down.
"I'm aware that our budget is stretched, but I'm also aware that we wouldn't be on schedule without the extra effort each one of you, and your staff, have given. Therefore, Lady's Choice is pleased to present bonuses to each and every employee on the first of next month."
This announcement was greeted with a great deal of enthusiasm. Only Deirdre winced and rolled her eyes. Natalie flashed a grin at her that held more pleasure than apology.
"We still have a great deal of work ahead of us," Natalie went on. "I'm sure Deirdre will tell you that I've given her an enormous headache, rather than a bonus." Natalie waited for the laughter to subside. "I have faith in her, and in Lady's Choice warranting it. In addition…" She paused, the smile still in place, her gaze sweeping from face to face. "I want to ease everyone's mind. Last night the arsonist was apprehended. He's now in police custody."
There was applause, a barrage of questions. Natalie sat with her hands folded on the table, watching for, waiting for, some sign that would tell her if one of the people sitting with her had begun to
sweat.
"I don't have all the details," she said, holding up a hand for quiet. "Only that Inspector Piasecki apprehended the man outside our plant. I expect a full report within forty-eight hours. In the meantime, we can all thank the diligence of the fire and police departments, and get on with our jobs."
"Was there a fire at the plant?" Donald wanted to know. "Was anything damaged?"
"No. I do know that the suspect was caught before he entered the building."
"Are they sure it's the same one who started the fires at the warehouse and the flagship?" Brow furrowed, Melvin tugged at his bow tie.
Natalie smiled. "As a sister of a police captain, I'm certain the authorities won't make a statement like that until they have absolute proof. But that's the way it looks."
"Who is he?" Donald demanded. "Why did he do it?"
"Again, I don't have all the details. He's a known arsonist. A professional, I believe. I'm sure the motive will come to light before too long."
Ry wasn't nearly as certain. By noon, he'd been with Jacoby for an hour, covering the same ground. The interrogation room was typically dull. Beige walls, beige linoleum, the wide mirror that everyone knew was two-way glass. He sat on a rock-hard chair, leaning against the single table, smoking lazily, while Clarence grinned and toyed with his own fingers.
"You know they're going to lock the door on you, Clarence," Ry said. "By the time you get out this round, you'll be so old, you won't be able to light a match by yourself."
Clarence grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't hurt nobody. I never hurt nobody." He looked up then, his small, pale eyes friendly. "You know, some people like to burn other people. You know that, don't you, Ry?"
"Yeah, Clarence, I know that."
"Not me, Ry. I never burned nobody." The eyes lit up happily. "Just you. But that was an accident. You got scars?"
"Yeah, I got scars."
"Me too." Clarence giggled, pleased that they shared something. "Wanna see?"
"Maybe later. I remember when we got burned, Clarence."
"Sure. Sure you do. Like a dragon's kiss, right?"
Like being in the bowels of hell, Ry thought. "The landlord paid you to light the dragon that time, remember?"
"I remember. Nobody lived there. It was just an old building. I like old, empty buildings. The fire just eats along, sniffs up the walls, hides in the ceiling. It talks to you. You've heard it talk, haven't you?"
"Yeah, I've heard it. Who paid you this time, Clarence?"
Playfully Clarence put the tips of his fingers together, making a bridge. "I never said anybody paid me. I never said I did anything. You could've brought the gas, Ry. You're mad at me for burning you." Suddenly his smile was crafty. "You had nightmares in the burn ward. I heard about them. Nightmares about the dragon. And now you don't slay the dragon anymore."
The throb behind his eyes had Ry reaching for another cigarette. Clarence was fascinated by the nightmares, had probed time and again during the interview for details. Even if he'd wanted to, Ry couldn't have given many. It was all a blur of fire and smoke, blessedly misted with time.
"I had nightmares for a while. I got over it. I got over being mad at you, too, Clarence. We were both just doing our job, right?''
Ry caught the glint in Clarence's eyes when the match was lit. Experimentally, Ry held the small flame between them. "It's powerful, isn't it?" he murmured. "Just a little flame. But you and me, we know what it can do—to wood, paper. Flesh. It's powerful. And when you feed it, it gets stronger and stronger."
He touched the match to the tip of his cigarette. Still watching Clarence, Ry licked his forefinger and snuffed out the flame. "Douse it with water, cut off its air, and poof." He tossed the broken match into the overburdened ashtray. "We both like to control it, right?"
"Yeah." Clarence licked his lips, hoping Ry would light another match.
"You get paid for starting them. I get paid for putting them out. Who paid you, Clarence?"
"They're going to send me up anyway."
"Yeah. So what have you got to lose?''
"Nothing." Sly again, Clarence looked up at Ry through thin, pale lashes. "I'm not saying I started any fire. But if we was to suppose maybe I did, I couldn't say who asked me to."
"Why not?"
"Because if we was to suppose I did, I never saw who asked me to."
"Did you talk to him?"
Clarence began to play with his fingers again, his face so cheerful Ry had to grit his teeth to keep himself from reaching out and squeezing the pudgy neck. "Maybe I talked to somebody. Maybe I didn't. But maybe if I did, the voice on the phone was all screwed up, like a machine."
"Man or woman?"
"Like a machine," Clarence repeated, gesturing toward Ry's tape recorder. "Maybe it could have been either. Maybe they just sent me money to a post-office box before, and after."
"How'd they find you?"
Clarence moved his right shoulder, then his left. "Maybe I didn't ask. People find me when they want me." His grin lit his face. "Somebody always wants me."
"Why that warehouse?"
"I didn't say nothing about a warehouse," Clarence said, pokering up.
"Why that warehouse?" Ry repeated. "Maybe."
Pleased that Ry was playing the game, Clarence scooted forward in his chair. "Maybe for the insurance. Maybe because somebody didn't like who owned the place. Maybe for fun. There's lots of reasons for fire."
Ry pressed him. "And the store. The same person owned the store."
"There were pretty things in the store. Pretty girl things." Forgetting himself, Clarence smiled in reminiscence. "It smelled pretty, too. Even prettier after I poured the gas."
"Who told you to pour the gas, Clarence?"
"I didn't say I did."
"You just did."
Clarence pouted like a child. "Did not. I said maybe."
The tape would prove different, but Ry kept his probing steady. "You liked the girl things in the store."
Clarence's eyes twinkled. "What store?"
Biting back an oath, Ry leaned back. "Maybe I should call my friend back and let him talk to you."
"What friend?"
"From last night. You remember last night."
All color drained from Clarence's face. "He was a ghost. He wasn't really there."
"Sure he was there. You saw him. You felt him."
"A ghost." Clarence began to gnaw on his fingernails. "I didn't like him."
"Then you'd better talk to me, or I'm going to have to go get him."
Panicked, Clarence darted his eyes around the room. "He's not here."
"Maybe he is," Ry said, enjoying himself. "Maybe he isn't. Who paid you, Clarence?"
"I don't know." His lips began to tremble. "Just a voice. That's all. Take the money and burn. I like money, I like to burn. Started on the nice shiny desk in the store with the girl things, just like the voice said to. Coulda done better in the storeroom, but the voice said do the desk." Uneasy, he looked around. "Is he in here?"
"What about the envelopes? Where are the envelopes the money came in?"
"Burned them." Clarence grinned again. "I like to burn things."
Natalie very nearly burned the chicken.
It wasn't that she was incompetent in the kitchen. It was simply, she told herself, that she rarely found the opportunity to use the culinary skills she possessed—meager though they might be.
With a great deal of cursing and trepidation, she removed the browned chicken from the skillet and set it aside, as per Frank's meticulous directions. By the time she had the sauce simmering, she was feeling smug. Cooking wasn't really such a big deal, she decided, if you just concentrated and went step-by-step. Read the recipe as if it were a contract, she thought, carefully sliding the chicken into the sauce. Overlook no clause, study the small print. And… Humming to herself, she set the cover on the skillet, then looked around at the wreck of her kitchen.
And, she decided, blowing the hair out of her
eyes, clean up after yourself—because no deal should ever look as though you'd sweat over it.
It took her longer to set the kitchen, and herself, to rights than it had to prepare the meal. After one quick glance at the time, she dashed to light the candles and create the mood.
With a long sigh, she dropped onto the arm of the sofa and scanned the room. Soft lights, quiet music, the scent of flowers and good food, the golden glow of sedate flames in the hearth. Pleased, Natalie smoothed a hand down her long silk skirt. Everything was perfect, she decided.
Now where was Ry?
He was pacing the hallway outside her door.
Making too big a deal out of it, Piasecki, he warned himself. You're just two people enjoying each other. No strings, no promises. Now that Clarence was in custody, they would start to drift apart. Naturally. No sweat, no strain.
So why in the hell was he standing outside her door, nervous as a teenager on a first date? Why was he holding a bunch of stupid daffodils in his hand?
He should never have brought her flowers in the first place, he decided. But if he'd had the urge, he should have gone for roses, at least, or orchids. Something with class. Just because the yellow blooms had caught his eye and the street vendor had been pushing them, that was no reason to dump a bunch of backyard flowers on a woman like Natalie.
He thought seriously about dropping them in front of her neighbor's door. The idea made him feel even more foolish. Muttering under his breath, he pulled out his key and unlocked the door.
Coming home. It was a ridiculous sensation, walking into an apartment that wasn't his. But it was there, as bold as a ten-foot sign, as subtle as a peck on the cheek.
She rose from her perch on the couch and smiled at him. "Hi."
"Hi."
He had the flowers behind his back, hardly realizing the move was defensive. She looked incredible, the thin-strapped, flowing dress—the color of ripe peaches—skimming down, candle and firelight flickering over her. When she moved, he swallowed. The dress sliced open from the ankle to the trio of gold buttons running down her left hip.
Books by Nora Roberts Page 418
