“No, thanks, I really should get going.” He felt as if he were leaving paradise for a motel room with all the appeal of a second rate monastery.
“Sure, no problem. Thanks for a great evening.” She was giving him a quizzical look.
“My pleasure. Hope your foot heals fast. Do you want me to put these two out in their pen?” He didn’t trust himself to get close to her, or touch her, or God help him, kiss her again.
“They’re fine in here.”
“Okay. Good night.” He turned and bolted out the door, and it was one of the more difficult things he’d ever forced himself to do.
CHAPTER TEN
THE DOOR CLOSED BEHIND him, and Shannon shook her head in bewilderment.
“What the heck did you two do to him, anyway?” She scowled at the dogs and poured both cups of coffee down the sink. “Before you got hold of him, he was coming on strong. Leave you guys alone with him for half an hour and he runs for cover.”
She was trying not to let it get to her, but the way he’d bolted was puzzling. She glanced at the clock. Okay, long after midnight, certainly time to be on his way—if he wasn’t going to stay.
And it wasn’t the fact that he’d left, she lied to herself. It was the way he did it, as if he couldn’t wait to get out of her house. If his actions were any indication, he wouldn’t be asking her out again anytime soon. So there went her chances of finding out more about him.
Finding out about him, hell. The truth was, she’d wanted him to kiss her again. She’d wanted to let him help her down the hall to her bedroom, maybe even carry her. How many times would she meet a guy who could actually lift her?
She didn’t do one-night stands, but she’d wanted him to at least want one with her. Oh, screw it. She wasn’t making sense even to herself. And she felt far too restless to go to bed, because she’d never sleep anyhow.
Too late to call Lisa. And Shannon’s foot was way too sore to go out jogging, which wasn’t the best idea anyhow, considering it was the middle of the night.
“C’mon, you guys. Let’s see what’s on TV.”
Backdraft was on the movie channel. She’d seen it four times before—the guys at the fire station rented it regularly so they could rewrite the script the way they figured it ought to have been written the first time. She watched it, paying scant attention, letting her mind drift.
She definitely had a jones for Forester. But physical attraction aside, she just couldn’t let go of this thing with the warehouse and the man in the silver. Intuition told her that it had been John inside that place. And she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why he’d go to such lengths to deny it.
There had to be a way to find out more about him. It was the age of computers, where no one’s secrets were safe. Maybe there was a way to search him out on the Net. That would be a great idea, except she’d never been interested in learning much more about computers than how to enter shift data on the one at the fire station.
She didn’t own a computer, nor did she have a clue how to go about searching the Net for personal information about someone. And she wasn’t about to ask the computer nerds at work for help, not with this. Word would go out in a millisecond that she was in love with a member and doing a background screen on him, and the next thing she knew, John would find out all about it.
Her brother Sean might know how to get such info. He and Patrick were way more computer literate than she was. In fact, maybe Patrick was a better bet than Sean. He had contacts all over the country because of his position as mayor. He could use some political clout and do a background check for her. She’d pay him a visit first thing in the morning.
Well, maybe not first thing. It was almost three, and she was as wide-awake as she’d ever been. She’d go see Patrick whenever she managed to drag herself out of bed. There was a coffee shop near his office—he could buy her breakfast. And maybe he’d do the search for her right away, which would settle things one way or the other.
For all the grief they’d put her through when she was growing up, there were times like this when having brothers was a blessing.
“NOPE, SORRY, there’s no way I’ll do that for you, Shannon.” Patrick shook his head and smeared butter on a pecan muffin. “Absolutely not. You’re asking me to do a search on someone based entirely on feminine intuition. You say you’ve seen the guy’s ID, his birth certificate, everything except his dental records, for cripes’ sake, and everything checks out, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts about it. There’s absolutely nothing to link Forester to the warehouse fire except your gut, and we both know your hunches have been wrong before.”
“They’ve also been right. Remember that Marylou Grainger you were dating? I told you she was just trying to get you in the sack so she could find out if that rumor about you was true.”
Patrick scowled at her and finished off his muffin in one huge bite. “Forget Marylou, that was years ago. I was just a kid.”
“You weren’t a bad kid. But now you’re the mayor, and you won’t do a single simple thing for someone who actually voted for you.”
“Keep your voice down. Other people in here might have voted for me as well, you know.” But he was grinning. Patrick didn’t give a tinker’s damn for politicking in the usual way. He relied on brutal honesty and sensible action, which Shannon had to admit were fine characteristics—except they weren’t working in her favor just at the moment. She tried another tack.
“So what happens if somebody gets hurt—maybe even murdered by this arsonist—and it turns out to have been Forester? You’ll feel awful if that happens, Patrick, you know you will. Especially when you could have prevented it. Especially if it turns out to be me or Sean who dies in the process.”
It felt like blasphemy to even suggest John was involved. How could the same gentle man who’d bound up her foot, who’d kissed her brains out, be an arsonist? Patrick didn’t stop chewing. “Don’t use guilt on me, kid. It won’t work. Even Mom’s given up trying. You have no proof whatsoever that Forester was the guy in the silver. You also have nothing that says the guy in the silver was the one who set the fire or had anything to do with the bomb. You’re on really flimsy ground here. And in my opinion, the person you should be talking to about all this is your captain, Joe Ripani.”
Shannon poured maple syrup on her pancakes and then slid the side order of eggs on top and sliced the whole thing into neat bites. “What good is having a mayor for a brother if he won’t even do a small favor for you?” She tried to make her voice pathetic, but it was tough going. Patrick was impervious to guilt. Why did he have to be the only politician in the western world who couldn’t be corrupted?
She took a huge bite of pancake, savored the combined tastes of whole wheat, fresh eggs, pure maple syrup and strawberries, and decided she’d drop by and see Sean.
She’d enjoy the rest of her breakfast—which she’d decided Patrick was definitely buying—and then she’d pay her other brother a visit.
SEAN AND LINDA HAD BOUGHT a new house on a sloping lot with trees at the back and a view of the harbor in front. Shannon pulled up in the spacious driveway and hobbled up the steps to the front door just as her sister-in-law opened it.
“Hey, Shannon, I saw you drive up. What happened to you? You’re limping.” Linda gave her a hug and drew her into the house. “C’mon in the kitchen. Sean’s making lunch—tuna sandwiches.”
“With pickles?”
“He won’t let me have pickles. Says I’m taking in too much salt. I’d eat them on porridge these days if he let me, not to mention ice cream. And I was the one who said loud and clear I didn’t believe in cravings, they were an old wives’ tale. Now, what happened to your foot?”
“I stepped on a piece of glass at the beach the other night.”
“Obviously you were barefoot at the time. What were you doing, skinny-dipping?”
“I wish.” They’d reached the kitchen, and Shannon limped over and gave Sean a hug.
She was reminded all over again of John. The two were alike, sizewise at least—big and brawny and solid as rock. She wondered if the time would come soon—please, goddess—when ten minutes could go by without her thinking about John.
“Hey, sis, good to see you. Sit down and I’ll make you a sandwich.”
“Thanks, but I just ate my way through a huge breakfast and stuck Patrick with the bill.”
“So, were you alone on the beach when you cut yourself?” Linda sat down at the table and Shannon joined her.
“Nope, I was there with a guy.”
“You were out on a date? Good going, sister. Who with? Do we know him? Is he cute? Thanks, sweetie.” Linda smiled up at Sean as he set her sandwiches down and poured coffee all around.
“The new guy at the firehouse, John Forester. He said he’s met you, Sean.”
“Yeah, I did meet him. He seems like a really good guy.” He gave Shannon a teasing look. “He must be, if he talked you into a date this fast. He’s only been at the station a week or so, and we all know how fussy you are.”
“Yeah, well, I sort of had an ulterior motive this time.” Shannon explained about her conviction that John was the man in the silver who’d rescued her and Salvage. “The dog knew him, I’d swear to it. But he consistently denies being at that warehouse fire, and all his documents back him up. Still, I can’t go against the way I feel. I just really think he was the guy in the silver. And I can’t come up with any reasonable explanation for him to deny it, the way he’s doing.” She took a sip of coffee. She was going to be wired all day with so much caffeine.
What the hell, she was wired from a lot more than caffeine. The memory of John’s kisses had threaded through her dreams when she’d finally managed to get to sleep.
“Unless he had something to do with starting the fire, why would he be there, and why would he disappear the way he did? Unless he has something to hide. And what’s with him getting the posting at this fire station, anyway? You know, Sean, there’s guys who live here who had their applications in, perfectly competent guys, too. But no, they parachute in somebody from New York who nobody knows.”
Linda was giving her a thoughtful look, and Sean was chewing on a mouthful of sandwich, his face impassive. “The bosses don’t exactly explain themselves to us,” he said. “Maybe they wanted a seasoned guy instead of a probie.”
“Did you see his face at all, Shannon, at the warehouse?” Linda asked.
“Nope. You know those silver suits cover up every inch of the body. And they have that dark face mask that you can’t see through. They’re sort of spooky. They look like what astronauts wear. And he didn’t say anything, either, so voice recognition is out.” She looked over at Sean. “I was wondering if you could run a check on Forester somehow, maybe on your computer? Because if the guy’s lying, somebody should find out and go after him about it. I mean, if we’ve got an arsonist going around setting fires—”
Sean set down his sandwich and scowled at her. “Let me get this straight. You went out with John Forester last night, and now you figure he’s an arsonist? What the hell did the guy pull to make you think that, Shannon?”
“He didn’t pull anything—it’s just a feeling I have.” Sean’s face had taken on the grim look Shannon recognized. All the O’Shea men got that narrow-eyed, tight-jawed, bullish expression when they figured one of their women needed protection.
Which was the joke of the century, because every single O’Shea female was more than capable of taking care not only of herself, but also of any male who happened to be around. Linda fit the pattern perfectly.
Sean didn’t look convinced, so Shannon sighed and said, “Honest, he was a perfect gentleman. He took me for dinner at the Tangerine Bistro, that new place on the beach, and when I stepped on the glass, he carried me back to the car and did a professional job of patching up my foot. Then he drove me home and took the dogs out for a walk for me.”
Linda whistled. “Carried you, huh? I’m impressed. As tall as we are, it’s not easy to find a guy with enough brawn to actually pick us up.” Linda was only an inch or so shorter than Shannon. “It’s one of the things about Sean that tipped the scale for me, the fact that he could actually lift me. Not that he’s made the effort all that often. When we went up the mountain and the horses bolted in the lightning storm, you made me walk every single last step of the way back, remember that, Sean?”
“How could I forget? You keep bringing it up all the time.” Sean gave her a look and went straight back to the issue at hand. “Sis, do you have a single shred of actual evidence to link Forester to the warehouse fire?”
“Yeah, I do. The dog, Salvage? Like I said, he recognized John, I know he did. When I brought him to the firehouse, he went straight over to him, put his paws up and licked his face, as if he was saying thanks for getting us out of there.”
Linda nodded as if she was convinced, but Sean looked exasperated and shook his head. “I meant something besides your famous women’s intuition.”
Both Shannon and Linda glared at him, and he held up his hands. “Hey, I’m not knocking it. God knows, in lots of cases women can be right, but in this one, we’re talking about a fellow firefighter. I’d need a lot more than a dog making friends before I’d do a background check on a brother. Sorry, Shannon.”
He stood up and put his cup in the sink. “I’ve got to take off. I’ve got a meeting to attend.” He bent down and kissed Linda, placing one big hand on her flat belly. His voice was so tender it brought tears to Shannon’s eyes when he added, “You and Speedbump take it easy, okay, darlin’? Don’t do anything, just rest and read. I’ll bring food home and make dinner, so don’t even think about cooking.”
He gave Shannon an affectionate tap on the shoulder and a peck on the cheek. “I think your imagination is running away with you, kiddo. But if you come up with anything concrete, be sure and let me know.”
When he was gone, Linda heaved a sigh. “If he could manage it, he’d have me spend these next seven months in a wheelchair. He’s making me nuts. Lord knows what he’ll be like when I finally go into labor.”
“Try and do it when he’s not around. Mom or I will get you to the hospital safely and then we’ll call him.”
“Good thinking.” Linda got up and rummaged in the pots and pans cupboard. She extracted an extra-large jar of dill pickles, then set it on the table along with a box of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies that she’d stashed in the tea towel drawer. She took out a pickle and rested it on a cookie, took a bite and closed her eyes.
“Mmm, ambrosia. Believe it or not, this combination settles my stomach. Thank God he’s gone. I hate the very smell of tuna on whole wheat. Now, let’s have ourselves a healthy little snack and you can go over this whole Forester thing again for me.” She shoved the cookies Shannon’s way. “Sean may not believe you, but I do. And I can do searches on the computer. Just write down everything you know about this guy and we’ll put a trace on him. As soon as we finish these cookies.”
An hour and a half later, the cookies were gone, and Linda had been through one search engine after the other. If the computer was to be believed, John Forester didn’t exist.
“I don’t get it.” She sat back and frowned at the screen. “There ought to be something somewhere. I mean, the guy must do banking or something on the Net, and yet there’s no record of him. Nothing on those military sites, no health records. How can that be?”
“Nothing in these newsletters from the fire departments in New York, either.” Linda had printed them out and Shannon had carefully read each one, searching for John’s name or one that could belong to his father. “He didn’t say exactly when his dad died, but you’d think there’d be something here. They always have write-ups on any fireman who dies.”
“The plot thickens,” Linda said. “Have you thought of asking your captain, Joe Ripani, about him?”
“I’m considering that. Patrick suggested it, too. But I think first I’ll call the Brooklyn Fire Depart
ment on some pretext or other and see if anybody there knows him. He said his father worked at Hall Seventeen.”
“Let me.” Linda’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “I can say I’m a local reporter for the magazine section of the Courage Bay newspaper, and I’m interested in doing a piece on John Forester, because he’s new in town, and we need some background info—heard that his father was a local hero or some such blarney.”
“Do it.” Shannon handed Linda the phone.
And fifteen minutes later, they were back where they’d started.
“They didn’t say they’d never had a Forester work there, which would at least give us something to go on.” Linda sighed. “The guy I talked to said that they weren’t at liberty to disclose any information without written permission.”
“Who from?”
“Next of kin. I was gonna do the sister routine, but I didn’t think it would fly.”
“Good thinking. He told me he’s an only child, so you’d have gotten caught in that little white lie.”
“Damn and blast. Men are so suspicious.”
They both thought that over and then burst out laughing.
“There’s always a way—we just have to figure it out,” Linda said. “When I came here to do that documentary and wanted to know more about Sean, I called you up and asked if we could have lunch, remember? And then you invited me for Sunday dinner at your parents’ place, and I fell in love with your entire family. As well as Sean.”
“They all fell hard for you, too.”
“Well, maybe that’s the answer.”
Shannon shook her head, puzzled. “You’ve lost me. John doesn’t have any family here. His dad is dead and he said his mother’s an alcoholic who spends a lot of time in hospitals. I don’t think I could—”
“Nope, other way round. Bring him home to meet the O’Sheas. We’re all good judges of character, especially your mom.” Linda’s eyes twinkled. “She liked me right away, so there you go. And I love that whole Sunday dinner family thing. It’s like something out of a Norman Rockwell print. Let us have a go at your Johnny Be Good. Maybe you’re too deep in the forest to see the trees.”
Spontaneous Combustion Page 11
