Spontaneous Combustion

by Bobby Hutchinson

  “Condoms,” she groaned. “I don’t have—”

  “I do.” He held up an economy-size pack.

  “When did you…?”

  “Drugstore.”

  She opened her mouth to ask him if he’d actually been planning this since yesterday, but he stopped her with a kiss that made her toenails curl.

  And then, finally, he was inside her. Heat and a feeling of incredible fullness gave way to friction, to unbearable sensation, to long shuddering slides that drew her up and up until at last she broke, an instant before him.

  It took her a moment to figure out that it was the dogs howling, and not her and John.

  Still short of breath, she said, “So help me, I’m gonna take those two back where I found them. They’re going to have the neighbors calling the cops on us.”

  “Or the fire department.”

  That struck both of them as funny. Unfortunately, their laughter made the dogs worse.

  “I’ll just go and put them in the kennel.” She started to get up, but John stopped her with a kiss.

  “Stay here. I’ll go.” He pulled his pants on and shoved his feet into his shoes.

  Shannon heard him outside the door gentling the dogs, talking softly to them as he led them down the hall, into the kitchen and out the door. It was dark in the bedroom, and she lit a candle she kept beside the bed and then flopped back down on the pillows, stretching a body that felt boneless and satiated. How nice not to have to get up and do everything herself. How nice to feel this satisfied and peaceful and content.

  He was a strong, tender lover. She had a hunch he had way more moves that could surprise her. They’d gone pretty fast. She heard the back door close, and she waited, half-asleep.

  When at last he appeared in the bedroom doorway, he had a tray with two glasses of orange juice and a bag of her mother’s oatmeal cookies that Shannon had stashed in the cupboard. He cleared a spot and set it all down on the bedside table, then pulled off his pants and hung them over the chair. His wallet fell out, and he set it on the dresser.

  “Wow, a guy who makes fantastic love and feeds me as well,” she sighed, devouring him with her eyes.

  “You’re a lucky woman, just keep that in mind,” he said, handing her the juice. “Drink this. And have a cookie or two.”

  She propped herself up on one elbow and yawned. “I’m way too drowsy to want to spoil it with a sugar high.”

  “Eat. You’re going to need all the energy you can muster before morning comes,” he warned, putting his empty glass back on the tray and lying down beside her. He looped an arm across her and kissed one breast and then the other.

  She came close to spilling the juice on the sheets.

  He raised his head and smiled into her eyes. “Trust me on this, O’Shea.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  BY DAWN the following morning, she believed him. The man had incredible stamina. And now he was asleep, and she would be, too—as soon as she used the bathroom.

  Shannon eased out from under his arm and slid out of bed. The candle in its glass holder still burned, the soft light illuminating the huge male form sprawled across her bed. He snored a little and then turned his head to the side. She blew the candle out. The first gray light was already creeping through the blinds, throwing ribbed shadows across her sleeping giant.

  Her heart ached with tenderness as she watched him. He’d sung to her when they weren’t making love, sentimental Irish ballads she remembered her father singing when she was a little girl. John couldn’t carry a tune, and that made the effort even more endearing.

  It wouldn’t take much to fall in love with you, Big Bad John, she told him silently. And when the image of the man in the silver popped into her head unbidden, she felt like groaning aloud. She didn’t want to think about any of that right now.

  She turned away from the bed and started toward the bathroom. She was passing the dresser when John’s wallet caught her eye.

  She couldn’t. It was a huge breach of everything they’d just shared. Only sluts in B movies went through their lovers’ wallets.

  Did she dare? Should she dare?

  She had an obligation, she assured herself, not just to herself but also to her fellow firefighters. Maybe to the entire community. It was her civic duty.

  Come off it, O’Shea. Who are you fooling here? You need to know for you, plain and simple. You need to know if this man you’re more than half in love with is lying to you. You have to know if he has something to hide. You have to know if you can trust him with your heart.

  Checking again to make sure that he was asleep, she reached over and gingerly lifted the wallet. Then, feeling like a criminal, she scurried into the bathroom, eased the door shut and locked it. Then she switched on the light, blinking in the sudden glare. She couldn’t meet her own eyes in the mirror.

  Her heart was hammering and her fingers shook. She felt like the worst sort of traitor as she opened the soft leather wallet and started taking out the cards neatly tucked inside the slots.

  Remember the order, O’Shea. A thief needs a good memory. Or was that a liar? Probably both. Crouching on her haunches, making mental notes, she laid the plastic cards one by one on the white bath mat on the floor. Here was the New York driver’s license he’d shown her, the birth certificate, the fire department ID, his gold Visa card. Three hundred and sixty-two dollars—wow, he carried around a lot of cash. He even had a money clip. She’d never met a guy before who actually used a money clip.

  When the wallet was empty, she examined it again, turned it upside down, gave it a shake. Nothing. Except—there was one area where it didn’t seem to bend the way soft leather should. She opened it up again and probed the spot with her fingers. A loose flap lifted, and, heart pounding, she pulled out another driver’s license.

  This was also issued in New York. The photo on it was unmistakably John, but the name on the license said John Sebastian McManus.

  McManus? Shannon stared at it, and every cell in her body seemed to shrink. She sank down to the floor, breathing fast and shallow, as waves of desolation rolled over her. She’d been right. Oh, Lordy, she hadn’t wanted to be right. She hadn’t wanted real proof that he’d been lying to her. Now she knew for certain that every suspicion she’d had about him was accurate, and it made her feel as though she was dying inside.

  John wasn’t the person he was pretending to be. Who the hell was he, then? Who was this John Sebastian McManus person? What resemblance, apart from physical, did he have to the man sprawled across her bed—the man who’d said, “I’m crazy about you”?

  But did it really matter? Everything else he’d said was a lie. Undoubtedly that was just another one. She felt like throwing herself flat on the cold tile and howling the way the dogs did.

  It took a good ten minutes before she started thinking anywhere near straight, and then the only conclusion she could come to made her sick to her stomach. There could only be one good reason for the detailed lies he’d told, the elaborate cover-up he’d perpetrated.

  Much as she hated to countenance the idea, John had to be the arsonist.

  She ought to feel vindicated. She ought to feel pleased that she was right.

  Instead, she felt sick to the very depths of her soul. Her body still ached in all sorts of places from his lovemaking. She could still taste him, smell him on her skin. She knew every inch of his body, as he knew hers. She felt shattered and heartsick as she carefully slid each card, each bit of his phony cover, back in his wallet.

  The only thing she kept back was the driver’s license she’d found in the secret compartment. Several times, she’d seen John talking to their captain, Joe Ripani. They’d looked to be deep in some serious discussion, which at the time she’d put down to the transfer of pension benefits or the political situation.

  Now she was rethinking those conversations. She’d always liked Ripani, respected him—but what if he and John were working together? What if both of them were involved in this mess? She co
uldn’t take that chance; the stakes were too high. She came to the conclusion that she had to go over Ripani’s head on this one.

  There was no choice. She’d have to take the license to the battalion chief, Victor Odom. The very thought of confiding anything to Odom made every hackle rise. In her opinion, the man was a sexist opportunist with wandering hands. But he was also the top of the heap as far as line of command was concerned. There didn’t seem to be anything else to do.

  At last, she got stiffly to her feet. One thing for sure, she couldn’t go back and climb into bed beside John. And it was still way too early to call Odom’s house and ask him to meet with her. But she couldn’t spend the next two hours locked in the bathroom, either.

  Finally she slid the incriminating license underneath a basket of fancy soaps Linda had given her, and splashed her face with water. She’d have to creep back into the bedroom to get her jogging clothes. She’d have to pray that John didn’t wake up, because she had to return the wallet to the top of the dresser. Then she’d come back in here, put the license in her pocket and go for a run. She needed the release of physical exercise more than she ever had before in her life.

  In another hour, she’d contact Odom and get him to meet her somewhere. Somewhere very public. The thought of being alone in a deserted spot with the man made her flesh crawl.

  Her heart was hammering against her ribs as she crept along the hallway and back into the bedroom. She stood just inside the door, holding her breath, studying the man in her bed, trying to determine if he was really asleep. An insane part of her longed to rip the duvet back, grab his shoulders, jerk him out of sleep and demand an explanation.

  Yeah, O’Shea, go totally nutso. That’s a really smart move.

  He was snoring a little. She set the wallet back as close to where it had been as she could determine, and inch by inch, opened a dresser drawer. She grabbed the first running shorts that came to hand, and pulled out a sports bra and singlet as well. Thank heaven she kept all her sports gear in one messy drawer.

  Holding the clothes, she backed an inch at a time toward the door, watching the bed for signs of movement. There were none. A board squeaked when she stepped on it, and she froze.

  John mumbled, turned his head to the other side and went right on sleeping. She breathed again and eased her way into the hall. After a quick detour into the bathroom to dress and tuck the incriminating license into the zippered pocket in her shorts, she crept along the hall to the kitchen—and came perilously close to screaming at the sight of her uncle Donald, shoes in hand, also sneaking out the door.

  He was as surprised as she was. His blue eyes went huge, and his face reddened with embarrassment. He rubbed a hand across his bald head and opened his mouth to say something, but Shannon put a finger to her lips and violently shook her head. She opened the door as silently as she could, retrieved her runners from the mat by the door, and together they tiptoed down the ramp like thugs escaping a building they’d just burglarized.

  The dogs saw them, of course, and started barking, loud enough to wake the neighborhood.

  Shannon groaned.

  “I’ll get them for you,” Donald offered, and started for the pen. Of course he thought that Shannon would take them with her, but she grabbed a handful of his rumpled cotton shirt, and when he turned around, she shook her head again. Violently.

  “But what…?” Uncle Donald gave her a puzzled, questioning look as she shushed him.

  “I’m going for a run by myself,” she whispered to him, pulling on her runners and tying them. “Wait until I’m gone and then you take the dogs around the block. And don’t tell John you saw me.”

  “But honey, why…?”

  “Don’t ask. Just do it. We’ll talk later.” Her insides were shaking. She drew in a shuddering breath and forced her legs to move. After half a block of fast walking, she broke into a jog.

  Just as she’d known it would, running calmed her. She went a couple of blocks and then headed east toward the mountains, away from the city. She needed space and air, needed the healing silence of the deep woods. Breathing deeply, forcing everything but the rhythm of her body out of her mind, she ran away.

  JOHN HAD COME AWAKE as soon as she moved out from under his arm. Groggy, he opened his eyes a little, and was about to lift his head and say something to her when he saw her stop beside the dresser. He feigned sleep, sensing that she was watching him closely. And then, through slitted eyelids, he saw her reach out a hand and take his wallet before she slipped out the door.

  He felt disgusted with himself. He’d been uncharacteristically slack, and in his business that was unforgivable. And dangerous.

  But he also felt reluctant admiration for Shannon. Obviously, she’d outsmarted him, using the oldest female trick in the book to do it. But most of all, he felt incredible disappointment and an overwhelming sense of loss that took him by surprise. He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted her to trust him.

  He lay unmoving, every muscle tensed, waiting.

  It took a very long time before she crept back into the room, and he knew by the rapid way she was breathing and the stiffness of her posture that she’d found the damn license. Why hadn’t he hidden it somewhere else? He wasn’t usually this careless.

  Again, he feigned sleep, and again, she stood watching him for a very long time. He must have done a good job of appearing comatose, because she silently replaced the wallet, inched open the dresser, pulled out handfuls of clothing.

  Even now, he noted the elegant shape of her as she stood there naked. Her lovely breasts were high, firm and full, rising and falling with her quickened breath. Beautiful arms and strong shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, swelling just slightly into trim hips, long lovely legs.

  She had powerful muscles in her thighs. He knew because those legs had been locked around his waist only a short time before. They’d made love with intensity and abandon, with laughter and teasing, and yes, a depth of tenderness he’d never experienced before.

  And now she was on to him. It was irrational as hell, wanting her to believe in him, to give him the benefit of the doubt—even though he’d been lying to her. He wanted her trust. He wanted her to have faith in him, to realize he was only doing what he had to do.

  And how idiotic was that? But his feelings for Shannon weren’t connected to his brain; he’d been learning that ever since he’d met her. Neither were they entirely hooked to his penis, although sex was definitely a factor. So what did that leave?

  Your heart, Johnny boy?

  And your ass in a sling if she takes that license to the wrong person. Joe Ripani would be a stroke of luck. But if it’s Odom…

  He waited until he heard the front door open and then gently close.

  In one lithe movement, he was on his feet, grabbing for jeans and shirt, socks and shoes. From here on in, it was damage control all the way. He had to catch her before she jeopardized the entire operation.

  He tore down the hallway, out the kitchen door and around the corner of the house—and almost tripped on the dogs and Donald O’Shea, who seemed to be trying to get Cleo up off her back, while simultaneously warding off a snarling attack on his pant legs from Pepsi.

  “Which way did she go?” John had no time for polite small talk. She was in excellent shape. He’d be damn lucky to overtake her, even with just a five-minute head start.

  “I guess if she wanted you to know, she’d have told you, right?” Donald gave him the hairy eyeball.

  Every moment wasted would make it that much harder to catch her in time. What the hell could he say to change her uncle’s mind? And what had Shannon already told him? It couldn’t have been much; there hadn’t been time.

  “Look, Donald, I’m in love with your niece, and I need to tell her so.” It was the first thing that popped into John’s head, and amazingly enough, it worked.

  Donald looked him straight in the eye for one long, tense moment and then pointed down the street. “There’s an alley to your rig
ht. Follow it to the end. It leads to a path up the mountain.”

  John didn’t wait to thank him. He felt guilty about lying to Donald, but at this stage, one more whopper didn’t really seem to matter much.

  SHANNON JOGGED SLOWLY until her muscles warmed up. She had to struggle with the constant urge to cry. Her chest hurt in the region of her heart, and it wasn’t from running. This was a different sensation, a feeling of loss and betrayal and of terrible waste for what might have been.

  For the first time, she admitted to herself that she had fallen in love with John Forester—except, she reminded herself harshly, that wasn’t his name.

  His name was John Sebastian McManus, and she had no idea whatsoever who he really was. She only knew how he kissed, and that he seemed to know all the spots on her body that reacted to his lips, to his touch. How could she have shared that kind of intimacy with a man who was a total phony? She’d always trusted her instincts, but this time they, too, had betrayed her.

  As the incline became more pronounced, a sob that she couldn’t hold back rose in her throat, and energy seemed to drain out of her body. Had she made a mistake, running away? Maybe she should have stayed and confronted him.

  She stopped and turned, looking back the way she’d come. Courage Bay lay below her, spread out along the shore like a toy village. It was still gray out over the ocean, and that grayness seemed to permeate her thoughts. She felt a desperate and unreasonable longing for the sun. Maybe daylight would help her think straight. She caught a glimpse of blue, moving down below her, and she watched until she saw it again. Another jogger was following the winding path she’d taken, and a bolt of fear shot through her.

  Although she hadn’t seen his face, she knew it was John.

  He was still a long ways behind, but she had no illusions about his stamina or his physical condition. After last night, she was intimately familiar with every muscle on his body. He was after her, and unless she moved fast, he’d soon catch up.