by Piper Stone
She rolled through the set, content and happy with her performance. “Thank you for such a wonderful night, one I’ll never forget. You guys rock!”
Jessica eased the guitar on the stand and waved before heading off stage. She huddled in the shadows, catching her breath. This was supposed to be a night of celebration; a beautiful event she could share with a man she’d grown so close to. She wrung her hands, refusing to give in to her anguish. There was no turning back.
A rustling sound drew her attention. She looked over her shoulder and was shocked to see everyone on their feet.
“Encore!”
“More!”
“Jessica! Jessica! Jessica!”
Clenching her fists, she hadn’t prepared an encore song. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. As she glanced out into the audience and the way the entire room was responding, she debated, the decision tougher than she wanted to believe. But she had no choice. None. She searched for Stoker one last time before shaking her head and moving back to the guitar. For this song, she’d need to stand.
“Thank you so much. I have one last song for you tonight and this one is…” The hesitation seemed to draw people closer, craning to see what she was going to say. “This one is for a very special person in my life. He’s the kind of man you call a hero, but he’s just a man with a heart as big as this town and a soul that’s been crushed during the last two years. I only wish I could tell him how important he’s become and how much I adore him. This is for you and you know who you are.”
A single tear slipped down her cheek as she adjusted the microphone and held her breath. Shaking, she knew if Stoker were here, she’d be unable to perform. Suddenly, the white lights were now blue, highlighting the woman and her guitar. Unable to see anything, she closed her eyes and allowed the music to take over.
“There are moments I need quiet reflection. On a man who steals my heart. Scattered whispers of raw emotions fill the darkest desires of my inner thoughts. Does he sense how I feel?”
She risked a single look, shuddering as the audience swayed back and forth. Some stood holding their phones in the air, the flashlight effect moving together. Stoker. Where are you? Why aren’t you here?
The words were heartfelt, filling the very soul that had been empty for entirely too long, but they were also some of the most difficult to sing in her life.
As she neared the end, tears now trickling down both cheeks, a face appeared just in front of the stage, the eyes glazed over with a haunted stare. Stoker. Blinking, she took a step closer, longing to touch him, share the special moment. What was he thinking? Did he know she’d written this for him? Could he understand the depths of her feelings? She gave him a smile as she breathed the last words.
“Does he know how I feel? Does he understand I’ll love him ‘til the end of time? Does he?” She took a step back, fighting the urge to run off the stage. When there was no reaction, none, total quiet in the entire restaurant, she gulped in air.
Stoker moved closer, the look on his face pensive, yet his eyes dancing back and forth. He never blinked, didn’t say a word as the crowd came to life, roaring their appreciation. He issued a single nod then moved off into the shadows.
And Jessica knew, out of her life. She’d failed one last time and this would be her last. Minutes later she was off the stage, pushing through the crowd. As men and women reached out, congratulating and wishing her well, she smiled politely, shaking hands as her entire body went numb.
When she finally made it to the bar, she noticed the rest of the smokejumpers, but no Stoker. “Where is he?” The words half spoken, she turned in a full circle.
“He’s gone. He took my car,” Shannon said. “But he has a good reason.”
“Where? Where did he go?”
“Let’s go to my office and I’ll try and explain what I know.”
“This is insane. That song was for him. He was right there in front of that stage so he knows. I poured out my fucking heart. I don’t understand that man at all,” Jessica turned in a full circle. He had to be here.
“Jessica, he knows, but he really does have a valid reason for leaving. Let’s talk. Okay?” Shannon asked, her words labored.
“No. I can’t. I’m done talking. Thank you for everything, but I can’t do this any longer.” Jessica backed away, a mixture of confusion as well as contempt. How dare he walk out after!
“No. Wait. Listen to me.” Shannon took a step forward.
Jessica shook her head and wiped her eyes before turning around and racing toward the door. There were no words to soothe her broken heart, no manner of righting the wrongs surrounding their brief but amazing love affair. She wasn’t good enough to love.
“Jessica Dunn.”
The powerful and deep voice caught her just before she burst outside. She exhaled and offered her practiced statement without looking in his direction. “Thank you. I hope you enjoyed the show.”
“I did. So much so I’m ready to offer you a contract.”
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Stoker paced back and forth on the porch, cussing under his breath. He didn’t give a damn what time it was; he was determined to fix this shit.
Bam! Bam!
“Come on, Sheriff. I know you’re there.” He turned to glance at the two cars parked in the driveway. Antsy, he continued to pace. Dumbass wasn’t the word for the person he’d become. His thoughts drifted to the song, her song, the one she’d written for him. He placed his hand over his heart, unable to stop shaking. Racing out after the song, taking Shannon’s car was impetuous enough. Beating down the door at the Sheriff’s home just before midnight was a hell of a lot worse.
A single light turned on above his head, forcing Stoker to wince. He paced back and forth, his boots thudding against the deck boards, and listened to the sounds of footsteps.
The door was opened slowly, the barrel of a gun pointing out toward him.
“Sheriff James. It’s Stoker Hansen. I’m sorry to bother you so late but this is urgent.”
“Son, I could have shot you where you stood,” the sheriff said as he yawned and unlocked the screen door.
“Can I come in? I won’t wake your wife. I promise.”
“She’s been dead almost two years, but you did wake me. What’s so urgent?”
Stoker noticed the man’s puffy eyes. “Did you arrest Cooper McKenzie?”
“That’s why you’re here?” The Sherriff exhaled. “He was brought in for questioning. I suspect he’ll be out in the morning given the attorney his sister hired.”
“Did you find evidence? He couldn’t have done this. I know the man. He wouldn’t risk lives. He’s a hero to this town and the men and women of his corps in the Marines.” Just saying the words gave him shivers. Cooper was the hero and always would be.
Sheriff James shook his head. “Let me get this straight. You come into my office just a few days ago with a valid concern regarding the type of man who could have started these fires. My office did their due diligence, checking for any corroborating evidence and finding enough that we brought Mr. McKenzie in for questioning. Now, you’re recanting your story?”
“I never said I thought this was Cooper’s doing. I only said I suspected that there was a fireman behind the arsons. That’s it. I told you why.”
“You did what you believed was right and so did my department. Now can I go back to sleep?”
Stoker tilted back his head. “Can I go see him?”
“Now? This can wait until in the morning. Let sleeping dogs lie. If he’s innocent, the truth will come out.”
“Did Mayor Falk put you up to this?” The woman was tenacious and ruled the city with an iron fist. She also boasted about dropping crime rates given her no tolerance stance.
“Mayor Falk was pleased to hear we had a suspect, but this is about evidence, Stoker. Evidence.” Sheriff James exhaled.
“What evidence? What could you possibly have on Cooper? He’s an invalid for God’s sake.” Stoker grimaced.
Stoker took a step back. He knew exactly what the Sheriff was trying to say. Even given his injured status, Cooper would have access to the various fuels if he flashed his old smokejumper badge. “Did you find anyone who sold the stuff recently?”
“We have a lead. That’s all I’m going to tell you. Now, go home.”
“Cooper didn’t do this. I’d swear on any Bible.”
The Sheriff closed the screen door. “Then work with your Fire Investigator to find me real evidence so I can convict the right person. Other than that, stay out of police business.”
When the door was shut in his face, Stoker fisted his mouth in fury. What a fucking mess all the way around. A lead. They were trying to pin this on Cooper. He’d bet his life.
But what if he was wrong?
By the time he made it back to his house, it was after two-thirty in the morning. He’d driven by the other cabin, searching for lights, and sat quietly outside wishing Jessica was still up. He had so many things to say to her, so much to admit. Fear remained like a tight vice gripped around his heart. He rested his head on the steering wheel, his thoughts drifting back to the event in the war. Everything was so clear to him, so vivid in detail that he was lost in the memories. If only he could have change the outcome.
When he walked in his front door, MacGyver greeted him as if he’d been away for years, pawing and wiggling as he jumped on his master. “Hey, boy. Sorry I was gone so long. Have you been a good boy?”
He walked straight into the bedroom, turning on the light. The bed was made, no obvious signs he’d ever had a visitor. Inhaling, the sweet scent of her fragrance assaulted his nose and he leaned against the doorjamb, longing to find her in his bed. Even the memories of their amazing time together couldn’t soothe the beast under his skin. He was a true monster.
The book grabbed his attention and he groaned. Bull riding. Maybe he should have taught her. Maybe he should have taken down his walls. Too many maybes.
After turning off the light, he walked back into the living room, glaring at the space where the guitar used to be. A rush of new memories inched past the blood and gore, times when he and Cooper used to share a six pack while Cooper strummed a song or two. The man could sing. He smiled as he thought about the way Jessica had taken to the instrument, as if the piece had always belonged to her. The guitar was better off in her hands.
He sat down on the couch, smiling as Mac jumped up beside him, laying his head on Stoker’s lap. Easing back against the cushions, he stroked the pup’s neck and closed his eyes. “What are we going to do, boy?”
He walked into the garage and stood in the darkness for a solid five minutes before flipping the light switch. The eerie creaking of the fluorescent bulbs zapping on and off then on again was comforting. He grinned as he surveyed his collection, having amassed enough material for several bombs. He was biding his time, searching for the best conclusion, the ultimate fire dance. Dear God, he was nothing more than a fire devil in disguise.
The thought pleasing, he walked closer to the massive table, eyeing the wires and timers, putty and various fuels, his cock swelling from the intense desire. He was no longer a creature of habit, preferring to find alternative methods to send his message to the sleepy little town.
Snorting, he was glad he’d gotten back in time, before daylight, in order to have time by himself. He loved the darkness, appreciating the ominous appearance of the clouds passing by the slender moon, the way shadows played off the house, the landscaping. He was in his element, savoring every moment of his fifteen minutes of fame. He was going to turn them into a lifetime.
He yanked open a drawer, yanking the crudely created map into the light and fingered the bomb areas. Not one of the supposed intelligent fire fighters had figured out the pattern. He was surprised, but perhaps he could use the development for the last great hurrah. Fingering the map, he drew a line in both directions. Either one would fit into the pattern quite well. While the first location was heavily populated, the fire could more easily be contained, given the closeness of the fire stations.
The second was rough terrain, but if started properly, the fire would be massive, extinguishing possibly ten miles of precious timber. While the casualties would be low, the effect would scar the city for years to come. This would take every bit of skill and training he’d had over the years, but would be a delicious final blow.
He hummed as he debated, then grabbed his favorite red pen, circling the area. The second one was circled once. Twice. A third time. He was giddy from the decision, proud of being an American. Retaliation was best served scorching hot.
Laughing, he stood back, admiring the colorful map. Time to catch some shut eye. He had a hell of a lot of planning to finish.
After all. D-day was two days away.
“Look out. I’m coming for you.”
Chapter 15
“What do you mean he was bailed out in the middle of the night, Deputy Sampson?” Stoker stood glaring at the bleach blond woman, his fist clenched. “I asked the Sheriff if I could see Cooper last night and he said there was no way.”
“Mr. Hansen. Mr. McKenzie has a powerful attorney. She refused to take no for an answer. Now, I have work to do. If you want to talk to Mr. McKenzie, you’ll have to do it elsewhere.”
“Is the Sheriff here?”
She exhaled and glared in his direction. “No, he’s out working on an investigation.”
“The arson case?” Stoker pushed.
“We have several ongoing investigations we’re working on. Is there anything else you need?”
Stoker debated what to do. “Fine. Can you tell me when Cooper was released?”
“Somewhere around three am according to the records,” she offered as she typed on her computer.
“Wow. Thank you.” For nothing. He stormed out of the precinct and stood gazing up and down the street. There were two sources that he knew of that sold the kind of components used for a bomb. Granted, various items could be purchased over the internet, but the fuel itself would be expensive to transport as well as required to be handled in a certain manner. If the arsonist purchased the items in town, perhaps they’d have a record.
He headed for his truck, determined to find some answers.
As he drove to the outskirts of town, he thought about the case. Details were nagging at him, including the locations of the fires. They were convenient yet pointed, selected as if to give a statement. But what and why? He stopped at the local drug store, the only location providing old fashioned maps, and purchased two of the area. When he was back in his truck, he yanked his phone from his pocket. This was important, but seeing and talking to Jessica was vital.
He hesitated before dialing her number, waiting a full ten seconds before placing the call. Jittery, he’d gone through every grouping of words, phrases and apologies in his mind. There was nothing he could say to excuse his behavior. When he heard her voice mail, he was almost relieved.
“Jess. Look, I was an asshole last night. I’m so sorry. I loved the song. You have no idea how much that meant to me. I’m not good at expressing myself. I also didn’t mean to run out like that. Cooper was arrested and… Oh, hell, I don’t know if I’m making any sense. I want to see you, if for no other reason than to talk this out, apologize for my—”
Beep!
Growling, he yanked the phone out, glaring at the screen. Had he rambled so much her voice mail cut him off? He had no way of knowing whether she’d even received the call, but damn he wasn’t going to attempt the muddled shit again. No, he’d go see her right after the two stops. And they wouldn’t take very long.
He pulled into the parking lot
of the first shop, frowning as he looked out the windshield. Walker and Frick. Interesting name. The dilapidated building could have appeared abandoned had there not been ten trucks in the parking lot. The sign indicated they sold guns as well as ammunition. One stop shopping.
After parking, he walked into the store, unsure of what he’d find. The inside was surprisingly modern, with laptop computers as well as electronic registers. No one bothered to look in his direction when he entered, but upon observation, the customers appeared to be hunters grabbing last minute items for a trip.
He waited his turn. There was nothing in the shop to indicate equipment for sale to build a bomb. There were no timers to speak of and the fuel being offered was propane and Coleman fuel, typically used for recreation only. He was familiar with the majority of high grade accelerants used by arsonists including turpentine, methyl alcohol and carbon disulfide, but they all has distinct odors, none of which were detected at the scene of the fires. This was another substance altogether.
“Can I help you?” the man asked as he peered over his glasses.
“I’m looking for various types of accelerants. What do you sell?”
“Who’s askin’?”
Stoker pulled out his credentials, flipping open the leather folder. Now, he was glad he’d brought them. “I’m investigating the recent fires.”
“You and everybody else, Lieutenant.” Giving Stoker a disgruntled look, he leaned over the counter. “I’m going to tell you exactly what I told the Sheriff and every other Tom, Dick and fuckhead that’s come in here. Everything we sell is legal. Whatever assholes use and for what ain’t none of my business.”
“It is your business if you knowingly sold bomb equipment and didn’t report the sale to Homeland Security. You could land in jail for a very long time, my friend.” Stoker narrowed his eyes, remaining unblinking.
