He nodded.
“I stepped into the barn, started to pull on my gloves and dropped one. When I bent down to pick it up, my hand brushed the blackened floor and the same thing that had happened with Mamma Chang happened again. I wasn’t looking at things through my eyes but through his. The vision was blurry, and he wanted a smoke. He put a cigarette into the corner of his mouth and pulled a book of matches out of his jacket pocket and lit the cigarette. He didn’t even think a second before tossing the lit match behind him. Then, he leaned against the door, watching the rain, until he smelled smoke. He grabbed a bucket, but it was full of grain. He dumped it on the small blaze thinking he would smother it, but it flared up bigger than before. Terrified, he tossed the cigarette into a metal feed bucket and ran out. The vision ended, and I realized I was flat on my ass on the floor. I didn’t understand what had happened, but I knew I needed to find that bucket, and I did. The butt was still inside. I showed it to my grandfather, confessed what had happened in Toronto and what had just happened, and we turned the butt over to the police, not giving them any details, just maintaining that no one on the ranch smoked. They matched the DNA on it with a drifter wanted in connection with a burglary and assault in Tulsa.”
He frowned. “Are you saying you touch something at the fire scene and you can tell how it started?”
She nodded. “Essentially, yes. I get impressions of the arsonist’s thoughts and emotions, too. At the garage, all I felt was surprise and shock, but when I touched the stuff in the evidence room, I saw it happen. I know it’s weird, but Gramps made me realize that everything happens for a reason, and if God had spared me in the fire, then maybe I was supposed to use the talent he’d given me to help others. At his urging, I went to school, learned absolutely everything I could about fires and the people who set them, and then I used my ability to be the best I can be in my field. In a lot of ways, our jobs are similar. We both look at evidence, figure out how it fits, and solve the puzzle. Gramps died three years ago, but he was proud of what I’d done with my life. I’ll be forever grateful for the years we had together.” She stood. “Sometimes good things do come from bad ones.”
Chapter Twenty
Jake licked his lips and moved back to the stove, not sure he believed everything she’d told him, but knowing it made more sense than anything he’d thought of. He’d heard of psychics before, people who helped the police solve crimes, but for every legitimate one he’d come across, there were a dozen fakes lurking in the shadows. There was no doubt she believed what she was saying, but how much of it was fact and how much wishful thinking?
“I’m sorry,” he said, pouring the milk into mugs, going back to a point he could get a grip on. “If only I’d known about Nick.” As it was, he would be hard pressed not to punch the man in the face the next time he saw him.
“That’s okay. None of what happened was your fault. If you don’t mind, I’ll take the milk back to my room. It’s been a long day. I’ll give you a blow by blow of what I learned at the sites tomorrow, and we can reexamine the suspect list after. I haven’t kept much from you and I did try to steer things the way they needed to go,” she said, as if she were apologizing for keeping him out of the loop.
He nodded. “You did,” he agreed. “That’s how you knew about the wax and the fact he watched?” Two points he’d adamantly refused to believe until she’d proven to be right about the wax.
“Yes. In the past, since I work alone, I’ve never had to explain how I learn what I do. Thanks for not judging.”
“Does Peters know?” he asked, rather than comment on what she’d said. He hadn’t judged her—he just wasn’t sure he believed it all.
She nodded. “That’s why he sent me. It’s going to take a touch of the supernatural to catch the Fire Angel.”
“That’s what you really meant by impressions. You said you felt him. Can you identify him?”
“Not unless he looks in a mirror, but I look out through his eyes, hear some of his thoughts—it’s hard to explain...”
Jake set the two mugs on the table and pulled her into his arms. They were both tired, and she was emotionally exhausted. The need to kiss her was overwhelming. He knew it was wrong, but he was as powerless to stop himself from doing it as he’d been last night.
He bent his head and kissed her tenderly like he had before. But the touch of her mouth against his enflamed him. He wanted more, so much more, but before he lost all control, he ended the kiss, his breathing as ragged as hers.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he apologized, knowing that wasn’t what he wanted to say. “I’m sorry.”
Without looking at him, she picked up her cup of milk, turned, and headed to her room.
He wanted to call her back, but what could he possibly say that wouldn’t make matters worse?
* * *
Hurrying down the hallway, fighting tears she didn’t truly understand, Alexis closed the bedroom door behind her and leaned against the sturdy wood, cradling the cup of warm milk to her chest. That kiss had begun as a light, tender gesture of compassion and caring, and then it had deepened, leaving her wanting so much more and ashamed of doing so.
God! He’d known it was wrong, had apologized, but contrary to what Bob the Slob maintained, she wasn’t made of ice. She would’ve stayed in his arms forever, but it couldn’t happen again. There was no way she would add home wrecker to her list of qualifications.
Alexis set the mug on her dresser and removed her clothes, ignoring the tears streaming down her face. Crying had never solved anything. She took one of the plastic bags she’d brought with her out of the dresser and put all of her clothes in it. Going into the bathroom, grateful it was en suite, she turned on the shower and stepped under the jets, shampooing twice to get the scent of smoke out of her hair and then allowed the scalding stream of water to flow over her tired, achy muscles. How long had it been since she’d slept, really slept? She could hardly call the hour she’d gotten earlier sleeping, and the previous night, like so many before it, had been plagued by nightmares.
Sleeplessness was bad. Without sleep, the brain ceased its proper functioning creating lapses in memory and concentration that could seriously affect her ability to do her job or convince her the wrong choices were the right ones. In a weakened state, her mind might be more malleable to his and once she got inside again, she might not be strong enough to escape.
Turning off the tap, she wrapped herself in a towel and dried her hair, leaving it loose for the night. She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. 3:35. If she could get a five-hour power nap, she would be good to go. Despite what people said, you could never catch up on sleep. It wasn’t a race, nor was it a bank account where you could deposit sleep like money until you needed it. All you could do was give your body what it needed on a regular basis. Tonight, she would crash at her usual time and by tomorrow, she would be back on schedule.
Leaving the light on in the bathroom, it’s glow enough to chase away the gloom, Alexis reached for the warm milk. Rehashing those memories with Jake had been easier than expected and his willingness to believe in her and her abilities would make the next steps so much easier. But she could never let anything grow between them, no matter how badly she wanted to. He belonged to another woman, one with a beautiful brown-eyed child. Finishing the milk, she climbed between the sheets.
Hopefully, a few hours of rest would help her deal with what had happened with Jake. The sound of the rain on the windows soothed her and within seconds, she was asleep.
* * *
Jake polished off the last of the puffed rice cereal he’d poured into the bowl and finished scribbling a note for Minette, telling her they probably wouldn’t be up early and making sure she knew Maxine was fine. The two had become friends. Thank God Minette hadn’t gone to that lecture last night. She probably would’ve if the conference hadn’t been in full swing.
He lifted the cup of milk to his lips and drained it. What was wrong with him? The last thing
he needed was to complicate issues with Alexis. She had enough to deal with right now. Maya lumbered over to him and rubbed her head on his leg as if to offer sympathy.
“I’ve got a lousy sense of timing—too late twenty years ago, too soon now. Come on, girl. Let’s go to bed.”
He shuffled to the bedroom, the little Shetland by his side. As soon as he closed the door, she hopped up on the bed and settled herself in her usual spot. After undressing and removing his prosthesis, he dumped his clothing into the laundry hamper and hopped into the shower, eager to get rid of the smell of smoke and whatever else his body had absorbed from that cruiser.
His leg was killing him—not just the stump, but the whole damn thing. Why was it that the ghost pain was harder to handle than the real one? He shook his head. Because it was telling him he hadn’t learned his lesson. He’d trusted the wrong person then, and he might well be doing it now. Someone with access to the inn was the killer and he didn’t have a clue who that might be. Other than employees, only three others spent enough time in the apartment to be considered friends—Andrew Shillingham, Frank Arthur, and Ansel Curtis. Maya would recognize those scents as if they were family.
He frowned. Frank worked around the inn on a regular basis. Ansel looked after the little dog and all her needs, while Andrew looked after him. Could he really be the Fire Angel?
Normally, he would dismiss the thought out of hand, but Alexis seemed certain something wasn’t on the up and up. Andrew had been a regular visitor here after he’d returned from Afghanistan. The little dog knew his scent as well as she did any of the staff or frequent guests. There was no way he could dismiss Alexis’s concerns now, not after what he’d learned tonight. He would call in the morning ostensibly to get more of the analgesic cream, but he would take the opportunity to question the man. It couldn’t hurt, and if he did it right, he could rule him out.
Jake turned off the tap, got out of the shower, and wrapped himself in a terry robe. Crutch in hand, he headed over to the bed. He needed sleep if he was going to be of any help tomorrow, doubly so if the weather turned bad. From the sound on the windows, it might be freezing rain out there now.
Staring up at the ceiling, he went over everything Alexis had said. She’d walked five miles in the dark, by herself, without any kind of weapon, to reach that truck stop. Anything could’ve happened to her. It was a good thing James was dead, because after what he’d learned tonight, he would’ve killed him himself. She’d broken away from those who abused her and had become a better, stronger person for it.
In his own way, he’d freed himself, too. He didn’t hate Irena, not anymore. He pitied her, regretted the loss of what they might’ve had, knowing deep inside, it had always been a lie. Maybe, when this was over, he and Alexis could pick up where they’d left off twenty years back. She wasn’t indifferent to him. The kiss had proven that.
She hadn’t mentioned his leg, but she’d commented on his limp. No doubt with scars of her own, it would be easier to accept his. As far as potential suspects for the Fire Angel, that list had been blown apart tonight. The killer was definitely someone they knew, someone with access to inside information, someone who could come and go at will, someone with an axe to grind against the shelter or maybe the whole damn community.
He sat up. If Maxine had been a target and had escaped, he might go after her again. The list of people in and out of that place was endless. Police officers, medics, firefighters, ambulance drivers, cabbies—even Andrew was there when needed. Damn, another point against him.
If Alexis was right, and God help them all if she was, the killer and his body count were chilling—August, September, October, and now November—one, five, four, maybe six if he threw in Nate and Carothers, and now twelve or more—that made it at least twenty-one dead, and that wasn’t the final tally? If he struck in December...
Numbers raced through his head growing exponentially, piling up on top of one another with a faceless maniac, holding a lifeless Alexis in his arms.
* * *
When the phone rang, he jumped up, grateful to be pulled from yet another nightmare. He glanced at the alarm clock. It was after eleven. Maya was gone. Minette must’ve let her out earlier. The phone rang again, and he picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Jake, it’s Ev. I just wanted to let you know that the body count is in. The total is twenty-four which includes the four bikers as we suspected. There were six killed in the dining room by the bomb blast and five in the kitchen whose injuries were consistent with an explosion as well. The others died of smoke inhalation although there were some post-mortem burns. The medical examiner in North Bay has the bodies. Toronto’s sending people to assist with the autopsies. Dwayne Crites lost his wife. They’d had problems and she was staying there. Gus Albert’s niece didn’t make it either. The girl seemed fine—she was one of the first ones out—but went into respiratory arrest. Damn shame. She was almost five months pregnant. Personally, I’d call it twenty-five dead because of that. I’ve asked the M.E. to check for Rohypnol. The shelter’s done. The building has to come down. I don’t know where those in need will go. It’s a great loss to the community.”
“It’s a loss to everyone. I can probably take in a few here after this week. I’m not booked for anything until late in the spring,” Jake offered.
“Thanks. I’ll pass it on to Maxine. Father Geoff has offered the church hall if she wants to continue with the soup kitchen, but they don’t have any space for anyone to live over there. A few have offered to take the survivors into their homes. Jessie and I will be housing the three boys who tried to save the others. Are you coming in today?”
“Maybe later this afternoon. I’ll let Alexis know about the boys in case she wants to talk to them again. She’ll want to check the fire scene as soon as she can. I don’t think she’s up yet. I’ll call you when I know more.”
“Matt should be back from Mattawa tomorrow. He got tied up in a domestic gone wrong. The husband shot his wife and killed a cop. Listen. The weather’s supposed to take a turn for the worse, so be careful. I’ll see you later.”
“Later.”
Jake hung up and got out of bed. It was going to be another long day.
* * *
Maya was out on the deck attending to business when Jake heard Alexis’s bedroom door open. He turned away from the patio window and smiled.
Today, thanks to the forest green sweater she wore over a pair of brown jeans, her eyes appeared deep green.
“I don’t suppose there’s any coffee?” she asked.
“There is,” he answered, moving into the kitchen. “A fresh pot. Want a cup?”
“Oh God, yes. I can’t believe I slept so late,” she said, reaching for the mug he offered her. “It’s almost noon.”
Jake smiled and shook his head. “Don’t feel bad. I just got up about half an hour ago myself.” He licked his lips. “Alexis, about what happened last night—”
“Please don’t.” She put her hand up to stop him. “We were both tired and emotionally overwrought. Things got a little heated ... It meant nothing. Let’s not give it a life of its own.”
He frowned, trying to hide the sudden pain her words caused. It might not have meant something to her, but it had to him. Three days. It had only been three days. And they’d been days from hell, too. He knew it, had known the timing was off. While he might want to argue what she’d said, he nodded.
“Fine by me. Are you hungry?”
There was relief in her eyes, but did he see regret there as well?
“Starving,” she admitted. “I’ve never been so hungry all the time as I am here.”
“Maybe it’s the fresh air, but I would put my money on the stress. Things haven’t exactly been relaxing.”
She chuckled. “That’s an understatement.”
“Let’s head into the restaurant. We’ve got half an hour before their next speaker is scheduled and the place shouldn’t be too busy. Minette’s in the kitchen worki
ng on the dinner options, but she’s offered to make you whatever you would like. If you would rather eat here and, you know, talk, the best I can offer is cold cereal and toast—that is unless you can cook?”
She chuckled and shook her head.
“If it isn’t canned or frozen and can’t be nuked, you’re shit out of luck. The last time I tried to boil eggs, I forgot all about them and burned the water.”
He laughed. “Minette does all the cooking around here, both in the apartment and in the inn, but we usually get whatever she’s serving out there. Come on. If you’re up for it, she makes a mean spinach and cheese omelet. David and I both think she’s a better cook than Mom, but Sally’s warned us to keep that opinion to ourselves.”
She smiled, her eyes definitely filled with sorrow this time. “I think a man should prefer his wife’s cooking. It makes for a happier marriage.”
Unable to help himself, he threw back his head and laughed. “I’ll remember that.” He smiled. “Shall we?”
He opened the inside door and indicated she should walk ahead.
Stepping into the lobby, he saw that the security guards had changed places and the second gorilla occupied the chair his buddy had used overnight. The guy was ostensibly reading a newspaper, but his eyes were fixed on the main doors, scrutinizing everyone who came in.
“You seem to be limping even more today,” Alexis said as soon as they were sitting, and Leon had filled their mugs with coffee. “You mentioned you’d wrenched your leg on Monday. The knee or the ankle?”
“Neither,” he answered. “I thought someone had told you. I have a prosthesis from mid-thigh down. I twisted it where it fits onto the socket and the area is sorer than usual. I’m expecting a new leg any day which should fit better.”
Her eyes opened wide. “I ... I didn’t know. How did it happen?”
Her words were full of sympathy, but he couldn’t miss the curiosity in her gaze. He hadn’t expected to bare his soul so soon, but after what she’d shared last night, did he have the right to keep secrets? Some he could share now, the others didn’t really matter, did they? She’d said the kiss meant nothing.
Fire Angel Page 28
