A Need to Protect

by Diane Benefiel

  In a bottom drawer she found several large envelopes. She opened the first and several glossy photos tumbled out. They were of her from the summer after she had graduated high school. At eighteen she had worn her hair in braids. She looked happy, her head capped by that silly fisherman’s hat Walt had given her and she’d worn every day that summer. Defying her mother by coming to visit her grandfather had been hard, but she had spent that wonderful summer free from the drama that was life with Trudy.

  Emma flipped through other snapshots before refastening the envelope and set it aside. Rummaging farther into the drawer she found a framed five-by-seven photograph. She held it up to the light. This one was of her and her grandfather together, her arm around his waist, his around her shoulders. Walt Kincaid, with his shock of white hair and comfortable belly, had beamed into the camera. The familiar wave of grief had Emma sniffling as she set the photo on a corner of the desk.

  She opened another envelope and found old snapshots of her grandparents together, some from when her mother was a little girl. She stared at her mother, the date on the border of the photo indicating Trudy would have been about six years old. She wondered if there had been any hints at that early age of the difficult life her mother would lead. Shuffling the photos, she found one of her grandmother. Intrigued, she realized her grandmother and her mother had shared the gray eyes Emma had inherited. Stretching her back, Emma glanced at her phone to check the time, then grimaced at the late hour. Time to get ready for bed.

  With a mug of tea in her hand, she took the stack of unopened letters to her bedroom. Extremely grateful to have the electricity on, she turned on the lamp atop her nightstand and crawled under covers. She rested her pillow against the headboard and sat back with her cup of tea to read through the correspondence.

  The first letter from the developer had been friendly and suggested that Walter Kincaid call the number listed at the top and discuss the offer they had for the property. Emma flipped over the page and saw her grandfather’s spidery script on the back. He’d noted that a representative from Great Mountain Developments had called and again made an offer for the resort. She smiled when she saw the “No Way” written in capital letters and underlined three times.

  She sifted through the other mail and found nothing noteworthy. The Great Mountain representatives had been persistent, requesting phone calls or face-to-face meetings that had apparently never happened. The letters had come even after her grandfather’s death until eventually stopping about a month before her arrival. She wondered if they’d finally given up.

  When her eyes drooped with fatigue, she placed the letters in the drawer of her nightstand. She brushed her teeth in the tiny bathroom and then crawled sleepily back into bed. Within minutes she was sound asleep.

  Emma came awake with a jolt. She pushed down the covers and propped herself up on her elbows, wondering what had awoken her. Picking up her phone, she checked the time. 12:47 a.m. A light wind blew through the forest and she wondered if that had broken her sleep. She liked the sound, kind of like the ocean. She lay back and pulled the blanket to her chin. The only thing she missed about Los Angeles was proximity to the beach. She had spent many lovely evenings walking along the shore, watching the sun sink into the horizon. Well, here she could watch the sun set behind the mountains. Maybe she would take one of the canoes out on the lake some evening. She’d bet at dusk she’d be able to see deer along the shore.

  After drifting off again, Emma jerked awake once more, heart racing. There had been a thud and then a scraping noise. The sounds reached her clearly and definitely weren’t her imagination. They came from outside, not real close though it was hard to tell the direction. Could Dory be out at this time of night? Emma shoved back the covers and pulled on her hooded sweatshirt. She felt around for her shearling boots and pulled them on, shoving her phone into the pocket of her flannel pants before moving to the window. She eased the curtain aside and peered through.

  The window looked out across the road that ran through the cabins. The night was bright with a full moon casting shadows across the landscape. Dory and Adrian’s cabin was farther up the road and obscured by trees. She could make out the dull glint of the tin roof but no light from inside. She wondered if it could be Rodrigo, if he could possibly have found out so quickly where his wife and son were living. Or maybe it was a bear.

  Not able to see anything, she moved swiftly through the cabin to the kitchen door. She opened it a crack to look around, grabbed the flashlight she’d left on the counter and then slipped through to stand in the shadow of the porch. She would check out the noise. If it was a bear she would let it be and hopefully it would move on. She thought of Brad and his insistence that she call if she needed help. Relying on anyone, particularly in law enforcement, went against the grain but if the intruder was human she’d have to call him.

  Even with nerves humming, Emma couldn’t help but notice the spectacular light. Through the trees she could see the moonlight reflecting silver on the lake surface. The breeze had grown in strength, and now gusts tossed the tops of towering pines to and fro. Another sound, not the wind, more like heavy metal objects clanking dully, echoed from across the road. The garage, Emma thought.

  Not risking the flashlight, she pulled up her hood for warmth and moved soundlessly through the trees. Hidden in the shadow of a thick trunk she could see the wide garage door was closed. Whoever it was must have entered from the access door at the back. A flicker of movement caught her attention. Through the window she could see a beam, maybe from a flashlight, cut through the darkness. Definitely not a bear.

  She hesitated. Could it possibly be Dory? Had she needed something for her cabin and hoped to find it in the garage? No. Dory would have waited until morning. And she certainly would have turned on the garage light. Someone was breaking into her property, and Emma felt anger start to simmer. This place was her home now and her chance at a better future. And some criminal, some thief, thought he would steal her blind.

  She pulled out her phone, then hesitated. If she tried to call the cops now, the light from her phone might be seen from inside the garage.

  She eyed the terrain. A dense grouping of pines about twenty feet from the back of the garage would offer cover and allow her to see if the thief came out the back door. She only had to run through an open space lit by the full moon. Piece of cake. Not giving herself time to change her mind, Emma crouched low and ran.

  She sprinted through the clearing, eyes focused on her goal. A black shadow, darker than the rest, detached from the corner of the building. She reacted in an instant, but it was an instant too late. She dodged, tried to brace for impact, and was taken down in a diving roll to just under the garage window. Her attacker took the brunt of the fall, and Emma landed heavily against a solid body, her flashlight knocked from her grip. Heart slamming in her throat, adrenaline kicked in and she scrambled to disentangle arms and legs. She bit back on a scream. She couldn’t bring Dory rushing into trouble. Struggling desperately, she tried to dislodge a calloused palm that closed over her mouth. “Dammit, Emma! It’s me.”

  Emma stilled instantly. Brad’s arms tightened around her as she sagged against him and relief washed through her. He rolled so she was farther under the shadow of the eaves. He pulled her up with him into a crouching position, an arm around her shoulders. Voice low, his lips moved against her ear as he spoke. “There’s one man inside and the back door is open. I’ve been watching for an accomplice but haven’t spotted anyone. I think he’s alone.”

  Even in shadow Emma could see Brad scanning the terrain. The hand cupped at the back of her head pulled her closer. Voice rough, he whispered, “I called for backup but dispatch said there’s an accident out on the highway and all our cars are out there. She’ll peel one away, but it’ll be a few minutes before it gets here.”

  He paused, breath warm on her cheek. He cocked his head, listening, a finger to his lips. Then she could hear it too, a whooshing sound from inside the garage.
Brad reacted instantaneously, pushing Emma to the ground, using his body to shield her. The window above them exploded. Glass shattered outward and flames shot from the window.

  On his feet in seconds, he pulled her with him away from the burning building. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. You?”

  Leaning against a boulder, he shook glass from his hair. “I will be when I catch this guy.”

  Emma caught a shadowed movement. A large form lumbered from behind the garage toward the dirt road. “Brad, there he is.”

  He gripped her arm. “Call the fire in. I’m going to get this bastard.” He raced away, a shadow streaking through the night.

  After pulling out her phone to punch in 9-1-1, she answered the dispatcher’s questions, assured her she wasn’t in any danger, and then pocketed the phone. Remembering the long hose coiled beside her cabin, she ran through the dark to retrieve it. She turned the spigot and pulled the gushing hose toward he garage. In the distance she heard a wailing siren over the snap of the fire. Some of her tension eased. Hopefully it was the patrol car sent by police dispatch. They’d be able to help Brad.

  Getting as close as she dared to the ferocious heat, she directed water through the garage window. She tamped down on worry over Brad facing a vicious criminal, possibly armed, alone. Why had he been at her place? Whatever the reason, she was infinitely relieved she hadn’t had to face the night’s events alone.

  Agonizingly long minutes later, the deeper siren of a fire engine pierced the night, and she soon saw the flicker of red lights through the trees. Two fire vehicles pulled up with a roar, parking in front of the office and disgorging men and women in protective gear. Bright lights on the trucks lit the scene and they began to unload equipment and attach fire hoses to the tanker. In short order water was spraying at the garage where smoke billowed into the dark sky. Emma backed away and returned to her cabin to turn off the water.

  She stood at the far side of the road, feet damp and hands in the pockets of her sweatshirt, trying to suppress the shudders shaking her body while she watched the dying fire. The night was busy with the chatter of radios and fire personnel calling to one another. The firefighter who had checked on her, asking questions about the fire and what was stored in the garage, was on the radio. By the time Brad joined her she was shivering uncontrollably. Arms folded tightly in front of her, she searched his face in the light from the fire truck. “Are you okay?”

  He nodded, eyes watching her carefully. When she continued to shake he sighed. “Come here,” he muttered and pulled her toward him, wrapping her in long arms.

  Emma held her body rigid against the unexpected embrace, but as he rubbed her back in a soothing motion she gave in to the comfort and wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her head against his chest. He pulled the edges of his coat snugly around her and rested his cheek on top of her head. Another spasm rocked her body and she burrowed into his warmth.

  “It’s the adrenaline,” he said against her hair.

  “I feel cold,” she mumbled.

  “It’s adrenaline crash. It gives you the shakes.”

  Emma thought about it. “Oh.” Whatever had caused the trembling, being held so securely against him felt more comforting than anything she had ever known. The shaking eased.

  “It’ll take these guys a while to mop up. The fire marshal should be here soon. I’m going to run our arsonist in, see what I can get from him.”

  She tipped her head back to peer into his face. “You got him?”

  Brad gave a sharp laugh. “Don’t act so surprised. Of course I got him. He’s cuffed and in my truck. I have an officer on him.”

  Emma frowned. “Why did he set fire to my garage? If he was wanted to steal some tools or something, I could understand him breaking in. But arson? That doesn’t make sense.”

  A patrol car pulled up the road and Brad loosened his hold and stepped back, eyes still on Emma. “He’s taken his Mirandizing to heart and clammed up. But I’ll work on him and figure that out.”

  He waved the officer over, then told Emma, “Go let Dory know everything is all right. I’ll be back when I can.”

  At 3:00 a.m., Emma sat with Dory in her kitchen, drinking hot tea. With Adrian still asleep they talked quietly. Amazingly, the boy had slept through all the noise of sirens and radios. Through the kitchen window she could see the fire crew still busy as they finished their clean up. She’d been told one truck would remain with its crew to make sure there were no flare-ups. Even in the cabin Emma smelled the harsh odor left by the fire.

  A muted knock sounded on the kitchen door and Dory rose to open it. Emma looked up to see Brad framed in the doorway, his presence imposing in the bright light as he entered the room. Dirt smudged his navy police-department coat and his jeans sported a tear at one knee. His watchful gaze locked on hers.

  Strong, capable, in command. Emma had never felt herself susceptible to the type but she found herself pulling in a deep breath to slow her pulse. The escalating attraction she felt for him left her mind blank, had her fumbling to say something to cover the sudden awareness.

  “Did he say anything?” she blurted out. “Did he tell you why he burned down my garage?”

  Brad nodded. “His name is Bill Jackson. He’s decided cooperation might get him some leniency so he got pretty chatty. He was paid four hundred and fifty dollars to set the fire. The guy isn’t too sharp and was probably hired because he didn’t ask questions. He’s a low-level, habitual offender from Bishop. Says he didn’t know the man who hired him.” He rubbed his chin where dark stubble cast a shadow. “Right now Bill’s in the hospital claiming chest pains. I’ll question him again in the morning.”

  Dory, dressed in a pretty blue robe, spoke. “Could this be connected to Rodrigo?”

  Brad shook his head. “I don’t think so. Tomorrow I’ll have Sacramento PD verify Rodrigo is still at his brother’s house and I’ll let you know. But I don’t think you need to worry.” He smiled at her. “And thanks for calling me when you heard noises, Dory.” The look he shot Emma was as good as a reprimand.

  Dory gave him a firm smile. “Can I make you some coffee, Brad?”

  At his grateful thanks, Dory filled the coffeemaker while Emma sat thinking through what he’d said. “How did this Jackson guy get here? I can’t believe he walked out here from town.”

  “Jackson’s car was parked down the road. He does odd jobs for an auto shop in Bishop and said the guy approached him there. I’ll follow up when they open, see if any of the employees know him.”

  Although he couldn’t have gotten more than a couple of hours sleep, Brad looked alert and vital. He certainly hadn’t suffered from an adrenaline crash. He sat down opposite Emma at the table as the aroma of coffee permeated the air. “We’ll need to go over anything you think might have to do with this. Think if you can remember if Walt was worried about anything in particular. But tomorrow, after you’ve gotten some sleep.”

  Emma nodded, hands gripped in front of her. Her experience with the police had taught her they could not be trusted, but her feelings about Brad were so confused. Regardless, she knew she had to cooperate to find out if she was being targeted. She tamped down on the uneasiness left by the night’s events. She would have to be hyper-vigilant, always on guard, because she would never allow anyone to scare her away from her home.

  Emma was up and showered by seven the next morning. She waited for her coffee to brew while staring out the front window of her cabin. The wind the night before had brought in a storm. The sky was cast with swirling clouds coming over the western mountains. The lake itself was choppy, whitecaps kicked up by the gusty wind. Rain pelted the ground and she went outside with a steaming mug to stand under the eaves of the porch. From the shelter of the overhang she saw lightning flash across the sky and, overlaying the acrid stench from the previous night’s fire, she smelled the fresh aroma of wet earth.

  An SUV, Hangman’s Loss Police’s Department emblazoned on the door, pulled in front o
f the cabin. The engine cut off and Brad opened the door. He ducked his head and jogged to the porch. When he stood in front of her in the half-light of the storm, Emma could see he’d finally hit the wall.

  “You haven’t slept.” Fatigue lined his face.

  He shook his head and reached for her mug. Taking a deep sip, he kept his eyes on hers over the rim.

  When he went to pass it back, Emma put up a hand. “Drink it. I’ll get another.”

  She returned to find Brad at the rail, gaze on the storm over the lake. Rain kept a steady rhythm on the tin roof.

  “When I drove up and saw you, you looked so natural. Like you’ve always lived here. It’s hard to remember that until a week ago you lived in LA.”

  Emma watched the rain dripping from the eaves. “To me, this is all so new and fascinating. I love the storm. It’s beautiful.”

  “Yeah.”

  She stiffened when she realized that he was looking at her, not the storm. His gaze sharpened, and she saw it dip to her mouth. She took a quick step back, brain scrambling for something to divert his attention. “Did you talk to Jackson again?”

  He gave her a thoughtful look. “You won’t always be able to sidetrack me, Emmaline.” He took another sip of coffee before continuing. “Jackson still claims he doesn’t know the name of the guy who hired him. Said he approached him a couple of days ago, wanted him to torch your garage. Offered to pay enough to make the job attractive. Jackson thought he’d stow anything he could sell for extra cash before he dumped a bunch of gas and lit a match. Some of your tools were behind the building and didn’t burn.”