by Beverly Long
She thought of nothing, hoping desperately that her brain would shut down.
But it didn’t. When sleep finally came, her dreams were wild and angry. Michael had found her. He waited for her. Just like before. She opened the front door of her house and he stood in the kitchen. “I’ll never let you go,” he ranted.
Tara lunged toward the door but he stopped her. He grabbed her, his arms as strong as a vise, and she knew that fighting back was useless. He twisted her arm and the pain flamed. She looked down. Her arm hung at her side, flopping like a wet noodle. Michael laughed, holding his arms high above his head. In Michael’s hand, he held a long thin bone, covered with blood. Her bone, her blood. She looked down again at the flaccid flesh at her side and screamed in horror.
“Tara, Tara,” he called to her.
She couldn’t move. Blood poured out of her arm, pooling around her feet. He was going to make good on his promise—this time he was going to kill her.
“Somebody help me,” she screamed.
She woke up when the bedroom door flew open and slammed against the wall. It hung off its hinges and Jake filled the doorway. His hair was sticking up, his eyes looked huge, and he had his gun pointed at her.
“I’m okay,” she managed, grateful that he’d turned the hallway light on. Not only did she hate waking up in the dark but she didn’t want him shooting her by mistake. “I had a bad dream.”
She heard him sigh. “Tara. You scared ten years off me.” He came close enough that his knees brushed up against the bed. His chest was moving as he sucked in air. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked finally.
“No,” she replied honestly, not even able to look at him. Had she screamed out Michael’s name? Had she been that careless? She was terribly afraid that the tears that threatened would fall any minute. Jake had been through that once already tonight. He certainly didn’t deserve another round.
“Tara, that was some dream.”
She hadn’t had that particular nightmare for months. Had thought she had finally left it behind. “Yeah. Maybe I should have had that ice cream,” she said, hoping like heck that he’d let it go. She yawned and made a big production out of covering her mouth.
He got the message and stepped back.
And as crazy as it seemed, even though she was covered with a blanket and a sheet, she felt suddenly cold. “Jake,” she said. She could explain. Really should. But then he’d look at her with the same disgusted look that the cops in D.C. had. She couldn’t bear that. She never wanted to see that look in anyone’s eyes again. And then he’d have all kinds of questions. Questions that she couldn’t answer.
“Yeah?” he prompted, his tone patient.
“Nothing,” she said.
He stood there, motionless. The only sound in the quiet night was his breathing. After a minute, he turned and left, doing his best to close her bedroom door behind him.
Once he was gone, she felt cold and very alone. Perhaps more so than ever, because for those few minutes when his male scent had filled her room and his quiet competence had helped steady her, she’d almost been able to forget that he wanted a woman who wouldn’t lie to him.
Chapter Nine
The next morning, shortly after the sun rose past the horizon, Jake rolled down the windows of his squad car and drove to Tara’s house. Before leaving, he’d made sure she was still sleeping. He had stood in the wrecked doorway of her room and watched her for several minutes. Her face had been relaxed, her dreams peaceful.
They hadn’t been peaceful the night before. Had scared the hell out of him. It had been one really bizarre night. Full of highs and lows and every kind of emotion. Euphoria when she’d invited him back to her house. Outrage when he’d seen the fire. Sadness when she’d collapsed in his arms and cried her heart out. Awkwardness when they’d come inside. He’d been the host and she’d been the quiet guest who didn’t want to cause any trouble.
Then she’d taken a very long shower. Not that he’d been timing her or listening or hell no, envisioning her naked in there. He’d heard the bed squeak and that had caused him a few uncomfortable moments. Flipping through the television channels, he’d finally landed on an old Adam Sandler movie.
The next thing he knew, her screams had awakened him from a sound sleep. For just a brief moment, he’d been back in a dark warehouse, and Marcy had been pointing a gun at his heart. And the screaming had been in his head.
Then he’d realized where he was and had run for her room, sure that someone had somehow managed to get inside. And the damn door had been locked. He’d have to get that fixed before Chase returned.
When he’d found her safe, he’d wanted to hold her. And not let go until both of them stopped shaking. But then she’d played the It’s Nothing card. It’s nothing you need to worry about. It’s nothing that we’re going to discuss. That’s what had kept him up for the rest of the night. That and the fact that every time he closed his eyes, he saw her sitting up in bed, her ridiculously long-sleeved big T-shirt slipping off her shoulder, showing soft, silky skin.
About four, he’d stopped pretending that going back to sleep was an option. He’d showered—yes, a cold one—and that had helped some. Then he’d watched some early-morning news programs and when it was light, had decided to stop screwing around. Before leaving he’d written Tara a note, telling her that he might be gone for several hours—that he was going to check on her garage and then go to the office to finish up some paperwork.
He didn’t see another car on the road until he pulled into Tara’s lane and realized that Chad Wilson was already working the scene. Chad glanced up as he got out of the car.
“I’m about done here, Chief.” He pointed to a blue evidence bag. “Got everything I need.”
“Find anything?”
“Confirmation of what I thought yesterday. Three points of origin. No obvious accelerant, which tells me the guy was either really confident or lucky—maybe both.”
“What do you mean?”
“He had to light one spot, move to the second and finally the third. By the time that third one got lit, there was probably a fair amount of smoke. He still had to get out. Which he did, because there’s no dead body inside. Which I’m grateful for. It would have really cranked up the paperwork.”
Jake smiled. True but it might have allowed him to get a decent night’s sleep. “Anything else?”
“No. But if I had to hazard a guess, it’s probably not the guy’s first fire. Not a pro but some technique.” Chad peeled off his gloves and the booties covering his shoes. “I’ll do the official report, get a copy to you, and another one for Tara’s insurance company.” He opened his car door and shoved his bag inside. “Hey, Chief. I understand from my dad that your truck is ready. You can pick it up anytime.”
“Great. I’m going to put a couple hours in at the office, then I’ll run by and get it.” Jake got in his car, started it and dialed Andy’s cell phone number. The man answered on the third ring, sounding sleepy.
“Andy, it’s Chief Vernelli. Did you talk to Donny Miso last night?”
“Uh…yeah. Let me get my notes.”
Jake started driving toward the police station. Saw just one car on the road. As it went past, the driver waved. Just being friendly.
Except that not everybody was friendly in Wyattville. Somebody was being very unfriendly to Tara. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew more than she was telling.
“Okay, Chief. I found him at the Double-Pull. Bartender confirmed that he’d gotten there around eight.”
“What was he doing before that?”
“Said he was sitting in Washington Park, on a bench.”
“Can anybody confirm that?”
“He said there were some kids on skateboards, doing jumps off the ramps. He thought they’d probably remember him. I tried to find them at the park but they’d gone home. I’ll swing by today. Oh, by the way, Janet called. She didn’t have your number. She said it was important that sh
e talk to you.”
“To me? Not to Tara?”
“Definitely you, Chief.”
Jake took down Janet’s number, thanked Andy and concluded the call. He dialed Janet’s number. She answered on the first ring.
“Hi, Janet. It’s Jake Vernelli. Andy said that you wanted to talk to me.”
“How’s Tara?”
“Okay, I think.”
“Good. Look, I’ve got something to tell you. It might not be anything but when I heard about the fire, I knew I had to say something. This isn’t the first fire that got deliberately set in Wyattville.”
Jake thought it was odd that Chad Wilson hadn’t said anything about other fires. “When were the others?”
“Almost seventeen years ago. My son was sixteen. The same age as Bill Fenton. They were best friends. Inseparable. It was the summer before their junior year.”
That explained why Chad hadn’t said anything. He doubted there could be any connection, but given that Janet wasn’t known for gossiping or even talking unnecessarily, he didn’t want to shut her down. “Tell me about the fires.”
“A couple barns were burned down. Some livestock was killed. That made a lot of people angry.”
“What happened?”
“My son was arrested. He never went to jail or anything. We got a lawyer and, ultimately, the charges were dropped because there wasn’t any evidence. But some people never did believe he was innocent and it was difficult for him. I knew he didn’t do it. He wasn’t that kind of kid.”
“Who started the fires, Janet?”
“I don’t know for sure. But I always thought that Bill Fenton had something to do with it, because the two of them stopped being friends and they never spoke again after that summer. I asked my son but he would never say. I guess he figured he didn’t want anybody else to suffer the kind of public condemnation that he’d been subjected to.”
“And you think this has something to do with the fire at Tara’s house?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t want it to start up again. That’s all I got to say. Goodbye.” She hung up.
Jake drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, not sure what to think of the conversation. It seemed pretty far-fetched that Bill Fenton had come back and burned down Tara’s garage when he was supposedly moving on with his life. Hell, the man was getting married. But there was the odd exchange between Madeline and her mother, and now that he thought about it, Henry’s behavior had seemed a bit off, too.
He might just do a little checking on the man, just to be sure the Fentons had a good read on their son. He pulled up outside the police station, but instead of getting out he started to think of all the things that he’d rather do on a bright, beautiful Sunday morning. Nobody was expecting him, it was his day off. And, as silly as it sounded, he was anxious to drive Veronica again.
It was a long shot that Toby Wilson would be at work, but Jake took the chance. He made a quick right and then a left and pulled up to the two-bay garage. One overhead door was open, and he could see Toby with his head stuck under the hood of a black SUV.
In a matter of minutes, Jake had walked around Veronica, dutifully admired the work, paid the bill and pocketed the keys. “I’ll be back in just a few minutes, Toby. I’m going to drop the squad car off at the station and then walk back to get my truck.”
It took less than ten minutes to get it done. As he pulled away from the garage, he waved to Toby, happy to be in his truck once again. As he cruised down the street, he thought about picking up some pastries and coffee—Andy had shared that the grocery store had a decent bakery. And Tara seemed to really like the sweet stuff. Maybe they could eat outside on Chase’s patio and read the paper.
On the way through Wyattville, he glanced at Nel’s. The front windows all looked secure. On a whim, he decided to check the back door. When he turned into the lot, his thoughts started to race. Not because of what he saw but rather, because of what he didn’t see.
Tara’s vehicle wasn’t there. Had someone stolen the old van? Jake got out of his car and started to run up the wooden steps to Nicholi’s apartment, thinking the man might have seen something. At the last minute he realized that he was going to scare the hell out of Nicholi if he didn’t calm down. The man would think it was about Andy and he’d assume the worst.
When Nicholi opened the door, Jake was casually leaning against the railing. “Hey, Nicholi. How’s it going?”
“Pretty good. My apartment is hot already, though. Doesn’t seem as if the old air conditioner can keep up.”
Maybe that was why he was sweating, Jake thought. Right.
“Last night I thought Tara left her van here. I was surprised that I didn’t see it in the lot.”
“She came by about ten minutes ago and got it. Didn’t get a chance to talk to her. She waved but seemed as if she might be in a hurry. Darn girl is always doing something.”
Yes, but what. And why? “Okay, thanks, Nicholi. Keep cool.” Jake returned to his truck and started toward Tara’s house. He was a half a mile away when he saw what appeared to be Tara’s van in the far distance.
She was leaving town. He sped up and got close. Not too close that she could see him tailing her but close enough that she couldn’t lose him.
She turned south and he followed her onto the two-lane highway. Finally she merged onto the interstate, heading toward the Twin Cities. Jake gripped the steering wheel tighter. What the hell was she doing and where the hell was she going? What could be so important that she had to take care of it instead of returning to her home? Surely she had to be curious about what Chad Wilson was going to say about the fire?
Jake understood the fear that settled in his chest, threatening to take his breath away. He’d been almost able to convince himself to dismiss the wariness he’d seen in her eyes. That he’d imagined she was hiding something. Now, with this unexpected trip to the city, she forced him to admit that she might have secrets that he couldn’t ignore.
Seventy minutes later Tara turned her van into a downtown Minneapolis parking lot. He barely kept himself from jumping from the truck, running up to her and shaking the truth out of her. Instead he parked the old truck a couple of rows back and to the left. He watched her cross the street and walk up the steps to the Public Library.
She kept her head down, not making eye contact with anyone. She moved so quickly that he almost lost her when she suddenly stepped into one of the elevators. He waited just long enough to see that it stopped at the third floor before he caught the next one. In less than a minute after reaching the third floor, he found her, already seated at a computer terminal, her left side toward him. He backed up, putting some distance between the two of them. He grabbed a newspaper, found a table, angled his chair so that he could see her and pretended to read.
He couldn’t see what she stared at. But she never even glanced around, just kept her eyes fixed on the screen. The only thing that moved was her wrist as she directed the mouse. There were people coming and going but nobody approached her or tried to make contact. The librarian at the front counter ignored her.
An hour later, Jake didn’t know anything new. Tara hadn’t even shifted in her chair. He was just about to move closer when she suddenly pushed herself away from the computer, stopping as quickly as she’d started. He pulled the paper up in front of his face, peering just over the top. She waited for the elevator, looking neither to her left or her right, just at the floor. Within a minute, the doors opened and she disappeared from sight.
Jake threw the newspaper on the table and headed for the stairs. He reached the lobby just in time to see Tara push through the turnstile at the front door. He raced after her, barely keeping his temper under control. He watched her eat up the sidewalk, her long strides even and efficient. He followed at only a slightly slower pace.
An hour later, he watched the van turn into the lot behind the restaurant. Tara had come straight back with the exception of a brief stop at the McDonald’s on the out
skirts of Minneapolis.
He waited ten minutes before pulling into the lot and parking next to her. He knocked on the back door. She opened it and motioned him in.
“Good morning,” she said. “Did you get your paperwork done?”
“Yeah. What’s going on here?” He made his inquiry casual.
She made a sweeping motion toward the butcher-block table that was covered with carrots, celery and potatoes. “I like to prep on Sunday for Monday. I’ll cut up these vegetables, put them in five-gallon buckets and cover them with water. Really helps expedite the soup-making process.”
He did not give a damn about soup. “I figured you might sleep in.”
“I did for a while. Then I came here.”
She was lying. And not missing a beat. Damn it. Damn her. He fought to keep his tone neutral. “I thought you might be interested in what Chad Wilson had to say?”
“I called him shortly after the two of you spoke. He said you’d just left to go to the station.”
Which made her think that he’d be tied up for a few hours. Maybe she’d even driven by and verified that his squad car was there. She would have been confident that she had plenty of time to make a quick trip to the city. To the library.
It wasn’t even noon and he badly needed a drink.
“Did he tell you what he’d found?” he asked.
“Yes. Seems as if it wasn’t much more than he knew last night.”
“What did you think he would find?” Jake asked.
She shrugged. “I had no idea. I guess I hoped he’d find some way to identify the person who did this.”
“And you don’t have any idea?”
She stared at his hand and he realized that he’d been drumming his fingers on the table. She drove him crazy. He’d interrogated murderers and never let them see him sweat. She turned him into a fresh-out-of-the-academy grunt who was about to beg. Please, please, tell me the truth.
