by Cindi Myers
Emma struggled to sit. He helped her, and transferred the cat to her lap. Despite her ordeal, her mind remained sharp. “Someone left those cans there after they started the fire,” she said. “They wanted me to know it was deliberate.”
“I think you’re right,” he said. “And I’ve been so stupid. I never should have let you return to the house after the first threat.” His grip tightened around her shoulder. “You could have been killed.”
“We could have both been killed. Whoever did this probably knew you were with me.” She nodded to his Cruiser, parked at the curb. “He—or she—was sending you a message, too.”
“I’m sorry, Emma. I should have done a better job of protecting you.”
“It’s not your job to protect me,” she said. “And I’m okay, really.” She brushed her hair back out of her eyes. “Losing my home is upsetting, of course, but I’m okay. And you’re okay and Janey’s okay. Everything else can be replaced.”
He wouldn’t argue the point, but he should have protected her. “I’m going to find who did this,” he said.
“I’d say you’re not the only one who was ticked off by my article,” she said.
He nodded. The article in the paper did seem the most likely trigger. “The phone caller told you to stop digging into the story, and this is his way of letting you know how serious he is.”
“But it also tells me I hit a nerve,” she said. “If there really was no connection between Lauren Starling and Bobby Pace, I’d think whoever is behind all this would want me to pursue that angle and ignore whatever was really going on. Instead, they send me this clear indication that I’m getting too close to something they don’t want the public to know.”
The wail of sirens made further conversation impossible as a trio of fire trucks, followed by an ambulance, screamed onto the street. Firefighters poured out of the vehicles and swarmed the house, while a pair of paramedics headed across the lawn toward Graham and Emma.
“Is there anyone else in the house?” one of the paramedics asked.
Graham shook his head. “But you’d better check Ms. Wade. She was in the smoke for quite a while.”
“I’m fine,” Emma protested, but a coughing fit proved otherwise.
“We’d better check you out, and give you some oxygen to help you breathe.” The pair helped her to her feet. One looked back at Graham as they escorted Emma toward the ambulance. “You come with us, sir.”
He headed after them, but veered away when he saw an older man in full bunker gear examining the trio of gas cans on the walk. The man looked up at Graham’s approach. “Is this your house?” he asked, taking in Graham’s half-dressed state.
“It belongs to a friend of mine,” he said. No need to elaborate on his relationship with Emma; he wasn’t even sure how to define it. They were lovers, certainly, but they needed more time to work out what else they were to each other. He nodded to the gas cans. “Those weren’t here when I arrived this morning.”
The fireman held out his hand. “Captain Will Straither,” he said.
“Captain Graham Ellison, FBI.” Graham shook his hand.
Straither arched one brow. “Have you made any enemies recently, Captain?”
“Then you agree the fire was likely arson?”
“We’ll test for accelerants, but I’d say arson is likely. Someone wanted you to know they did this.”
“Let me know what you find.”
“I’d ask the same of you, Captain.”
Graham nodded and headed to the ambulance, where he found both Emma and Janey inhaling oxygen, the cat with a child-size mask held to her face by one of the paramedics. “They’re both going to be fine,” the paramedic said as Graham approached. “We’re just giving them a little oxygen to help clear their lungs.”
“What about you, sir?” the second paramedic asked.
“I’m fine.” Physically, he was well, at least. His mind churned with questions about what had happened, and his emotions were in turmoil.
“Then you won’t mind if I check you out,” the medic said.
Graham submitted to having his pulse and blood pressure checked and his lungs listened to. “You’re in good shape,” the paramedic said.
Emma removed her oxygen mask. Graham was glad the paramedic didn’t have a stethoscope to his chest at that moment—the sight of her smiling at him definitely made his heart speed up. With her hair tousled, her face streaked with soot and her robe reduced to a dirty rag sashed over her ample frame, she was still beautiful. “I saw you talking to the fireman,” she said. “What did you find out?”
“He thinks the fire was arson. They’ll try to find out who did it, but I’m sure the cans won’t have any prints. If we get lucky, someone might have seen a car or someone lurking around the house.”
“They took a lot of risk, setting the fire during the day.”
He glanced down the street, at the rows of empty driveways and curbs. “Neighborhoods like this probably have fewer people around during the day than in the evening.”
“True.” She leaned back against the side of the ambulance and stared at the ceiling. “What do we do now?”
“I think you and Janey should move back in with me. At least for now.”
He braced himself for an argument; she was nothing if not independent. But she merely nodded. “All right. But what do we do about the case? Do you agree that someone is worried about the link I made between Bobby and Lauren?”
“I agree it’s a possibility.”
The dimples on either side of her mouth deepened. “I shouldn’t rub it in, but I can’t tell you how good it feels to have you admit you were wrong.”
He bit back a sharp retort. Maybe he deserved some of her ire. “I told you I spent the morning at the airport,” he said.
“Yes.” She leaned forward and clasped both his hands in hers, her expression grave. “Now it’s my turn to apologize for doubting you. I should have trusted you to do your job. I’m sorry.”
He squeezed her hands. “I think we’re two people who don’t trust easily. It’s going to take us time.”
“I’m willing to give you time.”
At that moment, he wanted more than anything to lean forward and kiss her, but he was aware of all the people around them, watching. Instead, he squeezed her hand again and leaned in, lowering his voice. “While I was at the airport, I found a pilot who says he heard Bobby arguing with someone who was in his plane with him. The pilot thinks it was a woman. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they were both angry.”
“When was this?”
“Last Monday, he thinks. And no one had seen Bobby’s plane at the Montrose airport since Tuesday.”
“And he was killed on Thursday.”
“We’re going to check some of the other airports around here, see if he flew from there between Tuesday and Thursday.”
“And see if Lauren was with him.”
“She may have been the woman he was arguing with at the airport Monday,” Graham said. “We don’t know. But I can’t see how she fits into the picture. With the cargo he was carrying when he died, there was only room for one passenger. If it was Lauren, where is she now?”
“What was this mysterious cargo?” she asked.
“I can’t tell you.” Her expression grew stubborn, and he knew she was about to object, so he cut her off. “I really can’t. It’s classified.”
“But whatever it is, you don’t think Lauren was connected to it.”
“Not unless she’d decided on a new career dealing in black-market arms—and you didn’t hear that from me.”
Her eyes widened. “Okay.”
“If Lauren did meet with Bobby, I’m not sure that has any connection to his death the following Monday,” Graham said.
“Except
whoever burned down my house seems to think there’s enough of a connection to warn me off. Lauren’s a TV personality, but she’s also a journalist. Maybe she heard about this mysterious cargo and was investigating. That led her to Bobby.”
“If she got involved with the people who killed him, I’m not holding out much hope that she’s still alive,” he said.
“No, that doesn’t seem likely. But we still need to find out what happened to her.” She straightened. “I think I’ll pay a visit to Richard Prentice.”
The mention of the billionaire struck a jarring note. “Why would you want to talk to him?” Graham asked.
“He has connections all over the world. He might have heard something—a rumor or a hint of scandal.”
“Or he might be deeply involved in all of this and going to see him could put you in even more danger,” Graham said.
“I’m just going to talk to him. I can say the paper wants a follow-up story.” She smiled. “You can come with me, if you like.”
“He’d love that. He’s suing the Rangers for harassment.”
“He is? Since when?”
“Since this morning. It’s another reason I was in such a foul mood when I showed up at your door.”
“Then that’s perfect,” she said.
“How is it perfect?”
“I can say I want to talk to him about the lawsuit. But it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for you to come with me.”
“I don’t want you going there by yourself.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll make sure he’s aware that you and everyone at the paper know what my plans are for the day.”
“Emma, I think this is a very bad idea.”
Her expression sobered, and she met him with her direct, take-no-prisoners gaze. “Graham, I’m going to talk to him,” she said. “You can’t stop me.”
Chapter Ten
The sun painted the sky in shades of gold and pink by the time the firefighters, paramedics and local police left the charred remains of Emma’s home. Graham, who had spent the past hour on the phone with his team, bundled her and Janey into his Cruiser and headed for his home near the canyon. With Janey in her arms, Emma gratefully followed him inside. She set the cat on the sofa, then stretched her arms over her head. “I want a bath, clean clothes and a glass of wine—not necessarily in that order,” she said.
Still shirtless, his uniform pants streaked with soot, he looked around, everywhere but at her. “We can handle all that. The big question is, where do you want to stay?”
“That depends,” she said. “Where do you want me?”
His eyes met hers at last, and she felt the same, warm thrill his looks always sent through her. “I want you in my bed, but I don’t want to push you. I know you like your independence.”
“You’re learning, Captain.” She smoothed her hands down his chest, enjoying the sensation of hard muscles beneath supple flesh. She hadn’t minded a bit watching him walk around shirtless most of the afternoon. “Why don’t I set up Janey’s things in the guest room and use it for changing, but I’ll spend the nights with you.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
They indulged in a long, slow kiss that could have led to more, but the ringing doorbell interrupted them.
Muttering what might have been curses under his breath, Graham checked the door, then opened it.
“I got everything you asked for.” Carmen Redhorse stepped into the room, her petite frame weighed down by two large shopping bags. One of the calls Graham had made was to pass along Emma’s sizes and preferences and ask that Carmen make an emergency run to the store.
“Thank you so much.” Emma rushed forward to take the bags, stopping to peek at the contents—underwear, shoes, tops and pants, as well as makeup and hair care products. “I pretty much got out of the house with nothing.”
Carmen took in Emma’s bare feet and the scorched robe cinched around her waist. She looked at her boss, who was still shirtless, her expression carefully neutral. “Do you need anything, boss?”
“Thank you, Carmen, that will be all.”
She nodded and stepped back. “I’ll see you later, then.” She betrayed no emotion, but Emma had no doubt there would be plenty of talk back at Ranger headquarters about the captain and the reporter being caught literally with their pants down.
Carmen had also brought litter, food and other supplies for Janey. Once Emma had the cat comfortably set up in the guest room, she showered, did her hair and makeup, and put on the new clothing. Carmen had good taste, at least, and Emma felt almost human. She avoided thinking about everything she’d lost in the fire—not just clothing and jewelry and furniture, but books and pictures and other items that could never be replaced. Later on, she had no doubt the loss would hit her hard. But she couldn’t let that distract her now.
She went looking for Graham and found him in his home office, seated in front of the computer at his desk. He’d showered and shaved, and wore jeans and a soft blue polo with leather moccasins. “I’m reading the article you wrote on Richard Prentice,” he said.
She settled into the armchair to one side of the desk and tucked her feet up. “And?”
“You made him sound a lot more sympathetic than I would have.” He swiveled the chair toward her. “I don’t understand all these people who see him as some kind of hero.”
“Just as many people are ready to list him as public enemy number one,” she said.
“Do people admire him just because he has money?” Graham asked.
“Some of them do, and some hate him for the same reason. I think some people admire him because he flaunts authority.”
“What did you think of him—really?” he asked.
She shifted. Graham wanted her to say she disliked Richard Prentice as much as he did, but she couldn’t say that. “He was polite and cooperative and a gracious host,” she said.
“So you liked him?” Graham asked.
“I didn’t dislike him.” She leaned toward him, teasing. “Are you jealous?”
His answer was a grunt. “My take is he’s good at manipulating people. He saw your article as a benefit to him, so he turned on the charm. If he sees you as a threat, he could be dangerous. He may already be dangerous.”
“I’m not going to be threatening,” she said. “I’m going to be the reporter who wrote a wonderful profile of him and who is still on his side, while all you government types continue to persecute him.”
Graham’s face reddened, but he took a deep breath and relaxed a little. “I know you’re just teasing me, but I don’t like it.”
“That’s because no one ever dares to tease you,” she said. “I like getting you all riled up, Captain.”
“Oh, you do?” He stood and moved toward her.
She stood to meet his embrace. “Oh, I do,” she said.
His kiss was more tender than she would have expected, his embrace almost gentle. She pulled back and looked into his eyes. “Hey, what is it?” she asked.
“I could have lost you.” He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers.
“Yeah. We could have lost each other.” Before they ever had a chance to find out how great they could be together. She kissed the side of his face. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Except into my bedroom.” He took her hand and tugged her toward the door.
“I hope you’ve got plenty of condoms,” she said.
“Guess what else Carmen bought while she was out shopping?”
“Graham, she didn’t!” She wasn’t one to blush, but right now her face felt as if it was on fire.
He grinned. “I’m not sure what kind of message she was trying to send, but I’ll be sure to thank her tomorrow.”
“You have no shame.”
“Not one bit.” He pulled her with him down the hall. “And right now I’m ready to pick up where we left off, before we were interrupted by that fire.”
“Sleeping?”
“Just recharging. Now I’m ready to go.”
“Mmm, so you are.”
* * *
EMMA HAD TO use all her persuasive powers to convince Richard Prentice to grant her another interview. “Now isn’t a good time,” he said. “I’m very busy.”
“So I’ve heard. I heard you’re accusing The Ranger Brigade of harassment. I’d really like to hear your side of the story.”
“My lawyers would advise me not to talk to you.” She pictured him seated at his ultramodern glass-and-mahogany desk, in his home office that overlooked one end of the Black Canyon. Far different from the worn oak model in Graham’s office, which she sat behind the morning after the fire, her second new computer of the week open in front of her.
“You’ve always been a man who followed his own counsel,” she said.
He liked that; she could hear it in his voice. “Still, I think this time the attorneys may be right.”
“Do you really want the public thinking you’ve done something wrong?” she asked.
“I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Of course not, but if the Rangers are focusing their investigations on you...”
“I heard you were spending a lot of time with the Ranger captain—Ellison? The FBI guy?”
So Prentice knew about that? Should that surprise her? She and Graham hadn’t exactly made a secret of their affair, so she supposed word could have gotten back to Prentice through any number of channels. Or had he been paying special attention to Graham—or to her?
“We’ve had a little fun together,” she said. “But you know me—I’m my own woman. I like to make up my own mind about things. I really want to hear your side of the story—and so do my readers.”
“Ellison isn’t sending you here to spy on me, is he?”
“No man tells me what to do.” Graham might try, sometimes, but he recognized the effort was futile. “I’m a reporter. I report on stories that are newsworthy. And you are always newsworthy.”
