by Julie Miller
Thank you, thank you. The words filled her silent heart and spilled over to soothe her misgivings about helping Alex.
Maybe some of that buoyant energy showed itself in her face or posture. Or maybe Gideon was too observant to miss even the subtlest of nuances about people.
His chocolaty gaze swept over to her, catching her unaware. “Meg?”
She’d been staring at him. Smiling and staring and feeling the same pride and longing that had been her constant companions back when she and Gideon were together. But they weren’t together anymore. A flush of rueful heat warmed her cheeks and she looked away.
“We’d better be going. It’ll be bedtime before we get any dinner into this guy.”
Gideon angled his body, placing himself in her path to the elevator panel, stopping her as effectively as he’d protected her only moments ago. “Do you have a minute?”
To talk? Alone?
She had her excuse ready even before she fully understood her instant panic. “I really should get Alex home.”
“It’s about the fire.”
“Oh.” The arson investigation. She should be feeling relief instead of disappointment. “Sure. But I need to take Alex back to Dorie’s first. She’s pretty worried.”
Gideon reached behind his back and pushed the elevator button himself. “This can’t wait. I’ll meet you there.”
Chapter Five
“So you can’t describe the man you saw in the fire?”
Gideon ignored the pull of moonlight as he walked Meghan down the long driveway to her truck. He had to focus on the facts of his investigation. Not the vibrant, unsettling, surprisingly enjoyable evening he’d just shared at Dorie Mesner’s home.
Not the way the reflection of the moonlight gave Meghan’s soft skin an almost translucent glow.
Gideon looked up from her gentle profile, breathed in deeply and focused. “You’re still not going to tell me why you were in the middle of a fight at the police station, are you?”
The honey and gold waves of her hair danced across her shoulders as she shook her head. “Alex was defending my honor, or something like that. He told me Ezio had been hitting on his girlfriend, Marlena, earlier. I just think tempers were still running hot.”
He’d seen the panic in her eyes when the elevator doors had opened onto the fight. He’d seen the wince of pain as she’d gotten shoved between the two man-size youths. He’d felt the clutch of her fingers digging into his arms when he’d pulled her free. And she wanted to dismiss the incident?
“Ezio Moscatelli is a known gang-banger. What does he have to do with Alex in the first place?”
A pause told him she was going to change the subject before she spoke. “I’m more interested in how he got a high-priced lawyer there to represent him. Didn’t he say something about his boss getting tired of bailing out Ezio?”
“Makes you wonder who his boss is.” Gideon couldn’t let it go. He stopped. “You know that design on the basement floor of the old Meyer’s warehouse—the markings where kerosene had been poured? I realize it wasn’t a random design now. It—”
Meghan halted a few steps ahead of him and turned. “I know. I saw it, too. Tattooed on the back of Ezio’s shoulder.”
At least she understood why he’d felt the urgency to question her. “The Westside Warrior symbol.”
She tucked a stray tendril behind her ear, giving him a clear view of the concern on her unadorned face. “Do you think Ezio or one of his compatriots set that fire?”
“It’s a strong possibility.” Gideon fingered the remains of a dime-size explosive device in his right hand. He’d found one just like it in the basement of the old Meyer’s warehouse and bagged it for the crime lab. “You couldn’t make out any distinctive features about the man you saw in the fire today?”
She shook her head and turned back toward her truck. “I wasn’t even sure it was a man at the time. All I saw was a blur of black.”
“Big blur? Small blur?”
“I don’t know. Small, I guess. The heat and smoke and distance distorted my depth perception.”
“And you couldn’t see if he was carrying anything that looked like a remote or an antenna?”
“I barely saw the blur. It was more like a ghost than a man.”
He’d found the same type of electronic trigger at each of the other two arson fires he’d been investigating. Just as an artist’s work could be identified by the style of strokes used on a canvas, an arsonist left a pattern when he or she set a fire.
Though the fuel sources had varied in each case, the ignition pattern had been the same. A remote control device triggered from close range lit an accelerant, such as kerosene, which could burn unnoticed for several minutes—even an hour—before its flames spread and ignited an even bigger blaze. It was a simple setup, but the high-tech trigger allowed whoever set the fire ample time to escape and either establish a reasonable alibi or find a place to watch the fire without being noticed.
It didn’t matter whether the suspect was a calculating genius or a crazy madman. Gideon had a serial arsonist on his hands.
And Meghan was the closest thing he had to a witness.
He followed the sweet sway of her butt as she walked ahead of him. God, he hated treating her like this. Grilling her with questions. Keeping her at a professional distance.
He should be grateful that he had business to conduct so he wouldn’t do anything stupid like…like what? Demand answers to their breakup? Sacrifice his pride and kiss her until she remembered how good it had been between them? Run his fingers through her soft, wild hair?
What did a man with one good hand and three suspicious fires think he was going to do to a healthy, independent woman like Meg?
From the tight set of her mouth throughout the evening, he’d known something was bugging her. But was it just him saying yes to Dorie’s invitation to stay for dinner?
Gideon told himself he’d stayed because he needed to ask Meghan about the fire, and the four boys in Dorie’s care had been getting too cranky to delay eating any longer. Besides, the food had smelled good. And he’d missed lunch.
Or was Meghan covering for something that made her even more uneasy?
“Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“I don’t think so.” Meghan shook her head and apologized for the umpteenth time since he’d started this conversation. “I’m sorry I’m not much help to you.”
He wondered if she’d felt as uncomfortable as she’d looked sitting across the table from him, nibbling on her food as if she’d lost her appetite. Dinner had been awkward for him, too. But Dorie, an old friend from when he and Meghan had dated, had managed to keep the conversation going. She’d pointed out how successful Meghan was in her new career, how Meghan had gotten pamphlets from area colleges and was planning to finish up her degree—and that Meghan wasn’t seeing anyone at the moment.
Subtle. Not.
“Unless the roses mean something.” Dorie had rolled her eyes, feigning a casual interest in fishing for information. “You didn’t happen to send her a bouquet of eleven roses today, did you?”
“Dorie.” Meghan’s warning had gone unheeded.
“The card was unsigned.” Dorie had busied herself by twirling a forkful of spaghetti on her plate. “She doesn’t know who to thank, and I thought maybe…”
Gideon hadn’t known about any flowers being delivered to Meghan. He hadn’t known anything beyond the twinge of jealousy he’d had no right to feel. He and Meghan were history. Her anonymous admirer could give her a whole damn garden, if that’s what she wanted. Her current love life wasn’t any of his business.
Looking across the table, he’s seen her lips press together as tightly as a clam refusing to give up its pearl. Was she frustrated by the anonymity of the gift? Hurt that he hadn’t sent the bouquet? Embarrassed by Dorie’s shameless matchmaking?
He’d never had the chance to find out. Eddie Pike had interrupted, “We’re not allowed to wear our
hats at the table.” Gideon had forgotten he’d had the thing on. Quickly whipping it off, he’d smoothed his hand over his short hair but had no chance to apologize. Eddie had moved on. “If you and Meghan are friends, how come I haven’t seen you before?”
He’d lost control of the evening soon after that. But he didn’t mind.
Truth be told, he’d loved the noisy give-and-take of conversation among the kids. He’d answered questions on everything from smoke jumpers to football to the number and type of pets he’d had growing up. The hamster who had been eaten by his sister’s cat earned both yuck’s and cool’s.
The only person at the table quieter than Meghan had been Matthew. Gideon couldn’t help but wonder at the kid’s background. The little boy had eaten one slice of garlic bread and stared at him with the saddest, most wary eyes he’d ever seen on a child. His single effort to draw him into the conversation had resulted in the boy climbing out of his chair and running from the room.
Eddie’s explanation that Matthew never talked to anyone did nothing to ease his guilt.
How the hell had a simple interrogation turned into something resembling family drama night on cable TV? And why did spending time with teen angst and toddler antics and a beautiful blond tomboy leave him feeling more alive and connected to the world than he’d felt in months?
But now the boys were in bed, the dishes were washed, and Dorie had gone into the den to watch the late news.
It was back to him and Meghan. Alone. He wanted to demand answers to personal questions. He should be asking professional ones. It scared him to think how easily he’d slipped into this quiet time with her. It felt crazy—normal…wonderful—to simply be at her side again. But his crippled-up pride and once-burned heart refused to let him trust anything beyond the moment with her.
“I’m the one who should be apologizing.” Gideon brushed his fingertips against Meghan’s arm, silently asking her to stop beside her truck. The night air was muggy, the hazy atmosphere capturing the heat of the day. But he detected goose bumps on her soft, bare skin. Quickly he snatched his hand away, not wanting the answering shiver of awareness in his body to betray the turbulent mix of emotions inside him. “I’m worried that I scared Matthew.”
She tilted her face up to his, her honey-colored eyes wide with compassion. “Don’t blame yourself. Even the therapists haven’t gotten through to him.” Her gaze dropped to the K.C.F.D. logo over his heart. “His and Mark’s parents were killed in a house fire. Maybe you reminded him of that.”
Gideon tucked his hands into his pockets and shook his head, berating himself for causing the child any pain. “Great. And we’re supposed to be the good guys.”
“Think of it from his perspective. There were probably dozens of firefighters at his house that night. Dressed in bulky coats and wearing masks that obscure their faces, slipping in and out of the flames and smoke.”
“You make us sound like monsters.”
“To a four-year-old, we might be. I think he’s learning to accept me, but it’s taken some time. You’re tall, big-shouldered. You wear a black hat.” She flicked the bill of his K.C.F.D. ball cap and doctored his worry with a teasing grin. “If he could spend time with you, too, he’d see that you’re a man, not a monster.”
“I’d like to do that.”
“Spend time with Matthew?”
“I’d like to spend time with all of them.” He’d once pictured a houseful of dark-haired boys and fair-haired little girls with honey-brown eyes. Children that he and Meghan had created together. “You know I like kids.”
“I know.” She sifted her fingers through her hair in a nervous gesture that stirred the long waves around her shoulders, releasing the citrusy scent of her shampoo and the subtler musky scent that was Meghan herself. “But you’ve already done enough for them.”
His lonesome body stirred at the thought of making babies with Meghan. He lifted that masking tendril that had fallen across her cheek again and tucked it behind her ear. “I haven’t done anything.”
She went still the moment he touched her, her gaze fixed at some vague point near the middle of his chest. “I appreciate you talking to Alex—man-to-man like that at the precinct office. He’s a typical teen, trying to figure out what kind of adult he’s going to be. But he doesn’t have a decent role model to work from. I think it meant a lot that you took a personal interest in him.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
She shrugged and turned her face away from his touch. She unhooked the fanny pack that hung around her slim waist. “These boys aren’t like other kids, Gideon. They don’t have big brothers or dads who can teach them right from wrong and keep them safe.”
“They have you and Dorie. From what I can see, they’re getting plenty of love.”
She refused to take the compliment. “I can relate to them, that’s all. It’s not the same as having a man around.”
The bleak acceptance in her voice twisted like a knife in his conscience. No matter what she’d done to him, she’d already paid too high a price for any betrayal, to him or anyone else. “I’ll never understand a father abandoning his own child.”
“That’s because your dad’s a good man. He’s strong.” She opened the truck door and tossed the fanny pack onto the passenger seat. “My dad was heartbroken when Mom died.”
“And you weren’t?”
She still made excuses for a man he couldn’t forgive. “She was the love of his life. I think he got lost somewhere inside himself when that virus took her so quickly. He never could find his way back to the real world.”
Or to his child. “Do you ever hear from him?”
Her shoulders quaked as they rose and fell in a heavy sigh. “Did you get everything you needed about the fire?”
He interpreted her avoidance of the question as a no. He’d never met Martin Wright. But he’d been around a few times when Meghan’s father had made contact from some remote part of the planet to announce he was about to strike it rich. Sometimes it was a phone call or a birthday card when it wasn’t her birthday. Sometimes it was a trinket sent in the mail.
But he could bet she’d trade a dozen calls and cards for one good hug, a thousand trinkets for a little bit of guidance and protection. He’d seen her somber moods, her silent tears, her bursts of temper after each impersonal attempt to be a father to her. Maybe that was one reason making a family with Meghan had been so important to Gideon. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’d thought she would jump at the chance to create a whole new family—with babies of their own to parent, a loving man in the house to rely on.
But she’d said no.
Why the hell had she said no?
He realized he was staring at her, his eyes wide and dry from their unblinking search for a reason why, when the cell phone inside her fanny pack rang. She climbed into her truck behind the wheel to unzip the bag and pull out the phone. Gideon blinked and turned away. He had as many unanswered questions to the mystery of Meghan Wright as he did to his current investigation.
“Hello? Yes.” Gideon hooked his hands into his pockets and waited. Long ago, his parents had instilled the protective notion of waiting for a woman to be safely at home or on her way before a man left her alone late at night. “Thank you, but… Wait a minute—” Chivalry turned to curiosity as the tenor of Meghan’s voice changed. Her cool politeness stuttered on a gasp of air. Her next words were clipped with a sharp, defensive edge. “Who is this? How did you get this number?” Gideon stepped closer, bracing one hand on the door and the other on the roof of her truck. The dome light cast a harsh glow on her pale features, emphasizing the tight set of her mouth. What the hell? “Wait. What do you mean—”
She slowly pulled the phone from her ear and stared at it as if it would reveal an answer her caller wouldn’t give.
Gideon gently laid his right hand on her thigh, not wanting to startle her. “What’s wrong?” She shifted her quizzical focus to him, her eyes wide, frightened. Something territorial lit in h
is veins. “Meg?”
“He said I was as pretty as a yellow rose.”
An uncharacteristic anger simmered beneath the surface of his cool facade, demanding answers, if not action. “He who?”
She squeezed her clammy hand around his, subconsciously asking for his strength and support. “He said I should get a good night’s sleep. That he was going to put me to work again tomorrow.”
Meghan was too spooked for Gideon to keep either a self-preserving or professional distance any longer. He scooped her out of the truck and wrapped her in his arms. She linked her hands behind his waist as she had so many times in the past and nestled her head at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.
Her trembling body sank into his and familiar urges awakened. The tingling of skin at the soft press of her breasts against his harder chest. The lambent heat in his groin as the strong muscles of her thighs butted against his. The tender warmth around his heart as her arms held on as if she never wanted to let go.
He tunneled his fingers beneath the casual tumble of her hair and rubbed comforting circles at the nape of her neck. “I take it you don’t know this guy and that it wasn’t a wrong number.”
She shook her head, rubbing the silky crown of her hair beneath his chin. “He called me by name.”
“Any bozo could have gotten your name off the TV news as many times as your interview has played today.” But this fan had clearly rattled her cage. And triggered the alarm on his considerable protective instincts. “It’s probably just a crank call.”
“He said he’d love to see me in action again.” A shiver cascaded through her. She dragged her palms around to rest against his shoulders, then went stiff in his arms and pushed away from his comfort. “Gideon. I think your arsonist sent me those flowers. And I think he’s going to set another fire.”
