Kansas City’s Bravest

by Julie Miller

  And it didn’t promise a gentle quenching of the earth’s thirst.

  With Josh Taylor shadowing them in his cherry-red pickup, Meghan felt safe enough to relax her guard and to soak up every sweet moment of their evening. Alex downed twice as much ice cream as anyone else. Eddie picked out and sorted the marshmallows and chunks of chocolate from his Rocky Road and ate each delicacy one at a time. Matthew sat in her lap and quietly licked his vanilla cone. And Mark found new and wonderful places to smear his chocolate ice cream. With Dorie along to give their “family” outing a generational feel, Meghan looked across the table and found herself bathed in the rich, dark fire of Gideon’s eyes.

  This is what he longed for, she knew. With four Taylor boys of his own and a whole wife in her place. She looked away before the unfairness of it all caught hold of her.

  This was heaven. Tonight it was hers. She wouldn’t let yesterday’s regrets or tomorrow’s dangers spoil it. The memory of this night would have to feed her empty heart for a lifetime.

  Mark was sound asleep in his car seat by the time they got home. Gideon carried the boy upstairs while Meghan brought in Matthew. Dorie hustled Alex and Eddie into their pajamas and gave them permission to stay up and play a video game in Eddie’s room while the house quieted down to sleep. That was when the first raindrops began to fall.

  It hit the parched ground with the thunder of stampeding hoofbeats. When the lightning opened up the sky and turned nighttime into daylight, Crispy gave her first yelp.

  Meghan yelped herself as thunder cracked overhead and shook the old house. “I’m going to bring the dog in.”

  She dashed outside behind Gideon, who ran to the garage to carry in the ladder and drop cloths they’d stored outside. Rain pelted her face and plastered her shirt and shorts to her skin before she’d gotten off the patio.

  Josh left his truck to help Gideon secure the garage while Meghan dashed across the backyard to Crispy’s doghouse. She had to get down on her hands and knees and stick her head inside before the frightened pooch would even respond to her calls. “Come on, girl. If you survived fire, you can survive a little rain.”

  With her wide, round eyes flashing with panic, Crispy left her spot in the corner and leaped into Meghan’s arms. Scrambling to her feet, Meghan tromped through the slick grass and carried the dog up the back steps into the house. With an armful of wet puppy, Meghan kicked off her soggy shoes and headed straight for the basement door.

  At the bottom of the stairs, she set the dog down. Crispy darted off to the farthest corner of the basement, disappearing from sight. Meghan threw up her hands. “What is with you and being rescued, anyway?”

  She shook her head and turned on the light in the basement bathroom. “Eek.” She teased her drowned-rat reflection in the mirror, then searched for an old towel to dry off the dog so she could join the kids upstairs.

  She’d stopped to wash the mud off her hands and smooth her wet hair back into its braid before Crispy’s high-pitched whine registered. She knew a lot of dogs hated storms because of their sensitive hearing, but the finished basement was well-insulated and muffled the violent sounds of the storm.

  “Crispy?” She whistled once to call the dog. No answer. Meghan stepped out of the bathroom and whistled again. The dog’s whining cry sounded almost like a sob. “You big wimp,” she whispered, aching for an innocent creature who could feel such fear. She whistled again and followed the frantic sound. “Crispy? Here girl.”

  A bright flash of lightning illuminated the entire basement an instant before she heard a loud pop. Meghan jumped, startled by the sound. Then the room went black. “Lovely. Lightning must have hit the transformer.”

  She pressed a hand over her racing heart and closed her eyes. Even in the absence of a flashlight, her vision should be able to adjust to the darkness so she could at least find her way to the stairs. “Crispy?” She whistled and opened her eyes. “Mommy’s going back upstairs. Come with me, girl.”

  Wet and smelly or not, that dog didn’t want to be down here in the muffled darkness during the storm any more than she did. Besides, the explosive noise might have awakened the boys. Dorie would be there to comfort them and console Eddie and Alex on losing the power for their game, but she’d like to check on them herself. Hopefully, Gideon and Josh would find the flashlights and candles in the kitchen.

  “Now or never, Crispy.” She called the dog one more time.

  Crispy barked.

  That someone’s in my yard bark.

  Meghan went perfectly still, pinpointing the source of the dog in distress. She hadn’t heard from her fan today. And while that should have given her some comfort, she’d felt the tension building inside her all day. When? Where? Her heart beat faster, pounding so loudly against the quick, deep breaths of her expanding lungs it mimicked the thunder outside. She knew he’d contact her again. But here? Now?

  There.

  She turned toward the scratching claws and frantic pitch of Crispy’s bark. Barefoot, and armed with nothing more than a towel, she followed the sound. She froze as lightning flashed again, temporarily blinding her in the darkness. “Damn.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head clear, pressing her hand against the throbbing beat of pain beneath the stitches at her temple. If she could navigate her way through a fire, she could find her way through the disorienting darkness.

  “I’m comin’, baby,” she promised, tuning in to sounds and instincts more than vision. They led her to the doorway leading to the unfinished half of the basement that housed the water heater and furnace and was used for storage. “Crispy?”

  The dog launched herself at Meghan’s shins, knocking her back a step. “Easy, girl.” The dog charged her again, then disappeared into the darkness. “Ow. Stop that.” Meghan knelt down. If the dog came again, she’d grab her. “Crispy?”

  The dog’s whine was like a call for mommy. The pain of it tore at her heart and pushed her forward to help. “What is it, bab—”

  Meghan stubbed her toe on something soft and tumbled. Throwing out her arms to protect her head, she landed with an oof on top of something solid. Her fingers curled into something scratchy, like wool. A pile of blankets?

  The lightning flashed again and Meghan screamed. And swore. She scrabbled away into the darkness, waiting for the next lightning burst to verify what Crispy had already discovered. A man’s body. In the basement.

  Dead. Judging by the uneven shape of his skull and the pool of blood his face rested in.

  “Damn, damn, damn.” She snatched the dog into her arms, keeping her away from the body and seeking whatever comfort she could find in the basement’s sudden chill. “Gideon!”

  She shouted for help, but could only hear her own voice muffled by the depth of the basement and the thick walls of the old house. She was hidden away from the world, lost in the darkness of the storm. With a frightened dog and a dead man for company.

  Lightning flashed again, giving her another view of the body. Enough light flickered across the man’s face to illuminate his broken bug-eyed glasses and thinning hair. Jack Quinton.

  Thunder punctuated her startled shock and left her heart pounding in her chest. Giving in to the dreadful curiosity that might finally give her the closure she needed, she set Crispy aside and crawled back to the body. Willing her eyes to focus in the strobelike effects of lightning flashes and blackouts, she pushed up the sleeves of his jacket and checked for marks on his arms and hands. An empty pill bottle rolled out of his stiff grasp. Had he taken something and passed out, hitting his head against the furnace?

  Right now, she didn’t care. Dead was dead. It was an uncharitable thought, but she was glad he couldn’t frighten her again.

  But there were no bruises.

  Thoughts of relief vanished in a heartbeat. Meghan sat back on her haunches and let the numbing realization sink in. Jack Quinton hadn’t attacked her. That meant…

  Shock quickly gave way to that self-preserving adrenaline that shot
through her system. Her attacker was still out there. Maybe still here. She had to warn Gideon and Josh, and get her boys someplace safe.

  She rose to her feet and headed for the door, remembering the path and feeling her way. The concrete was cold beneath her bare feet, and the damp chill of the storage room raised goose bumps on her skin. Or was that…? A latent sixth sense tried to kick in and tell her something.

  “Ow!” A sharp prick stabbed the bottom of her foot and she fell hard onto her hands and knees. She cursed as the impact jolted through her. “What now?”

  She rolled onto her bottom and pulled her foot into her lap, trying to check the wound. She could feel the sticky flow from the tiny prick, taste the blood on her fingertip. At the next lightning strike she knew what had happened.

  She’d stepped on a long-stemmed red rose. “You bastard,” she cursed the dead body. “Even in death you want to hurt me.”

  She picked up the card beside the rose. A florist’s card. Just like the others. Equally unnerving.

  The lightning subsided from its violent fury, retreating up to the sky to create a laserwork display that flickered through the high basement windows like candlelight. If she held the card just right, there was enough light to read the message.

  Goodbye, love.

  I’m sorry.

  I never meant to hurt you.

  We’ll be together soon.

  Forever.

  Goodbye? A suicide note? But did the pills or the blow to the head kill him?

  “How do you kill yourself twice?”

  The throbbing pain in her foot gave her the answer. Jack Quinton hadn’t killed himself. He hadn’t written the note and he hadn’t left that flower for her.

  A red rose?

  His death had been staged to look like a suicide.

  Now that sixth sense screamed at her. Get out!

  Meghan scrambled to her feet. The sudden movement startled the dog and she barked. “Come on, girl. Let’s get out of this place. We have to warn the others.”

  For once the dog did as she was told, rubbing herself around Meghan’s ankles as she inched her way toward the door.

  That’s when she smelled the smoke.

  Meghan’s heart dropped into her stomach. “Not now. Not here.” Panic welled up inside her. “Gideon!”

  Crispy’s bark punctuated the plea for help.

  Now she was searching for smoke instead of escape. She used her nose instead of touch. Sound instead of vision.

  The distinctive snap and sizzle of ignition stopped her in her tracks.

  Fire.

  “What have you done, you bastard?” The odors of sulphur and petroleum distillate slowly filled the air as she cursed her unseen tormentor. The fumes came from the finished part of the basement. Wait. How did a dead man start a fire? Someone was out there. Close enough to trigger a remote. “Sorry, Jack,” she lamented to the dead man. “I think someone’s trying to silence both of us.”

  “Now you get it.” Meghan whirled around at the crisply articulated, beautifully modulated voice advancing through the darkness. “You were such an easy mark—so easy to spook, so determined to be brave. So heroic.”

  “Saundra?”

  “But I need you to die this time.”

  With a menacing growl from Crispy, Meghan gauged the direction of the attack. A tall figure in black. A shadow from the shadows lunged toward her. Meghan put up her hands and deflected the first blow.

  Something hard and metallic clanged against the concrete, shooting out sparks. The sudden shift of the heavy weight threw Saundra off balance. Meghan shoved at the solid shadow and knocked the woman to the floor.

  She tried to run, but a hand snatched her by the ankle and jerked her off her feet. Meghan hit the floor hard, but she kicked out, dislodging the hand and earning a very unladylike curse.

  As she tried to roll out of the way she hit a stack of boxes and crates that tumbled down on top of her, bruising and startling her, thwarting her escape. But they impeded Saundra’s efforts to reach her, as well. While the redhead lifted and shoved the boxes aside, Meghan crawled backward on her heels and elbows, heading toward the flickering light from the open doorway.

  Saundra saw the movement and scurried around to beat her to the opening. “No, you don’t! You’re not going to ruin the perfect ending to my story.”

  She raised that metallic cannister above her head again. In the glow of light from the main room Meghan could read the contents. Lighter fluid.

  Saundra brought it down hard. Meghan rolled to the side, dodging the blow, but hearing the crackle of sparks beside her ear.

  “No. Not yet.”

  She turned her head at the panic in Saundra’s voice. The sparks had hit the carpet and immediately ignited. Saundra stepped over Meghan and tried to stomp out the flames. But the can had spilled, sending a sea of instant flame flooding across the room.

  A wall of flame shot up beside the door. Meghan swore and jumped to her feet. “That was too close. What have you done?” She shoved the other woman back into the storage room crates. She had plenty of light now to see the distinctive red hair poofing out from beneath Saundra’s black stocking cap. There was no way to cross that basement now. Not without shoes. Not without protective gear. She turned and advanced on the incompetent pyromaniac. “We’re trapped. Is that part of your plan, too?”

  Meghan slammed the door between the storage area and the finished basement, locking herself in with a dead man and a murderer. Buying herself time to think of a way to survive.

  A lick of flame flowed into the room at her feet and Meghan quickly retreated. She peeled off her tank top and tossed it onto the encroaching flame. The wet material slapped against the concrete and smothered the flame.

  But more of the liquid seeped beneath the door. “Damn.” Quickly, Meghan shed her damp shorts and scrunched them into the opening beneath the door. But they weren’t enough to completely close the opening. She looked over her shoulder at Saundra, who was still mumbling to herself about blame and “doing it right.” “Give me some of your clothes. That jumpsuit will do.”

  Saundra shot to her feet, as prissy and indignant as if she’d been refused an interview. “I don’t think so.”

  “Do you want to live?” Saundra stared at her outstretched hand. “I’m sure you’ve got on one of those pretty silk suits underneath. Believe me, everything you’re wearing is going to smell like smoke before we get out of here.”

  In a huffy burst of cooperation, Saundra unzipped her canvas coveralls and pulled them off. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to work. I’m supposed to be out of here right now, meeting my cameraman.” She glared at the dead body behind her. “I followed his directions to the letter.”

  “Jack Quinton’s?” Meghan grabbed the jumpsuit and stuffed it into the crack beneath the door. Even with the fire-retardant material, it was only a temporary fix. Eventually the clothes themselves would burn, filling the room with enough smoke to asphyxiate them if the flames didn’t get them first.

  “Panty hose next.” She stood and motioned for the other woman to start stripping. She’d learned an old trick from Uncle Pete that might actually prove useful. “You may have borrowed Quinton’s remote, but you got greedy. He’s a man of patience. Let the fire burn slowly without detection. Eventually it will find plenty of fuel to feed on.” She thumbed over her shoulder. “You saturated that room in there, looking for an instant conflagration. A slow burn you can escape. That out there already has us beat.”

  Saundra sat on a crate with one leg out of her hose, looking nothing like a beauty queen right now. “You don’t think we can escape?”

  Meghan couldn’t resist the sarcasm that bubbled up. “I’m Kansas City’s Sweetheart, remember? Everyone wants to know where I am and what I’m doing. I’m sure the cameras will come looking for me.”

  “I made you a celebrity.”

  “I didn’t want the job.” She took the panty hose and tied Saundra’s wrists together, cinched them t
ight so the woman couldn’t escape. She took note of the large, purplish bruise on her forearm. “Forgive me if I don’t trust you. Apparently, Quinton did.”

  Bound and pouting in her peach silk suit, Saundra continued to talk while Meghan searched the storage room for another exit. “I needed to up the stakes. Jack wanted to quit. He said your love was a private thing. He didn’t like sharing you with so many people.” She shrugged her shoulders as if a point of view other than her own was impossible to fathom. “We were going national. I had networks calling me. This story was my big break, and he wanted to stop.”

  Meghan stacked boxes and climbed up to the small window near the basement ceiling. “So Quinton did set the other fires?”

  “Yes. I’d interviewed him a couple of years ago when he was in prison. Getting the inmates’ perspective on the need for building a new facility. When these fires started again, I knew it was his work. I called him. Told him I’d inform the police if he didn’t tell me when and where the fires would be set.”

  Rusted from years of disuse, the window latch wouldn’t budge. “That’s why you were always first on the scene. You scooped the competition with inside information.”

  “I’m a reporter. I used my sources.”

  “You endangered lives.” Meghan jumped down and pried loose a slat from a crate to use as a lever.

  “No, we didn’t. We chose abandoned locations. Daniel Kelleher can afford the losses. When I found out the two of you had a connection, he made the perfect patsy to throw anyone off our track. Jack wanted to blame the gangs, but the possibility of investigating a man like Kelleher made a much better story.”

  Story. The fight almost drained out of Meghan. She wasn’t the only person who had suffered from this woman’s quest for fame and success. Her lungs began to protest as she forced herself to breathe deeply. Gasses released by the fire on the opposite side of that wall were starting to drift into the room and gather near the ceiling where she was working. “Daniel Kelleher lost the woman he loved in that crash. Don’t you care about anyone’s feelings?”