by Kylie Brant
"My money's on Tarkington," Ana said darkly. "A man that smarmy is capable of anything."
Cade rejoined them, gaze trained on James. "Francis's cell phone dump came back. We've got six calls to his phone within twenty-four hours. Three have been identified as coming from his girlfriend. Two came from different phone booths and the last came from this number." He handed him a slip of paper with a number scrawled on it. "Recognize it?"
James glanced down and froze. There was a moment of incomprehension, of utter denial. Swallowing hard, he nodded. "Yeah. I recognize it." It took a moment for the tight band in his chest to ease, for his lungs to work properly again. Thinking rapidly, he turned, headed for the computer.
"What are you doing?"
He didn't look up at Ana's question. "Checking out something that should have occurred to me a long time ago."
Tori looked around the attic of her dad's house with a sense of quiet satisfaction. She'd made some headway up here, at least. Everything was organized in neat sections to be thrown away, put in storage or sold. She'd arranged for a Dumpster to be delivered tomorrow, to get started on the project. Once she sorted through the downstairs, she would place an order for a small moving trailer and rent a storage unit.
But for now she was content to sit awhile, in the light afforded by the single overhead bulb and steep herself in memories of him once again.
Raised without a mother, she supposed it was normal that she'd be close to her dad all her life. Normal to want to keep his memory untarnished. She reached out, dragged the ragged sweater off the top of one of the boxes, and sat on the floor cross-legged, holding it on her lap. Of all of the things he'd left her, she thought the ones she would value most were this tattered garment and the box of love letters he'd kept, from all those years ago, when her mother lay dying. With these things she could keep them both close, while getting to know a mother she barely remembered.
She reached out, drew a letter from the box, opened it. Her eyes swam at the obvious love poured out on the page. Her father hadn't been an especially sentimental man. To read the raw emotion in the words had her throat going full.
One letter led to another. Soon she had a pile around her feet, and she was bent over the papers in her hand to make out the words in the dim light. She decided to organize them chronologically. Then when she had the time, she could read them in order and…
Her gaze scanned the letter in her hand, froze, then swept back up again, to read her mother's writing more carefully.
"You have to learn to forgive yourself. You were faced with an awful choice, and I understand why you had to do it."
Tori dropped the paper as if scalded. There was a roiling in her stomach, an internal realization that arrived ahead of true comprehension. Then, frantically, she rose to her knees, started pulling handfuls of letters out, discarding all but the ones with dates close to the one she'd just read. One of them would hold an explanation. It had to.
And the next one did. But it wasn't the explanation she'd been hoping for.
My dearest Lisa,
Not a night goes by that I don't reach for the phone, wanting to call that boy back and tell him the truth about his parents…
There was a roaring in her ears. Her stomach lurched, and she thought for a moment she'd be ill. Her hands were operating independently of her mind. The letters were raining like brittle confetti as she dug frantically through them, skimming, tossing them aside to pull out another, phrase after damning phrase leaping off the page to sear her eyes.
I had to protect you and Tori…
It was too late to help those people, but I could save my own little family…
God forgive me. I'll never forgive myself.
She dropped the last letter and this time she didn't reach for another. Rising awkwardly, she backed away from the box, pressing both fists against her mouth to stifle the cry that she could feel trembling on her lips. She closed her eyes, wanting to shut out the damning evidence, but she could still see the words, could hear her dad's voice sounding in her head.
Integrity, above all else.
…tell him the truth about his parents…
Integrity, above all else.
God forgive me…
Unconsciously she wrapped her arms around her middle and began to rock, her mind frantically supplying, then eliminating, possible explanations for what she'd read. One would come, she assured herself. When her mind cleared and her thought settled, an alternate answer would present itself.
But deep inside she knew the heartrending truth, and the pain of it threatened to shred her soul.
Her father had betrayed James and his family twenty years ago. Because of it, a killer had gone free.
* * *
Chapter 14
« ^
"You've checked her house?" James asked tersely.
Cade nodded. "It's empty. I've got officers stationed there, though, and an APB out. It's just a matter of time."
Pacing the length of the room, James took out his cell phone, tried Tori's cell again. There was still no answer. He tried her house next, with the same result. He had no more luck with her office number.
Making a decision, he headed for the door.
"Whoa." Sam leaped from the chair he was sitting in, he and Cade closing in on James. "Where do you think you're going?"
"I can't reach Tori. I'm going to find her."
His brothers exchanged a glance. "There's no way we're letting you out that door, especially now. Have you forgotten there's someone out there who'd like to see you dead?"
"Then prepare to offer some police protection,"
James said, shoving between them and through the den door. "Because I'm going, and there's not a damn thing either of you can do to stop me."
The two men looked at each other, shrugged. "Oh, hell." Cade grabbed his shoulder holster. "Wait for us."
Feeling raw and battered, Tori drove back to her home in a fog. Her cell phone had rung for the third time. The caller ID identified James's number. She didn't answer it. Couldn't. She couldn't summon the words for him. Wouldn't have been able to utter them if they occurred.
There would come a time, probably much sooner than she would prefer, when she'd have to face him. And when she told him the truth, she'd watch the distrust bloom in his expression again, and know this time it was deserved.
Her body shook, a great racking shudder. But God help her, she wasn't ready now. She felt as if she'd been cast adrift. Everything she'd always believed was a lie. What she'd been certain of only days ago had turned to quicksand, shifting beneath her feet. How could she explain to him what she couldn't comprehend herself?
By the time she had pulled into her carport, her temples were throbbing, a vicious headache jackhammering in her brain. She was distantly aware that Pauline's house was dark. Maybe James had frightened Joe Jr. enough that he'd joined his mother in Shreveport.
James. Just the thought of him made the pounding in her head intensify. Hands shaky, vision blurry, she let herself into the house, locked it and, without switching on the lights, made her way upstairs. Sleep, if it would come, would offer a blessed relief both from the headache and the situation that had caused it.
She stopped in the bathroom long enough to find the bottle of pain relievers and shake three out. Swallowed them dry. She stumbled to her bedroom. She was halfway to the bed before instinct filtered through the pain, and she realized she wasn't alone.
Before she could turn around, the figure stepped out of the shadows and brought something crashing down on her head. There was a bright burst of pain before unconsciousness rushed up and sucked her under.
"Her car's here." Relief surged through James until he noticed another vehicle parked in front of the house.
Cade saw it and identified it at the same time. "So is Tucker."
James was out of the car and running before it came to a complete stop. "Cover the back," he shouted at his brothers. He leaped to the porch, tried the door. It was l
ocked.
Without wasting the breath for a curse, he jumped to the ground, started around the side of the house, as his brothers headed around it in the opposite direction. He hadn't gotten more than a few steps before he saw the figure running in his direction.
Obeying instinct, he sped up, tackled the intruder, rolling over and over until he subdued him with a single blow to the jaw. "Mr. Tremaine, wait." Tucker shielded himself from another blow. "You have to listen to me."
"Where's Tori?" he demanded. Nasty fingers of panic were licking up his spine. There was a feeling of urging in his gut that he couldn't shake.
"I … I don't know," the young man stammered.
Sam ran up to them, stopped to pick up some containers the boy had dropped. Unscrewing the caps, he sniffed first one, then the other. "Gasoline."
James got to his feet, yanking the boy up with him. Grabbing him by the collar he growled between clenched teeth, "Is she in the house?"
But the kid was wild-eyed with fear now and babbling. "I don't know, maybe, he must have thought so. The gasoline isn't mine, though, it isn't! I found it in the back. I thought if I got rid of it, he couldn't, he wouldn't…"
"Who?" James gave him a vicious shake.
"My dad!" Tucker seemed to crumple then, started to weep. "I think my dad's going to try to kill her."
"Look!" Sam yelled.
James followed the direction of Sam's pointed finger, saw the smoke curling from the upstairs windows. "Call 911!"
James shoved the boy toward Sam and raced to the back of the house. With one quick look he identified the window that had been broken out. Without a second thought he heaved himself up and over the sill into the kitchen. The downstairs was already filled with smoke, burning his eyes. He identified Cade, several feet away from him, gun drawn and finger to his lips.
Easing his way toward him, he heard his brother whisper soundlessly, "He's still in the house."
James nodded and took his handkerchief from his pocket, quickly tying it around his face. He pointed to the gun, then to himself and then toward the upstairs. Cade gestured for him to go ahead, and he dashed for the stairs, knowing his brother would cover him. The smoke was rolling down the steps. Dropping to his knees, he stayed as low as he could, crawling rapidly. He had to get to Tori on time. He wouldn't even consider another possibility.
There was no smell of accelerants in the house. James wondered if Marcus had been saving it to torch the outside. But the flames were spreading rapidly upstairs. In another few minutes there'd be no path to take to the bedroom.
Crouching down, James pressed himself as flat as he could against the undamaged wall, and inched toward her room. The heat was intense. Straining his ears, he could hear fitful coughing. His hopes soaring, he broke free, skirted the flames near his foot and ran into her room.
He nearly tripped over Tori. Dropping to one knee, he scooped her up and turned, preparing to exit the way he'd come. But once he'd got back to the door he saw that would be impossible. The stairway was engulfed in flames. There would be no escape that way.
Keeping her face pressed to his chest, he made his way back to her bedroom. Both of them broke out in a spasm of coughing, and for the first time, Tori's eyelids fluttered open. He laid her on the floor beside the bed, whipped the handkerchief from his face and tied it around hers. Then he tugged the sheets off the bed, rolled them into coils and tied them together. Tori tried to help, but her movements were feeble. Her voice, when she spoke, was more so. "Someone … was waiting … hit me…"
"I know, baby." He paused a moment to drop a quick kiss on her forehead, sending up a silent prayer of thanks that he'd found her alive. There would be time later to deal with the sick fear he'd felt before he'd discovered her.
And plenty of time to indulge in his primal need to make Marcus pay. For everything.
Shoving the bed as close as he could to the window, he secured one end of the makeshift ladder to the leg of the bed frame and then looked over at her. "Can you climb on my back and hold on?"
She nodded determinedly, but he wasn't so sure. She looked barely conscious. When he bent down for her, though, her grip was stronger than he expected. With a deep breath, he opened the window, picked up one end of the sheet ladder and threw his leg over the sill.
Every time another fit of coughing shook her, James was fearful it would loosen her grip. But she managed, somehow, to hang on. They were still several feet from the ground when he shouted, "We'll have to jump the rest of the way. Ready?"
Without waiting for an answer, he let go. Although it was probably less than six feet, the ground seemed to rush up unmercifully hard. He twisted his body, landing with Tori half on top of him, the impact driving the breath from him.
It was a moment before he could draw in air. Another before he heard the distant wail of sirens. "Are you all right?" He turned to Tori, pulling down the handkerchief to search her features frantically.
"I think so."
Helping her up, they both limped to the curb, where a small crowd had gathered. He looked around for Sam. He was standing watch over a huddled Tucker near the cars.
"Where's Cade?"
The question had Sam turning toward him. "He hasn't come out yet." The two men exchanged a grim look before they both charged toward the back of the house.
The smoke was thicker inside now. The fire had made its way downstairs. There was no sign of Cade in the kitchen where James had left him. Inching carefully into the interior of the house, they both spotted their brother's crumpled figure in the middle of the living room. There was a man standing over him, holding Cade's gun. "Drop it, Marcus."
Marcus Rappaport let loose a wild laugh, the sound as foreign as his appearance. Usually meticulously groomed, his clothes were in disarray, and there was a bruise blooming on his cheek. He looked like a crazed stranger. "Damn you, Tremaine, it should have been easier than this. I never wanted to hurt the rest of the family." He seemed to be weeping and laughing at the same time, a sign of hysteria, or worse.
With a meaningful look at Sam, the two men split up, Sam heading toward Cade and James toward Marcus.
"Tucker's outside, Marcus," James said conversationally. "He's been injured. You should go to him."
The man jerked, seemed strangely uncertain. "Tucker's hurt?"
"Badly," James lied. "The ambulance was called for him."
"He didn't understand," the man mumbled, his gun hand shaking. "No one will understand." The ceiling overhead was showing signs of stress. Casting a look at it, James figured it was the spot where the fire had been started. They wouldn't have much more time.
"Tucker told me he understood, Marcus." It was hard to keep the pretense going. More cracks appeared in the ceiling directly above Cade. "All you have to do is go out and talk to him."
The man glanced dazedly toward the window and that was the chance James was waiting for. Leaping for him, he knocked him to the floor, grappling for the gun. Sam took the opportunity to dive for Cade, and drag him to safety.
Marcus screamed and nearly broke away. James caught his gun hand and slammed it against the wall. Again and again. Until it dropped from the man's nerveless fingers. Balling his fist, James punched the other man in the jaw, jerking his head back, sending him staggering farther into the room. There was a giant crack, and James jumped backward as the ceiling fell in raining pieces of fiery two-by-sixes into the room. One struck the man across the shoulders and pinned him to the floor.
"Get the hell out of the house!" Sam's voice was in his ear, his grip on his arms, but it was a moment before James could obey. A moment before he could see from the odd angle of Marcus's neck that he realized the man he'd known all his life was beyond saving.
"You come to my hospital, you follow my orders, James." Shae O'Reilly pushed into the hospital room with a scowl on her face to match his own. "I told you that I was keeping you overnight for observation and that's final. In your own room."
"You can observe me in here." Jame
s had no intention of leaving Tori's bedside. He didn't worry about annoying his future sister-in-law. She had her hands full right now with Cade. The concussion he'd suffered had given all of them a few bad moments. "Besides," he pointed out, "your fiancé isn't in his room, either." He reached over, took Tori's hand in his good one.
Tori gave him a disgruntled look. It hadn't escaped her attention that of all the so-called patients in this room, she was the only one being kept in bed.
And being kept there.
"He will be." Shae turned her stern glance on her future husband and stalked toward him threateningly. "If he knows what's good for him."
"I know exactly what's good for me," Cade said. "A night in my own bed with my favorite doctor applying a little TLC."
"Give it up," Sam advised Cade. "Even Juliette and I know enough not to cross Shae when she's in doctor mode."
"That would be more insightful if we didn't all know what a horrid patient you make yourself," Juliette, his fiancée, remarked. "I'm beginning to believe there isn't one Tremaine man who has the sense to take care of himself."
Ana nodded, while Jones wisely remained silent.
Shae pointed to each of the patients in turn. "Concussion," she snapped, gesturing to Cade. "Broken wrist," she indicated James. "And smoke inhalation," she ended with Tori. "We don't keep people in hospitals because we like their company. You're all exhausted and need rest."
Recognizing that her temper was dangerously close to the boiling point, James looked at Cade. Before Shae bullied them back to their rooms, he needed some answers. "What was Tucker able to tell you?"
"He was the one sending the notes." Cade's voice and his facial expression were somber. Tucker had been more like a cousin than a family friend. "You know what a brain he's got for encryption/decryption. He got the brilliant idea to take on his dad's files this summer. He saw it as a challenge, I'm sure. He cracked the security on Marcus's computer and discovered far more than he'd bargained for. Marcus had everything detailed in one of his files."
