Protective Order

by Rita Herron

  She’d come to him because she’d researched him.

  That roused his curiosity.

  “All right, I’ll call you after I get some sleep,” he said, hoping a couple hours of z’s would make her look less sexy when he talked to her.

  Either way, he’d find out what she was up to.

  * * *

  GINNY STRUGGLED TO calm her raging nerves as she drove through the small town of Whistler. Nestled in the mountains only a couple of hours from Asheville, it looked like a quaint little village with its gift shops, handmade quilt store and signs for boiled peanuts and homemade fudge. The area catered to campers, hikers, white-water rafting, canoeing and skiing in the winter.

  She’d read everything she could find on the town the night before. Five years ago, a terrible fire had destroyed the local hospital, caused several casualties and cost the Maverick brothers their father’s life.

  Griff knew what it was like to lose a loved one. Her heart went out to him. Yet that fact could give them common ground.

  Reminding herself to stay alert in case Robert was in Whistler, she scanned the streets as she drove and the parking lot of the Whistler Inn when she pulled into the drive. Set against the backdrop of the sharp ridges and hills beyond, it looked almost ethereal. Not that she could relax and enjoy it while she stayed here.

  Not with her sister’s killer still on the loose.

  She retrieved her overnight bag from the trunk of her rental car and started up the cobblestone walkway to the front door of the inn. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she turned and scanned the street again.

  Robert couldn’t know she was here. Could he?

  No. She’d been careful. Rented a car using her fake ID so it couldn’t be traced back to Reese Taggart. Her hair was a different color now and shorter. Thanks to colored contacts, her green eyes were blue.

  Reminding herself that she was here to find him, and that she’d trained for the moment, she slipped inside the inn. The woman behind the guest-services desk smiled and offered her the room she called The Sunflower Room. Ginny expected it to be painted bright yellow, but it was white with muted shades of green and coral, and fresh sunflowers in a vase on the desk.

  The room was so bright and cheery that it looked at odds with the reason she’d come. But it reminded her of a happier time when she and her sister had dreamed about their futures together.

  Tess had lost her future because of her.

  Tears blurred her eyes. Some days she made it through without succumbing to the overwhelming anguish. Other days, the grief came out of nowhere and hit her so hard it stole her breath.

  It was the little things that triggered the memories and made her choke up with emotions and regret. Tess’s favorite ice cream was mint chocolate chip. On her birthday, Ginny ordered a cone of it to honor Tess, but halfway through she’d started bawling like a baby. Another time she’d heard her sister’s favorite song in a coffee shop, and she’d had to leave.

  She swiped at the tears and forced herself to focus on her mission. Hopefully Griffin Maverick would call her.

  If not, she’d find another way to see if the death of the woman in the nail-salon fire was connected to Robert.

  She settled her suitcase on the luggage rack, then set her laptop on the desk. Her muscles ached from tension and tossing and turning all night. The dead woman’s face taunted her in her sleep. Joy looked so much like she had three years ago that Ginny felt like she was looking in the mirror.

  If she’d never gotten involved with Robert, Tess would still be alive.

  And if she’d stopped Robert a long time ago, he couldn’t have hurt anyone else, like Joy.

  She grabbed a bottle of water from the gift basket on the corner table, uncapped it and took a long drink as she sank into the chair and booted up her computer.

  This trip to Whistler might not turn up anything on Robert. Joy Norris’s murder might be unrelated to Tess’s.

  But that picture, Joy’s looks... She had to know for sure if she was another victim of Robert’s.

  She spent the next hour combing the internet for pictures or any mention of Robert Bouldercrest. She checked local news reports and social media, trolling through random photographs people had posted.

  But she found nothing.

  Determined to explore every avenue, she decided to search online dating sites again. She’d met Robert on a site called Meet Your Mate and went there first in case he stuck to a pattern.

  She created a new profile under the name June Embers and found a stock photo to use. She answered the questions in a similar vein as she had when she’d created her first profile.

  If Robert had been attracted to quiet, shy journalism student Reese Taggart who lived alone and had just lost her mother, he might fall for bookstore owner June who’d grown up in foster care and wanted to get married and make a family of her own. She posted the profile, then added it to several other dating and singles sites.

  Robert liked playing the savior, the knight riding in to save the lonely damsel. Like June.

  And he had been chivalrous. Affectionate. Romantic.

  Until he’d turned into a monster.

  * * *

  THREE HOURS LATER, Griff rolled from bed, still foggy from sleep. He felt as if he was in a phantasmagoric state, where real images and imagined ones blurred together. Had he been so exhausted he’d dreamed that beautiful woman had shown up at his door this morning?

  His phone dinged with a text as he stumbled into the kitchen. Jacob.

  One p.m. Meet at ME’s office for results of Joy Norris’s autopsy.

  Griff sent a return text: See you there.

  He started past the breakfast island to make coffee when he spotted the business card Ginny had left. So, he hadn’t imagined her.

  He filled the coffee carafe with water and poured it into the coffee maker, inserted a filter filled with his favorite ground beans, then punched the start button. While the rich, dark coffee brewed, he picked up the card, turned it over between his fingers and studied it. Simple office stationery. Classic design.

  The name Virginia (Ginny) Bagwell was scrawled in italics with the title investigative journalist printed below her name along with a phone number and address in Asheville.

  He tapped the card between his fingers, his curiosity piqued. How had she gotten that scar? Why was this story important enough to travel to Whistler and knock on his door?

  His pulse jumped as a random thought struck him. Could she possibly know something about the fire from five years ago?

  The scar...could she have been at the hospital that day?

  Chapter Three

  The scent of chicory filled the air, and Griff poured himself a cup of coffee, carried it to his computer then sat down and retrieved the file he, Jacob, Liam and Fletch had compiled over the past five years. He plugged in the name Virginia (Ginny) Bagwell and ran a search to see if her name was listed as one of the victims in the Whistler Hospital fire, or if she’d lived in town at the time.

  Nothing popped.

  Even more curious than before, he snagged his cell phone and pressed the number on the business card. He had a couple of hours before meeting the ME and Jacob.

  She answered on the third ring. “Hi. I didn’t know if you’d call, Mr. Maverick.”

  He hadn’t known if he would either.

  “It’s Griff. I can do a late breakfast at eleven at Mitzi’s Café in the town square.” The young woman had just opened, and he’d heard the food was good. She was not only attractive, but she made a mean stack of hotcakes with fresh blueberries and cream. He did have a sweet tooth.

  “I’ll be there.”

  He hung up, then headed to the shower. While she probed him for information about arsonists, he’d find out what she was hiding.

  * * *

  GINNY CHECKED TO m
ake sure her auburn roots weren’t bleeding through before walking to the café. Outside, the sun was battling its way through dark clouds that hinted at rain, and the wind tossed debris through the air.

  She checked over her shoulder a dozen times, keeping a lookout as she crossed the street and bypassed the mercantile and arts-and-crafts store.

  Hunching her shoulders against the wind, she hurried past a dark gray SUV, averting her face until she reached the awning of The Brew, the coffee shop on the corner. She ducked beneath it, slipping into the shadows, then pulled her binoculars and aimed them at the vehicle.

  Was Robert inside?

  She hovered there for several seconds, watching. Finally, the man opened the door and stepped from the SUV.

  Not Robert. This man was heavyset, bearded, with graying hair.

  Relief surged through her, and she rushed down the sidewalk to the café.

  Mitzi’s looked like a throwback to the Wild West with its saloon door and red-checked tablecloths. Country music wafted through the speakers, and the sound of voices, laughter and dishes clanging filled the dining area.

  She stopped at the hostess stand and told the young girl she was meeting someone, then asked for the booth in the rear. She always faced the door, never put her back to an entry point. She also scanned the room for a rear exit in case she needed to make a hasty escape.

  Once seated, she ordered coffee and checked her phone, searching for updates on the story about the fire. Nothing new.

  Footsteps sounded, and she looked up and saw Griff approaching. His big body seemed to take up all the space, stirring a myriad of emotions inside her. Fear, because he was big and muscled and strong. Desire, because he was handsome as sin.

  Just the kind of men she avoided. She glanced at the scar on her wrist as a reminder. Play with fire and you get burned.

  Sometimes you didn’t survive.

  She had to survive long enough to get revenge for Tess.

  * * *

  GRIFF NARROWED HIS EYES as he claimed the chair across from Ginny. He’d seen her outside on the street. Watched her checking over her shoulder as if she thought someone was following her. Saw her duck beneath the awning, pull out her binoculars and surveil the man in that gray SUV.

  What in the hell was she doing?

  Was she really here for basic information on arson or was she chasing another story?

  She offered him a smile that instantly made his gut tighten. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Had to eat,” he said gruffly.

  She nodded and sipped her coffee. The waitress sauntered over and he ordered coffee and the stack of hotcakes with blueberries and whipped cream. She asked for the same except she chose strawberries for her topping.

  She wasted no time but jumped in with basic questions about causes of fire.

  “Many are accidental,” he said, playing along. “Faulty wiring. Someone left a candle burning or dropped a cigarette or left the stove on.”

  “How about those recent wildfires?”

  Their food arrived, and his stomach was growling so he dug in. “Could be campers or hikers not properly extinguishing their campfire. The March winds can whip up embers and spark flames even after the fire has been thought to have been snuffed out.”

  “Is that what you think is happening?”

  He shrugged. “Honestly I think some teens are the cause, but we haven’t found a suspect, or suspects.” He waved his hand. “This is off the record. Do you understand?”

  “I do,” she said quietly. “You found an accelerant?”

  He nodded. “A couple of packs of matches. Empty beer cans. Evidence of lighter fluid.”

  “That does sound intentional. Is there a pattern with the timing?”

  “Not really. Although two of them started at dusk. Just enough time for kids to get out of school, head to the woods and drink a few beers before their folks got home from work.”

  He finished off his meal, then sat back and studied her while he sipped his coffee.

  “Tell me about pyromaniacs,” she said. “They’re obsessed with fire, aren’t they?”

  “True. Some have impulse disorders. They love the thrill of watching the flames burn. But that’s more rare.”

  She licked whipped cream from her lips. “A large percentage of arsonists set fires to cover a crime, don’t they?”

  Now he sensed they were getting to the heart of the matter. “As a matter of fact, yes. Fire can destroy valuable evidence and make recovering forensics difficult.” He paused. “But a fire doesn’t totally destroy a body. Specialists can still uncover important forensics and evidence by examining the remains.”

  “Is that what happened last night at the nail salon? Do you think someone killed Joy Norris then set the salon on fire to cover his tracks?”

  He folded his arms. “I can’t divulge information in an ongoing investigation.”

  “But that’s what you suspect?” she pressed.

  “Is that why you’re here?” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you know something about that fire last night or Joy’s murder?”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “I explained that I’m writing a piece on arson—”

  “I’m not buying it,” he said. He’d been lied to before by Joy and didn’t like it.

  She shifted and traced a finger around the rim of her coffee mug. “All right. I’ll share if you do.”

  A frown creased his mouth. “We’re still investigating. I’m supposed to meet with the ME and sheriff after breakfast to learn the results of the autopsy.” He snagged the bill and gave her a pointed look. “Now your turn.”

  Her gaze met his for a tension-filled minute. He thought she might answer, but then she yanked her gaze from his as if he’d burned her.

  Suddenly a commotion sounded from up front. Loud footsteps. Then a man’s voice bellowing.

  Griff turned to see what the problem was, his heart hammering when Joy’s ex-husband Wayne stalked toward him, hands balled into fists. Griff went still, his jaw clenched as the man grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.

  “What the hell did you do to my wife?” Wayne snarled. “First you screw her when we’re still married. Then what? She broke it off, so you got mad and killed her?”

  * * *

  GINNY GRIPPED THE chair edge as the man’s accusations rang in her head. Griff had slept with this man’s wife while she was married to him?

  Disappointment filled her. She’d almost confided the truth, at least part of it, to Griff. Had thought that maybe he was a good guy. He saved lives.

  But he’d slept with another man’s wife.

  His body stiffened, and he curled his fingers around the shorter man’s hands and pulled free. “Listen to me, Wayne, I did not hurt Joy,” he said bluntly. “The minute I learned your divorce wasn’t final, I broke it off.”

  “I don’t believe you,” the man hissed. “I think you still wanted her, but she told you the two of us were getting back together and you got mad.”

  “If you two were reconciling, then good for you,” Griff said, his tone edged with doubt. “Although maybe you’re the one who hurt her. Maybe she told you there was no way she’d come back to you, and you snapped.”

  Ginny fidgeted. If Joy’s husband was jealous enough to hurt her, or even kill her, she might be wrong about Robert being in Whistler.

  She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. As much as Robert terrified her, she was desperate to get rid of him forever.

  “Now, I suggest you go somewhere and cool off,” Griff said in a deep voice. “I have a meeting to attend.”

  He didn’t bother to say goodbye to her. He pushed past Joy’s husband, strode to the counter to pay the bill, then stormed out the door.

  Joy’s husband turned and glared at her. “You may think he’s some hero, but he’s not.”

>   Venom spewed from the man’s eyes and tone. Venom that told her he was dangerous. Venom that reminded her of another man who’d shed his charming outer skin to become a snake when she’d crossed him.

  Had Joy’s husband killed her and set that fire as payback for sleeping with Griff?

  * * *

  HUMILIATION WASHED OVER Griff as he left Mitzi’s Café. He hadn’t been proud that he’d slept with a married woman, but he hadn’t known at the time or it would never have happened. He’d been angry with Joy for lying to him, not for dumping him, but he sure as hell would never have hurt her.

  His father had drilled his personal motto into his sons’ heads—Respect and Protect, Especially Women and Children. Griff had become a firefighter to honor his father’s death.

  Wayne Norris, on the other hand, was less than honorable.

  He’d driven Joy away with his bullying and drinking. She’d insisted to Griff that she’d never go back to him.

  Which meant Wayne was lying about a reconciliation. Maybe about more...

  The bastard could have publicly made accusations against Griff to waylay suspicion from himself.

  He climbed in his truck and drove to the ME’s office, still steaming. His phone buzzed as he parked. The head of the forensics lab.

  “Maverick, I have some results,” Lieutenant Miller said. “The only accelerant in the building was the acetone and chemicals at the salon.”

  So, the arsonist was smart. He’d known he hadn’t needed additional fuel.

  “But tests prove that it wasn’t just small amounts spilled here and there. Someone poured acetone throughout the seating area and around the doors and walls.”

  “He wanted it to spread and spread quickly,” Griff surmised.

  “Exactly.” Lieutenant Miller paused. “Oh, and we also found traces of acetone upstairs in the woman’s apartment. Large amounts.”

  Definitely intentional. “So, there were multiple points of origin?”

  “Yes. This guy didn’t want to take any chances the fire would die out before it destroyed the whole place.”