by Rita Herron
She seated herself at the counter, and he dropped onto the stool beside her, careful not to crowd her.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she said as she reached for her fork.
“I had to eat,” he said. “Besides, I enjoy being in the kitchen. At the firehouse, we take turns cooking.”
A smile softened her eyes. “My mother enjoyed cooking, too. She said it relaxed her.”
He grinned. “Chopping vegetables is cathartic.” A good way to release tension.
She smiled again, and he realized he’d been chopping ever since they returned to his place. He had to keep his damn hands busy so he wouldn’t touch her.
“So, your mother liked to cook?” he asked to fill the awkward silence.
“She did.” She forked up a bite full of the omelet and devoured it. “Delicious. Did you use fresh chives?”
“I did,” Griff said. “You know your herbs?”
“Mom again. She was on a low-salt diet, so she substituted fresh herbs instead.”
“Did she have a specialty?”
“Pasta dishes and desserts,” Ginny said. “She treated pastries like an art form just like my sister did when she painted.”
“Your sister was an artist?”
“Watercolor was her favorite medium,” Ginny said thoughtfully. “She painted beautiful landscapes with vibrant reds and oranges and subtle blues and greens. She would have wanted to paint your view out back.”
Griff allowed them to sit in the moment as she remembered her sister and they ate. “I can’t imagine living anywhere but here on the mountain.”
“I can’t imagine being able to settle down,” she admitted softly. “The past three years I haven’t stayed in the same place for more than three or four months. I’d get nervous and feel like I was being watched, then move on to the next town.”
Griff’s stomach clenched. “That must be difficult,” he murmured. Even after his father and mother passed, he still had family left. Ginny had no one.
A strained silence fell as they finished their meal. When she stood to clear the dishes, he shook his head. “I’ve got it. Go get some rest. It’s been a long day.”
She paused at the edge of the breakfast bar and looked up at him with a dozen emotions in her eyes. “Why are you being so nice to me? I lied to you. I...got my sister killed and may have gotten Joy killed, too.”
Griff couldn’t resist. He lifted his hands and gently rubbed her arms. “You did lie, but I understand the reason now. And you are not responsible for your sister’s death or Joy’s.” He didn’t know how to convince her to believe him. “This guy is a manipulator, Ginny. You saw what he wanted you to see. Once you realized who and what he was, you did what you had to do.”
“But my sweet sister is dead because of it,” Ginny said.
Griff squeezed her arm. “Your sister would have wanted you to leave an abusive situation.” He lowered his voice. “She’d also want you to be happy now, too.”
“I can’t be happy as long as he’s out there.” She ran her fingers through her hair, then turned and walked into the guest bedroom.
A minute later, he heard her lock the door and the room went dark.
* * *
GINNY CURLED BENEATH the thick quilt in Griff’s extra bedroom and listened to the wind beat at the roof and windows. March had swept in with a vengeance, keeping winter alive in the mountains and a foreboding chill in the air that lingered like the coldness in her heart.
For just a minute today, surrounded by Griff’s loving family and the compassion of the two wives, she’d almost felt a crack in the veneer. Had almost felt like there might be a possibility for a future for her without a maniac breathing down her neck.
That there might a light at the end of the dark tunnel she’d fallen into when she’d held her lifeless sister in her arms.
She shivered and burrowed deeper beneath the quilt, wondering what hands had lovingly stitched the log-cabin pattern. In addition to baking, her mother had loved quilting and so had her grandmother. When she was a little girl, she remembered sitting in her grandma’s sewing room while she spread colorful swatches of dozens of fabrics across her worktable. Although Tess had been the artist, she’d enjoyed helping her grandma arrange the different swatches and colors into a design.
One year Grammy pieced quilts for her and Tess as Christmas gifts. They’d slept curled beneath them on cold winter nights and pretended their grandma’s arms were lovingly wrapped around them. The quilts had become even more special after she’d passed.
Footsteps echoed from the living room, and she tensed, holding her breath the way she used to do when she heard Robert come home. Would he be in a loving mood? Demand her attention? Or would he be angry and vent his frustration on her? Had she done something to incense him? Had she left a glass on the counter? Forgotten to stack the dishes the way he’d taught her?
Forgotten to fold the afghan across the couch? Left the magazines scattered instead of stacked in alphabetical order?
She clutched the quilt edge, listening for the footsteps to grow closer. For the doorknob to jiggle.
But instead, they faded. Griff was out there, not Robert. Griff who’d promised to protect her.
Would she ever be able to enjoy intimacy with a man again?
The memory of Griff pulling her into his arms taunted her. It had felt so...good. Tender. Unlike Robert’s possessive brute force.
She hated him for changing her. For ruining her trust and for making her skeptical of every man she met.
The anxiety inside her spread, and she curled lower beneath the bedding, savoring the warmth and comfort it offered. The house was quiet, the faint glow of a quarter moon seeping through the dark storm clouds and glowing gently in the room.
Exhausted from the attack, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift asleep.
In her dreams, she wasn’t broken anymore. And the world was full of colors.
* * *
GRIFF STOOD OUTSIDE on his deck, counting his blessings and wrangling unwanted feelings for Ginny under control.
She deserved better. True happiness and relief from the suffocating burden of guilt weighing her down.
Damn, he wanted to fix all her problems. That meant protecting her, and helping his brothers track down the man who’d made her life miserable.
He gazed at the heavens, willing his father to send him strength and his mother her wisdom. Something rustled in the woods behind his house, and he tensed and scanned the trees. Hard to see much of anything at night. The moonlight barely created a dent in the darkness, and somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled.
He reached inside his den and snagged his night binoculars from the side table by the sofa, then returned and used them to scan the property. Leaves rustled and tree branches swayed in the wind.
His protective instincts for Ginny mounted as he pictured Robert Bouldercrest skulking around trying to frighten her. What kind of lowlife coward preyed on women and enjoyed their fear?
He’d never understand that kind of evil.
Senses alert, he kept watch for another hour. Finally, when he was satisfied the bastard was gone, if he was out there, he closed the door and locked it. Then he checked to verify that the security system was armed, shuffled into his bedroom and stripped down to his boxers. After he brushed his teeth, he climbed in bed.
But just as he closed his eyes to grab a few hours of sleep, his phone buzzed. He snatched it from his nightstand. His chief.
“Griff, we need you. A fire in town. Burgess just came down with some kind of bug and is puking his guts out. And Thomas sprained his damn ankle on the last job.”
Griff sat up and instantly reached for his clothes. “Where’s the fire?”
“Mitzi’s Café.”
His feet hit the floor. Would Ginny be safe if he left her here with the
security system armed?
Chapter Sixteen
Griff hated to wake Ginny. But he didn’t want to leave without alerting her that he’d be gone.
He quickly dressed, then checked out the windows again. Nothing seemed amiss, so he knocked on the guest-bedroom door. “Ginny?”
Except for the wind battering the house, everything seemed quiet. He waited a couple more minutes, then knocked again. “Ginny, it’s Griff. I have to go.”
Footsteps shuffled from inside the room, then he heard the lock turn and the door opened a fraction of an inch. Ginny looked up at him through sleep-glazed eyes. Her hair was tousled, her face void of makeup, making her look young and innocent and so beautiful his chest clenched. Although the bruise on her cheek reminded him that she was in danger.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her tone confused as if he’d woken her from a deep sleep.
“There’s a fire in town,” he said. “I have to go. I just wanted you to know where I was if you woke up and I wasn’t back.”
She blinked, her brow pinched. “A fire?”
“Yeah. In town. Mitzi’s diner.” He hesitated. “Go back to bed. I’ll set the alarm. You’ll be safe here for the night.”
“Mitzi’s? But I was just there.”
“I know. It was probably just a kitchen fire, but the team is short and needs me. The security system is synced with my phone, and you have my number. Lock the bedroom door again and go back to sleep. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
She gave a little nod although she looked troubled by the thought of another fire. He didn’t want to frighten her, but his own mind had gone to a dark place. Mitzi was single and lived alone. It was possible Robert could have targeted her as another victim.
He waited until she closed the door and the lock turned before he checked the security system. He grabbed his jacket and phone on the way out the door, then scanned his property before he climbed in his truck. Even as he started the engine, he surveyed the periphery and woods beyond in case Robert had discovered that Ginny had come to his house.
The road was deserted, the forest quiet, no lights burning in the darkness to raise suspicion. Once he hit the main road, he sped up and made it to town in record time. The guys from his station house were already on the scene, rolling out hoses and gearing up.
The fire looked somewhat contained to the back of the café where the kitchen was located. It was late so Mitzi would have gone home already.
He dashed to the truck, found an extra uniform and mask and geared up to go in.
“Any word on Mitzi?” he asked as he hurried over to Baxter who was in charge and doling out orders.
“No, but we just arrived.”
“Who called it in?”
“Don’t know,” Baxter said. “There’s the sheriff. Maybe he knows.”
Jacob jogged over to him. “Didn’t realize you were working tonight, Griff,” Jacob said.
“Squad needed me. I’ll check and see if anyone’s inside. Find out if Mitzi is home and if she’s all right.”
“On it.” Jacob patted his arm. “Be careful, bro.”
Griff nodded, yanked his oxygen mask over his face and ran toward the burning building. Smoke billowed in a thick cloud, clogging his vision, but the front of the café hadn’t yet caught. The scent of burning wood and metal was strong, and he scanned the room, but it was empty.
“Anyone here?” The crackling of wood and hissing of the blaze was the only response. Mitzi or even the janitor could be in the back, trapped or hurt. He dodged a patch of flames as he wove past the tables and through the door leading to the kitchen. When he opened the door, flames danced along the back wall.
He glanced at the gas stove and wondered if that had been the source of the fire. Had Mitzi left it on by accident?
Behind him, his men moved in. They began to douse the flames and he scanned the room, searching. “Mitzi? Anyone in here?”
No answer.
He inched around the wood cabinet by the pantry door and the entrance to the small office. A piece of burning board splintered down, and he knocked it away with gloved hands then plowed around another patch of flames. He shone his flashlight in the pantry and yelled again, but there was no one inside. The bags of flour and sugar and other food products were erupting as he stepped back to check the office.
Cookbooks and menu guides filled a shelf above the desk where a computer sat along with other stacks of papers. Thankfully the office was empty.
They worked for over an hour to extinguish and contain the blaze. Sweat beaded Griff’s neck. He tasted ash as he finished up and searched for an accelerant. An empty lighter-fluid can lay in the corner of the kitchen near the stove.
Arson.
He asked Baxter to bag it for evidence and to look for other forensics once the embers died down and they could search more thoroughly.
With Ginny on his mind, he checked his phone. No word from her. Jacob had texted though.
Mitzi is not home. Looks like there was a scuffle. Blood on the floor. I think she was taken.
Griff’s blood ran cold, and he ran to tell Baxter that he had to go. Then he jumped in his car and headed toward Mitzi’s.
* * *
GINNY WAS SO exhausted she fell back asleep immediately. Being in Griff’s house had lulled her into a sense of security she hadn’t felt in years.
But an hour later, she woke with a start. A noise outside? Someone lurking at the window?
Grabbing her gun from her purse and her phone from the nightstand, she eased open the curtains. She peered outside, her breathing ragged.
On first perusal, no one was visible. But that didn’t mean someone wasn’t out there.
Fear knifing through her, she tiptoed to the bedroom door, pressed her ear to the wood and listened. No voices or footsteps. Her chest eased slightly. Griff had said he’d set the alarm, but Robert was tech savvy. If there was a way to disarm it, he’d find it.
She had to check the house before she could totally relax again. Griff’s words drifted through her consciousness. A fire in town. Mitzi’s diner.
She’d eaten at Mitzi’s. Had talked to the pretty young woman. Had questioned other people in the diner.
What if Robert had been watching? What if the fire at the café was his way of getting her attention? Or...what if he’d seen her being friendly with the woman and decided to hurt Mitzi to punish her?
Fear squeezed at her lungs, robbing her breath. No...not Mitzi...not another woman hurt because of her.
Anger compounded her fear, and she clenched her gun, then eased open the lock on the bedroom door. Griff had left a light on in the kitchen, illuminating it in a soft glow. The curtains were drawn over the French doors. The front door closed.
No sign anyone was inside.
Still, Robert could be lurking somewhere on the property. With acres of woods, there were dozens of places to hide. Or he could be with Mitzi, playing one of his mind games or physically hurting her before he...killed her.
Choking back a cry, she eased into the room and scanned the space. Just as it had been when she’d gone to bed. She inched toward the French doors, holding her breath with every step. When she reached the curtain, she summoned her courage and gently pushed it aside just an inch to look out into the forest.
A tree branch snapped off in the wind. Storm clouds rumbled. A few feet into the woods and she thought she spotted a light. Just a tiny pinpoint, no bigger than the point of a sewing needle.
A cigarette? A lighter?
Heart racing, she blinked to clear her vision and narrowed her eyes. Yes, there it was. A small light flickering against the darkness.
And it was moving. Coming closer.
Her hands trembled. Her legs felt weak. But Tess’s face flashed behind her eyes, and she raised her gun. Come on, Robert. I’m waiting. If you’re ou
t there, just try getting to me.
She steeled herself as she watched the light move closer and closer and closer. Then it was in the backyard.
She glanced down at her phone for a millisecond. Considered calling Griff.
There was no time. She had to handle this herself. Get rid of Robert forever.
* * *
GRIFF THREW THE truck into Park in front of Mitzi’s.
Jacob’s police car was parked in the drive, the lights in the house’s interior shining. He hit the ground at a fast walk, then knocked at the door. “It’s me, Jacob.”
Jacob met him at the door. “Don’t touch anything. I called for an Evidence Response Team to process the house. If Ginny’s stalker kidnapped Mitzi, we have to follow the book. Any evidence we collect might help put him away.”
“Got it.” Griff wiped a hand over his sweaty hair. “I think the fire at Mitzi’s was arson. We found a can of lighter fluid in the kitchen. He probably turned on the gas stove and lit up the place.”
“How much damage?” Jacob asked.
“Mostly the kitchen and her office. Except for smoke and water damage, the front dining room is okay.” If they found Mitzi and she was safe, she could rebuild.
He just prayed she was alive.
Jacob gestured for Griff to follow him. Griff avoided touching the walls or doorway or anything inside. The living area looked undisturbed, lamps and bookshelves and furnishings neatly kept. Cookbooks lined an open shelf beside the window that overlooked the backyard in the kitchen. A collection of pottery in a dusty green color filled one shelf, and a coffee station occupied a corner. A large island with a stainless steel counter completed the room, a cook’s dream. Even the kitchen towels were lined up neatly and evenly on the towel rack on the side of the island.
“Everything looks intact,” he commented.
“Until you reach the bedroom,” Jacob pointed out. “That’s another reason to suspect foul play. She seems particular about her belongings but look in here.”
