An Inner Fire (21 page)

A light of hopefulness radiated through her being. Dr. Z’s treatment prepared her for what was waiting, for whatever shock might come next.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Grayce climbed the wooden stairs to her office. With each step the aging wood creaked, fracturing the nighttime silence. The smell of the pine wax that Mr. Lopez used on the fir floors and banisters assaulted her nose.

Every cell in her body went on high alert, synapsing at high frequency, heightening her awareness of every sound, smell, and sight. Her acupuncture treatment hadn’t calmed her nervous system as she first thought, but intensified her sensory input. Her neurons fired, as if she were on speed, on Dexedrine.

Reaching the top of the stairs, she was breathless, not from exertion of climbing but from her agitated state. She groped for the light switch. The school house fixtures barely lit the cavernous hallway. She walked down the passage to her office. Shadows danced on the walls.

The click of the rusty lock she’d inserted into the office door echoed in the quiet. She glanced over her shoulder down the hallway. Nothing.

In her office, Hollie’s familiar chipped tea mug positioned on the right side of her desk and the smell of lavender, used to calm her patients, soothed her jagged nerves. She inhaled the comforting scent, imagining she walked in bright sunlight through the purple French fields. She moved to the filing cabinet and the accumulated stacks of invoices and bills.

Staring at the bulging file, she wished she had hired an accountant. The problem was her system of bartering, discounting special rates for seniors or anyone who fostered abandoned pets didn’t fit on a spreadsheet.

With the heavy file in hand, she opened the door to her office. She heard a noise in the hall. Walking back to the heavy door, she peered down the hallway. “Mr. Lopez?”

No answer. Her nervous system was wacky from her treatment.

She needed to discuss her reaction to today’s treatment with Dr. Z. Her overstimulated response was similar to Mitzi’s. Instead of the deep sense of calm after acupuncture, like Mitzi, she was tense, edgy, hyper-vigilant.

She shut and locked her outer office door. The metal resisted. The old locks had to be replaced.

* * *

Weary after only an hour at her desk, Grayce stood, stretched and began to pack up the files. It was time to head home. The chamomile tea had relaxed her but also had made her sleepy, like the bear on the package.

She checked her cell phone one last time. Davis hadn’t texted to cancel their third official date. After their disagreement, she wished he had cancelled. Getting involved with him wasn’t a good idea. Who was she kidding? She was involved.

Fumbling with her keys in the hallway, she bent to lock the door. She could barely see the keyhole. The hall lights were out. A wave of fear surged through her body, settling in her feet, rooting her to the floor.

Just like on the wharf, danger seared down her spine. A draft of arctic cold rushed down the hallway. She straightened, pushing against the resistance of her tight lungs, frozen muscles and inert feet.

The fir floor creaked. Heavy footsteps moved toward her. Her heart bolted from her rib cage into her throat. The old floor creaked again.

She ran into the darkness toward the front stairwell.

Her harsh breathing reverberated in her head. Out of the darkness, massive hands clamped down on her arms, hot breath on her neck.

She twisted, trying to use her weight to break the grip. The grip tightened.

“Going somewhere?” His rough laugh grated against her ear, her skin. Shivers of revulsion rolled through her body. He lifted her off her feet.

The stench of alcohol, sweat and tobacco enveloped her. Repulsed, she fought the bile that rose up in her throat. Her feet hung in the darkness. Cold sweat dripped down her back. She had panicked but needed to get back in control.

With his hands pinning her arms to her body, he held her over the top of the stairs. “If you don’t stop moving, I might drop you,” he snickered.

She relaxed into his hands. She couldn’t break his grip, but she could kick him, force him to release her. And then she would fall down the twenty wood steps.

“If you had just learned to stop sticking your high and mighty nose in places it didn’t belong, I wouldn’t have to hurt you.”

Her feet dangled in the air. She waited, marshaling her energy. His hands squeezed tighter, his nails digging into her skin. She ignored the pain and waited for the moment.

“You need to forget the wharf. Get my meaning, bitch?”

He shook her hard, hard enough to make her teeth hurt. His fetid breath blew across her neck.

“Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“If you know what’s good for you and your fuck buddy, Davis, you’ll forget our little conversation. I’d hate for something to happen to the almighty fire investigator.” He placed her on the edge of the steps. This was the moment.

The back of her knees and her stomach fluttered. Her heart sprinted, speeding out of control.

He pushed her forward. “This should help your memory.”

He let go. She teetered, twisted in mid-air, lashed out with a kick. She felt and then heard the snap of his knee. The thrust of her movement pitched her faster into the black emptiness. Her shoulder hit first. Unable to stop, she tucked her head and rolled into a tight ball.

As if in one of her nightmares, she waited for the void to take her. Aware she was falling, she couldn’t stop. The sound of her shoulder striking each step echoed in the silence. Eventually sweet darkness came.

* * *

She lay on her side, afraid to make a sound, but she didn’t know why.

Then she remembered. She’d been attacked, knocked down the stairs.

Was he still there? Waiting?

She rolled to her side. Pain shot down her right arm. She had to move, had to get out of here.

She struggled to a sitting position. A wave of nausea hit. Dizzy. White dots paraded before her eyes. Leaning against the bottom step, the queasiness went away.

Everything hurt. Her head throbbed. Her neck was sore. Taking deep breaths, she palpated each rib. No sharp twinges, no rib fractures.

Her teeth chattered, and she realized she was cold. Way too cold. She clenched her jaw, tried to keep her teeth from chattering, but couldn’t.

She shivered and shivered. Had to get warm.

Her thinking was muddled. She knew she was in shock. And she knew she had to get out of there. Had to go home, to reach safety.

She pushed herself to her knees, sharp pain shot through her arm again. Nausea threatened. She bent to pick up her purse. Another wave of nausea. She stood, motionless. If she sat down, she wouldn’t be able to get back up.

The pain and her churning stomach receded enough for her to open the door. She wanted to go home. She waited for her intuition to alert her if he waited outside.

She didn’t perceive any threat. He had delivered his message, loud and brutal. Exiting, she turned to lock the door. She wanted to laugh at the idea of locking the door, but it would hurt too much.

A bath, a hot bath to wash away his touch. The thought of his breath on her neck sent waves of revulsion down her body.

Getting into her car was torture. Every part of her body screamed. She checked her rearview mirror for him. His words, threatening retribution if she told Davis, were embedded in her brain. The man was filled with rage, rage capable of murder.

If she called the police, they would contact Davis. Tomorrow she would think about who to call. Tomorrow she would treat herself with acupuncture. Tonight, she needed an Epsom salt bath and some serious western pain killers.

Chapter Thirty-Three

The ringing phone woke her from a deep sleep. Grayce rolled over. A stabbing pain shot down her arm. Remembering last night’s assault, she wanted to put a pillow over her head and pretend it was all a nightmare, a nightmare that didn’t end with intense pain and threats.

Her cell sounded like it was coming from the kitchen. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and her entire body rebelled. Everything hurt. The cold floor jolted her fully awake. Napoleon jumped from the bed—breakfast time. At least someone was functioning.

She stood, all her muscles tightened. The phone’s insistent ring continued. Napoleon wrapped himself around her ankles, purring in anticipation of his kibble.

The journey from bedroom to kitchen, all five steps, hurt as if she were eighty years old and racked with rheumatoid arthritis. The bright sunlight burning her eyes intensified the throbbing in her head.

She searched for her phone in her polar fleece draped over the chair. The ringing stopped.

She leaned on the chair. The only person who would call at this hour was her mother. She squinted at the missed call; Davis called at 12:10pm. She had slept until noon—courtesy of over-the-counter sleep aids.

She couldn’t bring herself to talk, feeling as if she had been hit by a Mack truck. If Davis showed any concern, she might let down her guard and tell him about the attack. She hadn’t had time to think through what she should do about last night’s threat. She needed to shore herself up with a Diet Coke and another hot bath, and a few acupuncture needles, and, most likely, a few more pain pills.

By the time she got herself together enough to talk with Davis, the day would be over and she still wouldn’t know if they had a date for tonight.

Pushing away from the chair, wincing from the sudden jolt to her shoulder, she walked to the refrigerator, reaching for a Diet Coke. Daunted by the idea of having to stretch to reach for a glass, she drank out of the can. The cold liquid was soothing on her dry lips and throat, a side effect of the PM in the medication.

She walked the three steps back to the table. Sitting down, she reached for the pill bottle, inclined to sleep the afternoon away. She put down the bottle and dialed Davis.

“Grayce, how are you?”

“Great.” She tried to sound chipper.

“You sound funny. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“The week caught up with me.” If he only knew who caught up with her.

“You’re still planning on coming to tonight’s department party?”

She heard the uncertainty in his voice.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to come. I was an ass.”

Exhausted from last night’s episode, she was too tired to discuss the finer points of whether Davis was an ass. She didn’t blame him for not wanting to talk about his feelings the night Mitzi was poisoned. She understood about not wanting to talk when you’ve been through hell.

“I feel really badly about not wanting to talk about what happened to Mitzi. Can we sort it out?” Davis asked.

His sincere apology tempted her to divulge the assault. The memory of the threat stopped her. “Of course.”

“Great.” His voice was lighter. “We may have to be a little late for the party. I’ve got a meeting at five with a fisherman from the wharf.”

Suddenly she was wide awake. “Really?”

“Yeah. The guy’s being kind of strange. He doesn’t want to meet at the wharf, but at some hole-in-the-wall bar in Georgetown at five. I’ll just have time to get home and shower before I pick you up.”

“I thought you already met with the suspicious kid from Alaska.”

“This guy rents the shed next to N-4. Hopefully he’ll show.”

“What do you mean?” Uneasiness pulsed in her stomach.

“I spent days tracking the representative of the company who rented the N-4 shed. The port only had the company name with a PO Box in Alaska for the rental agreement. I finally talked to a guy who said he worked for the company and he agreed to a meeting. He never showed. You’d think he’d want an explanation about the fire and how the investigation was going.”

“But what did he say about not showing up?”

“Can’t find him. He’s gone, disappeared.”

Disappeared? Her hands trembled. She didn’t know if it was the side effects of the pain meds or the apprehension that sank in her stomach making her feel quivery. “You said that you couldn’t talk to the men because they’re out fishing?”

“But why would the company phone be disconnected?”

Prickles of hot then cold flashed across her skin, as if she had influenza with a high fever.

“This is the strangest case I’ve ever worked on. Every time I think I’ve got a lead, it evaporates as if someone is ahead of me, anticipating my next move.”

The words of her assailant drummed in her ears and his threat of what he would do to Davis, the star investigator.

“I would love to skip the whole party, but the guys have spent tons of time organizing. We don’t have to stay long.”

She swallowed against the lump of fear that moved from her stomach into her throat. “I’m looking forward to it.”

She could barely walk, hardly talk, but she would be social at a fire station party. She didn’t know what else to do. She needed to be with Davis.

“I’ll pick you up at 7:30 or so.”

“Davis…” She had difficulty forming the words. They came out as a whisper, “Be careful.”