Come Gentle the Dawn (18 page)

Linc forced himself to reach for the cherry pie and begin eating it. Guilt jabbed him sharply. He’d already read those letters. How would Brie feel if she knew that? Linc didn’t want to look too closely at the answer. His stomach knotted in fear. “Part of healing is getting
back into contact with the world, you know. Why don’t you go home and if you’re up to it, give your mom and dad a call? Maybe pen a few letters. Sort of get back into the swing of living again.” The last thing he wanted was for Brie to leave so soon after she had arrived.

“I know you’re right. But I feel so…breakable right now, Linc. I feel as if any moment I’ll just burst into tears. Thank God, I didn’t do it in front of today’s class. If I start crying on the phone with my mom…”

Linc gave her a steady look. “It’s normal, Brie. Take my word for it.”

She gave him a tender smile. “The voice of experience speaking?”

He nodded, not tasting the cherry pie. “You don’t need another sad story tonight. Why don’t you get your nice-looking rear out of here and go talk to some of those people who love and care about you so much?”

*

He lay in his own bed, with its nondescript wooden head and footboard. Nothing so individualistic as brass, he thought, like Brie’s bed. Hands behind his head, Linc stared at the ceiling. There was no fan gently whirling to move the air as there had been at Brie’s home. He scowled. Dammit, he missed her. And her house. Was he missing married life? Linc snorted with disgust. He’d never shared with JoAnne what he had with Brie in the past five days.

Brie was bringing out surprising and unknown facets of him. Why hadn’t JoAnne? The difference between the two women was stark. Brie was assertive, JoAnne utterly passive. Brie took life by the throat, JoAnne allowed it to flow by her. Brie was highly emotional,
making him feel as if he were on a roller-coaster ride. JoAnne was like a steady beacon, favoring peace above everything. She would rarely respond with a raised voice. Come to think of it, JoAnne never once lost her temper. If he and Brie were married, she would never stand still for his long absences. He wouldn’t, either. He’d want to come back to Brie more than once every three or four months.

Linc rolled onto his side and stared at the white curtains covering the window. A streetlight cast unnatural brightness into the bedroom. He missed the moonlight falling through the pale green sheers of Brie’s living room, giving everything a softened, almost magical quality. His mind revolved to JoAnne. In all fairness to her, she wasn’t at fault. He’d simply married the wrong type of woman. He needed someone of Brie’s volatility, openness and assertiveness. She made him come alive. She
was
life, he admitted. She felt deep and hard. And so did he, he was discovering, because Brie was bringing out all those stored emotions from him.

All right, little cat, we have time, he thought. Time. He was getting a lot of pleasure out of waiting for her and he’d never felt that before. He liked the idea of getting to know her before taking her to bed and making love to her.…

Linc rolled on his back, hands behind his head again, the sheets in a twisted tangle around his naked body. No. I’m going to make love
with
you, little cat. He wanted to give her as much as he knew she was going to give him in return. Linc shut his eyes, dwelling on that last pleasant thought. Yes, Brie was a giver. And he, by nature, was a taker. Or was he? What was this driving
need to give back to her, then? He’d never wanted to do that with another woman.

When this investigation was completed, what was he going to say to Brie? How could he defend his deceiving her to get her trust?

With a groan, Linc rolled on his belly, shoving the pillow off the bed with one dark-haired arm. Go to sleep, pal, he ordered himself. You’ve got another tough week in front of you. Then he thought of how he’d be spending that week with Brie. He could tolerate anything as long as she was with him. Anything.

L
inc had just stopped the white whale in front of Brie’s home when their beepers went off. A week had passed since Brie had appeared on Linc’s doorstep with a home-cooked meal, and they had just had a long day on the road. Brie groaned as she stepped out of the van to go inside the house and make a phone call to the FM’s office.

She came out scowling. “There’s a report of a Bach Industries tanker dumping chemicals at the edge of a farmer’s field up in Ashtabula. If we hurry, we might catch him,” she told Linc breathlessly.

It was another haz-mat incident. Feeling grim, Linc nodded. They changed clothes and grabbed food in case they were stranded on a long call. Brie checked on Homely Homer in the back of the van; the bird had to take another ride with them. Then they were pulling out
of the driveway. Linc drove as Brie pulled out a map of northeast Ohio and spread it across her lap.

“What’s the name of the farmer who made the call?” Linc questioned. There hadn’t been time to discuss the call before.

Brie traced the quickest route to the reported area. “David Reynolds. He owns a farm up in Ashtabula County, close to Lake Erie.” She pulled the folded paper from her breast pocket where she had written the farm’s address as well as directions on how to get to it. “He said he saw a big tanker truck with Bach on the side of it stop near a roadside ditch and start pumping something out. When he went to investigate, he said the driver warned him away with a sawed-off shotgun.”

“Wonderful,” Linc muttered darkly.

“This isn’t the first time that’s happened with Bach,” she said softly.

Linc remembered Bach had the best reason to kill John and Brie. The largest fine in the United States had been levied against the company a year ago, and John was killed three months after the fining. He felt fear and didn’t want Brie out on this dangerous assignment. “Does Reynolds know what was being pumped out?”

“No.”

“Did he see any placards on the truck that might give us a number so we can trace it through one of our manuals?”

“No.”

“Great. This is stacking up to be quite some call.”

Brie’s mouth thinned. “Yes, it is.”

Linc swore softly. “We’ll be getting back at midnight at the earliest.”

She nodded. “And that involves only driving time, not handling the incident itself,” she reminded him. Brie reached over, placing her fingers on his shoulder, reveling in his powerful build. “Welcome back to the real world, Tanner.”

He shot her a look. “I’ve been working on this job for only three weeks and I’ve got a gut full of this being called out twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I’m burned out already.”

She gave him an understanding smile, tiredness shadowing her eyes. “Try three years of it. Or, like John, five years.”

Linc shook his head, wanting this case broken open and solved. This job was killing. How had Brie managed to stay on top of the mental strain, the hours, and yet remain alert and capable of handling incident after incident without making an error? It was phenomenal. She was phenomenal. All the more reason to protect and keep her safe, he thought.

By the time they reached the area, it was dark. It was a moonless night, and the country highways had no streetlights to help them find the small roads given in the directions. Using a flashlight, Brie found wooden signs with peeling paint. Linc was holding on to his anger and frustration as he took the haz-mat truck slowly down the road that would lead to the Reynolds farm. The road was heavily rutted and potholed, and he had to put the truck in low gear.

They went seven miles into the countryside before Brie pointed to a farm sitting high on a hill. “This has to be it. Hold on, let me go out and look at the mailbox and see if Reynolds’s name is on it.”

Linc waited, always alert, his gaze perusing the dark countryside. There was no sign of a tanker, and relief sizzled through him. Brie climbed in.

“Success! David Reynolds. Okay, let’s go up there and talk with him.

Dogs barked and bayed as they slowly drew to a halt in front of the old stone farmhouse. Brie quickly got out, anxious to talk with Reynolds and get something done about the situation. A porch light came on, and a man in his seventies went out to meet her.

Brie smiled and held out her hand. “Mr. Reynolds? I’m Brie Williams from the hazardous material unit.”

The man’s silver hair glinted in the yellow light above them. His pinched and weathered face drew into a smile of relief.

“Glad you’re here.” He produced three Polaroid shots. “The Bach tanker’s gone, but I got these pictures of him dumping, miss.”

Excitedly, Brie showed Linc the photos. Reynolds had wisely moved far enough away not to get shot at, but close enough to show the tanker dumping the chemicals into the roadside ditch.

“These are wonderful, Mr. Reynolds. I’d like to file a report on what you saw.”

“Surely, come right in.”

Maybe this was the break they needed, Linc thought as they walked into the home filled with antique furniture. He hoped so. By midnight, they should be home, getting some badly needed sleep. But his night was just beginning. As soon as Brie filed the report, he’d take a copy over to the Canton police and send it to the ATF and Cramer. Bach Industries was going to be scrutinized
by every law-enforcement agency computer, and their board members run through an FBI check. Nothing was going to be overlooked after the Holcomb break-in.

It was midnight when they arrived at Brie’s home. Linc frowned. Something looked wrong. The screen door was ajar. He knew Brie had closed it before she came back to the van. He shut off the engine, the hair on his neck rising.

“Stay here,” he warned her quietly.

Brie frowned, half asleep.

“What…?”

“Your back door is open.”

Immediately Brie sat up. She became aware of Linc’s on-guard stance. “Oh, no…” Memories of the break-in at Carol’s house returned to her. “It had to be the wind that pulled the door open,” she stammered.

Linc got out, telling her with a look to stay in the van. “I hope you’re right.” He approached the door with extreme caution. As he pulled the screen open, he saw crowbar marks on the door. With a gentle push, the door swung wide into the darkness of the kitchen.

Linc heard no sounds, only the hollow ring of emptiness as he stepped into the kitchen and switched on the light. What met his eyes sickened him. The entire kitchen was in shambles, nothing neglected, everything torn out, opened and spilled on the floor, table and counter. The pit of his stomach knotted as he cautiously went through the rest of the house.

Whoever had done this was gone. He stepped over the clutter, frantically trying to find the words to tell Brie. He knew how much love she had put into this home. His heart was pounding with pain—her pain. As he stepped
toward the van, he saw her wide, questioning eyes, as if she already had guessed what had happened.

“Linc, what is it?”

“Your house,” he croaked, opening the door for her, gripping her by the arm, “has been broken into.”

He measured his words slowly. “Whatever it is they’re looking for wasn’t found at Holcomb’s house, Brie. They think you have it.”

Brie’s fingers rested on her aching throat. Her house. Her beautiful house, which was a magical, healing place, had been broken into. She shut her eyes tightly, fighting back the tears that wanted to come. She had spent three years lovingly painting, wallpapering and adding just the right appointments that would reflect her private self.

“Did you hear me?”

Linc’s voice grated over her nerves, and she realized she had been holding her breath. “Y-yes, I heard you. Linc, do you think they tore up my house as badly as Carol’s”

He heard the anguish in her soft voice and kept his firm grip on her arm as he led her to the back door. “Yes.” He was lying. Brie’s house was in worse shape than Holcomb’s. Whoever was looking for something tore Brie’s place apart and went over it with a fine-tooth comb. He felt her icy fingers clutch at his hand and he felt her terror. “Just hang in there. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Brie stood numbly in the living room. She heard Linc call the police, and minutes later, she watched several uniformed and plainclothes detectives wandering in and out of the rooms. She saw a man with powder and a brush at the front door. He’s looking for finger-
prints, she thought. Linc went to her, and his hand encircled her shoulder. Brie leaned against him, needing his silent strength.

Linc was watching her closely. He felt a tremble go through Brie. He was nauseated by the destruction. There wasn’t one dish left in the cupboards; all of the dishes lay shattered on the kitchen floor. The paper that lined the cupboards had been torn away, exposing the wood. Linc recognized Detective Gent, who stood at the entrance to the kitchen.

“Come on,” he coaxed Brie hoarsely. “Detective Gent wants to talk with us, Brie.”

Brie stood in what was once her wonderful, jungle-like living room. The trees had been turned upside down, the catch pans torn off the bottom, as if someone was looking for something small enough to wedge between the pan and pot. Each of her expensively framed photos of African wildlife had been torn off the walls, slit and torn out. The back on the television had been removed, the cushions on the rattan couch ripped open. Nothing was left untouched in the raping of her house. As Brie stood in Linc’s arms, she felt stunned and in shock. Carol’s house had not been as brutally mutilated as hers.

It was almost three in the morning when the detectives finished questioning her. Brie was dazed, unable to think any longer. She had sat on the floor with Linc beside her, answering Gent’s long list of questions in a monotone. Finally, the police said they would come back tomorrow. Silence swelled around Brie as all the men left in their black and white cruisers. Woodenly, she had gone to her bedroom and stood beside her bed,
staring at the goosedown mattresses torn open and the feathers scattered everywhere. With trembling fingers, Brie touched the cool brass of the footboard.

Linc found Brie standing there, head bowed, her hand pressed against her closed eyes. “Let’s go,” he urged huskily, taking her into his arms.

“Go? Where?”

He winced at the vacant expression in her eyes and her voice full of defeat. Linc studied her intently, feeling her despair. His arms tightened protectively around her.

“Home,” he said thickly. “With me.”

Brie’s heart somersaulted. Only this time, it was with warmth, not dread. She studied his dark gaze that said so much and rested her head against his chest, allowing the beat of his heart to smooth the ragged edges of her composure.

“Yes, I’ll go home with you…”

Fighting to contain a caldron of untapped feelings, Linc could only nod. He gave her a brief squeeze, looking over at Detective Gent.

“We’ll be in touch,” Linc promised grimly.

Gent nodded. “You bet.”

“I’ll call your office tomorrow morning.”

“Fine, Mr. Tanner. Until then.”

Centering all his attention on Brie, Linc led her through the clutter in the rooms and to the kitchen door. There was an awful darkness in her jade eyes that frightened him. All Linc wanted to do was take her to bed with him, hold her and drive away all the pain.

As they slowly walked to the van, Linc decided that somehow, Brie was at the center of the case, even if she was the victim. And even after what had taken place at
her house, she honestly still didn’t seem to know why. Taking a last look at her as she climbed into the van, Linc silently promised her that he would put an end to this case—soon.

In silence they drove to his apartment. Linc led her inside. “Listen, you take the bedroom,” he told Brie. He opened the door and gestured toward the dark interior. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Despite her bone-deep exhaustion, Brie resisted. “Linc, you’ll be more comfortable in your own bed—”

Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her sable hair. “Don’t fight me, little cat. Get a good hot bath, change into your gown and sleep.”

It was a gruffly spoken order. And it sounded heavenly to Brie. A bare hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Fine.” As soon as she was in bed, Linc was going to the Canton police to get in touch with Cramer.

*

Eyes burning with fatigue, Linc entered his apartment. It was nearly five o’clock. The time at the police station, much of it spent on a computer terminal connected to the ATF office in D.C., had turned up little.

Linc took a quick shower and put on his pajama bottoms. He opened the door that led to his bedroom to check on Brie. He saw her sleeping, the covers having slipped from her waist and bunched around her legs. Smiling tenderly, Linc padded softly to the bed. His eyes adjusted to the semidarkness, and he could see that Brie’s face was clear of all tension. Her lips were slightly parted, and alluring.

Dragging in a deep breath, Linc carefully pulled the
sheet and blanket up to Brie’s waist, tucking her in. She stirred but didn’t awaken. He stood there for long, torturous moments. Linc didn’t want to leave. The urge to lie next to Brie and hold her throughout the long night was overwhelming. The couch in the living room was waiting for him. He should go.…

Brie stirred, stretching. She felt someone nearby. When she dragged open her eyes, she realized Linc was standing by the bed, his features harsh and lined with worry.

“Linc?”

“Shh, go back to sleep, little cat. You’re exhausted.”

A slight smile tugged at her mouth as Linc ran his hand across the crown of her hair. “I’m feeling better.”

Swallowing hard, Linc nodded. “Good.” His voice sounded strangled. Brie’s sounded like velvet. The ache in him grew. How he wanted just to hold her close to him. Her eyes were clouded with sleep, and he knew she wasn’t really that awake at all. He ran his fingers through her silky hair. A soft sigh came from her.

“My mom used to do that,” she whispered, closing her eyes again.

“Yeah?” He never wanted to stop, his trembling fingers lightly brushing the curve of her cheek. Brie was so soft, so womanly that a keen hunger swept through him.