Firestorm (4 page)

She watched him hurry back to his mother before shifting her gaze back to the oak tree.

No one.

Why was it bothering her? There didn't have to be a reasonable explanation. It could be someone who worked for the cemetery, who didn't wish to intrude. Or it could be some sicko who hung out at graveyards to get some kind of macabre thrill.

Silver.

It was possible. She hadn't gotten a clear look at the man. She'd only had an impression of height and tension and a glimpse of a navy windbreaker and baseball cap.

But she couldn't imagine Silver skulking behind a tree. He was too impatient, too bold. But what the hell? Everything connected to Silver was guesswork, and she'd deliberately blocked all thought of him since he'd left her house three days ago.

But that hadn't stopped him from being the first man who sprang to mind when she had that moment of uneasiness.

Because there was no one who made her more uneasy than Brad Silver.

“Let's go, Kerry.” Gary was back, leading Sam. “Everybody's leaving.” He glanced at the grave and whispered, “But we're not really leaving him, are we? Mom says he'll always be with us.”

“Mom's right.” She took his hand and started down the path. “As long as we keep the memory alive. Did I ever tell you about the first day I met your dad? He was mad as the devil because I'd been sent to replace one of his buddies, who'd been transferred to—”

3
                                                                                                                                                

S
tay away from here.” Kerry frowned sternly over her shoulder at Laura. “You brought me here to paint this blasted gazebo because the fumes made you sick. Now I can't keep you away from it.”

Laura handed her a glass of lemonade. “I just thought you might be thirsty.” She stared critically at the wood banister Kerry was painting. “And to tell you I think you should—”

“Laura.”

“Okay. Sorry,” Laura said guiltily. “Jason told me not to harass you. But I didn't think a few words of advice were harassing. After all, you're a sensible woman who—”

“Likes to do things my own way.” Kerry smiled. “Get back to the house before you throw up. Now, that I'd consider true harassment.”

“I'm fine.” Laura wrinkled her nose. “I had crackers before I came out to give you the benefit of my advice. They always help settle my stomach. Besides, I was lonesome. You insisted on coming out here and working right away. You could have been sociable and let me tell you how Pete is mistreating me.” She patted her round stomach. “Kicks me all night long.”

“You asked for it.”

“You bet I did.” Laura's radiant smile lit her round, freckled face. “For three years. Asked. Prayed. Took every hormone pill under the sun.”

“I know you did.” Kerry's eyes twinkled. “Gee, and all just to make me an aunt. I really appreciate it.”

“There's Jason's car in the driveway.” Laura sprinted toward the house, then yelled over her shoulder, “He's back early. I called him and told him you'd driven down this morning.”

Kerry smiled affectionately as she heard the screen door slam and Laura calling to Jason as she ran through the house. Even eight months pregnant, Laura was like a whirlwind. A warm, sunny whirlwind . . .

If such a phenomenon existed. But then, Laura was a law unto herself. She'd always been—

“I hear you're ruining my wife's gazebo.” Jason was coming out on the back porch. “She wants me to take you in hand.”

“For God's sake, you know nothing about painting, Jason.” She dipped her brush back in the can. “And Laura knows it.”

He came toward her. “Where's Sam?”

“I left him with Edna's kids. They needed him. Now, get out of that fancy business suit and help me with this painting. I'm having a devil of a time with your wife. She keeps coming out and critiquing.”

“It annoys her that she can't do it all herself. Sorry I wasn't home when you got here. I had business in Valdosta.”

“No big deal.”

“How's Charlie's family?”

“Not good. Coping.”

“How about you? Are you doing okay?”

“Coping.”

“Dad was worried about you. He wanted to help.”

She stiffened. “How? Did he want to put me back in that sanitarium?”

Jason frowned. “He thought he was doing what was best for you. You were having hallucinations. You needed a doctor's care.”

“And it was so much easier to pawn me off on an institution than to work through it with me. Do you know how many times he visited me in that hospital in the year I was there? Twice. If you hadn't come as often as you did, I'd have felt like an orphan.”

“He was uneasy around you. From the time you were a little girl you were antagonistic, and you were fighting mad after he committed you.”

“I wasn't crazy. I was just having a few problems. He should have let me work them out on my own.”

“He was afraid the hallucinations were a result of that coma you were in when you were a kid. He felt responsible.”

“He felt guilty.”

“You do blame him.”

“Maybe. I don't know. I just don't want to deal with him now.” She wished he'd drop the subject. Jason could be a bulldog once he got his teeth into an issue. She sat back on her heels and smiled with an effort. “Now, are you going to go change and help me? The two of us can whip this job in time for supper.”

“Right away.” He frowned and she knew he wasn't going to let it go yet. “But those doctors did do you some good. After that psychiatrist, Dr. Travis, showed up, you were just fine. Within two months you were out of that place. So maybe Dad did the right thing.”

She had been released because Michael Travis had told her what to say to the hospital personnel so they would think they'd cured her. “I agree that Travis got me out of there. About everything else, we'll have to agree to disagree.”

He was silent a moment. “I always wondered . . . Do you blame me too?”

“I did for the first couple weeks I was in that place. I felt betrayed. Then I realized that you'd gone along with him because you loved me, and love is too rare for me to jettison it because you made a mistake.”

“It wasn't a mistake. You're healthy and normal now. You have to admit that.”

“Perfectly normal.” As normal as she'd ever be. “Now, can we drop it and just paint Laura's gazebo? I came here because I wanted to be with my family, not to get a lecture.”

He nodded and turned away. “Sorry. It's just that Dad's such a great guy. I think you're missing out.”

She watched him cross the lawn toward the house. It was natural that Jason would think she was being deprived. He had spent those two years she was in a coma after her mother's death with their father, and Kerry's withdrawal from the world had only brought father and son closer. Then, after she'd regained consciousness, she'd spent time in rehab. Jason was ten years older than Kerry and had been heavily influenced by that time with his father. Later, both Jason and Kerry had been sent to private schools but spent vacations at Aunt Marguerite's place in Macon. She only vaguely remembered the few times her father had come to see them during those years. He'd been charming, charismatic, and amusing when Jason was around. When it was just her father and her, he'd been stilted and uneasy.

Her fault? Maybe. She remembered staring at him as if he were some kind of rare species of mammal. She couldn't be natural with him. Then, when she'd started having the nightmares and then the visions, he'd sent her to Milledgeville, and that had destroyed any possibility of intimacy.

She turned back and started to paint the banister again.

It didn't matter. She had Jason and Laura and all her friends at the fire station. She didn't need a father figure in her life. Certainly not one like Ron Murphy. Let him work out his own guilt feelings about Kerry and her mother and that hideous night in Boston.

K
erry was laughing, joking, and looked more relaxed than Silver had ever seen her. Her brother was standing at the barbecue pit grilling hamburgers, and Laura Murphy, very pregnant, was sitting in a chair at the picnic table, staring with satisfaction at her gazebo.

Silver lowered the binoculars. Was it time to go knock on the door and talk to Kerry? She was calm and almost content. The trauma of the last few days had faded. He should probably take advantage of the moment and step into the picture again.

No, give her tonight.

Once he drew her into the nightmare in which he was living, she wouldn't have any more tension-free periods for the foreseeable future.

T
he President.” Melissa handed Michael Travis the phone and mouthed silently. “Not pleased.”

He wasn't surprised. Andreas had been growing increasingly impatient for the last three days. “Hello, Mr. President. I was planning to call you and update you this evening.”

“Update me now,” Andreas said curtly. “What the hell is happening? Why is Silver spinning his wheels? Doesn't he realize the urgency?”

“He realizes. He's trying to ease her into the offer gently.”

“While he's trying to be diplomatic I'm having to deal with the carnage this nut is creating. Tim Pappas's car ran off the road into a tree last night. It exploded and he burned to death before anyone could get him out.”

“Shit.”

“Exactly. I told Pappas he'd be safe. I don't like to be made a liar. And I hate having a decent man die because we can't find Trask.”

“Silver will find him. There's no one with more motivation.”

“That's the only reason I'm trusting him.” Andreas paused. “This woman is really necessary?”

“Her or someone like her. And I've never run across anyone with that particular specialized talent.”

“But she's reluctant to help?”

“She may not be. We just don't know. She didn't want to have anything to do with me or the group five years ago. She's very independent and wanted to live a completely normal life.”

“Fat chance.”

“She's done pretty well. She's smart and very good at covering her tracks.”

“You never gave me a complete background check on her. Talk to me.”

“Her mother was killed in a fire in Boston when Kerry was six. Kerry was struck on the head by the arsonist who set the fire, and she was in a coma for two years. Even after she came out of the coma, she couldn't ID the person who had set the fire. Her father, Ron Murphy, and her mother were in the process of getting a divorce at the time of the fire and he'd taken Kerry's brother, Jason, away on a hunting trip to Canada. Murphy is a freelance reporter and never in one place for long. The children were in private schools or with their aunt most of their childhood. When she was twenty, Kerry began having nightmares about fires and the usual visions. Her father clapped her into a sanitarium. That's when I came on the scene. I'd been keeping an eye on her since one of my informants heard about her background. I thought she might be one of ours.”

“The comas.”

“Yes. I forged documents and showed up as a visiting psychoanalyst. I was able to ease her through the anger and bewilderment, but there was no way she wanted anything else to do with me. She said she didn't need my help and she didn't want to live her life as a kook.”

“Understandable.”

“I do understand. I felt the same way. That's why I was reluctant to give Silver her name when he came asking for recommendations.”

Andreas was silent a moment. “Could he have forced it out of you?”

“I don't know. I don't think even Silver knows what he can do. Maybe he doesn't want to know.”

“My reports say he's . . . remarkable.”

“And that may just cover the tip of the iceberg.” Travis rubbed his temple. “Don't worry. He's not going to go soft on us. He'll get Kerry Murphy.”

“Soon,” Andreas said. “Damn soon. I don't want to have to go to another funeral.”

“I'll convey your displeasure.”

“Not that it will mean a damn to him. Evidently he's not someone to be intimidated. Get back to me.” Andreas hung up.

F
ire!

Mama couldn't get away. She was hurt. She had to find someone to help.

The man across the street.

Help Mama. Please, help Mama.

But she knew he wouldn't help.

Time after time. Time after time.

But she had to try. She ran across the street toward him. “Please. She needs help.”

She looked up at his face.

No face. No face. No face.

She screamed.

Kerry sat bolt upright in bed, bathed in sweat. Her heart was beating so hard it was painful. It was okay. She wasn't standing on that street in Boston. She was in Jason's guest room in Macon.

Only a dream.

Only? It was the same nightmare she'd had since childhood. But she hadn't had it for months and had hoped she might be finally rid of it. It was probably Charlie's death that had triggered its return.

It didn't matter what had caused it to come back. It was here, and if she went back to sleep it would follow her. The pattern was always the same. The dream repeated time after time the moment she went into deep sleep. Sometimes it continued for days before it stopped, leaving her exhausted and drained.

Well, she couldn't lie here waiting to go back to sleep so it could pounce on her.

She tossed aside the comforter and got out of bed. Go downstairs and get a glass of milk. Sit on the porch and let the night air cool and soothe her. And maybe, just maybe, she would get lucky and the dream would fade so far away it wouldn't attack her when she went back to sleep.

Yeah, sure.

She went to the bathroom, washed her face, and then crept quietly downstairs to the kitchen. All she needed was to wake Jason and have him cross-examine her. She had told him the nightmares that had plagued her childhood were a thing of the past. Wishful thinking.

She got her glass of milk and went outside and sat down on the back-porch steps. The wood was cool against her bare legs, and she drew a deep breath of the honeysuckle-scented air. This was normalcy. This was real. That shadowy figure of her dream was only a monster figment of her imagination.

But it wasn't imagination. He was out there. He'd done that horrible thing and was still free to destroy more lives. Her fault. Her fault.

Forget him. She had to live her own life. She couldn't keep punishing herself. She was no martyr. Her mother wouldn't have wanted her to blame herself. She lifted her glass and took a swallow of milk.

The gazebo gleamed white in the moonlight. She'd have to give it another coat of paint tomorrow, but it looked pretty good right now. Laura had done a good job on the—

“Is there room on that step for me?”

She went rigid, her gaze flying to the man standing a few yards away.

Brad Silver. Anger flared through her. “No, there's no room. Not on this step. Not in my life.” Her grip tightened on the glass of milk. “And what the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night? This is private property.”

“You woke me up.” He sat down on the step beside her. “Entirely your fault. If you weren't so messed up, I'd have a much easier time of it.”

“What do you mean, I woke you up?”

“How often do you have dreams like that? I don't remember more than one or two in the last six months.”

“Why should you—” She drew a deep breath. “What
are
you, and what have you been doing to me for the last six months?”