Hall, Jessica (36 page)

"We can't find Mrs. LeClare," Sable choked out as he
grabbed the big man and slung him over his shoulder.

"Hold on to my jacket." Shifting Caine's deadweight, he
led the two women back toward the French doors. Cort, dressed in protective
gear, met them halfway.

Moriah stopped and tried to go back. "I can't leave
Laure!"

"We'll get her out—come on." Cort grabbed the women by
the waist and hustled them out through the doors.

J. D. followed his brother out into the garden and away from the
house. He put Gantry down on the lawn and turned to Sable, who was coughing and
covered in soot but evidently not burned. "Where was Laure?"

"In Marc's study." Moriah pointed one reddened hand at
the other end of the house, the one that was burning rapidly. Then she fell to
her knees, and Terri helped her lie down on the grass.

"We found Caine in the hallway," Sable added when she
could take a breath, "but the fire was too hot, and part of the ceiling
fell in. We just couldn't get to her."

Cort and J. D. ran back to the house and looked in the windows of
the study. The room was ablaze, and they heard the sound of wood giving way.

"Watch out!" Cort lunged at him and barely knocked him
out of the way as the upper floors suddenly collapsed. A wall of burning wood
fell on top of where they had just been standing.

At the hospital, Sable stayed with Moriah until she was taken from
emergency up to the inpatient ward.

"I'll come to see you in the morning," she told her as
she touched her arm. "You rest now, okay?"

Moriah nodded and drifted off as the pain medication they'd given
her took effect.

Sable walked out to see J. D. talking to a heavyset, frowning man
in a rumpled suit.

"Gantry is in a coma in ICU. He's got second-degree burns and
a head wound," J. D. was telling the man.
"I'd
leave a guard
on him anyway." He looked around at Sable. "Excuse me, Captain."

"Hold on, Gamble." The man held out a gun and a badge.
"They're yours, if you want them back."

J. D. smiled. "You sure you want me back?"

"No." The captain slapped his arm. "But somebody's
got to keep you out of trouble."

Terri and Cort were arguing in low, furious voices about something
in the lobby, but abruptly stopped when Sable and J. D. approached them.

"How is Moriah?" Cort asked.

"They're keeping her, but the doctor said she should make a
full recovery," Sable told him.

"We're out of here." J. D. looked at his partner.
"Can I borrow your wheels?"

"Sure." She gave Cort a sideways glance. "I'm sure
your brother will be overjoyed to give me a ride." She handed J. D. her
keys.

He was silent as they left the hospital and he negotiated his way
through the reveling Mardi Gras crowds. He kept Sable close to him, holding her
in the curve of his arm. She rested her cheek against his shoulder and tried
not to think of Marc's poor wife, who had died in the fire.

"What will they do to Caine?" she finally asked.

"He has some heavy charges to face—arson, kidnapping,
maybe
manslaughter." J. D. glanced down at her. "Did you know he was in
love with you?"

"I never knew until he told me today." She shook her
head. "I don't understand why he set the fire."

"Revenge for you and your mother, maybe." He pulled up
into the private garage to his apartment and parked Terri's car in his reserved
space. Instead of getting out, he sat and held Sable for a long time. "I
almost lost you again. I am never letting you out of my sight for as long as we
live."

"That's going to be tough to do. Good thing I'm crazy in love
with you." She recalled what his boss had said to him and met his gaze.
"But are you sure you want me back?"

"Oh, baby, I want you every way I can have you. In my arms,
in my bed, in my life. I want you to stay with me and have my kids and never
even think about leaving me again." He trailed his fingers over her
soot-stained hair. "I love you, Isabel. I always have, and I always
will."

Her heart turned over as he kissed her, and she wound her arms
around his neck, feeling as if she had come home after years of emptiness and
sorrow.

When he pulled her out of Terri's car and swung her up in his
arms, she giggled. "You don't have to carry me around like a
caveman."

"Tonight I do." And he carried her into the elevator,
and up to his apartment, and straight through to his bed.

It was a long time later that Sable woke up in J. D.'s arms, tired
and slightly sore but happier than she had ever been in her life. Her hair was
still damp—at some point they had made it into the shower—but she didn't care.
She nestled close to him, feeling cold, then went still as someone seized her
hair and jerked her head back.

A
slight figure loomed over her. "Get up, you little
slut," a harsh voice hissed.

Sable released J. D. and climbed back out of the bed, wincing as
the intruder's grip nearly tore her scalp. That didn't scare her as much as the
smell of gasoline. "What do you want?"

"Justice." The figure held out a red square can and
began splashing it on the bed.

"You won't get it this way, Laure," J. D. said softly,
and turned on the lamp next to the bed.

Sable stared, horrified, at the woman's hate-contorted face.
"Mrs. LeClare? But we thought you were—"

"Dead? Oh, no." Laure smiled. "You see, while that
crazy Cajun was setting fire to my house, I made a daring and miraculous
escape. But the trauma was too much for me on top of the horrific murder of my
poor husband, and it forced me to go into hiding, in fear for my life. In a
week or two, I'll recover enough to return and tell the press all the details
of my ordeal."

Sable took in a sharp breath. "Caine didn't start the fire.
You did."

T never liked that decrepit old place, but Marc had to have
it." She stroked her hand over Sable's hair. "Just like he had to
have his daughter. I burned the house, but I can't seem to kill you."

"How many times have you tried?" J. D. asked.

"Three. You think four's a charm with this one?" She
yanked Sable's hair. "Look at her. Not a mark on her, just like before.
You'd think she was made of asbestos." She glanced at J. D. and held out
her arm over the bed. In her fist was a lighter. "Put your hands out where
I can see them, Jean-Delano, or I'll set the bed on fire first."

J. D. placed his hands on the edge of the covers. "You
hired
Bud Gantry to do your burning for you twenty-nine years ago."

"Of course I did. This slut's mother tried to take Marc away
from me." She frowned. "All that trouble—do you know, Bud Gantry
tried to blackmail me, when it was his fault he got caught? It's much cheaper
to hire someone to kill a man in prison, though. It only cost a thousand
dollars and three cartons of cigarettes. Imagine that."

"You hired Billy Tibbideau after Marc told you about
Sable."

"He was going to give up everything for her—his campaign, his
reputation, our standing in the community; he even threatened to divorce me and
leave me penniless if I didn't agree to it. He expected me to swallow all that
humiliation because she was his beloved Ginny's little brat."

Sable met her crazy eyes. "You were at the warehouse that
morning. Billy didn't kill Marc. You did."

Laure smiled and drew out a strand of dark red hair. "I paid
Billy to bring me the pole and set the fire. Marc didn't know I was waiting
upstairs for him." She clicked on the lighter. "Unfortunately Billy
got there a little early, but he won't be a problem anymore. He has left town—
permanently."

"Laure, you need help," J. D. said softly.

"Why? I can burn her by myself. I should have done it the
very first time; then she would have never broken your heart,
Jean-Delano." Laure applied the flame to a hank of Sable's hair, and
chuckled as Sable slapped it out with her hand. "See? No trouble at
all."

Sable watched J. D. tense, readying himself to spring. "You
can't get away with murder again, not with Caine in a coma."

"Billy's the one who's been trying to kill you. They'll think
he finally succeeded." She pushed Sable to her
knees.
"A shame your mother's not here, J. D. She'd enjoy this as much I
do." She clicked on the lighter again and set Sable's hair on fire.

J. D. lunged from the bed, knocking Sable aside and throwing the
gasoline-soaked cover over Laure. She screamed as the lighter ignited it and
she was covered in a blanket of flame. She fell over, screeching and writhing.

Sable rolled on the floor, away from Laure, burning her hands as
she frantically tried to put out her hair. J. D. hauled her up under his arm
and ran into the bathroom, where he thrust her under the shower.

Water blinded her, but the heat and the sickening smell of her own
hair burning vanished.

He lifted her dripping from the tub and covered her nose and mouth
with a wet hand towel before doing the same to his face. "Hold on
tight."

J. D. led her back out to the bedroom, where almost everything was
burning now. The vague shape of a blackened body lay in the center of the fire
roaring up from the bed. The intense heat seared Sable's face; in a few moments
the entire room would be filled with flames and smoke.

Sable stumbled through the smoke with J. D. to the front room,
where he jerked two coats from a rack before he got her out into the hallway.
Fire alarms were ringing and the building's overhead sprinkler system snapped
on, and the other tenants hurried out of the apartments as smoke poured into
the hall.

As she saw the other people, Sable realized why he had grabbed the
coats—they were both still naked.

"It's okay." J. D. paused long enough to wrap her in one
coat and pull on the other, then swung her up in his arms. "We're going to
be okay now, baby. I promise." He carried her to the emergency stairs.