Once Burned (Task Force Eagle) (8 page)

“As I took courses, I did internships in schools. The
kids asked about my scars matter-of-factly. They accepted me as one of them. I
guess I was. I knew the challenges they faced in everyday life and I wanted to
give them skills to make it easier.”

“Did you ever see Roni again?”

Tears welled but didn’t fall. “Once more. When she was
nine. She read two stories to me. She was so proud. But by then she was hunched
over like an old woman and in constant pain. They couldn’t do enough skin
grafts to keep up with her bone growth. She couldn’t walk and breathing was
shallow.” Her voice rasped with emotion. “Finally her heart gave out. I went to
her funeral. She was ten.”

He swallowed. “I’m so sorry.” Trite, but he couldn’t
think of anything to say that wasn’t.

“Yeah, me too.” She stood and reached for the plates.

He started to take them from her but she waved him
off, so he sat and nursed his beer.

Holding the plates by the tips of her fingers, she
dumped the pizza dregs in the trash. Then she ran water on the plates in the
old-style slate sink, likely original to the farm, like the one in his gram’s
house.

She’d taken her tragedy and turned it outward to give
to others. After his partner was killed and his leg damaged, he’d been too
self-absorbed to think of anyone else. Past time he did.

He took his glass to the sink and leaned against the
counter beside her. “I’ve been thinking. Rather than give you my conclusions, I’ll
share the entire file from the fire marshal.”

When she turned toward him, excitement smoothed her
brow. “Won’t that file have the information we want? Didn’t Tyson grill
everyone back then?”

“The news clippings you showed me implied his
investigation didn’t go much beyond conducting initial interviews, like the one
with you.”

“One of the reporters called me back. That’s what he
said. No follow-up. Tyson sure never came back to see me after that one time.
Maybe Gail’s friends didn’t tell him about the other guy. Maybe they didn’t
want to say anything back then. Sometimes kids are scared, afraid they’ll get
in trouble. Her best friends might know about her new lover.”

“Or they might remember something new about that
night.”

Lani blinked as if startled. “I remembered something
new just now. Gail’s watch. She kept looking at her watch when she came in
after your argument.”

The same memory flooded him. “She kept an eye on the
time while she was outside with me. Damn! She was pushing me away so she could
meet this guy in the barn.”

“They had sex. Then maybe they argued?”

“Another argument after me? She sure was in the mood.”
He patted her arm.

The touch of her soft skin soothed the beast prowling
inside him but hiked up his blood pressure. Wanting Lani was complicated but
undeniable. She might slug him, but he started to pull her into his arms.

She slid away, breathless. “No, Jake. I can’t do this
I need to be focused, in control. I’ll take you up on the case files and work
with you, but that’s all.”

*****

Jake left his Cherokee in Tyson’s driveway, where he
and Lani had parked yesterday. The overcast skies suited the pall over this
destroyed house where the old man had settled into retirement.

Pulling up his windbreaker collar against the light
rain, he ducked under the now sagging yellow police barrier and ambled toward
the blackened ruins of the attached barn. The smoke and chemical stench had
dissipated some. Not enough.

Starting with the first tragic fire, that smell had
become a permanent part of his olfactory makeup. His senses had refined with
experience and study so now he could discern individual odors—insulation and
mold and wood and a dozen other elements. But no matter how many burned-out
hulks he experienced, he never could get past the most overpowering smell, the
stench of death.

He turned as he heard the crunch of tires on gravel as
a vehicle pulled in behind his. Not the deputy sheriff’s cruiser this time, but
Sergeant Paul Robichaud. The arson investigator unfolded his tall, lanky body
from the state sedan. The yellow slicker he shrugged on did little to brighten
the gray day.

Yesterday Robichaud had phoned that Jake’s credentials
had cleared him of suspicion. The state fire marshal’s office would get a copy
of the entire Cameron file to him as soon as someone could make copies. Most of
it was paper, not digital. Then, strangely, Robichaud had called back later to
ask Jake to meet him today at the Tyson place. Odd place to meet to hand over
the report.

“Robichaud,” Jake said by way of greeting.

“Thanks for coming.” The investigator bent to cross
beneath the tape. The two shook hands. “Got that report for you, but I want to
show you something in the barn.”

“Good. So that was the point of origin?”

“The barn, yes. Black smoke and some of the burn looks
like gasoline, but there are some anomalies. We put a rush on the tests.”

Their shoes swished through the grass and crunched on
cinders as they crossed the lawn. They picked their way around fallen beams
into the remnants of the attached barn. The fresh scent of rain mingled with
the ashes and chemicals in a morbid stew.

“At first it looked like Tyson tripped over the gas
can and got knocked out as the fire started,” Robichaud said.

Like the Cameron fire. The conclusion in Tyson’s
report. It’d be interesting if what was left in this barn matched that
conclusion.

The other man indicated the corner where a charred
lawn tractor stood. Black greasy smears leaped high on the two walls and across
the floor.

“I hear a
but
?” Jake said. He grasped the
problem but wanted the other man’s take.

The investigator nodded. “There were two gas cans, two
different brands, sizes. And you see the size of the flash.”

“More like an explosion than a fire spreading
gradually from spilled gasoline.” Jake’s scalp began to prickle. He’d seen that
particular kind of explosion before. That particular kind of flash pattern. “What
did your GC tests tell you?”

Robichaud scratched his head. “Don’t get much in the
way of sophistication with arson in these parts. Folks use gasoline or some
other accelerant easily purchased in hardware stores. Most arson is for
insurance or to cover some other crime.”

“I suspect this one’s related to another crime.” Jake
would press the issue, but it looked like the investigator needed to do this in
his own time.

“Remains to be seen. Fire seems to have been set with
matches and gasoline. Maybe one can was Tyson’s and the arsonist brought
another. But then he wanted to trigger a big bang. Lab did more than one gas
chromatography test. Came up with cyclonite.”

Better known as C-4.

Chapter 8

Nora taped a gauze pad on Lani’s left palm. “You can
probably go without bandages after today. Your scrapes have nearly healed.”

Lani smiled warmly. Nora’s patio was the perfect spot
on a sunny morning. “Great. I don’t mind not being able to do dishes but the
pile’s attracting flies.”

“No dishwasher? Heck, I’d buy paper plates. No washing
dishes for this gal if I had injured hands. Not my fave chore in any case.”

Lani knocked the back of her other hand on her
forehead. “Well, duh. Not very eco-friendly but temporary. I’ll add them to my
shopping list.”

“Speaking of shopping, I need a new dress and maybe so
will you. Kevin’s dad and his campaign manager arranged a big fundraiser for
him at the Blueberry Head Resort the Saturday after the Fourth. You and Jake
can come together.” As Nora shaded her eyes from the sun, her wide grin showed
her dimples.

Lani had no interest in furthering Kevin’s political
ambitions but she’d attend. For Nora. She’d donate a minimum. “I’ll be up for
shopping as soon as my hands heal a bit more.”

She lifted her face from the Meaghers’ faux-glass
patio table to the clear blue sky. A breeze had blown the rain clouds out to
sea. Sunlight danced off the water in the swimming pool and the remaining
puddles on the flagstones around it. Gary and Sam splashed each other from
inflated polka-dot dinosaurs.

“Thanks for the invitation and the hairdo. Cooler this
way.” Lani patted the French braid that barely tickled her neck.

“My pleasure. I’m grateful for your company. Kevin’s
off in West Paris speaking to some civic club or other. I’ve forgotten which
one.” Nora poured them both more coffee and added a splash of cream to Lani’s.
A sly look narrowed her eyes. “I thought maybe you’d bring Jake along this
morning.”

Lani knew that look. “Forget it. No matchmaking. Not
Jake. That’s over the top, even for you.” She put on a scowl, hoping Nora
wouldn’t perceive her ambivalence.

Nora chuckled. Then her eyes widened. “Wait. I just
remembered something.” She dashed inside.

Lani stretched out her legs and sipped her coffee.
Jake and her? Twice Jake had kissed her. Twice she’d let him, had participated
with enthusiasm. But no. The wall between them was too high and too wide.
Unfortunately she couldn’t kid herself about the attraction. He roused emotions
she never thought to feel.

When he let down his guard, the pain and determination
in his eyes squeezed her heart. And he was more. Still funny and kind.
Protective. That, she didn’t want, although, dammit, she probably needed
protection. And steady, unswerving. That, she liked. She needed his expertise.
And he didn’t back down from her mouth.

She felt her cheeks heat as she caught the double
meaning. But she wasn’t Gail, so it didn’t matter.

“Here’s today’s
Portland Press Herald
. I forgot
about this until just now.” Nora tossed the front section on the table and
pointed to a story below the fold.

Lani couldn’t miss the headline—
Retired Fire
Investigator Dies in Blaze
.

“It was on the eleven-o’clock news last night too.”
Nora looked over Lani’s shoulder.

Popping her knuckles, Lani skimmed the initial
reporting of the fire and the efforts to douse it and stopped to read when she
came to the reporter’s interview with the investigator.

State Fire Investigator Sergeant Paul Robichaud said
the fire was set deliberately but would divulge no details on the accelerant or
other evidence. The home owner, Frank Tyson, a retired state fire investigator,
died at the scene. Arson means the perpetrator will be charged with murder.
When asked if Tyson might have had enemies, Robichaud replied, “Who doesn’t?”

The piece continued with background on Tyson and his
long career. His daughter had been contacted. Toward the end, Lani saw her own
name. And Jake’s. The story mentioned them as “persons of interest” who had
shown up at the scene of the fire. She read on.

Lani Cameron’s sister died twelve years ago in a
barn fire in Dragon Harbor. Frank Tyson was the investigator on that case and
declared it accidental after a brief investigation. When asked if Ms. Cameron
was a suspect in this fire, Robichaud said, “We’re looking into all
possibilities.”

Lani’s pulse pounded in her ears. Nora’s coffee sat
greasy in her stomach. Had Jake seen the paper? She had to know what he
thought.

A frown creased Nora’s round face. “What does
‘persons
of interest’
mean?”

“It means
suspects
.” Lani already knew that.
Now the whole state knew.

She slapped the paper back on the table. “Thanks for
the coffee, Nore. I have to go.”

*****

Jake set down his mug and his cream-cheese-smeared
everything bagel from Cuppa-’n-Suppa on the plastic table beside him in the
Amy
Jo
’s cockpit. Propping his bare feet on the stern rail, he inhaled the sea
air. Glistening at low tide, the flats reeked of rotting fish and old mud, but
even that aspect of the harbor smelled sweet. On such a bright summer day, in
contrast to the recent rain, drizzle, and fog, the recreational boaters had
sped out early past Dragon Rocks. Only the fishing boats rested at their
moorings.

All was peaceful except for a great black-backed gull
perched atop a nearby piling. The bird eyed his bagel.

“Don’t even think about it, bub.”

He read the fire story in the
Press Herald
for
the third time. Halfway through, he tossed the paper. Damn, he was worrying too
much about Lani. He wasn’t supposed to worry about her. She didn’t
want
him to worry about her.

You’re a natural protector.

She wasn’t the first to voice that accusation. Maria
Soriano had said something like that. And look where it got him. She was dead.
Because of his lack of protection.

He wasn’t protective; he just preferred having control
over...certain situations. Being damned lousy at the job equaled no protection.
So he was out of that mode. Finito.

Especially this time.
Not this woman. She could
die.
When he failed her, it’d kill him too.

He’d counted on avoiding working with her, protecting
her—except for one problem. Robichaud’s news nuked his resolve to avoid working
with her into oblivion. Jake had no choice in the matter. The prospect scraped
his insides raw. Explaining it to Lani would be no fun.

The seagull swooped down with a swish of wings and
made off with half the bagel in his yellow beak.

“You can have it, you thief. My appetite’s gone.”

*****

“Fifth slip down to the left. The
Amy Jo
,” the
harbormaster said, with a tip of his cap, khaki with the black dragon logo on
the brim. “Can’t miss her.”

Lani glanced at the brass nametag pinned to his green
work shirt—Ed Pascal. “Thanks, Mr. Pascal. I see it, a sort of lobster boat.”

“That’d be the one, Ms. Cameron. And make it Ed.”

She couldn’t place him. At least ten years older than
her, unless his sun-leathered skin aged him. Maybe someone’s older brother. “I
used to spend my summers here when I was a kid. Should I remember you?”

His smile dug creases around his small eyes. “Not a
bit. Been here less’n two years. But I know who you are. This town has plenty o’
flapping mouths.”

Lani laughed. “You got that right.” She counted on
those flapping mouths—and the owners’ memories.

Rows of lobster and other working boats tied to
floating mooring balls rocked in tandem with the tide and wind. She smiled.
They were like a flock of synchronized seabirds.

Amy Jo
, she mused as she neared Jake’s boat
slip. A lover? None of her business if he named his boat for a woman. An older
lobster boat, about thirty feet, with the typical round bottom, small forward
wheelhouse, and open cockpit aft. And a For Sale sign. Interesting.

Hauling the front section of the
Sunday Telegram
from beneath her arm, she sidled down the narrow plank walkway. She’d been
helpless for too long after the fire. No more. With someone trying to harm her,
she had to be strong, at the same time eliciting Jake’s take on the fire story.

“Ahoy, Jake. I found something you have to see.” She
waited, pulse dancing as she listened for noises below. Conversations from a
dozen other boats floated over the water.

A moment later, he appeared in the companionway, a
towel draped around his neck. His damp hair rioted with its natural curl. Golden
brown hair dusted the smooth contours of his chest. His torso was bare, lightly
tanned and just as mouthwatering as she’d suspected. Seeing him framed in the
companionway stopped her breath. The sight took her back to days when the group
would swim off the dock at Birch Brook Farm. She’d worn dark shades then so she
could ogle Jake without him—or Gail—knowing.

“Hey, Lani. Come aboard. I’ll be right with you.”

She nodded dumbly as she stepped onto the deck, almost
forgetting the reason she’d come. Until she saw sections of the identical
newspaper strewn on the deck.

“You already know,” she blurted when she heard his
firm step on the cockpit deck.

“The fire article, yeah.” He set down a tray laden
with a thermal carafe, two orange mugs, and a pint container of milk. “Coffee?”

She shook her head. “If I get any more wound, I’ll
need an anchor.” She flopped into a deck chair and waited as he poured the
steaming brew into one chipped ceramic mug. The rich aroma filled her senses.

A black polo shirt covered his chest and shoulders.
Just as well. Cargo shorts hung low on his lean hips. Just below the hem, she
could see the tip of a nasty red scar amid the same burnished hair. He’d combed
his unruly hair into submission, she observed with regret.

“So are you wound up about being a person of interest?”
he said.

“You mean
suspect
, don’t you? Seeing it in the
newspaper really bugs me.”

He wagged his head as he tipped up his mug. “Whatever
the arson investigator intended, mentioning you as a person of interest might
take the heat off.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you’re a suspect, any accusations you make are
dubious. No matter what you think you remember. The arsonist might back off.”

“
Might
. But if that’s true, I can put up with
grilling by the fire investigator.”

For want of something to do, she took him up on the
coffee offer. Never mind that her nerves were already jangling like circus
bells. And she hadn’t slept.

With efficient movements he poured coffee, then
glanced up, waiting.

Milk, she told him. Their fingers brushed as he handed
her the hot mug, and his fresh-washed scent came to her over the salt tang of
the harbor. Surely she could ignore her senseless attraction. Did he feel the
same sizzle? Or was he thinking of Gail? Outgoing, fun-loving Gail had been the
popular twin, the one the guys flocked around. Not Lani, with her nose in a
book and her one-line zingers.

Was Jake still in love with Gail after all these
years? The question still hung like a poisonous spider between them. Whatever
the truth, she couldn’t let herself depend on him. She couldn’t count on anyone
but herself.

She noticed him leaning back in his deck chair. Left
ankle on his right knee, he sipped his coffee and gazed at her with an
expression she couldn’t read. Waiting for her to explain her presence, maybe.
She averted her gaze from his startling blue one.

“I was at Nora’s. She showed me the fire story. Then I
stopped at the general store to pick up my own copy and came here.” She
fidgeted, unsure.

He stared at her hard, as if seeing inside her. “What
else? Something else has happened. Not the news article. Give.”

His intense scrutiny eddied heat through her veins.
The deck chair squeaked in protest at her squirming like a guilty suspect under
interrogation. “Well...”

“Out with it.”

She sighed. “Okay. You might as well know. Someone
tried to break in last night.”

“Dammit, Lani, you’re way out of the village. Remote.
That old house isn’t safe.”

“Tried, I said. Tried. Didn’t get in. I stopped him.
Them. Whatever.” She managed a shrug to demonstrate her lack of concern. “No
biggie.”

“Bull. You’re scared, and you have every right to be.”
One eyebrow inched up a fraction. “You stopped them. Exactly how?”

She grinned. “Granddad’s shotgun. I fired a shot out
the upstairs bedroom window. They ran away.” She wouldn’t mention she’d sat up
the rest of the night with the weapon in her lap. She’d have crashed this
morning except for gallons of coffee.

He swore softly between gritted teeth. He scraped the
fingers of both hands through his hair. “I don’t suppose you called the cops.”

His tone was neutral but she caught the accusation
loud and clear. She huffed. “Like Galt would care. He’d ignore it like the
other threats.”

“Maybe. But threats need to be on record. I’ll take
care of it.”

Her first reaction was to blurt something snarky like
who
died and put you in charge.
Because she didn’t want to be dismissed by the
police chief again, she said, “Go for it.” Maybe Galt would listen to Jake as a
second party, an ATF agent.

An outboard roared down the middle of the harbor past
the No Wake Zone sign. Pascal yelled at them. A bunch of teenagers. They
laughed. They so didn’t care. She remembered those days. Before the fire.

She stood. “Well. Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

Jake set down his mug and rose from the deck chair. He
took her hands gently in his.

His hands were warm on her skin and his clear blue
eyes mesmerizing. The masculine smell of soap and aftershave nearly had her
burying her nose in his neck. She swallowed.