Trial by Fire (4 page)

But she’d deep-fried his brain and run it through a blender. Or maybe he was hopelessly inept at communicating with women like Kat.
Nice
women with smarts
and
sex appeal. Right about now, he’d sell his soul for one ounce of Julian’s suave charisma.

Suddenly, Kat turned to face him again. “Oh, and Howard?”

“Yes?”

“FYI—my number is listed.”

With her parting shot, she sashayed off, hips swinging, leaving him with his mouth hanging open. Slowly, a big, sappy grin spread across his face.
He scores! Nothin’ but net.

Beside him, a soft, appreciative whistle floated in the air. “
Caliente!
A little more junk in the trunk than I usually go for, but so what? I’ll bet blondie’s never experienced the unequalled pleasure of a Latino lover with hot Italian blood running through his veins. The best of both worlds, eh?”

His chest tightened. “You could try, Jules. But then I’d have to squash you like the pesky gnat you are. Painfully.”

“Touché,” he laughed. “You know, maybe Howie’s not such a dull boy after all.”

He let the barb go. Sensations swept him that he’d believed long dead. Waking his senses as though surfacing from a coma. For the first time in ages, he held out hope tomorrow wouldn’t dawn as just another endless, lonely day. A thrill of excitement sang in his blood, knowing he’d see Kat again. Soon.

Beyond tomorrow, who knew?

In spite of his joy, the prickle on the back of his neck returned. Like the devil staring a man down, unseen in the shadows. A menacing presence pulling the strings, making them all dance to whatever wicked tune he’d chosen.

“Christ, I need some sleep,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

Peaceful, uninterrupted shut-eye. Perhaps sweet dreams of his angel would keep the nightmares away, just once.
Please, God
.

The rosy glow from Kat’s bold invite began to fade, common sense returning to claw his heart with vicious talons.

A man can’t exist on wishes and dreams. Hurts too much when your heart is ripped out. He’d learned that lesson a lifetime ago, and learned well. Sometimes the most unbreakable bond on earth isn’t enough to hold the one you love and depend on most.

But Kat’s impulsive kiss had been warm and solid, not a dream. A soothing balm over those old, aching wounds.

Heaving a tired sigh, he trudged to join the rest of the team. A man who’d been awake for twenty-four hours had no business poking a stick into a badger hole. After he’d been unconscious a few hours, the world would right itself again.

And this ridiculous itch between his shoulder blades? History. He was thirty-six years old, for God’s sake. There weren’t any demons lurking in the shadows, waiting to devour him.

Just the flesh-and-blood kind, and they were dead and buried.

Look at the clueless assholes swarming, a bunch of ants on a kicked mound.
Scurrying to salvage the ruins. Getting their very first taste of his power.

Frank smiled. So fucking simple, the truth literally staring them in the face. They would investigate, test, take samples, photograph, autopsy. And in the end, they’d find exactly what he’d intended. The truth lay not in the
what
or
how
, but the
why
. Step back from the details, boys, and see the big picture.

And they would, eventually. They’d search for the pattern, and he’d gladly oblige them. He had control of the game board, and they were his pieces to move at will. Pattern leads to motive. Then the stakes peak, and the game becomes a nerve-racking race to the finish line. Winner takes the prize.

Vengeance.

“I’ll get there first, ’cause
I
chose the destination.” He chuckled. “Yeah, you’ll know my name, you piece of shit.”

By game point, the others would, also. Reward was never without risk. He wanted—
needed
—them all to learn who had dragged the entire Sugarland Fire Department into the pit of hell, and why. He craved it like heroin, this mad desire to feel their shock and horror wash through him when they understood why the master of the game had fucked them up the ass. In more ways than one.

“But
you
have to find out before the others.” Relishing the idea, he shifted in his hiding place. “I’m going to tighten the vise until you crack under the pressure. Until you beg for mercy and fall to your knees. And when you’re beaten like the mongrel you are, I’ll rip your heart out.”

Narrowing his eyes, he watched from a comfortable vantage point as his prey commanded the team. A man among men. He’d be a fool to underestimate the big son of a bitch, extremely powerful not only due to his size, but his presence. They hung on his every word, scurried like mice at a flick of his hand. One more reason to hate the
lieutenant.

They don’t know the truth.

It would be all too easy to obtain a high-powered rifle with a scope and simply take his sorry ass out. Fuck this bullshit.

Careful. Harness the rage. Play the game.

And add a new piece to the board—the woman.

Goddamn, the bitch had seen him. The question was, how well? No doubt, she’d connect the fire with a man driving a dark truck, turning off the deserted street as she’d been rounding the corner. Tell the police about a stranger who had no business in this sleepy, aging upper-crust community in the wee hours.

Now he’d have to ditch the truck. Drive to another county and trade it in at some obscure lot where nobody required a damned DNA sample to do business. Cash ’n’ dash.

His jaw clenched in anger. Two days of casing the area, studying the residents’ comings and goings, picking the perfect empty house, only to have the woman show unexpectedly.

He’d observed Sweet Cheeks picking up the mail and newspapers both of the previous afternoons, performing the menial tasks of a friend or relative dropping by to check on things while the owners were out of town. Ten minutes per house, in and out. The dumb bitch may as well have posted a sign in the yard shouting THESE PEOPLE ARE VACATIONING!

Choosing between the two residences for his plan had been simple. As with many older homes, the complacent owners had never gotten around to installing an alarm system. Surprise, boys and girls. Life sucks.

So easy, his plans carried off without a hitch . . . until the girl presented a challenging new twist to the fun.

Of course, he’d have to dispose of her, though perhaps not right away. The sparks flying between the beauty and her beast had nearly started another blaze. There was truly no accounting for a woman’s taste in men, even if she was a slut.

Interesting and potentially useful, however. For a relationship to blossom between them would be a gift from heaven dropped into his lap. To use the lieutenant’s lady as the final tool of his destruction, the ultimate payback. The supreme irony.

Steal the one you cherish most, the way you stole from me. By God, you will atone.

So he’d watch, wait. Should their attraction to each other bear no fruit, well . . . no harm, no foul. In that case, he’d keep to the original plan.

Before Howard Paxton drew his last breath, he would regret the day he’d been born.

About time the worthless bastard joined the club.

3

Usually Kat preferred to sleep naked. Here in the privacy of her apartment, in the darkness of her own bedroom, she could feel sexy. Feminine. Close her eyes, let the sheets caress her bare skin, and pretend. Sometimes she imagined the brush of cotton sheets were the palm of a man’s hand, skimming, exploring. In her fantasy, this man detested supermodel-thin women. He adored her plump curves, worshipping every inch of her.

Tonight, nudity only left her feeling horribly exposed.

In spite of the pajamas she’d donned like armor against the bogeyman, she began to tremble. Delayed reaction.

She slid between the crisp, cool sheets with a grateful sigh, wiggling to make them a warm cocoon. Her safe haven, even if an illusion. A long, hot shower had washed off the sweat and stink of smoke, but had no positive effect whatsoever on the black cloud suddenly hanging over her head.

God, that poor person, whoever he or she was. How terrifying it must’ve been to burn to death—if the person wasn’t murdered before the fire. How horrible to have a psycho loose in the city, probably proud of what he’d done!

Howard said she might be in danger, a tiny detail she’d neglected to mention to her anxious parents when they’d received her emergency message and phoned from the ship. The roly-poly cop with the personality of a brick had agreed. The lawman’s brilliant suggestion? Get a big, kick-ass dog. Right. Robocop didn’t have to pay the enormous pet deposit, take it for walks, or clean piss off the carpet when it got mad because you were gone too long.

Forget the dog. A big, kick-ass man, on the other hand . . .

Mmm. Howard wouldn’t pee on the rug, either. Oh, the guy probably had several nasty and annoying habits. Most men did. What she wouldn’t give to learn every single one of them.

“Lieutenant Howard Paxton,” she said, trying it out.

Strong and solid, like the man himself. A big dude nobody in their right mind messed with. Yet reserved, almost shy, at least when he’d spoken with her. He’d been so solicitous, genuinely concerned. Best of all, he’d made her feel small and delicate. No mean feat for a woman “built like a brick shithouse,” according to her last boyfriend, Rod the Sleaze.

Okay, Howard was a firefighter. A real-life hero. For sure, the guy treated everyone with that same gentle care. He was doing his job, that’s all. Still . . .

What did he look like out of the heavy coat, without the hat shadowing his chiseled features? Damn, if only she could’ve seen his hair, the real color of his dark eyes.

Even so, true chemistry wasn’t all about appearance, she reminded herself. She didn’t need to drool over his fabulous bod to feel the wonderful hum shoot clear to her toes simply from being near him, talking to him.

No question. Howard possessed the mysterious
it
. That elusive, magical male
something
that made a woman forget to breathe. Almost as if he’d recognized her on the most primitive level, the key in the lock. The encounter was unlike any she’d ever experienced.

And she’d blown it by acting like a stereotypical pushy blond bimbo, when nothing could be farther from the truth.

FYI . . . my number is listed.

“Jesus Christ on roller skates, Katherine Frances.” Her face heated at the memory. “If he cared enough, he would’ve figured that out by himself.”

So much for cosmic male-female mojo. The poor guy had probably run screaming for the hills, thankful to have escaped her razor-sharp talons. After he stuffed his tongue back in his head, of course. He was a
man
, as prone to their weaknesses as any other, if the stupefied expression on his handsome face was an indication.

Which left her alone and saddled with much bigger worries than when she woke up this morning. The major-league, hairy-monster-under-the-bed kind. Holy shit.

Her parents absolutely could
not
find out she might’ve seen the arsonist/murderer, and vice versa. Her sister, Grace, could handle it, but Daddy’s heart couldn’t take the stress. Thus the forced holiday from his law practice and what should’ve been a relaxing cruise with friends. Push comes to shove, she’d have to lie to their faces, and the idea made her cringe. She’d always been
such
a pathetic liar, especially to the three people she loved most in the world.

“A fine mess, Ollie.” She burrowed deeper into the covers.

Dawn had crept through the blinds and across the carpet with pale, orange-gold fingers by the time her eyelids finally drooped in defeat. As she sank into Neverland, she envisioned a big, sexy man sweeping her effortlessly into his arms, without throwing a disc in his lower back.

She smiled into her pillow. In her scenario, the studly firefighter revived her using decadent, delicious methods that belonged between the covers of an erotic romance.

For the first time in months, fantasies weren’t enough.

Her last thought before sleep took her was maybe— just maybe—she was ready to take another chance on reality.

He loved the garden at night.

No yelling. No whippings.

This was his magic forest, and the good witch protected him from the evil troll here. She sprinkled her dust all around, and nobody else could get in.

He liked to hide in the rows of plants. Especially the corn and tomato ones. They were the tallest, even if sorta scrawny. That was okay, ’cause he was scrawny, too.

But he’d grow big one day. Bigger than the tomato plants or corn stalks. Bigger than his crummy house!

And when he did, Daddy couldn’t hit him ever again.

The dirt felt good between his toes. Soft and cool. He wriggled them deeper into the soil, wishing he could find an earthworm.

He fingered a silvery leaf, smiled at the curly vines and round veggies. Would there be lots and lots of juicy red tomatoes this year? He hoped so. Mommy used them in salsa and spaghetti sauce.

Shouting, angry voices, reached his ears.

Who was in his garden? The magic dust didn’t work!

A muffled thump. A very bad swear word.