Up in Flames (9 page)

She swallowed hard. “It was a long time ago.”

“Memories like that don’t die, Sophie. Not ever.”

She knew he was right. Knew also that no matter how much it shouldn’t shade people’s opinions of Zane, it would.

“I never met Ron Cezerki when I worked there. Do you really think he would remember my name from a story in the paper where I was little more than an incidental bystander? That he’d actually hold it against me?”

“I know he would. You work for Thorson. The Cezerki family takes notice of anything concerning the Thorsons. And I had just talked with Ron about the possibility of calling you about that job opening. Trust me, he noticed your name. And the only way to get past that is to quit working for that Thorson kid.”

“Zane.”

“Yes, Zane. Zane Thorson.”

Her heart hammered in her throat with a combination of fear and anger. Mr. Boon was one of the best people she knew, someone who would go out of his way to help her whenever he could.
Had
gone out of his way; she knew his letter of recommendation to grad school had made a favorable impression. And he was trying to help her now, in a very important way. But the price was turning her back on Zane.

“Mr. Boon, I know Zane Thorson. He didn’t kill that girl.”

His response was a little too long in coming. “The law will decide that, Sophie. But it doesn’t matter. If you want a job at Pace Laboratory, you can’t be associated with a Thorson. Is that such a difficult choice to make?”

Shit. Her career was supposed to have been a simple matter of applying for jobs and choosing the one she liked best. Someone should have told her ten years ago what a naive fantasy that was, that it might come down to a moral choice she would have to live with forever. Not that it would have made a difference, but it would have been nice to be prepared for the disappointment.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “No, it’s not a difficult choice.”

“Good. Then I can tell Ron you no longer work there?”

“No. You can tell him I’ll be looking for a job elsewhere.”

“Sophie! Pace is an excellent opportunity. You won’t find a better job out there.”

“I know.”

The silence lasted two beats. Three. “I put myself out there for you.”

“I know.” The words barely made it past the tightness in her throat. “And I appreciate it. But I can’t treat Zane like he’s guilty when I know he’s not.”

“You wouldn’t be. You’d just be stepping aside.”

“It’s the same thing as far as people around here are concerned.”

This time the silence hummed with tension as Sophie’s food turned into a rock in her stomach. “I guess there’s no more to say, then,” Mr. Boon said.

“I guess not.” She almost added a good-bye, then blurted out, “Wait! I called you for something else. I wanted to ask about people who work with exotic insects.”

“What about them?”

He sounded tired and disinterested, and she did her best to ignore it. Hopefully, time would mend their relationship. But right now, anything she could do to help Cal find the real killer was more important than strained feelings between her and her former teacher.

“Do you know anyone who might keep Atlas or Hercules beetles, or camel spiders?” Those three were the rare ones; the tarantulas were more common.

“No, why?”

Cal had stressed not mentioning the investigation. “Just asking for a friend. He needs to find some.”

“Tell him to check the zoo.”

The answer was abrupt, and she knew she wouldn’t get more out of him. “Okay, thanks.”

“Good-bye, Sophie.”

She hung up, knowing she’d closed a door on her dream job and a long-term friendship, and wishing it hadn’t sounded so final.

It was too bad Sophie’s strength didn’t equal her determination, Zane thought. He had to limit the work they could do based on her ability. He needed to lay timbers along the terraced hillside, but the seven-by-nine-inch, eight-foot-long railroad ties were too heavy for a small woman to handle. She was already sore—he’d seen her wince and put a hand to her back as she stood up.

He could have called Hooter in to help, but he’d be damned if he’d let that son of a bitch come back before he’d had a few days to reconsider his attitude and his current lack of income. It meant he’d be behind schedule, but Reznick would just have to deal with it. And he’d have to deal with Reznick’s disappointment.

He was still frowning over the situation when a familiar car pulled into the lot. Will Chambers got out, carrying a pair of rawhide gloves.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Zane asked as his friend strolled up to him.

“Working. I thought I’d get off my butt and see if you could use some help.”

Help.
The word carried repercussions. Help was what the county had called it when they gave him and his brother vouchers for food, or new coats for winter. They’d known what it really meant, that everyone in B-Pass felt sorry for them. Pitied them.

Zane wouldn’t have his best friend—his only friend—feeling sorry for him. “You already have a job,” he told Will.

“Monday through Friday. Today’s Saturday. Nice weather, too, don’t you think?”

“I think you have better things to do.”

“Shows what you know.” Will’s attention slid sideways and he grinned as he stuck out his hand. “Hi, you’re Sophie, aren’t you? Will Chambers.”

“Hi.” She shook hands, looking puzzled. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

“I was at Zoe and Jase’s wedding. I probably knocked you over while I was pretending I could dance.”

She laughed and they chatted about the wedding reception like old friends as Zane tried to tamp down the frustration building in his chest. Will had never shown up at Natural Designs before, not to work. The fact that he was here now had to mean he’d found out that his other workers had left. Shit, the whole town probably knew by now. Will must have thought he couldn’t manage without help, and true or not, the shame of that burned his pride. He didn’t need vouchers from the snooty people of B-Pass anymore.

“Will, I know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah, I’m flirting with Sophie.” He winked at her.

“You’re offering charity. I don’t need it.”

Will looked genuinely pissed off. “Jesus, don’t get your sensitive nose out of joint, Thorson. This isn’t charity.”

“Coming out here when I just happen to be down a couple of workers—”

“Is friendship, dumbass. Like when you plowed my driveway out last winter. Or wait—was that charity?”

Zane furrowed his brow. “That’s not the same thing.”

“Yes, it is. Now stop being an idiot and give me something to do. Or are you afraid my soft, computer-nerd hands will put yours to shame?”

Zane ground his teeth for a couple of seconds, while Sophie stared at him like he was insane and she might have to pull the answer from his throat if he didn’t hurry up and say it. Swearing under his breath, he growled, “Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you can’t type because of all the blisters.”

“Big talk, Thorson. Bring it on.”

“I still have dibs on the backhoe,” Sophie called out.

He shook his head in honest confusion. “What is it with you and the backhoe? I thought boys liked machinery and girls liked, I don’t know, ponies, or something.”

“I always liked bugs.”

“Yeah, that should have been a clue.” He muttered it to himself as he walked off, pretending to be crabby because he didn’t know how to be grateful that two people were willing to stand up against public opinion for his sake. Well, one of them was, anyway. Sophie was there only for the money. But she’d let him know she believed in his innocence. It felt strange, and a lot better than he would have guessed.

Sophie enjoyed the day, even the forty-five-minute downpour in the afternoon when they sat in the truck, waiting for it to let up. Will and Zane had been friends since grade school, a bond that for them was obviously as strong as that of brothers. They included her in their good-natured bantering, but even when she missed an inside joke, she didn’t care. It was fun to see Zane have the relationship with Will Chambers that he’d never had with Emmett.

Will hadn’t been kidding about his soft hands. When they returned to the lot and he pulled off his gloves, the pads of each palm were callused and red, and dotted with blisters.

Sophie winced in sympathy as he held them out. Zane left the loader to take a look, then doubled over with laughter. “Another week and I might make a man out of you,” he said.

“Go ahead and laugh, jackass.” Will scowled at Zane, then back at his palms. “Girls like us soft nerds better. Hell, Tracy’ll probably bitch me out if I touch her with these strips of human sandpaper.”

“Sure, blame it on your hands,” Zane taunted.

Sophie smiled, but lost the thread of the conversation as she remembered Zane’s coarse hands touching sensitive parts of her body with a gentleness that had made her gasp and shudder. The memory brought such a rush of heat to her face that she looked away before either man could see it. Will might wonder what she was thinking, but Zane would know right away.

Looking over the flatbed trailer, she spotted a police cruiser turning off the highway. She stilled, wondering what it was about this time. By the time the car reached the gate to the equipment yard, Zane and Will were watching, too. A little ball of tension formed in her stomach, growing larger as she watched the cruiser stop and Cal get out. It was a new sensation, the fear that rose like bile just because a police officer stopped by, and she realized she’d picked up the Thorson viewpoint, that a visit from the police was never a good thing.

This was Cal, she told herself sternly. Her brother-in-law. There was nothing to be afraid of. But it didn’t make the hard expression on his face any friendlier, and it didn’t do anything to ease the stiffness she saw in Zane’s back.

She wasn’t sure if Cal even looked at her and Will; she couldn’t see a thing behind those damn reflective sunglasses he wore. But there was no doubt who he was speaking to when he stopped two feet in front of Zane. “We have a positive identification on the body,” he said.

He dropped his bit of information and waited for a response. Since Zane didn’t look inclined to play Cal’s
Dragnet
game and feed him setup lines, she asked the obvious question for him. “Who is it?”

Cal reached inside his jacket as he spoke, pulling out a sheet of paper. “Name’s Rena Torres. Recognize her?” He unfolded the paper and held the picture up for Zane.

Sophie glanced at the printout of a professional photo. A wide smile beamed at the camera as the girl looked over her shoulder, long, dark hair curling around her shoulders and eyes sparkling with laughter. Neither her name nor her face was familiar.

She turned to Zane. She expected to see a similar blank look, and nearly did a double take at his expression. Her stomach plummeted to her feet.

Zane stared at the picture, his face white with shock and his eyes wide with recognition.

7

T
he shock only
lasted an instant, but Cal’s mirrored gaze hadn’t moved, taking it all in. Zane didn’t look capable of speech. Sophie opened her mouth to reply for him, but Will was a second ahead of her, nudging Zane slightly, ostensibly to get a better look. Zane jerked as if coming out of a daze as Will asked, “Are we supposed to recognize her? I don’t. Do you, Zane?”

Zane managed to shake his head while Cal’s attention shot to Will. “Who are you?”

“Will Chambers.”

“You live around here?”

“Yeah, Tappit’s Ridge. Been here all my life, but I never heard of a Torres family.” It was almost the same genial tone she’d heard all day, but the words were a little too fast and loud, meant to draw attention to himself. “Where’s she from?”

Cal’s gaze returned to Zane, and she wondered that he didn’t fry to a crisp under that shiny stare, like an ant under a magnifying glass. Without looking away from Zane, Cal said, “Sophie?”

“Never saw her before.”

Their exchange had given Zane time to regain his composure, and he wore his usual defiant look. She thought it was impossible that Cal hadn’t noticed the momentary slip, but he didn’t comment on it.

“She came here from California.” Cal spoke to Zane, as if the others weren’t there. “A small-time actress, looking to be big-time. Her roommate said she was hoping to run into some producer she’d met before. Alan Bernstein.”

“Never heard of him, either,” Will volunteered.

Cal’s silvery gaze hadn’t left Zane, as if he didn’t care what the others had to say. “You heard of him, Thorson?”

“Yeah.” Sophie jerked her head around at the unexpected answer, but Zane kept his cool stare on Cal. “He has a place on Two Bears. He called me about some landscape work last month, and I told him I might be able to fit him in this fall.”

“You talked about it over the phone?”

“I met him at the Aerie, the bar at the Alpine Sky.”

Sophie listened to the exchange with surprise, having a hard time picturing Zane mingling with the rich crowd that hung out at the Aerie. Cal didn’t twitch a muscle, and she had a feeling he already knew all the information he was getting.

“Nice place. You go there often?”

Zane folded his arms, staring back at the silver sunglasses. “No. Bernstein said I should meet him there.”

“Was he alone?”

“He was when I saw him.”

“You sure you want to stick with that story? A lot of people were there.”

Zane’s eyes narrowed. “Good, then there will be witnesses. Bernstein was alone when I got there. We talked for about fifteen minutes, and he was alone when I left.”

They had a stare down that lasted a good ten seconds before Sophie’s nerves snapped. “Cal, we get that Rena Torres wanted to meet with Bernstein, and that Zane actually did meet him. So what? That doesn’t mean he met Rena, or that she was even there.”

Cal flashed a look at her, his stern expression all cop, with no trace of brother-in-law. “I didn’t ask you, Sophie.”

She blinked at his response, embarrassment and anger putting hot spots on her cheeks. A hint of satisfaction touched Zane’s mouth as he spoke without looking at her. “He knows that, Sophie. He’s hoping I’ll admit to meeting her, anyway. But I can’t do that if it didn’t happen.”

Cal’s face showed no emotion, but his voice was threatening. “You better hope it didn’t happen, Thorson. Because this investigation is only beginning and you already have two connections to the victim—you met with the one person Rena knew in this town right before she was killed, and she was buried on your property.” He pocketed the photo without breaking his laser-like focus on Zane, then turned and strode back to his car.

Sophie fumed as he left, then looked at Zane, expecting to see an even more formidable hatred directed at the departing police car. Instead, his gaze was distant, a shadow of worry drawing his brows together. Will must have seen it, too. “What does that cop know that he’s not telling us?” Will asked.

“Nothing,” Zane said. “Or he wouldn’t be asking.”

But something occupied Zane’s thoughts. A sick feeling curled in Sophie’s stomach. “
Is
there something else to know?”

Zane studied her for several seconds, then took a deep breath. “I met Rena. It was later that night, at the Moosehead. We had a few drinks.”

“Shit,” Will muttered.

Sophie had to search her brain before the memory registered—the bar next to the Pines motel. She’d never been to either place, but knew them by reputation. The Pines was the opposite end of the spectrum from the posh ski resorts, with few amenities and no atmosphere. Next door, the windowless, weathered exterior of the Moosehead did its part to maintain that image, and to provide occasional guests for the Pines by facilitating meetings of the one-hour variety.

Will looked like he felt the same pinch of worry that constricted Sophie’s chest. “How many people saw you with her? Did you recognize anyone?”

Zane shrugged, the careless gesture at odds with the discomfort on his face. “It’s a dark place, and I left soon after our second beer.”

“Alone?”

Will was the one who asked it, but the same question had occurred to Sophie, prickling like precognition over her scalp. Zane didn’t answer, but she saw the sharp look he shot his friend and felt the twisting pain low in her stomach when she realized what it meant.

He’d left with Rena. He didn’t have to say why.

Zane didn’t want to think about the night he’d spent with Rena Torres. He especially didn’t want Sophie to think about it, although he wasn’t sure why. He could say it was because sleeping with Rena had had nothing to do with Sophie, but that wouldn’t be true. It had
everything
to do with Sophie.

The Moosehead had been an impulse, a place disreputable enough that no one would judge him, where he could reflect on the amazing possibility that his business was about to take off. Breaking into the high-end clientele around B-Pass had taken time, but he had the Reznick account, and now Bernstein wanted to see his plans for a major redesign on his property. A few prominent clients—the
right
clients, like Reznick and Bernstein—were all he needed to attract the attention of the rest of the moneyed residents. Once he had a few referrals, the business he’d barely kept solvent would flourish. He’d bought himself a well-deserved drink and settled back in the privacy of the dark bar to imagine the prosperous future of Natural Designs.

The waitress changed everything. The place was quiet and maybe she was bored. Or maybe she was as interested in him as she appeared. Whatever the reason, she’d hit on him, her subtle flirtation advancing to obvious hints when she saw his interest.

He hated himself for responding. She was too bold and too easy, but there’d been something about her confident stride and the high curve of her breasts that caught his attention. And her hair. That had clinched it, the short blond cut with wisps of curl on the ends that bobbed to their own rhythm as she moved, a carefree style that had punched him in the gut with a sudden memory of Sophie and that summer ten years ago. As soon as the images rose in his mind, hot as sunshine and as real as yesterday, he tried desperately to dispel them. If experience had taught him anything over the years, it was that dwelling on memories of Sophie only resulted in long periods of grumbling dissatisfaction that ruined every part of his life. He wouldn’t indulge in it again.

The perky little blond waitress had brushed against him and told him she was due for a break. He warred with his rising testosterone, one hand gripping his beer as if it might anchor him to the table. His rational self didn’t want to follow her outside to the dark parking lot, but the part of him that was masochistic enough to dwell on memories of Sophie wanted nothing more. Needed nothing more. He was losing the battle to that hormonal instinct, and to the tantalizing moment when he could pretend he was making love to Sophie.

Then Rena had walked in. In the dim, sparsely populated bar she’d zeroed in on him and asked if she could share his table. She was restless, alone, and as bored and in need of companionship as the waitress. But best of all, she looked
nothing
like the Sophie he’d known ten years ago. Her hair was long and dark, her body far more curvy than athletic, full and round where Sophie had been long-limbed and gently curved. She was what he needed, and nothing like what he really wanted. And for whatever reason, she was only too willing.

The Pines was right next door. It didn’t take them long to reach a mutual understanding, and even less time to shed their clothes. They came together fast and hard, with a mindlessness that helped erase all traces of Sophie from his mind. He figured Rena was trying to erase something, too, and didn’t question the desperate edge that drove her to want him again and again. He obliged her in every way he knew until they finally slept, exhausted and temporarily free of the demons that haunted them both.

In the morning it was a struggle to remember her name. They’d parted awkwardly, with no intention of seeing each other again.

That was how it had remained, until Cal Drummond held up a picture of Rena Torres and told him she was the murdered girl who’d been buried in his field. And for a moment he’d flashed back to the image of fingernails digging into his back as her hot, writhing body convulsed beneath his. Fingernails that would have his skin cells embedded beneath them.

God, how long would evidence stay there? Through the shower they’d shared in that shabby little bathroom with the rust-stained fixtures? Longer? For a second he’d gone dizzy with fear, thinking about hairs and fibers and DNA, wondering how long the evidence of their night would have stayed with her. Wondering, too, how long she’d lived after leaving him.

The police wouldn’t have that answer. But it couldn’t have been long, not if she’d been dead about a month.

He’d pulled himself together with practiced skill, putting on the cold expression that came to him by habit when facing down cops with an attitude. But behind those intimidating sunglasses, Cal’s eyes had undoubtedly seen his shock, probably even read his fear. It was the same as waving a bloody hunk of meat in front of a hungry lion. Cal was convinced of his guilt, and wouldn’t quit until he proved it.

Zane hoped to hell he hadn’t provided the DNA that would seal his fate.

He blinked away the irritating thought as he returned to the present. Sophie and Will were looking at him, foreheads puckered with concern.

“Zane—,” Will began.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He strode back to the loader he’d left idling, hoping to let the raw power of heavy machinery wipe the ghosts from his mind.

Sophie came after him, dogging his heels as he mounted the loader. “You were with her, so what? That’s not a crime. Admit it before they find out later and turn it into one more piece of evidence against you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Sophie. Now get out of the way.”

She flipped her hair back with an angry brushing motion, ironically now the same shade of hair Rena had had, and nearly as long. Why the hell did women change their appearance like that? His irritation with her flared higher. He knew it was irrational and didn’t care—everything about Sophie annoyed him. Hell, it was her fault he’d been with Rena that night. If not for her, he could happily have relieved his sexual tensions with that blond waitress and never met the girl who was destined to be murdered, never left his DNA all over her.

Sophie was more than trouble where he was concerned. She was dangerous.

He pulled a lever, lifting the heavy scoop off the ground so he could drive forward. Sophie stepped closer to the cab, close enough that the big rear tire would probably crush her feet if he moved. Hands on her hips, she raised her voice above the rumble of the loader. “Don’t be stupid, Zane. If you’d just cooperate with the police, you wouldn’t look so guilty.”

Cooperate? If a Thorson ever played nice with the Barringer’s Pass police, they’d wonder what he was trying to hide from them. Then they’d find a reason to slap him in cuffs and throw him in jail while they looked for it. He couldn’t afford even one day in jail and off the job, and he definitely couldn’t afford to have his reputation tarnished any more than it already was. Sophie lived in a naive fantasyland of hippies and love for all God’s creatures. It had nothing to do with real life or with being a Thorson in this town.

“Stay away from me, Sophie,” he growled. “Go home and don’t come back.” He refused to meet her shocked look as he stepped on the gas. He didn’t know if the danger would even have registered in her shocked mind, but Will saw it and dashed forward, yanking her back before the big rear tire could smash her foot. He saw that she was safe, and that was enough. He never looked back.