An Inner Fire (10 page)

Hollie sat upright and crossed her leg exposing black combat boots. “What does Davis think?”

“Davis is convinced that the guy is a street druggie with paranoid delusions,” Grayce answered.

“I’m with Davis, sounds like he was paranoid, probably snorting crank.”

“Maybe you’re right, but something felt wrong about the guy.” She envisioned the man’s steely determination. “This guy was focused…as if he was hired to hurt Davis.” As the words left her mouth, she knew. The man was a hired assassin. She took a big gulp of the hot tea, scalding her tongue.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Except she didn’t feel fine. Her stomach plummeted and sunk to her knees like the drop on the roller coaster.

“Where did it happen?” Hollie asked.

“Second and Bell.”

“I could go down and check it out. See if anyone knows the guy.”

“What?” Grayce jerked her hand and spilled tea on the scattered papers on her desk.

“I’ll ask about the guy.” Hollie had the instincts of a pit bull and the loyalty of a yellow lab. “What did he look like?”

“If anyone is going to ask questions, it’s going to be me. Right now, I’m trying to figure things out.” She blotted the wet papers with Kleenex. She didn’t know exactly what she was trying to figure out.

Hollie flung herself forward in the chair. “The street is no place for you.”

“I’m not going to Belltown. I’m trying to understand what happened.” She didn’t mention that she was trying to gain perspective on her deep belief that someone was hired to kill Davis.

“Let Davis take care of himself. He can definitely handle it.”

“You’re probably right.”

Grayce’s logical brain agreed with Hollie’s take on the situation, but the twisted knot in her stomach vehemently reacted, sending spasms throughout her gut like a bad case of tourista.

Chapter Seventeen

“Davis, do you have any time this week to do Mt. Si?”

Davis turned toward Pete, a triathlon competitor who spent a great deal of his day at the gym. “Isn’t six a.m. a bit early for you, Pete?”

A grin crossed Pete’s sun-weathered face. He strode toward Davis. “I needed to get in a workout. Gotta be in Tacoma all day.”

Regulars already filled the Y-Gym. When Davis had first returned to Seattle during his father’s illness, Y-Gym had provided a refuge. A stranger adrift in his own hometown, Davis felt anchored at the popular gym among serious athletes like himself.

Pete inspected Davis’ regulation navy blue pants and shirt. “Man, you gave up your designer suits for that outfit? Those pants look like the ones I wore in parochial school. You shouldn’t have listened to Rod.”

A mutual buddy at the gym had provided the initial push for Davis toward fire investigation. “Hey, I want you to know these pants don’t have to be dry cleaned.”

“No time for Mt. Si?” Pete asked.

“Don’t think I can swing it. I’ll call you if this case magically solves itself.”

Both men left the gym, oversized bags slung over their shoulders. Davis took a deep breath when he stepped into the gray rainy morning. His workout had helped get his focus back.

“Good luck with the investigation. Maybe we can hit the mountain next week.”

“Yeah, I’ll need it by then. Hope traffic isn’t too bad.”

“With this rain, it’s going to be a bitch.” Pete swung into his jeep.

Davis started the steep climb to his condo, making a mental list of all he had to do during the day. Top of his list was to talk to Dr. Grayce Walters. He was going to make one final call. He didn’t seem to be able to get her or her guileless stares out of his mind. It wasn’t as if he was desperate for a woman’s attention, he just wanted to make sure she was okay.

He entered the black glass and steel building. At this early hour, the place was deserted. He wasn’t in the mood to be friendly. He assured himself his short fuse had nothing to do with Grayce Walters. At this stage of an investigation, he usually had a working hypothesis. With the wharf fire, nothing was falling into place except wild speculation.

Why hadn’t Grayce returned either of his phone calls? He couldn’t stop visualizing her face, so vulnerable after the attack on Friday night. He replayed the danger. What if he hadn’t walked her to her car? What if he hadn’t been there to protect her from the paranoid druggie?

He was heading down a familiar path—the knight in shining armor. Women loved a man who wanted to rescue them.

But Grayce was different than most women. She’d tried to shield him after the assault. Strong but sensitive, she confused him.

He punched the elevator button harder than he needed to.

* * *

Despite Napoleon and his 18 pounds walking on her head at four a.m., Grayce had slept without nightmares. Energized after her meditation, she was ready for a run. She brought up Sufi music on her iPod, stretched her hamstrings and twisted her hair into a pony-tail.

The phone rang. There was only one person who called her this early. After her sister died, both she and her mother had trouble sleeping. When Grayce left for college, they had established a routine to talk in the morning if either had a rough night. They never changed the routine.

“Sweetie, I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“I’ve been up for a while, Mom. Are you ready for your trip?”

Her mother answered in her professional, no nonsense mode. “I’m leaving for the airport in a few minutes but wanted you to know how much your dad enjoyed dinner with you.”

“It was great for me, too.”

“Guess who your father ran into at the University Club?”

God, she hoped it wasn’t Peyton Archley, a former college boyfriend. Her mother still clung to the hope that they might take up their romance again. “I’ve no idea.”

“Dean Williamson. Your father had a nice chat with him about your interest in medical school.”

The muscles in her jaw started to tighten. Her mother was fixated on Grayce attending medical school again. Never a good sign. “Mom, I went to vet school.”

“He was quite impressed with your advanced degrees in the sciences and the awards you garnered at Michigan and Cornell. It sounds like your father couldn’t restrain himself from bragging.”

She wasn’t sure whether to scream or laugh. She unclenched her jaw. Her belief that the higher species should be able to moderate their response to adverse stimuli wasn’t working this morning. Knowing her mother was trying to take care of her, she felt like the lowest of worms. “Really?”

“Dean Williamson told your father to have you call him. He’d love to talk about your future in medicine.”

Her mother still hoped that as a “real doctor” no one would discover Grayce’s unconventional gifts. She attributed Grayce’s “quirkiness with animals” to the effects of Cassie’s death.

Grayce had been forced into therapy after that. She had made the mistake of revealing that she continued to feel Cassie’s presence. The psychiatrist had told her parents that Grayce’s “symptoms” were part of the grieving process, a refusal to accept her sister’s death. And in time Grayce’s visions would fade. He had been wrong.

Cassie still came to Grayce in her dreams—a bright energy that wrapped her in love. Many nights after Grayce had helped an injured or dying animal, Cassie would whisper words of comfort to her in her sleep.

“Honey, are you there?”

“I’m here, Mom.” Grayce had learned not to share her visions or her gifts. What did it matter if there were no words, no scientific explanation for her reality?

“I think you shouldn’t let this opportunity pass.”

Grayce stretched her masseter muscle, the highly developed muscle in dogs for biting, opening her mouth wide then moving her jaw back and forth, searching for a response that would soothe her mom.

“Grayce? Do you want his number? I have it right here.”

“Sure, Mom.” What was the Gandhi quote about the path of least resistance? “Have a safe flight. I hope your meetings go well.”

Would she find herself at the age of sixty, still feeling guilty that she couldn’t make up for her mother’s immense grief over Cassie? Grayce had achieved outstanding academic success, excelled in mastering acupuncture skills in China and had established her own practice. All these accomplishments and she still didn’t feel that she had done enough to lessen her mother’s suffering. She couldn’t take away her mother’s pain, but she couldn’t give up trying.

Her mother still worried about her. Grayce still worried about her mother. Her mother wanted her to fit in. She wanted her mother to be happy. There were some days it all seemed impossible.

Chapter Eighteen

Davis sat in front of his computer. He almost lost it on Saturday night when he couldn’t upload the fire scene pictures. He had wanted to get home, and instead he spent an hour looking for the cord to connect the camera to the computer. Finally, he transferred the pictures to his phone.

No one could find the cord this morning either. He emailed the pictures from his phone to the email server and then downloaded them to his work computer. He stood to close the door before calling Grayce.

Tom Vaughn walked by Davis’ office. “Hey Davis, figure out what caused the wharf fire? Dirty rags that combusted?”

Tom had been the officer on call the night of the wharf fire and had been one of the first responders.

Davis stood at the door. “Rags wouldn’t be enough to start that fire, but brake fluid and chlorine would do the job.”

Tom stood with his feet apart, looking up at Davis. “Arson?”

Tom was the smallest man of the department’s brass, but everyone’s favorite. Tom loved to joke, lighten the seriousness of their work.

“Who owns it?” Tom asked.

“Can’t find the owner. I’ve got a PO Box out of Alaska and a disconnected cell phone.”

Davis didn’t explain that the guy fished on the Jupiter, the same boat carrying the crab cases. “The fire had to be lit by a pro with the skill to burn a solid wood shed without burning up the rest of the sheds or the wooden wharf.”

“Got someone in mind?”

“Not yet.” Davis had talked with the men on the list of retired firefighters. Nothing panned out. Every one of them had an alibi for the night of the fire. Benson was the only one he couldn’t find. For twenty thousand dollars—the going payment for arson—Benson could fly in from Las Vegas.

Tom moved down the hall and spoke over his shoulder. “Good luck. I wanna hear how it goes down.”

Davis shut the door before anyone else could talk to him. He couldn’t believe he was this nervous—as if he were a teenager, calling a date for the prom.

After Mitzi’s appointment on Thursday, he didn’t need to see Grayce Walters again. The receptionist put him straight through to Grayce without any dire threats this time.

“Is everything all right? Is Mitzi okay?” Grayce asked.

“Yes, we’re both fine. I was hoping you might have a break in your schedule. I’m headed your way this morning and thought we could get a cup of coffee.”

“I can’t. I’m leaving for the airport in two hours and have lots of fires to put out before I go…sorry, forgive the pun.” She gave a nervous laugh.

It boosted his confidence. He didn’t want to be the only one feeling unsure.

“Are you all right about Friday? You didn’t answer the phone yesterday.”

“I had to get ready for California. I went shopping with James all day.”

He recognized a puny excuse when he heard one. Grayce didn’t seem the type to shop all day. He really didn’t know her. And, obviously, she didn’t want to know him.

“Mitzi didn’t suffer any injuries from Friday?”

“Mitzi’s fine.” He recognized a brush off when he heard it. He had given plenty in his lifetime. But he had never been on the receiving end before.

“Have you heard anything about the man who attacked you?”

“No, I was going to call Lewis and see whether they kept him, but I’ve been too busy.”

“You don’t know if he’s in the hospital?”

“I’m assuming he got admitted for evaluation and will be back on the street once his meds start working or sent to drug rehab for his meth addiction.”

“They’ll just let him go?” He could hear her sharp intake of breath.

“They won’t release him until they’re sure his delusions are manageable.”

Grayce wasn’t going to admit that she was afraid of the guy. “They won’t let him back on the street until he’s safe.” He was going to say
until they know he won’t try to stab someone else,
but he didn’t want to remind Grayce about Friday night.

“I’m bringing Henny to the fire site today.”

“How is she?

“She hasn’t knocked anyone else down.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

He relaxed, hearing her light laugh. “If you ever would like to watch her and Steve work, I could set it up. But maybe you don’t want to spend your time off meeting dogs? I didn’t mean like bad dates… I meant…you know what I mean.”

She giggled like a young girl. The tension in his body uncoiled.