An Inner Fire (2 page)

Lieutenant Davis settled behind his desk. “This won’t take too long.”

He hit the digital voice recorder on his desk and spoke in a quiet professional tone. “This is Lieutenant Ewan Davis. Today is the ninth of October, 2013. The time is 9:28 am. I’m interviewing Dr. Grayce Walters concerning the fire incident on Fisherman’s Wharf on the night of October eighth. Can you please state and spell your name, Dr. Walters for the record?”

Grayce did so, then crossed her legs, trying to maintain a nonchalant posture.

“All right then. Let’s start at the beginning. Why were you in the commercial fishing area at night?” he asked.

The muscles in her neck tightened with the memory of the night. She cleared her throat. “I couldn’t find parking by Chinooks so I drove to the back of the restaurant.”

He gave an almost imperceptible nod. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

She uncrossed her legs, sat up straighter, and tried to remember what she had planned to say. She already knew Lieutenant Davis would reject the idea of unseen talents or intuition. “As I reached to turn off my headlights, I spotted an injured dog. I’m a vet. I went to help. And while I was examining the dog, a man appeared, from a shed, off to my right.”

A cold dread crept into her body with the mention of the man.

“Was there something suspicious about this man that you didn’t ask him for help with the dog?”

An icy chill skittered up and down her arms with the memory of the man’s elation over his violent destruction. How could she possibly tell the analytical lieutenant that she could feel the man’s fury pulsating across the wharf? Her sensitivity to animal and human energy wouldn’t fit into any of the investigator’s rational categories.

“I was still evaluating the injured dog when the man came out of the shed. At that point, I had things under control.” She sat back and crossed her legs, trying to ignore the prickly shivers running up her spine.

“Do you know what shed he came out of?”

“I didn’t see him, I heard him.” She wanted to tell the lieutenant she didn’t need to see the man; she could feel the dark energy surrounding him. “I heard the door open and then heard him walking toward the water. I didn’t see him until he paused under the overhead light.”

The lieutenant rubbed his hand back and forth on his chin. “So there’s a possibility the fisherman didn’t come out of a shed?”

What could she say? She had experienced the man’s rage. She knew the man had hit Baxter on the head, had burned down the shed. She knew he was no fisherman. And she knew Lieutenant Davis would never believe her.

“I heard a door open and close. Then he appeared. I assumed he came from a nearby shed.”

“Fair enough. Can you describe the man?”

She took a slow deep breath. “He was stocky…carried a duffel bag on his shoulder…had bright red hair.” Her voice quivered on each word like a violin’s string suspended over each note.

His hair had been dyed. Her heart leapt into her throat making it hard to pull air into her constricting chest.

“Is something wrong? What did you just remember?” His eyes focused on her, revealing tiny creases at the corners. Someplace in the back of her mind, she realized she liked the little imperfections.

Henny sat up and placed her head in Grayce’s lap.

Grayce rubbed the solid head of the lab, avoiding eye contact. “His hair color wasn’t natural.” Her heart thumped against her chest like she had just sprinted across a finish line. “It was an unusual color. It had to be dyed.” Breathless, her words came out in a whisper, “his hair was the color of fire.”

Lieutenant Davis leaned forward. The concern she read in his eyes steadied her. He was first-rate, like Henny at her side, steady, loyal and ready to do the job.

“Go on, please.” He gentled his tone, just like she did when soothing a frightened animal.

“He walked toward the boats and disappeared.”

“You don’t remember anything else about the man?”

“Nothing”

The brightness in the lieutenant’s eyes turned frosty as did his tone. “Are you sure you don’t remember anything else?”

She looked down at her lap unable to maintain contact with the lieutenant’s intense inspection. “Nothing else.”

He tapped a slow beat with his index finger on the metal desk. Grayce stared at the huge finger with the neatly trimmed nail and the deep pink nail bed.

“What did you do with the injured dog?”

Grayce looked up to find the lieutenant maintaining his scrutiny.

“One minute he was down, and then, with the sound of the explosion, he was up and loping toward his owner. I knew he was an adventurer.”

“An adventurer?”

She heard the skepticism in his question. “Golden retrievers like to roam.”

“Did you see the owner?”

“No, I just heard her call for Baxter.”

“Let’s go over what you did see.”

He reviewed every detail. What was the sound of the door opening? What kind of clothes was the man wearing? Did she smell anything before the explosion? There was no further mention of the man’s hair color.

A half hour later, he completed her recorded statement and the interview was finished. She had achieved what she had set out to do as a responsible citizen. She had given the lieutenant the description of the arsonist without sharing any of her insight.

“Thank you, Dr. Walters. Your information may be helpful.”

She was thankful to be done with the interview. She hoped never to think, dream, or come close to the red-haired man again. The gigantic lieutenant with his aura of command looked totally capable of handling the dangerous man. “I hope my description will help you find him.”

“Is this the best phone number to reach you?”

Grayce stared at the sheet of paper he handed her. She swallowed the rising panic and ignored the bone-deep awareness that the red-haired man wasn’t finished.

“I may need to contact you,” he said.

“I’ve told you everything.”

“You never know what may come up with an investigation.”

She forced her lips to curve into a smile of sorts. “Of course. You have both my office and cell number.”

When she stood, Henny stood, too.

For a man his size, the lieutenant was quick. He was next to her by the time she had picked up her purse.

She craned her neck to look up at him. His eyes were focused on her. They locked gazes briefly. Grayce looked away, trying to lessen the forceful connection between them, the heat racing through her body. She bent down to pet Henny. “It was great to meet you, girl.”

Henny had been a bright spot in the morning, supporting Grayce with her gentle, loving spirit. Throughout the interview, Grayce had agonized over how much she should reveal about her intuitive grasp of the man’s violent nature. She had almost confided in the lieutenant. She had almost believed he might be able to accept her gifts.

Almost. Almost wasn’t good enough. Almost wasn’t enough to trust. Almost would open up an abyss of her secrets.

Chapter Three

Davis stared down the hallway after Dr. Walters left. He hated surprises. Getting back late to the office, he hadn’t been able to do a rudimentary background check before the interview.

The delectable Dr. Walters was more than disorienting. Her big green eyes, short skirt, and the way she laughed, lying on the ground with Henny licking her face, was a shock to his system. And he wasn’t sure he liked the jolt.

He sat down and opened his computer to do the witness profile he hadn’t been able to do before the interview. The woman was brilliant, Phi Beta Kappa from the University of Michigan, honors from Vet School at Cornell. There were endless pages on her research, papers, and presentations. Now, she practiced animal acupuncture. What the hell was that?

She was a good witness, factual not emotional. Her lack of reaction left him suspicious. Most witnesses needed to describe the experience of encountering criminals. Not the intrepid Dr. Walters. She seemed frightened as she described the man with red hair. But unlike most witnesses, she disclosed none of her fears.

He appreciated the irony of the situation. She had given the perfect interview logical, precise and it made him suspect her. Dr. Walters hadn’t offered any personal insights. He was familiar with the tactic; he used it all the time. When his neatly constructed world had careened out of control two years ago after his father’s slow, agonizing death, Davis learned the only way to survive was not to reveal anything.

There was something inexplicable about Dr. Walters, something he couldn’t grasp. She bore watching. God, who was he kidding? Her tight little body and her legs bore watching.

* * *

Skipping the elevator, Grayce took the stairs two at a time to her second-floor office. She reminded herself, she had a normal life, a life filled with lightness and healing animals. A life not inhabited by red-haired men who beat dogs, set fires, and caused explosions.

Hollie’s voice echoed down the wide hall from the partially open door. Bold black letters stood out against the white background. “Grayce Walters, D.V.M., Veterinary Acupuncturist.” Maybe
normal
wasn’t precisely the right word. Grayce entered the freshly painted, mint green waiting room.

Hollie, with a phone perched at her ear, mouthed, “Mornin’, Boss.”

Grayce listened to her receptionist’s husky voice, counseling a client. Hollie was the biggest surprise of this new endeavor. A technophile Goth, Hollie had attached herself to Grayce at Teen Feed, a program for homeless youths. Despite finding herself drawn to the thin, tattooed woman, Grayce still marveled that she had hired a street kid with a nose ring who was addicted to video games.

Grayce entered her office/exam room, peeling off her soaked North Face coat. She stretched the jacket over her chair since she still hadn’t installed coat-hooks on the door.

She inspected the large space with its vaulted ceilings and generous windows overlooking the Montlake Cut, a waterway connecting Lake Washington to Puget Sound.

She was glad she hadn’t allowed the lieutenant to interview her here. It was hard enough keeping the healing space balanced.

She had a regular life, a home, a cat, and an assistant. The last few days had been an aberration. She repeated the mantra, wondering how long it would be before she actually believed it.

Hollie had left today’s schedule on the desk. Eight clients—her acupuncture practice was growing.

“Mrs. Leary and Beowulf are here.” Hollie stood at the door. Today Hollie wore a pleated black skirt and a black T-shirt. Her tattoos were well concealed but the nose and brow piercings and the dyed jet-black hair stabbed by chopsticks couldn’t be hidden. Her skirt barely grazed her thighs, but her black patent leather boots bridged the gap, reaching the hem of her skirt. Grayce enjoyed Hollie’s original take on work attire.

From Hollie’s sagging shoulders, Grayce knew immediately that Beowulf was faring no better today. The old gray tabby, the center of Mrs. Leary’s life, had been diagnosed with leukemia months ago and had been holding on to allow Mrs. Leary time to adjust. Grayce was grateful she could relieve Beowulf’s pain. Relieving Mrs. Leary’s pain wasn’t as easy.

Hollie returned with the gray tabby in her arms. Mrs. Leary followed, leaning heavily on her cane.

Grayce rose from her chair and moved to greet them. She spoke softly to Beowulf, petting his large head, opening her heart to his vibrations. Beowulf gazed back, the luster in his eyes diminished. His time was close.

“Mrs. Leary, why don’t you hold Beowulf on your lap for his treatment?”

Although withered and wrinkled, Mrs. Leary always moved with a graceful efficiency. Today her shoulders slumped and she took small, measured steps to the treatment chair, overstuffed with chintz pillows. The giant chair dwarfed the delicate woman. Hollie tenderly placed the large cat on Mrs. Leary’s lap.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Hollie pressed her hand against the delicate woman’s shoulder.

“I just couldn’t drink anything. Thank you for asking.”

Grayce knelt next to the cat. She focused her energy into gentle oscillating waves. “You’re a handsome fellow, my friend. You’ve given so much joy to Mrs. Leary.”

Grayce purred at the cat, speaking in a lyrical voice, “Mrs. Leary knows you’re tired, and she doesn’t want you to suffer.”

Tears formed in Mrs. Leary’s eyes. The woman’s translucent hand rested on Beowulf’s front paw, like mother to child, friend to friend.

Grayce steadied her breathing. She absorbed the woman’s pain, feeling her sorrow. Grayce visualized ribbons of blue and yellow light surrounding Beowulf and Mrs. Leary, binding them together in the light of a white hot summer day.

Beowulf didn’t budge when she placed the acupuncture needle into the crown of his head. Entry of the thin filliform needle pinched like the bite of a mosquito but Beowulf was oblivious to Grayce’s ministrations.

She placed the next needle at the lumbar sacral junction, the Bai Hui, the center of energy. She raised her own vibrations to support Beowulf’s deficient Bai Hui. Mrs. Leary’s hand remained on the cat’s paw, anchoring him in this world.