Fire Angel (10 page)

Jake shivered. The mention of pipe bombs had plunged him back to Afghanistan and the broken bodies littered around him on that day. He heard Alexis speaking, but she sounded a million miles away.
Focus!

He pulled himself together; he would be of no use if he couldn't leave the past out of the present. He reached for Alexis and drew her against him, holding her close trying to share his heat with her and using her to ground himself in the here and now. He didn't care who saw them; right now, they both needed a touch of human comfort. She was right, and that meant that the killer was more dangerous than anyone had anticipated.

“Come on,” he said leading her away from the fire to a waiting police car. “There isn't anything else that we can do tonight. Pierre is going to drive us back to the inn. It'll be light soon, and we need to get some sleep.”

Together they walked over to the squad car on the perimeter. Like them, many of the spectators had decided to call it a night. News hounds rushed towards them, but Constable Leduc ran interference until they were settled in the back of the car.

He let Alexis climb into the impersonal cruiser before he followed her. His nose flared as the stench assaulted him. Pierre had spread a blanket over the seat, but the unmistakable reek of body odor and other unpleasant smells seemed embedded in the car. No amount of air freshener could ever eliminate them.

“Sorry about the less than optimal conditions,” Pierre said, speaking through the metal screen that separated the two seats. “Patrick got a call — a coyote after Mr. Duncan's sheep; he took the Hummer.”

“Not a problem, Pierre,” answered Jake. “We just want to get home.”

Jake put his arm around her and she nestled into him. He understood that she needed this contact as much as he did.

“I wish you hadn't left,” he said picking up on the conversation they had started in her cabin hours ago. “I really wanted to take you to that dance. My older sister, Sally, spent weeks teaching me to waltz.” He laughed. “I wasn't very good at it then; I'm worse now.”

“You know, if you'd asked me to that dance on Friday, I'd have said yes and stayed a while longer, but Jake, I'd have had to leave sooner or later. I couldn't stay there anymore.”

She snuggled closer. “This isn't the place I'd have chosen for ‘True Confessions', but maybe it's for the best. I've been held prisoner by the sins of others long enough.” She spoke softly, barely loud enough for Jake to hear.

“What's past is past, but if we're going to work together, there are some things that you need to know.”

Jake tried to comfort her by gently rubbing her back with his free hand.

“Every family has secrets. I left here because I was tired of being my uncle's punching bag. I know people react to alcohol in different ways. Some get all romantic and lovey-dovey; others lose some of their inhibitions and become outgoing and fun, while still another bunch gets emotional. My boss cries every Christmas, but Uncle Nick wasn't like that. When he drank, he got mean.”

She was quiet for a few moments as if she needed time to organize her thoughts. Jake doubted she'd spoken of this in many years, and it must hurt just to remember it.

“At first, it was verbal abuse; as I got older it became sly innuendos, cheap shots, and eventually, punches. Aunt Emily and James were scared of him, but they never said a word; why would they? While he was beating on me, he wasn't picking on them. He was very careful; he never hit Aunt Emily or me where it would show, and come Sunday morning he'd stand in the pulpit and preach about the seven deadly sins. James was well on his way to being as bad as his father, if not worse.” She shuddered.

“I heard that Aunt Emily and James had died. I think my grandfather might have told me that. I wouldn't have minded seeing Aunt Emily; she was as much a victim as I was.”

She yawned, and was quiet for so long, he thought she might have fallen asleep. When she spoke again, her voice was filled with anger and hurt.

“The emotional pain from the experience mounted until it became unbearable. Somehow Aunt Emily felt it was her duty to suffer in silence; I didn't. I tried to get help, but no one believed me — I even went to the police, but my uncle told them that I was a shameless liar and troublemaker. He was a pillar of the community, a man of the cloth. I kept trying to get help. Do you remember when I broke my arm ‘falling out of a tree'? That happened after I spoke to a social worker in Calvin who suggested I go to an AL-ANON meeting there. Somehow Uncle Nick learned about my plan and he was furious. No one should have to tolerate that kind of abuse. As soon as my arm healed, I left.”

“Hey,” he said, gently running his fingers along her cheek, brushing away the tears that dribbled down her face.

“I'm sorry that I didn't know. I wasn't much older than you were, but if I'd known, I'd have done something, anything to help you; you have to believe that. He kept his dirty little secret well, but it all came out eventually — not everything, but about his drinking.” He pulled her more securely into his arms, wishing he could make her pain go away.

“You don't have to talk about it, you know. I never judged you for leaving; I just missed you. For them, life went on as it always had, but for me, the sunshine had gone.” He placed a soft, comforting kiss on the top of her head.

“No one knew that your uncle abused alcohol until James and your Aunt Emily were killed about a year after you left; it changed him. He was busted up pretty badly, but the real shame came in the public humiliation that followed. He was lucky that he didn't end up in jail; the only thing that prevented that was the ‘old boys' network'; after all, it could have been any one of them. He aged, lost his congregation, and joined Alcoholics Anonymous. Now he runs a private clinic over on Clear Lake where he works with recovering alcoholics and drug abusers.”

“I don't care if he was nominated for the starring role in the Second Coming; I'm not sure I can ever forgive him for what he did to me or for what happened to me afterwards. I need to tell you the rest, Jake, so you can understand why I have to do this.” He sat up straighter as she shifted her body so that she could look at him. He saw a hardness about her that hadn't been there earlier.

“I snuck out of the house that night and walked to the truck stop near Calvin. I was terrified that someone would realize that I'd gone and come after me. Earlier in the evening, James had grabbed me and tried to have his way with me; I fought back, and bit him. He punched me. I had a lulu of a shiner, but it actually helped me. I was able to get a ride to Toronto with a lady trucker. She sympathized with me, gave me a couple of hundred dollars for food and arranged for a room at a hostel.”

Jake listened attentively. How she had found the courage to do what she had amazed him.

“When the money ran out, I lived on the streets, begging, stealing, and sleeping in shelters. That's where I met Jeanne, a social worker who took me to Sanctuary. They fed me, clothed me, and got me back into school. I lived with this wonderful Chinese family in an apartment in Chinatown above a small Asian food store.

“One night, after everyone had gone to bed, someone firebombed the store. The police believed it was one of the Triads, but they were never able to prove it. I was almost sixteen, and Mamma Chang had gotten me a job working at a coffee shop with her step-son, Joseph. We were on our way home when we saw the flames. Joe and I rushed in and up the stairs trying to get to the apartment to save them, but the place was engulfed. I fell to the bottom of the stairs and the firefighters managed to get me out before the smoke got to me, but I had some significant burns that took a long time to heal. Joe didn't make it. For months after the fire, I had terrible nightmares. The scars and the asthma are permanent reminders of that night.” She stopped talking as the police car came to a halt.

Jake thanked Pierre for the ride and offered him breakfast, but he declined, saying that he needed to get back. The young officer looked sympathetically at Alexis.

“I couldn't help but overhear some of what you said.” She blushed, and Jake realized that she had forgotten about the officer.

“Rest assured, Alexis, your secret is safe with me. I was bullied as a child; it's the reason that I went into police work in the first place.” He got into the cruiser and drove away.

The sun was just peeking over the horizon, bathing the clear sky in a rosy hue. The air was crisp and clean. Jake took her arm in his and turned towards the cabins.

“Come on; I'll walk you back to your room. Besides, you can't leave me hanging; how did you get from there to here? Where did you go after the fire? How did you pull off the vanishing act?” As much as she might not want to finish the story, he needed to know the rest of it.

“They wanted to send me back here, but I refused to return. I threatened to run away again if they forced the issue. Since I was sixteen, there were alternatives. Jeanne got involved and did some background checks; she managed to trace my mother's biological father to Tulsa and he came for me. Gramps hadn't seen Mom in over forty years. My mom was only five when her parents divorced and no one, certainly not Grandma, ever spoke of him.”

“You were very fond of him, weren't you?” Jake asked, although the way her voice had softened indicated that she had been and still was.

“Yes, I was; Gramps was great. He took me back to Tulsa, paid for the reconstructive surgery and therapy, and eventually I came to grips with the guilt. I changed my name to his, got my American citizenship, and put all of it behind me. He made me realize that everything happens for a reason. That's what made me choose this as a career; I couldn't get justice for my parents or the Changs, but I could help others find answers and closure. In a lot of ways, our jobs are similar; we look at the evidence and solve the puzzle. Gramps died three years ago, and I'll be forever grateful for the years we had together. Sometimes good things do come from bad ones.”

“I'm sorry,” he said, but the words seemed inadequate to cover what must have been an extremely difficult time for her.

They had arrived at her cabin door. She took the key out of her pocket. “That's why I want to find this guy, Jake. The families of those who have died and those who were injured tonight need answers. Thanks for listening and not judging.” She unlocked the door and turned towards him.

Unable to stop himself, Jake pulled her into his arms and held her close. He relaxed his hold, looked into her eyes, and saw the shadows beneath them. They were both tired, and the timing was all wrong, but he needed this. He bent his head and kissed her tenderly, but the sweet taste of her lips was his undoing. Like a flower bud, she opened to him, inviting his invasion. His tongue tasted the nectar that was hers alone and wanted more. Before he lost all control, he ended the kiss, his breathing ragged, realizing from her trembling that she had been as affected as he had.

“I shouldn't have done that,” he said. “I'm sorry.”

She licked her lips and smiled hesitantly.

“I'm not. Do you want to come in?” she asked pushing the door wider.

“Thanks, but maybe another time. Minette will be looking for me and we both need rest. I've got to get off the leg for a while,” he said. “Get some sleep; I'll see you later. Come find me when you wake up and we'll plan our strategy from there. Like it or not, we're in this together.”

He gave her another quick kiss, turned, and limped back towards the inn.

She closed the door and leaned against it, and then pulled away and danced a little happy jig around the room. He had kissed her; it had begun as a light, tender kiss, a kiss of compassion and caring; when it had deepened, she had felt sky rockets go off. Contrary to what Bob had said the last time they had met, she wasn't made of ice; it just took the right man to thaw her. So what if Jake had said he was sorry? He was just being a gentleman.

She had been alone for so long, she had begun to believe that was what she wanted — a solitary existence where no one and nothing could hurt her. Sure, she had fantasized about the house, the white picket fence, and the cute blonde-haired, blue-eyed kidlets, but she had never really done anything to make it a reality. Since the attempt on her life last spring, her hormones had gotten noisier, but to be a mother, you had to be willing to invest more than time and money — you had to put your heart out there and take a chance that someone would trample it.

What she really wanted was someone who was non-judgmental, someone who could accept her for what she was and share in all aspects of her life — a father for her children, a shoulder to cry on, a man to have her back. Sixteen years ago, in her teen dreams, she had imagined Jake in that role.

She shook her head. Now was not the time to test out relationship waters. There was a maniac to catch; maybe, after the case was solved, they could see if there were any burning emotions that could be reignited. The kiss had pushed all the physical buttons, but there was more to love and romance, and happily ever after than sex.

Alexis went to the desk and opened her computer. The laptop booted quickly. While she waited for it to do its thing and for the wi-fi to connect, she removed her jacket and boots. She hung the jacket on its peg, put the candy-cane hat, scarf, and mittens Jake had given her on the shelf above it, and placed her boots under her coat. She sniffed deeply. Yup, there it was — the unmistakable scent of smoke and fire.

She opened her duffel bag and removed the aerosol can of industrial strength smoke eater. It was the brand used by many fire restoration companies, and she sprayed her clothes with it. The odor-eater did its job, leaving behind a clean, fresh scent.

She went into the bedroom, stripped, and placed her clothing in the plastic bag she carried for that very purpose. She went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, quickly stepping under the scalding stream of water. The Jacuzzi would have to wait. She used the shampoo provided to wash her hair, and then soaped herself all over. Within minutes, she began to feel like a new person. She let the water flow over her tired, achy muscles. How long had it been since she had slept? Twenty-four hours? More?