Flashover (11 page)

“What favor?”

“Well, since you aren't supposed to be driving and all that, can I borrow your car? I've got a class in Portland tomorrow and I need some wheels.”

“Why don't you take your bike?”

“Uh, I decided to sell it.”

Her mouth fell open. “You sold your motorcycle? You love that thing.”

He shrugged before taking a gulp of coffee. “No biggie. It needed some work done so I figured I'd unload it and buy something else, but I haven't decided what yet. Maybe the Mercedes Charlie's thinking of selling.” He ran a hand through his hair.

She looked at his tanned wrist. “Where's your watch?” He'd made a point of showing off his Swiss precision watch to her when he'd bought it a few months ago.

“Must have forgotten to put it on.”

She put down her coffee and rounded on him. “Come on, Mitch. I'm not a fool. What is going on here? You sold your bike. You've been moody and irritable. What gives?”

His eyes flashed. “Nothing. I just came over here to borrow your car. If I wanted the third degree I could have gone home to my mother.”

“You're my cousin and I care about you, so don't bother with the indignation.” She tossed him the keys. “Take the car but at least tell me the truth. What is going on?”

He grabbed the keys and shot out of the sofa. “Nothing is going on, Ivy, and I wish you and everybody else would just leave me alone.” He slammed the door so hard a picture fell off the wall and crashed to the floor.

Before the echo died away it came to her.

She had a feeling she knew who had given Tim the black eye.

I
vy fixed Tim with a hard stare until he started to squirm. “Well? Are you going to tell me why Mitch punched you or not?”

“If you want to know, let's go talk to him right now.” Tim grabbed his keys. “I'm off work and we might as well get this over with.”

“Why didn't you tell me he hit you?”

“Because you'd want to know why.”

“I do want to know why.”

“Exactly.”

Tim remained infuriatingly silent as they drove across town. She knew by the hard set of his jaw that he wasn't going to be badgered into telling her anything. He could be as stubborn as she. They pulled up at Mitch's condo a few minutes after eleven.

The sound of breaking glass sent them running toward his front door. Ivy slammed the door open in time to see a dark-haired stranger whack Mitch's head against the carpeted floor. She recognized the mob guy from the photo Greenly had shown them. Tim launched himself at the man and got him around the knees. He fell with a crash that shook the floor.

“Stop,” Mitch said.

Ivy dove on the man's back to try to secure his hands. The three of them went around in a messy tangle of arms and legs. Ivy tried to hold on to the stranger's ankles but he jerked away, kicking her in the shoulder.

She cried out in pain.

With a surge of strength the black-haired man shoved Tim away and ran toward the door. Tim scrambled to his feet to follow, but Mitch's voice stopped them.

“Let him go.” Mitch struggled to his feet and flopped into a chair. “He won't come back.”

Tim helped Ivy up and they stood there, panting, staring at Mitch.

He slouched in the chair, one hand pressed to the bump on his head, hair in disarray, shirt torn.

“Who is he?” Ivy managed at last. “Tell me what is going on here right now or I'm calling the cops.”

Mitch waved them onto the sofa. “He's with some people in New York. Some people I borrowed money from.”

Ivy tried to find a comfortable position for her aching shoulder and steady her breathing. “Money for what?”

“To cover some debts.”

“What debts? You have a good job. Why did you need to borrow from a loan shark?”

He blinked and looked away.

Tim stared at the floor. “You need to tell her, man, or I will. I'm not going to lie to her.”

Mitch pressed his lips together.

Tim cleared his throat. “He's been gambling, online.”

Ivy gasped. “What? Why? You have so many friends, so many social things. Why would you do that?”

“Aww, it's no big thing, Ivy. A few of my buddies got me into online poker. It was just something new to do, at first, a way to pass the time. Then, well—” his gaze traveled to the floor “—I sorta got hooked on it.”

“How much do you owe, Mitch?”

“I'm not sure.”

She glowered at him. “Ballpark it for me.”

“Fifty thousand.”

Her gasp was loud in the still room. “You owe that guy fifty thousand dollars? Oh, Mitch.”

“Not anymore. I paid him off. He won't be back. He just roughed me up a little to teach me a lesson.”

She folded her arms. “And just where did you get your hands on fifty thousand dollars?”

“I sold my watch and my bike.” His eyes were dull with sadness. “And I went to, um, a friend to borrow the rest. He said he'd give me time to pay it back.”

Ivy grimaced. “What friend?”

“It doesn't matter. It's done now.”

“It's not going to be done until you've paid it all back and quit gambling.”

Mitch snorted. “Well, your pal here took care of that.”

Ivy looked at Tim, whose cheeks pinked in little-boy fashion.

“I, er, sort of confiscated his computer.”

She looked at the desk, which was empty now, save the printer.

“I told him I'd give it back when he started attending some Gamblers Anonymous meetings or seeing a counselor, pastor, something.” Tim looked closely at Mitch. “It's not a complete fix, is it? I mean, people can get online in many different ways. Have you been keeping away from it?”

Mitch leaped out of the chair. “Yes, Mother, I have. And don't you have anything else to do besides manage my life? Both of you?”

Tim smiled. “Not until you beat this thing.”

“Well, thanks for the help, but I'm over it. The New York people are paid off and I've got time to work on the other. I'm on track, guys, so you can just back off now.”

Tim cocked his head. “And this friend. He loaned you the money with no strings attached?”

Mitch glared at him. “Yes. Look, I'm done talking about it with both of you. Thanks for stopping by and all, but I'd really like you to leave.”

Ivy walked to the door in a state of shock. She'd barely followed Tim across the threshold when Mitch slammed the door behind them.

She turned on him. “I can't believe it. How long have you known?”

Tim rubbed his face. “Not long. I knew something was going wrong with him, but I didn't know for sure until I showed up on his doorstep one night and he was playing poker online. Then he started acting strange, missing get-togethers, backing out on things. He asked me to borrow money a few months back. He said it was for an investment. I think it was actually to cover some bills. When Greenly showed us the picture of the goon, I realized I'd seen him talking to Mitch a few days before. I put two and two together.”

Ivy tried to sort out the cacophony of feelings that raced through her. Mitch was a gambler, on the brink of financial ruin. And Tim had known all about it. “You should have told me.”

He sighed. “Maybe. I tried to help him the best way I could think of.”

“He's my family and I should be the one taking care of him.”

“No,” he said, eyes burning. “You can't save everyone, Ivy. Only God can do that.”

“That's not true. He doesn't save them. He lets people die and that's why I do what I do.”

She could remember every second of the horror, the car that cut them off, the dizzy feeling as their truck flipped, skidding on its side until it crashed into the center divider. The flames that erupted from the engine. Ivy managed to crawl out through the passenger window, but her sister was jammed against the driver-side door.

She could still here Sadie's voice, cracked and hoarse with pain. “Go get help.”

“I don't want to leave you.”

“Go,” Sadie had said, her eyes half closed. “It will be all right.”

But it wasn't. As soon as Ivy cleared the window, the blaze grew, engulfing the car. Then the whole thing was aflame. And Sadie was gone.

She felt the anger as though it had happened only moments ago.

Tim was holding out his hand to her. “Life or death is not up to you, Ivy. You don't always get to be the hero.”

She could not speak. Grief filled up her throat. “You are cruel.”

He took a step toward her. “I don't mean to be, Ivy. I just want you to see how heavy the burden is you're carrying. You're so busy trying to save lives you aren't living your own. I want to help you. I…”

Her whisper was fierce. “Don't help me. Don't do anything for me. Leave me alone.” She spun on her heel and left him there, arms slightly raised as if he meant to embrace her.

“At least let me drive you home,” he called.

“I can get home myself.” She stalked down the sidewalk.

Tim was arrogant and judgmental. Self-righteous was more like it, telling her how she wasn't living her life right. Right with whom? With God? Why should she try to make it right with Him? After what He'd done to Sadie.

Why had Ivy gotten out when her sister had not? Why hadn't the glass given under the weight of Ivy's frantic hands as she tried to free her sister?

And why hadn't the firefighters been able to get there before the flames engulfed the truck in a white-hot inferno? Her fingers balled into fists. Maybe Tim was right. She was carrying around a burden since her sister died, but so what? So what if she made it her mission to save people when God wouldn't?

It wasn't Tim's place to judge, anyway. He was…what? The truth filled up her brain before she had a chance to screen it out. Closer than family. A bigger part of her life than she had realized before.

How had she let him in when she'd done such a thorough job of keeping everyone else out?

She exhaled sharply. It wouldn't happen again. The very moment, the second her shoulder healed up, Ivy would be back on the line, back where she belonged. And she would take care of Mitch herself, somehow. She was so lost in her thoughts it took two rings before she heard the cell phone beeping in her pocket.

“Hello?”

“Ivy? It's Madge. I'm sorry to bother you, but I need help. Please. Right away. Moe got so upset when I told him about Cyril he took off. Oh, please help me find him. I'm frantic.”

Ivy calmed her as best she could. “I'll be there as soon as I can.”

She didn't want to talk to Tim, let alone sit next to him, but she had to find Moe before he got hurt. With resignation, she dialed Tim's number. “Moe's disappeared. Mitch has my car. Can you pick me up?”

“Yes. I'll be there in sixty seconds.”

“What? How…?”

“I'm only two blocks behind you.”

She whirled around. Sure enough, there was Tim's truck approaching.

“Why are you following me?” she said as she got in.

He looked sheepish. “You were upset. I wanted to make sure you got home okay.”

She wanted to be angry at him, to sustain the fury she'd felt at his earlier words, but the rueful expression on his face melted away her hostility. “I'm still upset.”

“I know.”

“And I don't want to talk about it.”

“I figured as much.”

“So let's just concentrate on finding Moe.”

“Okay by me.”

Madge had the door open when they drove up. She danced back and forth on her thick legs. “He was so upset. He just sort of screamed and shut himself in the bedroom. I figured he would be okay in there but then I realized it was really quiet. I checked on him, and the window was open. He's gone.” Her breath came in pants, and an unhealthy paleness crept into her cheeks.

“Sit down,” Ivy said, guiding her to a chair. “Tim and I will go look for him. He can't have gotten far. You stay here in case he returns.”

She nodded, dashing the tears from her plump face.

Tim and Ivy went in separate directions down the quiet street, calling Moe's name. A half hour later they rendezvoused in the wooded lot behind the library.

“I didn't see him anywhere.” Tim wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“Me, neither, but the librarian said she saw him running north through the trees.”

“North? Where would he be headed in that direction?”

Their eyes met and they spoke at the same time. “The apartment.”

They jogged back to Tim's truck and took off.

Twenty minutes later they'd arrived back at the complex.

The elevator took too long so they ran up the steps two at a time until they came to the sixth floor. Panting, they hammered on Moe's door.

“Moe, it's Ivy. Please open the door. Your mother sent us.” She tried the knob only to find it locked.

Tim grabbed her arm.

“What?”

“Do you smell something?”

Ivy's eyes widened, amazed that she hadn't noticed it right away.

The faint smell of smoke wafted out from under the door.

Ivy's actions became automatic. She ran to her own apartment and grabbed the spare key Madge had given her. On the way back she snatched the fire extinguisher from the wall. Tim held the extinguisher while she unlocked the door, and they both burst into the room.

Moe crouched on the living-room floor, watching the small pile of rubbish smolder. Flames burst forth between the gaps in the books, magazines and clothing he'd dumped there. He didn't look up at Tim or Ivy, just continued to stare at the tendrils of fire. A spark caught his pant leg and still he didn't move, even when it started to smolder.

Ivy manhandled him as gently as she could to the floor. “Cover your face with your hands, Moe,” she called.

Amazingly, he did as she told him and she rolled him until the fire was out.

While she was treating Moe, Tim aimed the extinguisher at the base of the flames and set to work. Though the room was permeated with acrid fumes, it didn't take long for him to knock down the small fire.