Incandescent (16 page)

Now, all he had to do was wait.

Chapter Thirty

“Don’t forget to log off,” Anna reminded the
students. “You are sharing your portfolios next week, so make sure
it’s ready to go.” As the students groaned, Anna added, “Have a
nice weekend.”

“Ms. Johnson, I won’t be here next week,” one
student called out. “I’m having my tonsils out. Remember? I gave
you a note.”

“Yes, Jake, I recall. That’s next week. You
can still work on your portfolio this weekend. Share it with me
online and I’ll make sure the class has an opportunity to view
it.”

The student’s head dropped to the side and
his tongue hung out. Heaving a dramatic sigh, he turned to the
young woman next to him. Anna heard him mumble about coming to her
family’s creek-side cabin later. Anna pretended not to hear as she
placed textbooks into her backpack and turned off the
projector.

One student remained at the computer. He
caught her eye. “I’m going to stay here for awhile and catch up on
homework,” he said.

“Sure, not a problem,” she said. “Turn off
the lights when you leave.”

She wasn’t worried about access; each student
used their identification cards to unlock rooms on this remote part
of the campus.

She hefted the backpack over her shoulder and
headed for the parking lot, keys in hand. The parking lot was empty
except for three cars on the far side. She wasn’t worried. Marshall
College had its own security force. As she sauntered to her car,
one officer buzzed past on his golf cart. She opened the car door
and waved when he tooted the horn.

Once in the car, she dropped her bag on the
passenger side seat and turned the keys in the ignition. The car
started and she flipped dials, activating the air conditioning. As
she fumbled with her seat belt, the engine sputtered to a stop.

“You piece of crap,” she muttered as she
turned off the car. She waited a second, pumped the gas pedal and
turned the key again. The engine whirred but refused to crank. Over
and over again, she turned the key. The car wouldn’t stay on. As
the battery drained, the whirring of the engine slowed.

She pulled the key from the ignition and
reached into her bag for her cell phone. She punched in a number
and listened as the mobile rang.

“Hello Dad? My car won’t start. I’m at the
college. Yes, off Memorial at the computer lab. You know where it
is? Okay, I’ll wait right here. No, don’t worry. I’m fine. I’ll
stay right here. Yes, I’ll keep the doors locked. Thanks, see you
in a minute.”

After assuring her father she was safe, Anna
began to worry. She glanced around the empty parking lot. To pass
time, she turned on her mobile and flipped through her email
account. “Might as well clean my inbox,” she said aloud as she
browsed through the messages.

Within ten minutes, headlights swept the lot
and her father’s rental car pulled into the spot in front of her.
Anna sighed in relief when James climbed out of the car. “Sorry, I
would have been here sooner, but I had to dig out the jumper
cables,” he said.

She exited her car and joined him at the hood
of the Honda. “No problem. Thanks for doing this.”

James reached under the hood, his hand
sweeping the grill for the latch to open it. “Do you have a
flashlight?”

“Shoot,” Anna said. “No. I’m sorry.”

She recalled the black plastic case still on
floor of her car. Her birthday present from Lacey was an emergency
kit. “Wait a minute, Dad, I’ll look. I think I may have
something.”

She opened the back door. The light didn’t
come on. Her battery was dead, so she fumbled for the box in the
dark. She placed it on the seat and opened it. She pushed a button
on her cell phone and waved the feeble glow over the box.

James pulled on the latch and lifted the
hood.

Anna rifled through the box’s contents,
searching for a flashlight. “C’mon, Lacey. I know you thought of
everything. There has to be one in here.”

“Braddock!”

A voice boomed in the night and Anna
straightened, her head whacking the car’s roof. She saw stars.

James turned to the direction of the voice.
He watched a man move out of the shadows and walk across the lot.
“Do I know you?” he asked the stranger.

The man stopped several feet away.

“Do you work here?” James asked. “If you do,
we’d appreciate some assistance. My daughter’s car won’t
start.”

The man lifted his arm and pointed at James.
A stream of liquid squirted from the small tin can in his palm.
James reared back as pungent liquid sprayed on his face and torso.
He raised his arms to block the stream. “Hey! What the hell are you
doing?”

From the far side of the car, Anna watched as
the stranger moved toward James with menacing, measured steps.

“Payback time,” the man said, his voice harsh
in the quiet night.

Anna watched in horror as the man tossed the
can of lighter fluid aside, reach into his pants pocket and pull
out a cigarette lighter from one pocket, and a small aerosol can
from the other. He raised them together and unleashed a torch.
Flames stretched between the two men and James stumbled back and
fell. Relentless, the man approached his prey.

Anna screamed and reached into the car for a
weapon of her own, frantic groping in the dark. Her trembling hands
brushed the utility box and she felt a tube. Lifting the object to
the light, she recognized the pen-style flare signaler. Lacey’s
camping store carried the emergency signaling device and she had
shown both Anna and Gretchen how to use them. She recalled the loud
bang and bright light the flare made and knew it would startle her
father’s assailant.

The weak parking lot lights reflected off the
orange plastic barrel. She aimed it over the roof of the car, slid
the black trigger down the track and squeezed. Nothing
happened.

She wasted precious seconds before realizing
the problem. She needed to load the pen with a flare. She reached
into the utility case again, praying until her fingers traced a row
of metal cylinders. She popped one out of the plastic tabs holding
it in the box and fumbled with it, turning it end over end until it
slid on the tip of the barrel. She twisted until it tightened, then
slid the trigger back into position. This time, she took careful
aim and squeezed.

The flare banged, whooshed and hit the
attacker. His clothes erupted into flames. The aerosol can in his
hand exploded and he dropped it. Screaming and flailing his arms,
he was a beacon in the blackness.

Anna rushed to her father and tore at his
burning shirt, ripping it from his body. She rolled him over and
over, patting out the flames with her bare hands. Tears streamed
down her face. “Oh my God, Dad, please say you’re alive. Please
talk to me.”

Her father moaned, “Anna.”

Still on her knees, she lifted her eyes and
searched the parking lot. The man had collapsed to the asphalt. She
watched as a Marshall College security officer sped into the lot.
He jumped from the cart, a small fire extinguisher in his grip. He
doused the man for several seconds, then grabbed his radio and
yelled into it as he dashed to Anna’s side.

“It’s alright Miss. Help is on the way,” he
said.

Anna closed her eyes as tears of pain and
horror painted her cheeks. She retched at the smell of distillates
and burned flesh.

Chapter Thirty-One

An Eaton police officer questioned her at the
scene, but didn’t keep her long because of her own injuries.
Although off-duty, Rand heard about the incident over the police
scanner and intercepted her in the emergency room. He wanted to
make sure Anna was okay and lend support, if needed.

“Do you know who he is?” Anna asked,
flinching at the pain as she scrubbed away tears.

A nurse grabbed her hand. “Don’t do that,
Miss. You need to be still now.” The nurse turned to Rand. “Can’t
you leave her alone for now? Give her some privacy.”

Anna shook her head. “No, it’s fine. Let him
stay. We need to take care of this now,” she said. A combination of
emotions, from exhaustion to excitement to anxiety, surged through
her. “Who is that man?” she repeated.

“We’re not sure yet,” Rand said. “He has
third-degree burns, so we’re not able to take his fingerprints yet.
He isn’t talking, but if he’s in the system we’ll find him. We’ve
sent his DNA to the FBI’s National DNA Index System.”

“Do you think he’s the one who set the fire
at Lacey’s house? And put the bomb in my father’s car?”

“It seems likely, doesn’t it? He targeted you
and your dad,” Rand said. “A tech at the scene said your car had
been tampered with. There was some kind of plug in the exhaust
pipe.”

“So, that’s why it wouldn’t start? He wanted
to lure my father and me into the open, where he could attack,”
Anna said. “I thought he was gone. Aaron … I mean, Marshal Tahir
said he was back in New York.”

“It’s all speculation right now,” Rand said.
“We don’t have many answers tonight. At least you’re safe. And your
father is being looked after. He’ll recover, Anna, thanks to you.
If you hadn’t stopped the assailant with the flare, he would have
killed your father, and then come after you. I’d say you’re a lucky
woman.”

Anna shook her head. “No, not lucky.
Prepared. Lacey gave me the emergency kit for my birthday. She
saved our lives.”

Hours later, Anna sat at her father’s
hospital bedside, her bandaged hands in her lap. She’d refused to
be admitted, and insisted she stay with James. Gretchen tried to
make her as comfortable as possible, bringing her clean clothes,
propping pillows behind her and draping a shawl over her shoulders.
With reluctance, Gretchen left her dozing in the chair.

Fitful, Anna stirred and opened her eyes.
Aaron Tahir knelt in front of her. “You’re back!”

His heart hammered. He regretted his abrupt
departure the previous week, knowing he’d handled it without
sensitivity. He’d been eager to get to New York, convinced he’d
find the arsonist. “I should have been here to protect you,” he
murmured.

He watched her struggle through a parade of
emotions, her shoulders hitching as she stifled a sob. She gave him
a guarded stare. Anna’s mask was in place. “It’s not your job to be
here, protecting me,” she said.

He hesitated, his emotions warring. He wanted
to scoop her into his arms, force her to lean on him. The gulf
widened as he recalled their last morning together, the irritation
that escalated into an argument. He hadn’t let her dissuade him,
gruffly telling her to get dressed as he packed his suitcase. The
reports of similar fires in New York spurred him into action and
single-minded pursuit of the culprit. She accused him of “using”
and then “dumping” her, and he didn’t defend himself. It was only
later, when she sent his calls to voice mail and ignored his texts,
that he realized the depth of her anger.

“I should have been here,” he repeated,
standing and shoving empty hands into his pants pockets. “I should
have stayed. I know that now. I’m ….”

A critical-care nurse stepped into the room,
interrupting his apology. “Oh, excuse me. It’s time to check the
Judge’s IV,” she said as she moved to his bedside. She looked at
Aaron with curiosity after noting Anna’s frown. “Only family
members are allowed in the ICU, sir,” she said, hoping she was
choosing the right side.

Aaron hesitated, waiting for a sign from Anna
he should stay. She turned away, her eyes downcast. He turned
toward James Braddock’s sleeping form. “I’ll be in touch. Take
care,” he said.

Anna bit her lip to prevent calling out to
him. A wave of guilt washed over her. It wasn’t his fault that
James Braddock had been attacked. But, it infuriated her that Aaron
turned hot, then cold, pursuing her with aggressive singularity,
before dumping her at home. Not once, but twice. It hurt because
the more time she spent with him, the more she convinced herself
she was in love. And she didn’t want to be in love alone.

The nurse moved around the bed, adjusting and
tucking the sheets. She stole a quick glance at Anna, who wiped
tears from stony cheeks. The young woman looked so sad, she
wondered if she’d made a mistake, telling the visitor to leave.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Aaron sat on the hotel bed, his laptop opened
on his lap. He tapped on the keys, sorting the various fields and
filters of the BATS database. He’d been searching through files,
reading scanned reports and comparing data from numerous fires.

It didn’t make sense. The man in jail didn’t
know Judge James Braddock, had never been involved in a case the
Judge tried, and his modus operandus didn’t fit the first fire.

DNA results had confirmed the identity of the
attacker. Wayne Montgomery, a 32-year-old career criminal with
diagnosed Antisocial Personality Disorder, was from California.
He’d enlisted in the military at the age of seventeen, with his
divorced mother’s permission. She’d probably been happy to get rid
of the kid, Aaron thought as he read the report.

A habitual drug user, Montgomery set several
fires during his first two years as a Marine, each one escalating
in sophistication. He was arrested after planting an
electrochemical delay device in a trashcan outside the base
barbershop. His flippant defense claimed the action was in protest
of short hair requirements in the military, and occurred in the
middle of the night to avoid casualties. His lawyer claimed he was
a vandal, not an arsonist. He pleaded guilty and served a reduced
sentence of ten years at the United States Penitentiary,
Leavenworth, a federal prison for male inmates in Kansas.
Montgomery left jail in January, eight months before the Eaton
house fire.