Once Burned (Task Force Eagle) (2 page)

Chapter 2

Permission received, if grudgingly, Jake strode toward
the rectangular black scar stitched up by a few stubborn two by fours. He hadn’t
expected Lani to follow him but behind him, her sneakers swished through the
grass, stirring up green smells of the freshly mown grass. If she noticed the
awkward hitch in his stride, she said nothing.

She stopped at what was left of the barn doorway. He wondered
if she
could
step inside, breaching some emotional barrier. She stood by
stiffly, watching him meander through the charred wood.

“What are you doing? Looking for something?”

Not the first time he’d looked, but doubtful any clue
to that horrible night would still be here. He kept hoping for insight. He
kicked aside a board and bent, coming up with mangled metal. “A bicycle wheel.
Yours or Gail’s?”

“I don’t know. Both of them could be in there. Gail
called bike riding juvenile but I considered it healthy exercise. I rode to my
job at Dragon Stables that summer. I still ride a bike.” As if she couldn’t
bear to look anymore, she turned her back.

Seeing the wheel revived memories of that summer. The
summer that had changed all their lives. His throat tightened. He couldn’t bear
to see this any more either.

He dropped the wheel and dusted off his hands as he
joined her. “I’m surprised you came back. Seeing all this has to be doubly
painful for you.” He made a sweeping gesture.

As if considering her answer, she sighed and set out
toward the house. The two of them walked silently away from the scorched relic
of their past.

She turned to him, her eyes solemn and guarded. She
was still smart-mouthed but not the light-hearted girl he’d once known. “Guess
I thought it was time to face down my demons. The house is going up for sale.
Granddad left the farm to me because of, well, you know. The caretaker kept the
house in shape until he became too old. He died last year and I decided to
sell. Porch needs shoring up, among other repairs. I’m doing some of the
interior painting.”

His return was more complicated than fixing up a house
to sell, but he couldn’t tell her his reasons, not all of them anyway. “Your
grandfather used to paint the shutters every summer. They look crusty.”

“I’ll add it to the list for the outside painter. I
can’t afford everything but my father’s covering me until the sale.”

“Maine saltwater farms sell for millions these days,
especially ones with hundreds of acres and deep-water frontage. You’ll have to
wait for the right buyer.”

“Only a major developer could afford it. Ugh.” Her
shoulders moved in a shudder of revulsion. “No, I’m negotiating to transfer
most of the acreage to the Coastal Land Trust, which will preserve it, maintain
the fields, and allow some recreational use. The house and these two acres by
the road will go separately.”

“I’m glad,” he said. “I can’t picture condos or
resorts on your grandfather’s farm.”

As they reached her car, she stopped him. “When I
asked you earlier why you were here, I meant
here
, at Birch Brook Farm.”

At the emotion in her voice, his throat tightened. “I
need to know exactly what happened that night. Late to find much of a clue but
I had to see what was left.”

“Nora also told me you’d been reading up on the fire.
You’re investigating? Officially?”

He shook his head. “Nothing official. I’ve read over
all the old news stories. That’s all.”

“If I’d gone out to the barn with her, if I’d seen the
fire earlier...”

He knew all about survivor guilt. The beast clamped
him in its jaws. If he hadn’t left, Gail would still be alive. And a mottled
white puckering wouldn’t mar the skin of Lani’s face. Other, more recent,
images flashed through his mind, and pain jabbed him.

Forcing away the onslaught, he said, “Too many ifs.
Neither of us can go back. A guilt trip gets you nowhere. No replay or do-over.”

He drew in a breath, harnessing the emotions kicking
around in his chest. Lani’s perception had made him angry at himself because
the elegant curve of her neck—identical to Gail’s—and the pain in her eyes made
him ache to touch her. No, the attraction was merely a flashback, a reaction to
Gail’s lookalike. He’d hurt her, calling her by her twin’s name. If he ran into
her again, he’d be more thoughtful.

He didn’t know how to deal with this new Lani. Twelve
years ago, she hadn’t tempted him. He’d been so blinded with lust for Gail.
Teasing, seductive, partying Gail. He’d laughed with Lani, traded barbs with
her, but hadn’t known her well. The twins shared identical drop-dead gorgeous
looks, but Gail and Lani had very different personalities.

And this Lani was different from that one. He couldn’t
have prepared for the change. Not the scarring, but the change in Lani the
woman—hazel-gold eyes sharp enough to score glass. And her voice—low and
smooth, like whiskey chased with honey. Sexy, even when she was skewering him.

Scars remained beneath the surface too, judging from
the flashes of pain in her scorched-earth eyes. Defensiveness, and some bitterness,
for damn sure. Who could blame her? The knowledge of what she’d suffered—still
suffered—curled around the muscles of his chest and made it ache. He began
edging toward his Cherokee.

She collected her keys, handbag, and a folder from the
car’s front seat. She slung the bag onto her shoulder and held up the folder,
stuffed with papers. “After I got here, I decided I should read those news
articles myself, the coverage I couldn’t bring myself to look at back then. And
I asked myself why a federal agent would check into a twelve-year-old tragic
accident.”

He opened his mouth to spout some inane answer but she
held up a hand.

“Possibly this agent—who I now discover is an
arson
expert—suspects the accidental fire might have been something more. Am I warm?
Hot?”

Her words seared him. “Lani—”

“Wait, there’s more. I come home to find this expert
digging for clues at the scene of the
accident
.” Cheeks pink with
emotion—temper or excitement, who knew—she charged onward. “Jake, if you
suspect arson or some other foul play, I want in. I want to help, to
do
something. Gail was my twin, identical DNA. I need to
know
.”

“The fire was declared an accident.” Except what he’d
read raised doubts of that as a fact. He wasn’t ready to speak that aloud to
anyone, especially to this woman. He made it two more steps down the driveway.

She huffed in disgust. “Remind me to invite you to my
next Texas Hold’em game. I’ll clean up.”

“I have no information that indicates it
wasn’t
an accident.” The less he said about it, the better. Another few steps and he
could escape before she could talk him into deputizing her.

“Official speak. Like that spokesman for the state
police. ‘We have no information at this time pending the investigation.’ Bull crap.”
She jabbed a forefinger his direction. “You’re the arson expert but I’m pretty
good at research. I’ll read the rest of these news clippings and go from there.”

“Let me do the investigating. Stay out of this.” Shit,
he’d given away too much by warning her. “Okay, here’s how you can help. Tell
me what you saw that night.”

Pain flashed in her eyes. “I would if I could. I can’t
tell you squat.”

“But you must—”

“I must nothing! Ever since I woke up in that hospital
bed, I’ve
tried
to remember. I thought coming back here, living in this
house would bring it all back.”

“But not yet, I take it.”

She shook her head. Her mouth quirked up on one side. “So
why do you want to shut me out? What’s the risk in researching an
accident
?”

“Man, I’d forgotten what a hard bargain you drive. I’ll
share whatever I find with you.”

“Good. Then we’ll plan
our
next move.” She
beamed him a smile that rocked him back on the heels of his boat shoes. “Good
to see you again, Jake. Don’t be a stranger.”

He said goodbye and hustled into his SUV. Watched her
trot up the porch steps and swing through the door into the mud room. Sat
staring at the closed door.

He shouldn’t let her get involved even in a small way.
Every time he saw her—saw Gail’s face—would be another log on the burn in his
gut. If someone had set the fire that killed Gail, the arsonist was a murderer
and might do anything,
anything
to keep his crime secret. He wasn’t
worried for himself but he couldn’t protect Lani. Not that she’d ask.

A scream from inside the house yanked him from the
Jeep. He raced to the porch and slammed into the house. “Lani, what’s wrong?”

She stood as if planted beside the table in the center
of the big kitchen. Hands at her throat, she trembled, wide eyed and mute, her
cheeks pale beneath the veneer of light tan.

The fire, she’s flashing back to the barn fire.
Seeing
her so vulnerable drew him in, tugged at something inside he thought had
atrophied. He clasped her shoulders and turned her to face him.

Underneath the sharp smell of pine cleanser, he
registered a smoky odor. And more, a rotten stench that stirred nausea in his
belly. Dread tightened his chest. When he pulled Lani into his arms, she made
no resistance. Behind her, he spotted what had terrified her.

A mangled form lay on the counter. A cat or a rabbit.
Tendrils of smoke rose from its patchy, blackened fur. Jake dragged his gaze
upward. On the cabinet door above the creature, someone had daubed crude
lettering that dripped dark red.

LEAVE OR THIS COULD BE YOU

Talking softly to Lani, he led her away from the
disgusting tableau and into the living room, where he lowered her onto the
sofa. She blinked up at him as if roused from sleep or a hypnotic state but
said nothing as he took out his cell phone and called the cops.

A uniform arrived within fifteen minutes, a
fresh-faced kid who looked to be barely out of high school. Jake waited while
the officer asked questions, took photographs and samples from the lettering.
The jagged warning seemed to have been written in a mix of paint and ashes—not
blood. He stowed the burnt critter in an evidence bag. A cat, the cop surmised.

“I’ll help you clean up the cabinet,” Jake said when
the officer had left.

“You don’t have to stay. I’m okay now the..thing is
gone,” Lani said, embarrassment for her panic attack evidenced by the faint
wash of pink on her cheeks. Understandable. So was her terror of fire.

Rather than push her, he gave her his cell number and
left. On the drive back to Dragon Harbor, he reflected on her reaction to the
cruel warning. Given what she’d already been through, he figured she could
handle almost anything, and did, alone.

Except one.

If the barn fire had been arson, his poking around and
her return might have someone scared. Scared Lani’s visiting familiar territory
would jog her memory. Scared she’d remember something incriminating.

If her chagrin at his witnessing her panic kept her
from inserting herself into his investigation, so be it. But now that she had
the bit between her teeth, he doubted she’d give it up. Shit, he wanted
answers, and her poking into the old case might stir her memory.

If he dragged her in, he’d have to protect her. His
gut clenched.

*****

The next
morning Lani bought the same cabinet paint as in the old can in the attached
barn, now a garage, matte enamel in an eggshell cream. She pried off the lid
and stirred the thick mixture as she contemplated the reunion with Jake. Did
his ATF work make him naturally suspicious or had he found something in those
news stories? If it wasn’t an accident, why would someone set the barn afire? A
pyromaniac, a drifter, maybe, not knowing Gail was there?

Yesterday afternoon, once she’d recovered enough to
talk to the policeman, sick revulsion morphed into anger. The cop reassured her
the animal was an apparent road kill, and the crude letters were paint, not
blood. After he and Jake left, she scrubbed the sink nearly through the enamel.
But the message remained. And forged anger into determination.

She would read the remaining printouts tonight and
find out exactly what Jake saw in them. After she painted the ruined cabinet
door. Unfortunately, it meant repainting the rest of the cabinets to match.

The slam of a car door announced her expected company.
Lani looked out the kitchen window to see Nora Meagher and her two sons. Her
best friend from the old days had volunteered to help with the painting on her
day off from nursing duties.

Dressed in faded jeans and a blue work shirt, Nora
gestured to her little boys to stay within sight. They wagged their heads as if
to say, “Jeez, Mom, we know,” before carrying a baseball, mitts, and a bat from
the car into the pasture.

“Hey, girlfriend,” Nora called as she breezed into the
kitchen. Her wild red curls were the same as always. Her rosy cheeks, along
with the rest of her, were plumper than they used to be, although she claimed
her boys ran her ragged. Ironic and awkward that Nora had married Lani’s
ex-boyfriend, but for friendship’s sake, she hid her animus toward Kevin the
wimp.

“Hey, thanks for coming to help.” Lani hugged her
friend, glad to have the support.

Nora gaped at the lettered warning,
LEAVE OR THIS
COULD BE YOU
, now smeared and faded, but still dramatic enough to send
chills down Lani’s spine. “Gawd, no wonder you want this gone as fast as
possible. And you think it was just a teenage prank?”

“That’s what the nice officer said. What else could it
be?”

Nora rolled her eyes. “And the flaming dollhouse?”

Three days before the painted warning, vandals had
left a burning dollhouse on the front lawn. The last thing Lani wanted was for
her mother to find out about this and the other reasons she’d returned to
Dragon Harbor. The nightmares were one thing, but looking into the old fire?
Hope Cameron Nash would pitch a hissy fit.