Once Burned (Task Force Eagle) (4 page)

Driving north on the East Road at night gave Lani the
creeps. Especially after painting over that ghastly burnt offering.

She and Nora had finished painting the upper cabinets.
She would tackle the rest tomorrow. Then she’d spent more hours immersed the
news coverage of the fire and neglected to think about the house’s empty
refrigerator—except for yogurt and milk. Tomorrow morning the supermarket in Bayport
would stock her up for the rest of the week. For tonight she’d dine at the
Eastward Inn in the village.

Coming here was the right move, though dangerous. The
whole business hadn’t left her thoughts all day. That and Jake Wescott. A blast
from the past.

He had to see him soon. He had to know she wasn’t
giving up. Not now. She’d made some calls, but she needed Jake and his ATF
creds to really dig. He wouldn’t leave her thoughts, but she shouldn’t read
anything into his interest and concern. Only kindness and the ease of old
friendship. Nothing more. Guys wanted beauty and perfection, not scars and
attitude.

She stuffed her ambivalence into a box and shoved it
deep. She should concentrate on her driving, on the challenge of the two-lane
blacktop ringing the peninsula. A half moon cast light but the road was still
too dark. And lonely. No other cars. Driveways shrouded in trees and bushes
concealed the few houses on her left.

By Birch Brook Farm and farther down the peninsula,
the East Road veered inland, so the farmland stretched toward the bay, but
here, the road bordered the water. Beyond the narrow right-hand shoulder the
earth fell away to ocean waves crashing on the rocks. She loved that daytime
view, a major tourist draw. Now she saw only the reflective metal of the
guardrail.

Headlights appeared in her rearview mirror. The other
vehicle closed the distance between them in a matter of seconds. The high beams
stabbed through the Forester’s rear window, the glare making it harder to see.

Lani blinked and frowned. She adjusted her rear-view
mirror.

Sitting up that high, the vehicle must be some kind of
truck. It rode close enough to swallow her rear bumper. Speeding, tailgating,
not dimming high beams. Probably kids out for a joy ride.

The road’s blind curves made passing impossible. That
impatient driver might go for it anyway. On her side, nowhere to pull over, no
scenic turnout. All she could do was drive. Whoever the jerk was had made this
short journey dangerous. Her heart raced and her hands slicked the steering
wheel. She wiped each palm in turn on her pants legs.

A yellow warning sign appeared ahead for a sharp
curve. The familiar nearly V-shaped turn locals called the Devil’s Elbow jutted
outward to a sheer cliff. Bad enough in daylight but much more hazardous at
night. Gripping the wheel so tightly her hands cramped, she leaned forward to
peer into the darkness.

A hard jolt knocked her forward.

The seat belt caught and jerked her hard. Kept her
head from hitting the steering wheel. The Forester swerved across the yellow
line. The guard rail seemed to reach for her. She wrenched the car back into
her lane. Her pulse pounded and blood roared in her ears.

This was no joy rider. That ramming was deliberate. “You
idiot!”

When she glanced into her side mirror, the truck’s
high beams blinded her. But why was someone attacking her? And who would do
such a thing? No time to wonder now.

The headlights behind her veered to the left.

Thank God. He’s going to pass.

As the bigger vehicle overtook her, it lurched right.
The truck rammed her. The force jerked her hands from the wheel and slammed the
car to the side.

Lani stomped on the brakes. The tires howled as they
ground on the blacktop. Momentum careened the car sideways. Toward the guard
rail and the wave-battered granite below the Devil’s Elbow.

The bottom dropped out of her stomach.

Chapter 4

Jake rubbed the back of his neck. Driving to Birch
Brook Farm this time of night was probably a butt-stupid thing to do. The arson
investigator had reached a hasty conclusion based on too little evidence the
fire was accidental. Lani’d pulled her sister out of that damn barn. She must’ve
seen something. Maybe someone. He had to question her some more. She’d probably
had counseling years ago, but not now, not after returning to the scene of the
crime. He winced at the phrase. Hell, maybe he’d talk her into hypnosis.

And it wouldn’t hurt to make sure she was okay after
discovering that smoking animal in her kitchen.

The half moon’s beam poured like a ribbon of milk
across the island-dotted ocean. Fucking poetic
.
That’s what the coast of
Maine did to him. Or was it thinking about Lani? How proud and determined this
grown-up Lani was. The zing when he thought of her made denial impossible. But
was it her he wanted or a ghost? Complicated and impossible.

The more he thought about her, the more he felt he
owed her the truth about the night of the fire. Once he explained, maybe his
conscience would be clearer. Yeah, right
.
She could already be in
danger. He wanted her to remember, but what if someone else feared she would?
Pain stabbed him like somebody’d dumped roofing nails in his gut.

A dark pickup whipped around the turn and careered
toward Jake. Its high halogen beams blinded him. Dirt and mud covered most of the
truck. The truck, more massive than his vehicle, straddled the middle yellow
lines, occupying the whole road.

Jake let loose a string of expletives that seared the
air. He nearly wrenched his vehicle into the hillside to avoid a collision. By
the time he braked to a stop, the truck had vanished around the next turn.
Damn, if only he could’ve seen their license number. He inhaled and blew out a
harsh breath as he steered back onto the road.

He slowed at the next curve. Lights pierced the sky
from a skewed angle. Headlights. And they weren’t moving.

His beams slid across a white Forester at the apex of
the sharp turn. Its driver-side tires hung a foot above the rocky ground. Shit,
the vehicle had skidded partway over the edge. He lowered his window for a better
look. The only thing holding it was the guard rail. Above the rumble of waves,
straining metal shrieked.

He stopped the Cherokee. Was that the car from Birch
Brook Farm?

Lani?

His heart rate lurched into high gear. He steered the
SUV to the side and punched on the emergency flashers. As soon as he got out,
the driver’s door opened a crack.

The Forester rocked. Tilted even higher. The metal
guard rail groaned and snapped.

“Don’t move!” he shouted. “You’ll send it over.”

A head appeared in the driver’s side window. “Help me.”

Her terrified call stabbed him in the gut. His pulse
clattered. “Lani, are you hurt?”

“Jake,” she said with shaky relief. “I’m okay. Help me
get out. The guard rail...it’s going.”

Gut tight, heart thumping against his chest wall, he’d
do her no good this way. He tamped down emotion and assessed the situation. The
driver’s airbag hadn’t deployed because of the sideways skid. And she was
right. One guard-rail support had popped from the rocky soil and another was
bent. More weight or another shake of the vehicle would hurry the job.

He knew the rocks that lay below. If the Forester went
over, Lani would die.

He returned to the Cherokee. No towing gear, but he’d
stowed a mooring line in back. The engine lacked enough power to pull the car
to safety but could steady it. He ran over with the rope.

“Hold still until I give you the word. Then open the
door and jump out fast.”

She eyed the rope and seemed to realize what he
planned. She wasted no breath or time on questions. “I got it.”

Confidence instead of terror in her voice reassured
him. He looped one end of the rope around the raised front wheel and tied it
securely.

Unwinding the coil as he went, he returned to the SUV.
He maneuvered the rear end toward the Forester and set the emergency brake.
Pulled the rope through the trailer hitch until it was taut. His fingers flew
to tie a bowline. A hard tug on the free end would release the knot.

When she jumped, he’d have to move fast or the
Cherokee might take a dive into the briny with her car. He had to take the
chance.

He jumped into his vehicle, put it in first gear, and
released the emergency brake. Kept his foot poised on the gas pedal in case the
Forester started to go and watched her in his side mirror. “Car’s anchored.
Jump
now
!”

She shoved open the door, a hard task at that angle.
Pushing herself upward, she widened the space with her shoulders.

Then she hung suspended, only her torso out, for long
moments.

The car rocked and wobbled. The rail shrieked in
protest. The taut line groaned. Jake nudged the gas pedal before force could
drag the truck.

“I’m stuck,” she gasped. “Door’s heavy.”

Another rail support sprang free with a loud pop like
a gunshot.

He was powerless to help her. Could only keep the line
taut and wait. And pray. Those nails still in his gut jabbed him again and
again. “Hurry! It’s going.”

She heaved at the door. Dived out head first. Landed
in a heap beneath the tilted car.

The railing broke and tumbled over the cliff. Rocks
and soil slid after it. The Forester skidded sideways a few feet. Rocked.
Threatened to right itself. It could fall and crush her.

Lani lay still.

Jake’s chest squeezed. Maybe the fall knocked her
unconscious? He killed the engine, released the knot. Dashed to her. The stiff
muscle in his thigh pulled but he pushed on. “Get up!
Move!
”

Sucking in deep breaths, she scrambled to her feet.

He slung an arm around her in support. Together they
staggered away from the cliff and the teetering vehicle. He looked back as the
car rolled over the cliff.

The tow rope followed, whipping back and forth like a
live snake. The first impact, as loud as a crate of C-4, killed the headlights.
Steel scraped and slammed against rocks. Glass shattered with the impact.

The busted-up vehicle hit the water with a tsunami
splash. Then all was silent except the waves churning against the rocks.

Still trembling, Lani clung to him. He wrapped his
arms around her and held on. Waited for his heart rate to slow and for the
tight pain in his gut to ease.

Feeling her against him, she felt athletic and strong,
and her lemony scent—shampoo—reassured him. “You okay? Anything broken?”

“I’m fine. Just pissed as hell.” With unsteady steps,
she trudged to the cliff and peered over the edge.

He joined her. The moonlight showed only roiling
water. “Careful. The edge is unstable.”

She stepped back gingerly, sighing. “My poor car.
Totaled.”

“Did that speeding pickup have something to do with
this?”

“Of course it was that asshole. You think I have a
death wish?” She laid a palm on her cheek in mock dismay.

Her sarcasm ought to grate like sandpaper on sunburn,
but in-your-face beat woe-is-me any day. “Chill. I was just asking.”

“Sorry. I’m sniping at you when I should be thanking
you for saving my life.” She huffed out a breath and hugged herself.

He squatted down to distance himself from the
temptation to hold her again and to ease his leg. He poked through the stones
at his feet and picked up one of the railing’s bolts, now bent and useless. “After
he went around the curve, he nearly hit me head on.”

Her brows winged upward. “Can you identify the truck?”

Standing, Jake cursed himself inwardly. “Wish I could.
Guy’d been in a mud run or a swamp. Front and back, both license plates were
unreadable. His lights blinded me.” Some trained federal agent. He didn’t know
the make or color either other than dark. He heaved the mangled bolt into the
ocean. Should be the pickup’s driver. “Could’ve been an accident. You sure he
wasn’t out-of-control drunk?”

“
That
was no accident.” She angled her chin.
Sharper than ever, her eyes blazed. “He might’ve been drinking, but what he did
was deliberate. He bumped me once just before the turn. Then he smashed me
sideways at the sharpest point in the curve. But why?”

The likely answer weaved like smoke through him, into
every crevice, whispering dread. What the hell could he do? Protecting Lani
would be a 24/7 job. Not a job he’d risk. To find answers in the cold case, he
needed time, and he couldn’t tell her he was eyes and ears on something else
for the task force.

He took her elbow and headed for his Cherokee. “I’m
afraid your arrival has awakened Dragon Harbor’s live fire-breathing dragon.”

She shook him off and stepped back, muscles taut and
ready for flight. “The gossip network works fast. I arrived a week ago and
started printing out the news stories in the library like you did. I’ve read
them all. You’re right to be suspicious. I phoned the Maine State Fire Marshal’s
office to obtain the final report but a prissy-voiced clerk said I need to file
an official request.” She huffed her disgust at the delay. “I did a timeline of
the fire marshal’s statements, of when the information came out. The fire was
on August 8. Barely two weeks later, they declared it accidental. A mere two
weeks!”

“Maybe the cause was obvious. Happens sometimes.”

“Sometimes but not
that
time. The arson guy
relied on the local firefighters’ impressions. Shoddy investigating if you ask
me.” She kicked stones with her sneaker toe. “You know as well as I do Dragon
Harbor firefighters are volunteers and barely trained. And they never explained
the beam that fell on—” She folded her lips between her teeth.

Jake tucked his hands in his back pockets. “Okay,
okay, I do see enough to warrant looking into the matter.”

“So you’ll let me help you?”

“I thought we’d covered that.”

“Not by half. Especially now I’ve read more.” Her eyes
widened in sudden realization. “You said my
“arrival”
awakened the
dragon, not my research. What are you getting at?”

He shook his head. “Answer this first. You said you
didn’t remember. Nothing at all of the fire?”

“Not much. I remember mostly
before
the fire.
Then coming out on the porch and seeing flames shooting out of the barn. After
that, nothing.”

“Tonight was a deliberate attempt to run you off the
road. Think about it,” he said. “Who would want to eliminate you?”

Lani’s stomach sank. His question ignited what she’d
tried to deny, squeezing her lungs so her breath burned in her throat. The
burnt cat and the dollhouse. What if it wasn’t bored teens?
“You think
the fire was no accident, but
arson
? And Gail’s death was—” She couldn’t
utter the word.

“Murder,” he supplied, his voice rough. “In the state
of Maine, if an arson fire results in a death, that’s considered murder.” The
moonlight shone on his face. He was studying her.

Shivers raced across her skin. “But I don’t
know
anything. I don’t know if I saw anyone. I don’t remember.”

“Yet,” he said. “But you might. I doubt these attacks
have anything to do with your library printouts.”

She wobbled. Fatigue clawed at her. She was too
frazzled to play verbal ping-pong.

“You should sit down. I’ll call the cops.” He led her
to the SUV, opened the passenger door, and eased her to the seat. He touched a
finger to her cheek. “You’re bleeding.”

“What?” When she reached up, blood dripped from her
hand.

He cradled her hands in his big, warm ones. Turning
them showed flayed flesh on her palms. Blood welled around the gravel and sand
embedded in deeper gouges. “The blood on your cheek came from this.”

Lani stared at her palms. “I must’ve scraped my hands
when I fell from the car. They don’t hurt.”

“They will. Like hell. And soon. The cops can meet us
at the hospital emergency room. I’ll call 911 on the way.” Taking out his
phone, he closed her door.

Her mind reeled from his questions and the pickup’s
attack. Jake had saved her life.
Oh, Gail, what the hell happened that
night?
Pressure built in her chest enough to explode.

He shifted into first, then second and peeled up the
East Road toward town.

Her palms began to sting. Far more agonizing were the
questions piercing her heart.

*****

Last night at the emergency room, Nora had been on
duty and helped patch her up, clucking soothing nonsense as Lani fumed about
the hit and run. The next morning, Nora helped her dress and changed her
bandages. Then Nora drove her to the police station for an appointment with the
police chief.

The police occupied part of a renovated brick
fish-packing plant that also housed the fire department and the town offices.
Forced to wait in the reception area, she could barely sit still. If not for
her injury, she’d be popping her knuckles. Her sister used to rag on her about
that nervous habit and she used to tease Gail about twisting her hair. Throat
stinging at the memory, she tried not to fidget.

This morning she’d gone over the old newspaper stories
again, but found nothing new. Only the final report was public information, not
the evidence or tests done by the investigator. Lani couldn’t even obtain the
name of the investigator. She wanted his notes, not just his reports.

She listened to the static-filled calls of officers at
the central reception desk. A cat up a tree, a fender-bender, a domestic
dispute. Not major crime like the robberies and murders in major cities. The
chief, a sergeant, and three patrol officers. A small force for a safe
town—except for her cold case. And her hit-and-run. Maybe they’d found the
truck.