Slow Burn (25 page)

She needed to reevaluate her options fast.
Ron was like a derailed train. No matter what she said or did, he
was determined to be by her side through this ordeal. Every person
she’d ever loved had been taken from her—first her parents, then
her uncle, Jade’s father, and now Jerry Kirkland, who was hanging
on to life by a thread. She’d rather have Ron hate her than see him
hurt. She got up, picked up her cell phone and dialed the number
Detective Sanchez left with her.

“I accept your offer of protection, Detective
Sanchez, but under one condition. Ronald Noble must not come
anywhere near me or my home until Dunn is behind bars.”

***

Sleep came hard for Ashley. The day’s events
kept running through her head, and in the background was the worry
about how Ron would react when he learned about what she’d done.
She did the right thing, damn it. It was for his own good. Why then
couldn’t she stop feeling guilty about it?

When she finally succumbed to sleep, the
harsh whispers of male voices arguing woke her up. Ashley tried to
locate their whereabouts, but it was pitch black. Not even her
hands were visible. She was cold and her body ached. Her jaws
clenched, her body shuddering.

She reached for a blanket, but all she
encountered was a cold, cement floor. Why was she lying on the
floor in a fetal position?

Carefully, she patted the floor around her,
her head swerving left then right. The whispers got louder,
competed with the pounding, staccato rhythm of her heart. Breathing
out jerkily, she sat up. When she got on her knees, she extended
her hand in front of her like a blind person until her fingers
encountered something solid. She felt around, realized it was a
wall and murmured a quick prayer of gratitude. Where there was a
wall, there was likely to be a door or a window.

Bracing herself, Ashley got up then shuffled
forward until her face was flush against the wall. The voices
sounded louder, but the words were still unintelligible. A shiver
raked her body. Had Dunn kidnapped her? Was he now plotting her
demise?

Snap out of it, Ashley.
This was no
time for self-pity. She had to find a way to escape. Putting one
foot forward, she slowly scooted away from the voices. It was a
slow process, with total darkness and fear nipping at her heel.

Her foot touched something. From the hollow,
tinny sound, she realized that it was a metal bucket. She lurched
down to grab it before it could tip over. For a few seconds, Ashley
held her breath, waited for someone to pounce on her. When nothing
happened, she let out a shaky breath, then went back to following
the wall. She reached a corner, where the wall turned, and saw a
dim light. She shuffled toward the light, for once hope dominating
fear.

It was a glass panel on a door, with burgundy
curtains covering it. She could see a small part of the room
through an opening. A couple sat on a leather couch, but all she
could see was the back of their heads—the woman’s curly chestnut
hair and the man’s short-cropped raven mop. The way their heads
kept moving, and the occasional appearance of the woman’s hand as
she gestured, indicated they were conversing, yet Ashley couldn’t
hear a sound. She groped for the door handle that wasn’t there.

“Hey,” Ashley yelled, raised a fist and
banged on the door. “Over here.” The couple acted as though they
couldn’t hear her.

“Please, help me.” She kept banging and
yelling. What was wrong with them? Why couldn’t they hear her?

Just then, two men appeared from the left
side of the room and blocked her view. From their dark clothing and
height, they could be identical twins. Ashley scooted out of sight.
When she peeked through the opening again, the two men were
approaching the couple on the couch. Each man held a white
washcloth in his hand. Not exactly waiter-like. A warning went off
in her head. These men were not here for cocktails. Just then, one
of the men turned his head to signal the other and Ashley
gasped.

She recognized those dead eyes, the face, the
gold studs on each ear. It was the man in her drawing, Vaughn’s
driver.

“Look behind you,” she yelled at the couple
on the couch and banged on the door with both fists. Her
frustration mounted. “Turn around, damn it.”

A few seconds before the men reached them,
the woman turned and Ashley saw her face. Shock rocked her
body.

“Mother,” she whispered.

Then the man from her sketch grabbed her
mother from behind and slapped the white washcloth on her face. The
other man struggled with her father.

“No,” Ashley screamed.

She staggered backward, started to fall as
her mother reach for her attacker’s face, the jagged edge of a
broken champagne flute clenched in her hand. As her mother’s body
twitched, the glass slid down her attacker’s face, leaving behind a
bloody, gaping wound.

Ashley was still screaming when she hit the
floor with a thud. Pain jarred through her, and for a moment, she
lay there, disoriented, trapped between the dream and the present.
A wailing sound echoed eerily around her. She didn’t realize she
was the one moaning.

“They killed them…they killed them…,”

Reality slowly settled in. She was no longer
on a hard floor but the plush rug of her bedroom floor. Could she
have witnessed the murder of her parents ten years ago? Was that
why she blocked the memories of that night? She sat up and wrapped
her arms about her knees, a shudder shaking her frame.

CHAPTER 13

Ron lay on his neatly made bed and scowled at
the vaulted ceiling. His room, decorated in hues of blue with a
massive fireplace and a panoramic view of Los Angeles, usually
brought him peace. Today, he might as well be buried neck-down in
the Sahara Desert with a swarm of scorpions gunning for his
eyeballs.

He’d driven around aimlessly after leaving
Ashley’s home, stopped at a diner for coffee and pie, then driven
some more, thinking about what the heck he was doing. Not that it
did him any good. By the time he’d arrived at his place, he’d been
wide awake, restless. Jumping on the treadmill hadn’t helped.
Catching up on paperwork in his home office had only made him
edgier. Even swimming lap after lap in his pool hadn’t exhausted
his demons.

The last week and a half he’d been acting the
fool, pretending to be an average horny Joe lusting after an
average woman. The problem was there was nothing average about
Ashley or his needs, which unfortunately had never before gone
beyond a good romp in bed. But from their first meeting, he’d felt
a connection between him and the delectable artist that went beyond
sexual attraction. Perhaps it was their shared past. All he knew
was the physical attraction between them was quickly mushrooming
into something more, which scared the hell out of him.

We’re just beginning.
The words he’d
uttered last night came back to haunt him.

He still couldn’t understand what had
happened last night. One moment, he and Ashley were working
together, helping the police piece together that bastard Dunn’s
movements. The next, she was claiming she’d slept with him because
of his reputation. Ron grimaced then grinned. How in the world had
she flipped scripts on him? Usually it was the other way round, he
explaining his position on relationships, namely nothing long-term,
and the women storming off in a huff.

He was very good at pleasing a woman in and
out of bed, and yes, being charming and generous had gotten him a
lot of trim. But being blunt about his apathy toward anything
serious often killed most of his liaisons before they even begun,
which meant he went through women fast. But Ashley wasn’t just
another notch to add on his bedpost.

What was she if not another conquest? A
picture of her floated in his head. Sweet and sensual, vulnerable
yet strong. Along with the image came a gnawing hunger that had
nothing to do with sexual conquests. He tried to imagine her during
the photo shoot—the bold seductress in her element, instructing him
on what to do, driving him crazy with her touch. But the images
kept morphing into the breathless, trembling woman who’d made him
burn with a touch. Confusion pounded at him, and on its heels was
anxiety. What did he really want?

He sat up and scowled. Forget it. If he knew
the answers, he wouldn’t be asking himself the damn questions. It
bugged him that the first woman to ever make him want a monogamous
relationship hadn’t wanted him around and was denying their strong
physical attraction. Just as he’d told her, he wasn’t going to
slink away and leave her alone. And it had nothing to do with the
fact that she was the first woman to ever play him. The two of them
were great together.

Ron scratched his bare chest and scowled. All
that would mean zilch if the rumors about his father were true.
Ashley would demand his head on a platter, kick him out of her life
for good. The thought made him break out in sweat. God, he hoped
she’d understand once he explained. Women were hard to fathom that
way.

Once he’d thought he’d known one woman very
well, convinced himself he was in love. Sharon, one of his mother’s
protégées, showed him just how limited his knowledge about women
was. But Ashley wasn’t after a prominent role in his mother’s play
or using him in any way. This time, he was the one with a hidden
agenda, the one refusing to be completely honest. Maybe he should
come clean and tell her the truth.

The resounding ding-dong of his doorbell
deepened his frown. He pulled on a robe, his gaze going to the
clock by his bedside as he left the room. It was too early for his
mother to invade his privacy. That left Kenny.

Ron entered the kitchen and squinted against
the light pouring into the room through the skylights. He yanked
the back door, ignored the private investigator’s cheerful grin and
retreated inside his house, but left the door open for Kenny to
enter.

“How was your evening with the lovely
artist?” his friend asked, following him.

Ron poured a cup of hot coffee straight from
the coffeemaker pot and took a long sip. “Wonderful,” Ron offered
calmly. “But I’m sure she’s not the reason you were leaning on my
doorbell at such an ungodly hour.”

Kenny looked at his watch. “It’s after nine.
When did you get in?”

“Sometime this morning.”

“Uh, still loving them and leaving them
before dawn.”

Ron scowled. Did he really have a reputation
for not sticking around?

“Or maybe you didn’t get any action.”

He gave Kenny a screw-you look then started
around the kitchen counter. “I’m hitting the shower. If you’re
still around when I get out, I’ll assume you’re here to discuss
business and not drink my coffee.” They both preferred coffee made
the old way, with an electric drip filter machine. Ashley had one
of those state-of-the-art espresso/cappuccino makers. He grinned,
relishing the thought of making her a cup of his Ethiopian Arabica
special blend. The smile died on his lips as images from last night
rushed back to taunt him.

Ron paused in the archway leading to his
bedroom and glanced at Kenny, who was already pouring himself a cup
of the dark brew. “I don’t love and leave women before dawn. I
remember a few occasions when I stayed for breakfast.”

“College days don’t mean jack,” Kenny
retorted and sipped his coffee.

“Coming from a man who hasn’t gotten laid in
what? This decade? Is your sister
and
mother still running
your love life? No, I forgot, Grandma’s still trying to get you a
nice girl from the old country.”

Kenny flipped him off.

Ron grinned and drained his drink. “I’ll be
out in a sec. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Always do,” Kenny answered. He had already
retrieved a bowl and was opening the fridge.

Yeah, they’d studied hard and played even
harder, a game Kenny had outgrown. Kenny claimed he was in a
monogamous relationship now, with his work. Maybe it was time Ron
outgrew playing fast and loose with women too. He didn’t want to
end up alone like his uncle. Even his grandmother and mother had no
one special in their lives.

Ron disappeared in the bedroom, shrugged off
his robe and stripped off his sweatpants. As he lathered his body,
he recalled the shower he and Ashley had taken together last night.
The way she’d loved him with that pretty mouth of hers, branding
him. The evening didn’t deserve a one-night stand label as she’d
claimed. Something else was going on in that mind of hers, and he
intended to find out what.

The smell of eggs and bacon drifted into the
bathroom, interrupting his musing. A smile crossed his lips. The
one important thing Mrs. Nichols had taught her only son was how to
take care of himself. Kenny raided his kitchen every time he
stopped by, and Ron didn’t mind one little bit. Cooking wasn’t his
thing. The two of them went way back to when they had met in
college as freshman. He and Kenny stayed in touch even after his
friend headed to Quantico and he back east to graduate school.
Before he started receiving anonymous letters, they met twice a
month for a game of basketball. Now they saw each other a few times
a week.

Ron’s phone rang just as he stepped out of
the showers. Ashley, the name escaped his lips as he rushed to get
it. Yeah, as if she would be calling him after last night.

“Yes?” he barked into the phone, pulling on
underwear.

“Mr. Noble? It’s Jeffrey Stone, sir.”

Jeffrey Stone? Who the hell…ah, the morning
security guard at Ashley’s apartment building. He’d given him a
list of instructions at six this morning when his shift
started.

“What’s going on, Jeffrey?”

“Officer Sanchez is here with a team of her
people. They’re putting up surveillance cameras around the lobby,
the stairs, and inside the elevator and Ms. Fitzgerald’s home.”