The Perfect Match (21 page)

“Ellie!” He charged after her into the bathroom. The smoky, sooty moisture stung his eyes, the smell burning
his nose. Through the mist he could make out her outline taking aim with an axe. He grabbed it on the backswing.

“Hey!”

He snaked his arm around her waist and picked her up. She slammed the heel of her shoe into his shin as he dragged her out of the room. “You stubborn . . .”

“What?” she hissed when he put her down in the hall. She rounded on him, and he kept a firm hand on the axe, just in case. The fire in her eyes told him something other than panic over another possible arson blaze had her spitting mad.

At him. He shot a look at the assembly of firemen, all rooted to the spot and obviously as eager as he to hear her explanation. He turned his back to them, lowered his voice. “Ellie, what is it?”

Joe stood in the door of the bathroom. “The fire’s out. Guthrie will open the ceiling.” He reached over and took the axe from Ellie. She glowered at him a second before she released it. Then, hiking her hands onto her hips, she gave Dan a jaw-jutted, melt-him-on-the-spot glare.

“I think you need to cool off,” he said, bracing one arm above her on the wall and hoping to keep this conversation semiprivate. Fat chance, with the crowd moving in to close the huddle.

Her hair hung in damp waves around her face, and she shook. Seeing her fight with some sort of emotional carnage made him feel weak. “Why, Dan? Why? You promised you’d stay out of my way.”

“What—?” He frowned at her.

“Oh, don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about. I caught you, Mr. Lies-all-lies. I saw the evidence
upstairs, and I bet that after the smoke clears we’ll find the one missing Sterno canister smoldering under the sink.” Her eyes narrowed, but her voice lost its steam as if she were trying to stuff her horror back into her chest. “Won’t we?”

Dan shook his head, scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Sterno canister?” His memory tracked back up to his office, to the open box. “Hey, no. There’s an explanation—”

“I put it together. I read the interviews. You were at the Garden before the fire, and more than one person said you were in the house. Alone.”

“I was there to help.”

“And you yourself said that the Simmons fire was all your fault.” The look in her eyes—betrayal, disbelief,
fury
—swept the breath right from his open mouth. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember.” She looked past him at the crowd of men. “At the hospital. You said to me, ‘It’s my fault.’ ”

He scrambled to dredge up the moment but came back empty. “I don’t remember.”

“I shouldn’t have believed you.” Moisture filled her eyes, and she blinked it back. “For a guy who was supposed to love me, you’ve got a pretty warped way of showing it.”

He flinched, feeling as if she’d kicked him in the teeth. “I do love you,” he said in a low tone.

“Yeah, right. So much that you’re trying to scare me away, or better yet, trying to destroy my reputation. Were you thinking that I’d chuck this wild fancy of mine, don a prairie skirt, and start leading the women’s Bible study?”

A chuckle from somewhere behind him didn’t help the situation. But the thought of Little Miss Fireball wearing petticoats, running around barefoot and pregnant did strike him as—he smiled against his will.

Wrong thing to do. He could see her unraveling, had glimpsed the same, desperate expression the day he’d chased after her in the ice arena, as if he’d inadvertently ran right into her secrets and opened all her wounds. Fighting the urge to put his hands on her shoulders and order her to take ten deep breaths or maybe a thousand, he doused his smile and looked her square in the eye. In his best calm-pastor tone he said, “You’re jumping to all the wrong conclusions here, El.”

“I told you love makes people do stupid things.” A tear slid down her cheek and she let it roll, a bad sign that said she didn’t care who saw her heartbroken. “But three strikes and you’re out, bub.” She closed her eyes. “It’s over. Save your explanations for the grand jury.”

“Ellie, listen to—”

“Dan, stop.” Chief Sam’s grip on his arm jerked him back to painful reality. “Let’s just go down to the station. Wait until . . . things cool down.”

Wincing, Dan looked at Sam. His friend wore a look of empathy, but Dan saw business in his eyes. “She’s wrong.”

The chief nodded. “C’mon.”

Dan looked at Ellie and knew desperation and heartbreak lined his face. He wanted to rip his arm out of Sam’s grip, scoop Ellie up, and run. She wasn’t thinking clearly, reacting in standard Jammie Girl–style with her emotions instead of her head. It was no surprise that her brother had died rescuing her from herself.

That thought stopped him still. She stared at him, eyes wide, tears edging them, and he knew she saw his realization. Ellie knew her faults. She knew she had caused her brother’s death. And knowing her guilt made her sacrifice her life trying to fill the gap.

“Oh, Ellie, please. I know you’re desperate to find the arsonist, to prove yourself here, but this isn’t the way. Stop trying so hard. You’ll find the arsonist, I promise.”

“I already did,” she said coldly.

“Please believe me. I didn’t do this.”

“I saw him in the bathroom earlier. Before the fire.” Guthrie Jones said it quietly but loud enough to ignite a hot murmur through the group.

If any doubt lingered in Ellie’s eyes, it vanished in a blink. Only a harsh glitter remained. “I’m not desperate. I’m just seeing the truth for the first time. You might have loved me, but it was on your terms. I can’t be the girl you want me to be.”

He touched her hair, and she recoiled. It felt like a dagger through his chest. “I love you just the way you are.”

“Yeah . . .” She nodded. “Right.”

Sam tugged on his arm. Dan pinned her with one last look, praying she’d see the truth in his eyes.

She folded her arms across her chest and looked away as Sam led him out of the church.

T
he rain had stopped. Only a heavy fog and the very present hover of winter tinged the air. The clouds emptied, and they hung deflated in the sky, tearing into the fabric of the starry heavens. Ellie stood in the back entrance of the church, arms around herself, embracing her now destroyed blouse, her filthy, probably ruined dress pants, holding back a chill that emanated from her bones.

She’d found her arsonist. The man she loved. She wanted to curl into a ball and howl.

“Chief, the smoke is nearly gone. Do you want me to load up the fans?” Guthrie asked from the doorway. He looked ragged around the edges, with soot smudging his face, and moisture and char tangled in his brown hair, but he had energy radiating from him like a hot ember. Guthrie had not only followed the fire into the joists between floors, killing it as it tried to attack the insulation, but he’d then set up fans and chased the smoke out of the building.

One by one she’d dismissed the fire crew to their homes. Only Guthrie and Mitch remained. Why the big man had stayed to help, she didn’t know, but she’d decided to be grateful, albeit wary. At least she had Guthrie nearby if Mitch decided to unveil some ulterior motives. “Yes, thank you, Guthrie.”

“No problem, ma’am,” he said and walked away.

“Guthrie?” she called, hoping to catch him.

He reappeared in the door. “Chief?”

She worked up a smile. “You did great today. I think you’re turning into quite the firefighter.”

His genuine grin seemed to balm the wounds Dan had inflicted.

“Thank you, Chief.” He hesitated, and a sheepish smile appeared. “Do you . . . uh . . . need a ride back to the firehouse?”

“No.” His concern touched her. Now here was a fellow who had real potential to be a gentleman, a stellar example of a Deep Haven firefighter. “Thank you, though.”

“No problem,” he said, shrugging. But disappointment tinged his eyes, enough that she actually felt guilty. Had she somehow led Guthrie to believe she felt more for him than was appropriate? Then again, she hadn’t really put on the brakes with her relationship with Dan. The entire town probably knew by now that they’d been in love . . . no, that
he’d
been in love.

How could she love a man who would stop at nothing to derail her dreams?

She rubbed her arms, listening to the whir of the fans decelerate, the scrape of folding chairs being moved, grunts as Guthrie carried the fans up the stairs. She
should be helping him, but frankly, she dreaded the next hour. Somehow standing here under the stars, wondering where her life had turned south, felt a thousand times simpler than filing charges against Dan for arson. Somewhere inside her she wanted to cling to the filament of hope that she was wrong.

Not that he’d ever forgive her.

She gulped a breath of sweet, rain-scented, autumn air, thankful they’d been able to contain the fire. She hated to think of Grace Church as a crisp scar on the hill.

But without their pastor, where would the congregation be?

Dan’s sins would leave a painful gash on the community. Not to mention her own heart. His words still throbbed. She wasn’t desperate. She simply put 200-percent effort into her job. Why not? How else was she supposed to make a difference, stand in the gap between life and death? She’d made promises to Deep Haven, to her firemen. To Seth. To God.

Seth’s life for hers. She wouldn’t have chosen it, but that’s the card she’d been dealt so she’d added it to her hand without even considering discarding it.

Even if she did feel exhausted and alone at the end of the day, at least she’d done her best, invested her life in trying. That should count for something when she finally hung up her helmet. She may not leave behind a family, children, even a legacy in the Sunday school department, but she will have saved lives. Protected Deep Haven from more deaths.

She should have listened to her instincts and realized love wouldn’t fit into her life.

Scraping up her courage, she entered the basement and
pulled the door shut behind her, locking it. The fans had scattered the smell of smoke across the cinder-block hall. Moonlight pushed in through the windows, falling on the overturned chairs, the half-eaten plates of food, the cold beans on the buffet table. Maybe tomorrow she’d help the hospitality committee clean up and apologize to Bonnie for suspecting her. That was, after she finished meeting with the county attorney and outlining her case against Dan.

Pushing hard against her writhing stomach, she started up the stairs. A bulky figure stood at the top, just outside the fan of moonlight. She paused. “Hello?”

“It’s me, Mitch.” He moved into the light. His eyes studied her outline, spurring a flare of panic.

“What is it?”

“Can I talk to you?” His voice sounded . . . sober. Not a hint of snarl. Then again, maybe fatigue had dulled her senses.

She braced herself and climbed the stairs slowly, hoping Guthrie still lingered in the parking lot. “What do you want?”

Mitch blew out a breath. “I wanted to apologize.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, a nonverbal I-won’t-touch-you communiqué that she read with relief.

“Apologize?”

“For . . . coming on to you at the firehouse.”

“Oh, that.” She swallowed, glanced at the door, at the safety beyond. She didn’t know how many times a woman had been attacked in the church vestibule, but she didn’t want to start any statistics.

“I . . . had been drinking. And I was angry. I promise, I wouldn’t have hurt you.” His face twisted, and the remorse in it almost touched her heart.

“I suppose you want to be let off probation?”

He shook his head. “I deserved it. I just . . . well, I thought you couldn’t do your job. I was wrong.”

She frowned. Was this the same man who’d sent her careening onto her backside at the General Store fire? “And now you think I can?”

He shrugged. “Let’s just say I admire your determination. You’ve stuck in there, and you deserve a shot at this job.” With chagrin on his face, his wolf demeanor turned into whipped puppy. “I guess a guy could learn a few things from you if he paid attention.”

“Thanks . . . ,” she said slowly. “What made you change your mind?”

He looked past her into the darkened sanctuary. “It was something Dan said to me a few days back.” His face twitched with the confession. “He called me up, told me to watch myself, that he’d been hearing rumors that I was trying to cause you trouble.”

Strange behavior for a man who should be grateful that suspicion pointed to Mitch. She pushed the thought to the back of her brain as she eyed the door, wondering if her noodle legs would get her across the room in the event Mitch morphed back into his hairy former self.

“Truth is, I was trying to cause you problems. I heard the talk about arson, and I thought if I could whip up the idea that you were trouble for this town, then the city council would give you the boot.”

“And you’d slide into my job.”

He shrugged. “I’ve never worked for a woman before. I didn’t think you had it in you. But then I saw you run into the fire after Bruce, and something else Dan said kinda hit me.” His eyes were dark as night and piercing
as they held hers. “‘The greatest love is shown when people lay down their lives for their friends.’ Dan said it’s a Bible verse. And when I remembered how you ran in after Bruce at the fire I realized you had something I didn’t.”

She swallowed.

“Love for your fellowman.”

His words pinged in her hollow heart. She felt light-headed and wondered if she actually swayed. No, she didn’t have love for her fellowmen. She had love for herself, love for Seth. But true love didn’t fuel her motives.

Fear did. Fear that she’d never fill the gap Seth left. Fear that she wasn’t worthy of his death. “Thank you,” she mouthed and heard the words emerge strained.

The same verse had been spoken at Seth’s graveside, and even then it had the power to shake her to her core. Seth had given his life for her.

She didn’t deserve it. She knew she’d only gone to Colorado to strut her courage, to prove her heroism to him and to her father. And she’d ended up fighting for her life under a fire shelter, her brother’s body given to save hers.

“So, I just wanted to . . . smooth things out between us.” Mitch gave a wry smile.

Ellie tried to focus on him and not the indictment searing her soul. “Thanks, Mitch. I appreciate that. We’re . . . uh . . . smooth.” She nodded crisply, edging toward the door. “Why don’t you come into the office tomorrow? We’ll . . . talk. Okay?”

He frowned, then nodded. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” She grabbed the door handle and scurried down the steps, closing the door behind her. The fire
engine had left, Guthrie along with it. She walked across the parking lot toward her Jeep, still dodging the sting of Mitch’s words.

She heard the shuffle of feet against pavement a second before a gloved hand went around her mouth, mashing her lips into her teeth.
What—!
Her pulse rocketed as instinct kicked in. She clawed at the hand at her mouth, thrashed her legs, hoping for purchase.

Her assailant crushed her to his chest with his other arm. “Don’t move.”

Her pulse filled her ears, drowning out her scream, distorting the voice. He had her neck in a death clamp that should have buckled her knees, but he dragged her to the pickup. The tailgate hung open. “Climb in.”

Shaking, she tried to turn, aiming to gouge out her captor’s eyes, but he muscled her onto the covered truck bed without mercy. She kicked at the tailgate as it went up, then was locked from the outside. All light snuffed out.

“Help! Dan!” She banged on the cover, pain shooting down her arm. While she pounded, the ridges of the pickup bed dug into her shoulder blades. The engine started.
Please, no!
She gave the roof one last kick as the pickup roared, jerked. Her face slammed into the metal, and she felt heat gather in her nose. Tears welled as warm blood dribbled into her mouth.

Darkness pressed against her, filling her pores. The old air, redolent with dust and the cloying odor of cleaning supplies, made her gag. Her brain began to spin. She scrambled toward the tailgate, toward the pinpricks of shadow and pressed her mouth against the opening while the truck roared out of the parking lot and into her nightmares.

“Am I under arrest?” Dan sat in Sam’s office, arms clamped over his chest. The hard planes of fluorescence flooding the chief’s office and raining down over the wooden straight-back chairs and the wide, oak desk did nothing to soften Dan’s anger. He felt stripped and beaten, and if Sam’s pursed lips were any indication, the fun was just starting.

Sam sat back in his desk chair, a faux leather piece that had seen better years, and shrugged. “Ellie can hold you for twenty-four hours. The law gives her that right as an officer of the fire department. Let’s wait until she gets here.” Fatigue weighted his face. Dressed in his smudged suit coat and rumpled dress shirt, the chief looked like he wanted to line up behind Dan and wring Chief Karlson’s pretty neck. “What does she have on you?”

Dan held up his hands, a gesture of defeat. “I have no idea. I guess she found the Sterno canisters the hospitality committee left in the office and linked them to the source of the Simmons fire.”

“Did you really say you were responsible?” Sam leaned forward, knitted his hands together. Concern furrowed his brow.

Dan scrubbed his face with his hands. “I really don’t remember. My shoulder was dislocated, drugs fogged my brain. I could barely figure out my own name. Who knows what I said?”

He didn’t add that the only thing he did remember, quite and painfully clearly, was announcing to Ellie that she was some sort of dream girl. Yes, definitely pain had warped his mind.

Unfortunately, she was exactly that. Without a doubt, Ellie Karlson was the dream woman who had finally set a match to his heart and started it aglow. Since she’d entered his life, like lightning in the atmosphere, she’d charged it, ignited emotions he’d only begun to explore.

Losing her felt like ripping out his lungs.

“Well, she seems to think you’re guilty. Or at least that you know something about it.”

“What do
you
think?” Dan tried not to let it matter, but he’d spent his life trying to make an impact on this town. This wasn’t quite how he wanted to do it. He studied Sam’s face.

The guy smiled, and relief rushed through Dan, tingling every nerve. “We’ll clear you, Pastor.”

“Thanks, Sam. At least you’re on my side.”

“Oh, I think after the initial shock wears off, you’ll find a mob down here, demanding your release. They’ll probably tar and feather Ellie and run her out of town on a rail.”

That image hurt Dan right in the center of his chest. “That’s a little overboard, don’t you think?”

“Well, you’ve touched a lot of lives here.” Sam shook his head. “She can’t expect to accuse you without a fight.”

He didn’t know whether to cry for joy or sorrow. “I’ve touched lives?”

Sam looked at him as if he’d just spoken Japanese. “Yes. Of course. In fact, Leo Simmons was in here two days before he died—checking in for his parole—and he said you’d talked him back onto the wagon.”