Wrapped in Flame (22 page)

Probably should have let Berto go.
He and one of the reservists could have handled it. But Mike didn’t like to play the rank card. He preferred a system where everyone pulled their own weight, showed they were equal. Considering how relieved he was when his boots hit the sand at the bottom, Mike second-guessed that choice. He unhooked the rope, flexed his shoulders, and turned toward the victim, obscured now by a small cropping of rock and brush.

“Fire department, sir. We’re here to help you,” he called out as he trudged toward him. No response.

Mike cleared the pile of rock. Blood caked the top of the man’s head and covered his hands. Two more steps brought his face into view, sunburned, dirty, blood-smeared, and unmistakingly Keith Randall.

“Fuck,” he muttered and covered the remaining distance.

He squatted next to Keith to check his carotid pulse—still alive, despite the injury to the side of his head. The rapid pulse suggested heat stroke. From the condition of his skin, it looked like he’d been out here for days, suffering. His exposed skin was red and blistered in places. His lips dry and cracked. As far as Mike was concerned, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. His only regret was that Keith had managed to stay alive. He would play himself off as the victim yet again. Blame his circumstances on anything and anybody other than himself. Whatever incident caused him to be here would throw reasonable doubt on whether or not he’d killed Wayne Trenton and set the house on fire. It also meant that if he was here, then he hadn’t set fire to Sandy’s place. It still didn’t make him innocent. There was still his partner in crime to consider. Mike couldn’t think of Karen Trenton as anything other than that.

He didn’t realize how much he wanted Keith dead until that moment. Mike checked his pulse once more just to be sure. Nothing had changed. The man who’d killed, raped, blackmailed, and essentially took whatever he wanted from decent people was still alive.

And it would take little effort for Mike to change that.

A twist of his neck.

A little more pressure on his carotid arteries.

Keith would be dead.

The nightmare would end.

Mike felt evidence of life fluttering beneath his fingertips. A life that had hurt so many people. Press, hold. It’d be all over in a matter of seconds. His choice was a simple one.

* * * *

Erica woke to an empty bed and her phone announcing a text message. Stretching, she reached for her phone and found Mike’s note beside it.

Morning, sweetheart. Text me when you wake up.
He’d added a heart.

Smiling, she grabbed her phone. Sandy had been released and was headed out. Erica silently wished her a safe journey, then texted Mike to let him know she was up and would be by after she went to the bank. She added a heart of her own and waited for a response. When none came, she knew he was caught up in work. He’d get to her when he could.

She found a pot of just-perked coffee waiting for her, along with an
I Love You
note. She poured a cup, took it to the bathroom while she showered, then dressed for the day. A day that felt endlessly long, despite the list of things she wanted to accomplish.

Erica dwelled on that over her second cup and toast. Three days without Mike. Three days on edge, waiting for an attack that may or may not happen. She had two choices—stay in the house and anticipate disaster, or go about her business and live her life. Choosing the latter didn’t remove her fear, but it did shore up her determination. She’d get the lottery ticket from the bank and have Mike sign it. Find a lawyer who could kick Keith’s ass to hell and back. Then what? She’d go stir-crazy, staying around here all day. True, Mike considered it her house as well, and she could do whatever she wanted. But it was hard to nest and settle when everything else felt so…unsettled.

That left going back to work. How wise a decision would that be? The press might have moved on to bigger and better news, but what about Keith? Would he be bold enough to put children at risk? At this point, she’d put nothing past him. Going to work was out. Which left an even bigger question. What
was
she going to do about her job?

The lottery windfall loomed large. It was obscene how wealthy she and Mike were about to become. Why keep going to work, when there were other people out there who needed the income from those jobs? What would they do with themselves all day without work? And what would happen when the secret got out?
Secrets change everything.
What felt like a blessing now felt like a curse.

Erica slapped her palms on the table and pushed to her feet. “This isn’t getting anything done.” She poured the remains of the coffee into a thermos, then left. First stop was the bank.

She checked her rearview mirror constantly, fearful of being followed. No one was there, but she refused to be lulled into complacency. Mike trusted her to be diligent. Erica wouldn’t make him a liar. At the bank, she opted to cover her tracks a bit, removing an old savings bond to cash. Anyone watching or checking up on her would think that was her only purpose in being there. Still, it was damn hard not to clutch her purse to her chest when she made her way back to her car. It’d only take an instant for a thief to grab it, knocking her back down to normal from superrich.

Would that really be so awful?
She had Mike. What more did she need?

The thought warmed her inside and out. She couldn’t contain her smile. It stayed with her until she arrived at the fire station and saw the doors open and the bay empty. Since he’d yet to respond to her text, it meant Mike was gone. She could go about her business or drop in for a status report. Chances were he’d be back soon. She didn’t have a problem waiting.

Erica parked at the curb and walked into reception and turmoil. A distraught man pleaded with the station’s admin assistant and gatekeeper. God have mercy on the poor soul who crossed April. Like the poor man standing before her.

“Please, I’m begging you.”

He braced his hands on the edge of the desk. Erica suspected it was more to hold himself up than to intimidate. April had backed up as far as her chair and the wall behind it allowed. Her right hand was out of sight, and Erica wouldn’t be surprised if she was sporting a can of mace.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know where Sandy Freeman is.” Her southern accent might have dripped honey, but her eyes told him to fuck off. “And even if I did, I don’t know y’all from Adam.”

“I told you who I am.” The words clearly took effort. Sweat beaded his forehead. If he didn’t sit down soon, he’d collapse. Erica knew before he said “Clint Clifford” that he was Sandy’s really great guy. Stepping forward, she touched his arm.

“I might be able to help you, Clint.”

He turned glazed eyes her way. “I need to find Sandy.”

“You know him, Erica?” April pulled her right hand back in sight.

“Sandy told me who he is.”

“I’m her…” He scrubbed his hand over a day’s growth of whiskers. “God, I don’t even know what I am to her.” He squared his shoulders. “But I know what she is to me. Please, I’ve got to find her. She’s got to know none of the other stuff matters.”

He was fighting for her, or trying to.

Erica glanced at April, who steadfastly shook her head. Any information wasn’t going to come from her. “Is Chief Stanton in?”

April nodded and called his office. “Chief, Erica’s here.” Then she hung up. “You can go back.” She buzzed the door open.

“Sit down,” Erica told Clint. “I’ll be right back. Here.” She shoved the thermos into his hands. “You look like you could use some coffee.”

He looked like he might refuse but then took the thermos and sank into the nearest chair, opening it with shaking hands.

Testosterone slammed into her the second she walked through the door. Erica had forgotten how overpowering it could be. All the air freshener in the world couldn’t dissipate the smell. It was like twenty male locker rooms all combined into one. She didn’t know how Gina and Sandy—or April—could stand it. But then, they loved their jobs. After all, she tolerated Play-Doh. Well, actually, she’d banned it from her classroom.

Craig stood outside his office, waiting for her. Erica wasted little time.

“Sandy’s boyfriend is out front.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Sandy took off for her parents’ place this morning. He needs to find her. Could you check her records for an address?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Honestly? Because everybody deserves a chance to fight for the one they love.”

Craig sighed. “He could be working with Keith, Erica.”

She shook her head. “No. Sandy gave me his name. The guy’s a mess. She really cares a lot for him, and then all this happened. She took off. I told her that he deserved—”

Craig raised his palm. “I’ll get it. Come sit.”

“Actually, I was hoping I could ransack the kitchen, maybe throw a sandwich together for the guy. He’s a mess, Craig.”

“Do it. All the food you’ve fed us, I doubt anyone will begrudge you a sandwich.” He ducked into his office.

By the time she’d assembled a turkey sandwich, Craig was by her side with the address.

“I hope you’re right about this,” he said.

“Me too. It’s up to them now.” Sandy would either thank her or kill her.

She spied trucks pulling into the bay as she returned to the reception area. Clint looked up, then stood, handing her the thermos at the same time she gave him the address and sandwich.

“Thank you,” he said softly and wasted little time leaving.

“We’re back,” Berto’s voice came over the intercom.

“That would be Mike as well. You want to wait in his office?” April asked.

The door to the inner sanctum opened before she could reply. Mike stood there looking… Well, she couldn’t really read his expression. It wasn’t joy, though.

“Come on back.”

He swung the door wide enough to let her by, then followed her down to his tiny office. The distance he kept between them hurt. Where were the subtle touches, the barely there brush against her? Even as just friends, he’d stood closer than this. If this was how he handled a bad call, she didn’t like it. They’d deal with that later.

She dug in her purse for the lottery ticket as she walked into the room. Mike shut the door behind them.

“I just need you to sign this, and—”

“What were you thinking?” he whispered harshly. “You don’t know that man. He could be anybody. Now he knows where Sandy is.”

“She told me and Posner his name last night. Why else would he be here? That was no act, Mike. He was devastated and desperate.”

He braced his hands on his hips. “I think we’ve all learned how convincing desperate people can be.”

Erica didn’t appreciate the low blow. “At least he’s going after her. If you’d done that in the first place, we wouldn’t be in the position we are now.”

Mike jerked as if she’d slapped him. His expression hardened. This one she had no problem deciphering—anger. “I don’t recall you busting down my door.”

“Because I never in a million years thought a man like you would ever want someone like me.” It was damn hard to make a point when her words were restricted to just above whisper level.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he shot back, just as softly but with all the force of a yell.

“I saw the women you hooked up with over the last year. I know what you like.”

“Yeah. You. I thought we covered that ground already. Or are we going to continue to revisit old crap every time you get mad? Because what you just said to me? That was uncalled for.”

Erica sighed. He was right. She’d lashed out when she shouldn’t have, frustrated because he’d questioned her actions. “I’m sorry. That
was
uncalled for.”

He didn’t look placated. Not that she could blame him. “You didn’t see the look in his eyes, Mike. I did. I know what love looks like. I see it in your eyes every time you look at me.”

He sighed and dropped into one of the chairs in front of his desk. Eyes closed, he pinched the bridge of his nose. This wasn’t going well at all. It might be better to give him some distance.

She placed the lottery ticket on the edge of his desk. “Sign this, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

Mike dropped his hand to stare at the ticket, then slowly shook his head. “I can’t take your money. I won’t trap you. I… You can do so much better than me, Erica.”

What the fuck
danced on the tip of her tongue. Forcing the words back, she sank into the chair beside him.

“Hikers found Keith,” he said before she could ask what was wrong. “That’s the call we just came back from. I reached him first.” His hand shook as he rubbed it over his mouth. “He’s alive, but… I squatted next to him, my finger over his pulse, debating how easy it would be to change that state. Press, hold, and he’d be gone.” He glanced her way, eyes swimming with unshed tears. “I’m no better than he is, Erica.”

She racked her brain for a response that wouldn’t send him heading for the hills. “Then neither am I, because I would have felt the same way.” It was the truth too. Her own hand shook as she cupped his cheek. “But you didn’t do it. You dragged his worthless ass out of there.” Because he had said Keith was alive. “That makes you nothing like him at all.”

Her touch and the words did little good. Mike still looked haunted. He broke their physical connection and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

“Any clue on what happened?” Focusing on business might help center him.

“His car was found about five miles away. Looks like he walked the wrong direction, away from the road instead of toward it. He has a head wound, is dehydrated, and suffering from exposure. The head wound will most likely be a concussion, which would explain his confusion with direction. An IV brought him around a bit before he was airlifted to the hospital. He was asking for you.”

“He can ask all he wants. I won’t see him.” Wouldn’t be a party to whatever game he played.

“I don’t think you’re going to have much of a choice. Posner might need you to help get information.”

Considering all the help she’d given him lately, Detective Posner should be putting her on the payroll.