by Nora Roberts
the fire. Had to leave that location after midnight. Cutting it close there, barely enough time to get to the other locations. Fire was hot, fully involved when they’d arrived at the clinic, minutes after he’d called her.
Minutes, she thought on her way upstairs. And only minutes after that—five?—she and O’Donnell had raced to the old Pastorelli house.
Not just one step ahead. Nobody was that good, nobody was that fast. An accomplice? Didn’t fit, just didn’t fit. This was his mission, his obsession. He wouldn’t share.
But he’d fired the clinic, gone two blocks, broken into his old house, shot two people, planted the rigged extinguisher and set another fire. One that had been fully involved before she’d gotten there.
Because he’d killed Carla and Don first. Before the clinic. Because he’d set both fires, used timers. Very likely set the clinic to burn before he’d gone to John’s. That’s the pattern, she thought. Xander then John.
She’d missed it. Missed it because she’d been running around, just as he’d wanted. Because he’d had everyone scrambling to put out blazes that were as much distraction as they were points on his scoreboard.
Missed more, she realized, because she’d been grieving.
Since two. That’s what Derrick had said. They’d been on since two.
Her palms went damp. She spun, reaching for her weapon, poised to run down and out.
He stepped out of the doorway in front of her, wearing a Sirico’s T-shirt. And holding a .22.
“Time for the big surprise. You’re going to want to take that gun out slow, Reena. Drop it on the floor.”
She raised both hands. Don’t surrender your weapon, she thought. Never give up your weapon. “There are cops all around the house, Joey.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen them. Two front, two back. Got here about ten minutes after me. Had a busy night, haven’t you? You got soot on your face. You went into my house, didn’t you? I knew you would. I’ve done quite a study on you. Did you get to them before the fire did?”
“Yeah.”
He grinned hugely. “Hey, where’s your partner?”
Gleeful, that’s what he was. And she would see him in hell for it, whatever the cost. “You’ve killed a cop now, Joey. You’re done. Every cop in Baltimore will come after you. You’re not going to get out of this.”
“I think I will. But if I don’t, I’ll have finished what the hell I started. The gun, Reena.”
“You use yours, the cops’ll be in here before I drop. That’s not the way you want to finish this. That’s not the point, is it? Fire’s the point. There’s no satisfaction unless I burn.”
“And you will. Bet your partner burned good.”
The image flash backed, and she suppressed it. But it left a sparking wire in her blood.
Oh, she could feel, and she could think. And he’d misjudged her. “I know about your father, the cancer.”
Fury flamed into his face. “You don’t talk about my father. You don’t say his name.”
“Maybe you think you have it, too. That it came into you from him. But that’s a small chance, Joey. Single digits.”
“What the fuck do you know about it? It’s eating him from the inside. You can watch it eating him, smell it. I’m not going that way, and neither’s he. I’m going to take care of him before it finishes him. Fire purifies.”
Fresh horror struck her. He meant to burn his own father to death. “You can’t help him, can’t purify him if you die here.”
“Maybe not. But he taught me to look out for number one. And I think I’ll get out. You’ll burn, they’ll come running, and I’ll slip out. Like smoke.”
He stepped forward; she stepped back. “Belly shot probably won’t kill you—at least not right away. But it’ll hurt like hell. They might hear it. Little gun like this doesn’t make much of a bang, so maybe not. Either way, I’ll have just enough time. I got everything set up for you.”
He shoved her back, into the bedroom, hit the lights.
Trailers and chimneys were set over the floor, over the bed.
He grabbed her hair, yanked her down to her knees with the gun pressed to her temple. “One sound, one move, I put it in your brain, then burn what’s left of you.”
Stay alive, she ordered herself. She couldn’t shut him down if she was dead. “You’ll burn, too.”
“That happens, I can’t think of a better way to go out. I’ve been waiting to find out what it’s like since I was twelve.” He wrenched her police issue out of her holster, tossed it aside. “Too big a bang,” he told her. “You’ve wondered what it was like, too. To go into it, to let the fire take you. You’re going to find out. Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to call your old man, tell him to come on down. You want to talk to him, in private.”
Doesn’t know I just came in for clothes. Doesn’t know they’re waiting for me. “Why?”
“He burns, you burn, and that ends it. Circle closes.”
“Do you think I’d bring my father to you?”
“He killed mine. He’s got a price to pay. You got a choice. You call him, you sacrifice him, or I take them all. Your whole family.” He wrapped her hair around his fist, yanked until stars exploded in front of her eyes. “Mother, brother, sisters. All those little brats. Every single one. So you choose. Your father, or all of them.”
“All he did was defend me, the way fathers are supposed to.”
“He humiliated mine. He had him dragged off, locked in a cell.”
“Your father did that to himself the minute he lit the match inside Sirico’s.”
“He didn’t do it alone. Didn’t know that, did you?” His grin spread until his whole face was alight with it. “He took me with him that night. He showed me the fire, how to create it. He showed me what you do to people who get in your face!” He backhanded her, straddled her.
“You’re shaking.” His voice trembled with laughter now. “You’re shaking, just like you did that day. When your father gets here, I’m going to do you in front of him. I’m going to show him what a whore his precious daughter is.” He tore her shirt open, pressed the gun under her jaw.
She heard herself whimper, fought the need to struggle.
“Remember when I did that on the playground? You got tits now though.” He squeezed her breast with his hand, pursed his lips in mock approval. “Nice ones. You don’t cooperate, I’m going to do the same to your mother, to your sisters, even that Asian tramp your brother married. Then there’s that slutty little niece of yours. The young ones are the tastiest.”
“I’ll kill you.” She was cold and hard as stone inside. She hadn’t had to find her anger. It had been there, waiting, all along. “I’ll kill you first.”
“Who’s holding the gun, Reena?” He traced the barrel down her throat. “Who’s got the power?” Rammed the barrel hard under her jaw. “Who’s in fucking charge?”
“You are.” She kept her eyes on his, built her courage on that rock of anger. Do the job. “You are, Joey.”
“Goddamn right. Your father for mine, bitch. Lose him, I let the rest of them live.”
“I’ll call him.” She let the tears come, let herself shake—let him see what he expected to see. Weakness and fear. “He’d rather die than have you touch any of them.”
“Good for him.”
He shifted his weight. She counted her own breaths. Slowly sat up, keeping her teary eyes on his, hoping he saw only pleas and defeat.
With tears dripping, she lifted a hand as if to draw her ripped shirt together. She swung out with her forearm, slapping away his gun hand, punched out with her other fist toward his face. She heard the gun clatter on the floor, then saw more stars as he fell on her.
In the car, Bo drummed his fingers. What the hell was taking her so long? He rechecked her bedroom window, saw the light burning. Checked his watch—again.
She took much longer, he thought, the relief, the inactivity, the fact that it was four in the morning was going to put hi
m to sleep.
He got out, walked over to the cop on the passenger side. “I’m going to go in, okay? She must be packing a trunk instead of grabbing a clean shirt.”
“Women.”
“Whatcha gonna do?”
He fished out his keys. They were going to have to think about the houses, he thought, studying the look of them as he walked to the steps. Sell one—which? Keep both and combine them? Might be an interesting job, but they’d end up with some big-ass house.
He stifled a yawn, unlocked the door. “Hey, Reene, did you decide we should elope so you’re packing a trousseau? What exactly is a trousseau anyway?”
He’d shut the door behind him, had gotten to the base of the stairs, when he heard her shout his name.
Her nose was bleeding. She could taste blood in her mouth as she fought viciously. He’d kicked her—she thought he’d kicked her—but she couldn’t feel anything but rage and terror. She’d raked his face, gone for his eyes.
She wasn’t the only one bleeding.
But he was stronger, and he was winning.
The sound of Bo’s voice wrenched a scream from her.
“Bo! Get out. Get the cops!”
Joey dived away from her. After the gun, oh God, the gun.
Her vision was blurred, her lungs all but shut down. Tears spilled through the blood on her face as she crawled toward the doorway and her own weapon.
Feet pounded. Or was it her heart? She rolled, the weapon gripped in both hands. And saw with dull horror that he hadn’t dived for the gun.
“Don’t. For God’s sake. Can’t you smell it? You’ll go up like a torch.”
“You, too.” He held the flaming match in the air. “Let’s see what it’s like.”
He dropped the match into the pool on the floor. Fire burst, a quick roar of freedom. He flew onto the flames.
She rolled as it leaped toward her. Screamed as it snatched at her legs. Bo was dragging her away from it, smothering flames with his hands, his body.
“Linen closet, blankets.” Panting, she dragged off her smoldering pants. “Don’t touch the extinguisher, he might have rigged it. Go. Hurry!”
She crab-walked back, teeth chattering.
He was screaming now—horrible, inhuman sounds as he spun around the room. Fire embraced him.
She saw, thought she saw, and would always see, his eyes locked on hers through the flames that consumed his face.
Somehow he walked toward her. One step, then two, toward the doorway.
Then he fell, with fire rolling over him like a molten sea.
They were coming. Cops battering down the door. Sirens would be close behind. The trucks, the hoses, the heroes in turnout suits.
She braced her back against the wall and watched the burn.
“Put him out,” she murmured when Bo rushed back. “For God’s pity, put him out.”
EPILOGUE
She sat at her mother’s kitchen table, sipping chilled wine with a blanket over her shoulders. She didn’t need her brother the doctor to tell her she was shocky. She didn’t want the ER, or sedatives.
She needed to be here, to just be.
The salve An dabbed on the burns was like heaven.
“Ribs are bruised, nothing broken that I can tell.” Xander frowned at her battered face. “You need X-rays, damn it, Reena.”
“Later, Doc.”
“Second degree.” An gently bandaged her ankles. “You’re lucky.”
“I know.” She reached behind her for Bo’s hand, smiled at her father. “I know it.”
“She’s going to eat, and she’s going to rest. She’s not going to do cop work right now.” Bianca spoke straight to Younger.
“No, ma’am. We’ll deal with it in the morning,” he said to Reena.
“When we go through the layers, we’ll find the timers. I don’t think he meant to die, not until the end. He just . . . he couldn’t be humiliated. Beaten, like his father. He couldn’t face it, or the idea of a slow death. So he chose.”
“You’re going to eat. I’m going to fix eggs, and everyone’s going to eat.” Bianca yanked open the refrigerator, then just covered her face with her hands and began to sob.
Gib moved to her, but Reena patted his arm, shook her head. “Let me.”
Her breath caught on a shock of pain as she got to her feet, but she went to her mother, slid her arms around her. “Mama. It’s okay. We’re all okay.”
“My baby. My baby girl. Bella bambina.”
“Ti amo, Mama. And I’m fine. But I’m hungry.”
“Va bene. Okay.” She mopped at her cheeks with her hands, then kissed Reena’s. “Sit down. I’ll cook.”
“I’ll help you, Mama.” Bella blinked at her own tears when Bianca raised eyebrows at her. “I still remember how to make breakfast.”
Yes, this is what she needed, Reena thought. The noise, the movement, the sounds and scents of her mother’s kitchen. She ate what was put in front of her with an appetite that surprised and pleased her.
Later, she found her father and John sitting on the front steps, sipping coffee. Dawn broke over the neighborhood, a pearly haze that promised another day of drenching heat.
She was sure she’d never seen anything more beautiful.
“Been a long time since we first sat out here,” John said.
“It was beer then.”
“Will be again sometime.”
“I was having myself a sulk. I’m not sure what I’m having this morning. You told me what a lucky man I was. Beautiful wife and kids. You were right. You said what a bright one I had in Reena. You were right about that, too. I almost lost her, John. I almost lost my little girl last night.”
“You didn’t. And you’re still a lucky man.”
“Room for one more out here?” Reena stepped out. “Going to be a hot one. I used to love hot summer days when I was a kid. They lasted forever, all the way into the night. I could lie in bed and listen to them. Fran coming in from a date, old Mr. Franco out walking his dog. Johnnie Russo driving by with those glasspack mufflers. You used to give him such a hard time about that, Dad.”
She bent down, kissed the top of his head. “Mornings like this, people’ll start coming out early, before the heat hits. Walk down to the park or the market, gab over the fence in the back, or across the front steps. Head off to work. Water their flowers, catch up on the news, if they have the day off. We’re all pretty lucky, if you ask me.”
They sat for a while in silence, watching the light come into the morning, then John patted her gently on the knee. “Going to get on home, see what needs to be done.”
“I’m sorry about your house, John.”
“Sorry about yours, honey.”
“We’ve got a lot of hands to help you put it back together,” she told him. “And I know a good carpenter.”
Then he bent, kissed the top of her head. “Your partner would be proud of you. I’ll be in touch. You take care, Gib.”
“Thanks, John. For everything.”
Reena watched him drive away. “He helped make me what I am. I hope you’re okay with that.”
“Seeing what you are, I’m fine with that.” There were tears in his eyes. She could see the glimmer of them as he stared out across the row. “Your mom and I may be shaky for a day or two, but we’ll settle down.”
“I know you will.” She leaned against him a moment, just sitting on the front steps, watching the light grow. “You helped make me what I am, too,” she told him. “You and Mama. Vi amo. Molto.” She leaned just a little harder against him. “Molto.”
He slid an arm around her. Then his lips brushed her hair. “Are