by Julie Miller
“Well, that was cathartic,” she teased, buttoning up her blouse. She’d missed a hole and was buttoning it crooked, reminding him just how sweet and sexy and desirable she was. When he pointed it out, her face turned an endearing shade of pink and she started again. “I don’t think I’ve ever been that...spontaneous.”
“You?” Not that Mark was having an easy time getting his shorts straightened inside his jeans again. “I figured you were the adventurous type.”
“I’ve only been with one other man, and that didn’t turn out the way I—”
He pressed a finger over her kiss-stung lips and tried to make that memory recede. “I’m sorry. Forget about him. I’m sorry he hurt you. But I’m glad he’s gone so you can be here with me now.”
“Me, too.” She reached across the seat and feathered her fingers through his hair, trying to make him look presentable, too. “With Preston, the emotion wasn’t there. I realize that now. It’s a lot more intense when I believe the guy wants me, and just me.”
“Believe it.” He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers before releasing her to fasten his seat belt and start the engine. “You’d better tone down the blush on your cheeks so our grandmothers don’t guess what we’ve been doing.”
“I’ll stop blushing if you will.”
No doubt. Even though his emotions had been tempered and his desire temporarily quenched, he was still hot for this woman. “I am in love with you, Amy Hall.”
She settled back in her seat and buckled up. “Now, that scares me.”
“It shouldn’t. You’re the bravest woman I know. I would never pressure you to jump into something you’re not ready for. And I would never hurt you the way your professor did.”
“I know that. What scares me is that I think I’m in love with you, too.”
Mark reached across the seat to take her hand, holding on tight to his future.
Now, if they could track down an arsonist turned serial killer, he and Amy might just have a chance to make that future happen.
Chapter Thirteen
After his conversation with Amy, it was surprisingly easy to sit down at the kitchen table with Martha Taylor and apologize for distancing himself from his grandmother. Her bony, arthritic hand, marked by age spots and years of hard work, never left his as she gently clasped his fingers across the table.
Mark was beginning to understand Amy’s fascination with hands. They said so much about a person. Strength, gentleness. A link of family and trust. Shared history and new feelings. A loving touch versus a hurtful one. He had an affinity for certain hands, too. Like the freckled hand that eased his pain and stoked his desire. Like the one holding his now.
“It’s my job to save people. I didn’t save him.”
“You didn’t let your grandfather die,” Martha insisted. “He didn’t think that and neither do I.”
Mark shook his head, wishing he could make things right. “I was running around while he was making like the Hulk, pulling equipment out of the truck and taking care of that baby. I was so busy taking care of everybody else and putting out that fire that I wasn’t paying any attention to his distress. I took him for granted, Grandma.”
She turned her blue eyes to the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window for a moment before she sighed and faced him again. “You mean, you took it for granted that my Sid was always going to be there for you?”
“Don’t get into semantics about generations and life spans. I should have saved him. I should have been there for him when he needed me most. And I wasn’t.”
He could never argue that his grandmother wasn’t a wise, intuitive woman. “So, you’ve been avoiding me because you feel guilty? I thought maybe you were afraid that I was going to leave you, too. That you were mad at us for being old and no longer the vibrant, fun-loving grands you could do no wrong with.”
“Mad?” Mark was stunned that she’d even considered him feeling that way. “I love you. Come on. I’m your baby boy. You know that.”
“I do.” The teakettle on the stove whistled, and he waited patiently while she got up and poured the water into a teapot and carried it and a tray of cups back to the table. “Your grandfather had a serious heart event fifteen years ago. I nearly lost him then. Sid and I both knew that he was living on borrowed time—and he was determined to make the most of that precious gift of a second life. He wanted to live and love and laugh and see his grandsons grow into fine young men.” Standing beside Mark, she cupped his cheek. The tears in her eyes would have gutted him until he realized she was smiling. “I am grateful beyond measure to know that he had you with him when he died. That he wasn’t alone. That he left this world doing something important, saving lives. That he had the grandson he loved so well and was so proud of with him at the end. It helps me know that he died a happy man.” Mark hadn’t thought he had any tears left in him, but when they spilled over, his grandmother wiped them away and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for being with him, Mark. Thank you for that precious gift.”
“Ah, Grandma.” Mark pushed to his feet and wrapped her up in his arms.
She hugged him back. “That’s what I needed. A big bear hug from my favorite grandson.”
“Favorite? You say that to all of us.”
Her frail arms tightened around him for a precious moment before she relaxed against him. “I do. Take it or leave it,” she teased.
“I’ll take it.” They laughed together. “I miss him, Grandma. I miss him so much.”
“I miss him, too.” After a few moments, she pulled away, brushing a few last tears from her cheeks. “But do you know how angry he’d be if he thought you were throwing your life away? Taking unnecessary risks? Refusing to live and love and laugh the way he wanted you to?” A stern matriarchal finger poked the middle of his chest. “Do you know how hurt I’ll be if I lose you, too?”
She curled a finger, urging him to follow her over to the cabinets. “I don’t remember my birth parents. But I do remember being lost, and a little scared of the world until Mom and Dad adopted Matt and me—Alex and Pike, too. When I found out you and Grandpa were part of the deal, I was on cloud nine. Being the youngest of four brothers, though, I got lost in the shuffle sometimes. But Grandpa—and you—always had time for me.”
She opened the cabinet and set four plates in his hands. “Those are the memories you need to cherish, Mark. It’s okay to be sad. But don’t waste time with regrets.”
“That’s about what Amy said.”
“Sounds like a smart girl.” She handed him silverware and napkins and ushered him back to the table. Somehow, Martha Taylor was one step ahead of him. “Now, where is that young woman of yours? If she’s half as fun as Comfort is, I need to get to know her.”
“She’s a little different, Grandma.”
“Good. That means she’s interesting.” After the table was set, she nudged him toward the back door, where he’d left Amy and her grandmother inspecting the contents of Martha’s late summer garden. “Go. Invite her in. You and the Hall women are all having lunch with me today.”
“I’d like that.” Mark grinned and kissed the top of her head. “I love you, Grandma.”
“I love you, too. Oh, and, Mark?” She stopped him with his hand on the doorknob and touched her fingers to her white hair. “Maybe you and Amy should comb your hair after you...enjoy each other’s company.”
“Grandma!”
Hell. Nothing got past that woman.
She chuckled. “I think your grandfather would have liked her, too.”
Mark knew he was blushing when he stepped outside.
* * *
ONCE THEY TURNED off the highway and slowed their speed to drive through the hills toward Copper Lake, Amy cracked open the window of Mark’s truck and breathed in the hazy air. It smelled of dried grass, pungent earth and asphalt, but there was something abou
t the chill of the truck’s air-conditioning, or maybe it was the idea of returning home to where innocent women died and creeps spied on her that left her shivering.
“You doing okay?” Mark asked, slowing as they drove through the Copper Lake subdivision and construction zone.
Amy’s gaze zeroed in on Dale O’Brien’s office trailer and the familiar company truck parked out front. Brad Frick’s car was there, too, making her wonder what connection the men shared—why they’d all been in that burned house this morning, why they’d been so anxious to get her out of there. Were they just three slimy, opportunistic morons? Or did they share a more sinister connection?
Brad leaned against the car, flicking away a cigarette as they drove past. Amy curled her fingers through Mark’s when she felt his touch on the back of her hand. “So much has changed today.”
“Some of it for the good, I hope.”
She nodded and faced the much more pleasurable scenery of Mark’s angular face. “Of course. I don’t regret what happened between us. I’m just not sure if I’m ready for what happens next. We haven’t even been on a real date yet.”
He turned north to circle the lake. “What happens next is we pack a bag for Comfort. I might not be able to convince you to leave, but at least she’ll be safe, spending a few nights with my grandmother. Then I’ll grab my bag and bunk on your couch until this guy is caught. That date will happen. I promise.”
“Is he going to go into hiding or leave town if you’re here with me?”
“I’m not setting you up as bait to draw this guy out.”
“I don’t know if I can handle another murder,” she confessed. “I’m not even sure I can handle another fire. O’Brien has to be behind it somehow.”
Mark released her to turn into the gravel driveway and pulled up beside his brother Matt’s truck. “The detectives are already on his case and have subpoenaed him to turn over that strongbox you found this morning.”
“It’s probably long gone. At the bottom of the lake or buried somewhere else.”
“Then they’ll arrest him for obstruction of justice.” He set the brake and shut off the engine. “Either way, he won’t be getting close to you again. Not while I’m around.”
Yeah, but would Mark always be around to rescue her? He had to go to work sometime. He’d have family events to attend. And was what they were feeling really love? Or love for now because she’d helped him past an emotional hurdle, her situation fed his Captain Good Guy genes and the chemistry between them was undeniably hot?
Amy nodded, wishing she could see things in black-and-white as clearly as Mark apparently did. She knew just how complicated relationships could get. And while she truly believed he would never physically hurt her, would Mark tire of the drama she brought to his life?
“You are not the introspective type,” Mark said, waiting to open his door until she gave him an answer he liked. “So, get out of your head and start talking to me.”
“I’m just tired.” It wasn’t a lie. She’d been through a physical and emotional wringer today. “I’m tired of having to keep fighting. I’m already tired of the fight that I know is ahead of us.” She pointed to the big man getting out of his truck and circling around to greet them. “Let’s see what Matt has to say.”
“Amy.” Mark captured her hand before she got out the door. “Like I said before, you’re strong. You’re my grandmother kind of strong.”
She smiled. “That’s a nice compliment, Fire Man.”
But she wasn’t sure she believed it.
Without so much as a hello, Matt Taylor stuck his fingers into the back pockets of his jeans and launched into a concise report. “Nobody’s been in or out that front door since I got here. Your neighbor left after four o’clock. Only people I’ve seen have been the workmen across the lake. There was another car out here. Driver had long blond hair. He drove off in a rush as soon as I got out of my truck to talk to him.”
“Derek Roland.” Amy shoved her fingers through her hair and rubbed the tension gathering at the base of her skull. “Maybe he came to apologize.”
Mark slipped his hand beneath her braid to take over the quick massage. “Or to find out what the police said about him stealing your friend’s laptop.”
That was a more likely scenario. And certainly, someone built like Matt Taylor with his spooky impassive glare would be more than enough of a threat to send a man like Derek scurrying back to whatever hole he’d crawled out of. “I’d better get Gran’s suitcase out.” She squeezed Matt’s sturdy forearm as she moved past him. “Thank you for keeping an eye on things.”
The glare softened with the hint of a smile. Matt tipped his head toward Mark. “You keep an eye on this one.”
The change in Matt’s expression felt like a hard-won seal of approval.
Amy smiled. “I will.”
As Amy headed up the porch steps and unlocked the front door, she overheard Matt’s words to his brother. “I hear you squared things with Grandma.”
“We talked.”
“Good man.”
Apparently, that was another form of approval from Matt. And a goodbye. But Amy’s attention had already shifted with concern as the two brothers shook hands and Matt climbed into his truck and drove away.
Amy was waiting inside the foyer when she heard Mark jogging up the steps behind her. Her eyes had started watering as soon as she’d stepped inside. She frowned at the haze hanging in the air. Something acrid stung her eyes and nose. “Brad and Richie must have left one of the stain cans open.”
When she ducked beneath the scaffolding to check the sawhorses where they stored their tools and refinishing supplies, Mark grabbed her arm and jerked her back behind him. “That’s not an open can of paint.” A muscle ticked along his jaw as he tilted his nose into the air and sniffed. “Something’s burning.”
“What?” The tension she felt in his grip radiated through her. She looked up the stairs and around the foyer, searching for flames and smoke. “Are you sure?”
When she looked back at Mark, his eyes were focused on the landing above them. “Up there. Could be electrical. Could be some kind of delayed ignition. And we just fed it an influx of oxygen when we opened that front door. It’s probably been smoldering since early this morning, before Matt got here. He never came inside, so he never noticed it.” He crossed to the bottom of the stairs, pulling her with him. The haze at the top of the stairs was thicker, a swirling mist of grays that grew darker toward the ceiling. “Smoke will fill the upper levels first. It’s had all day to work its way down to the first floor. What’s up there?”
“Bedrooms. A guest bathroom.”
“Is there an attic?”
Amy nodded. “You access it through the closet in my bedroom. On the far right.”
Mark pulled her into a quick jog beside him as he ran back outside. “Come on. I’ve got a fire extinguisher in my truck.”
He vaulted into the bed of his truck and unlocked the metal storage unit there. “Call 9-1-1. Tell them there’s a second-story or attic fire. I won’t know for sure until I find the source.” Fire extinguisher in hand, he jumped down to the gravel and reached around her to open the driver’s-side door. “Get in.”
“You’re not going back in there.”
Just like he had this morning, he lifted her onto the seat. “Firefighter, Red. If I can put it out or contain it, I will. If not, help will already be on the way.”
He pushed the door lock and closed it. Amy didn’t waste any time playing the damsel in distress. The moment he turned his back, she shoved the door open again. “Shouldn’t you wait for backup? Bad things happen in fires around here. At least let me come with you.”
Three strides brought him back to the open truck door. “I can’t be worrying about you and the fire. I’m not the one someone’s been spying on. Stay safe. Lock yourself in.” He pushed his
phone into her hand. “Find my brother Matt’s number and call him back here. He can be here faster than Firehouse 13.” Amy nodded, already pulling out her own phone to dial 9-1-1. Before she could place either call, he reached through the open door, palmed the back of her head and pulled her to him for a quick, hard kiss. “I love you. Lock the doors. Call.”
Then he was running back into the house. Amy remembered him bursting through the flames with Lissette Peterson in his arms. He’d been in full turnout gear that night. Jeans, a T-shirt and fire extinguisher were hardly enough protective equipment if he came across another woman he had to rescue.
Swallowing her fears and saying a prayer for his safety, Amy scrolled through his phone and found Matt’s number. He picked up on the second ring. “Miss me, baby bro?”
“Matt? Amy Hall here. There’s a fire somewhere upstairs in the house. Mark said to call you for backup. He’s already inside. I don’t want him in there alone.”
She heard tires screeching on the pavement. Matt’s reply was as reassuring as it was brief. “On my way.”
Amy didn’t take her eyes off the house as she dialed 9-1-1 and reported the fire to the dispatcher. The early evening sun reflected like inlaid gold off the top-floor windows as she visually imagined Mark charging up the stairs and searching through every room and the attic until he located the source of the fire he’d detected.
She’d just tilted her gaze to the open ventilation slats in the attic just below the peak of the roofline when one of those gold windows shattered and rained shards of glass down on the porch roof and ground below. “Oh, my God.” The flames she’d been searching for earlier shot out through the broken window, like billowing arms reaching out for the oxygen it craved. She knew Mark was fit and fast, but he hadn’t flown up the stairs and couldn’t have reached her bedroom that quickly. “Mark?”
“Ma’am?”
“I see flames now,” she reported to the dispatcher. “Second-story front window. Mark Taylor is inside. He’s an off-duty firefighter. Send help. Send lots of help.”