“Hey, baby girl,” Charlie said. “I held my own with these card sharks but you could’ve beaten them.”
She managed a laugh and chatted for a few minutes before disconnecting. Sinking into the sofa cushions, she pressed her fingers to her burning eyes. Her stomach roiled like the onset of a flu bug.
She’d been wrong all these years. Her father’s leaving was only partly about Gail’s death and her own treatments. There was more behind the divorce. But what to do about it now?
After a couple of ibuprofen and a glass of water, she felt better. Ready to tackle Gail’s old friends. By the time she finished, her cell-phone battery was drained and so was she.
One woman professed to know nothing about Gail and sex. Another hung up on her. But two more confirmed what the local women said. And she added two names to Gail’s figurative bedpost. At ten o’clock, she sank into a hot tub to try to soak away the crawling, nauseating sensation of probing her sister’s desperate last months.
Jake phoned twice, once from his Jeep to make sure she’d locked the doors and again for— She wasn’t sure why, maybe just to say good night.
She’d thought she was too exhausted to dream but the fire nightmare sneaked up on her in the wee hours. She sat up screaming, the image of her sister’s body as real as if the blaze were still burning. If she’d seen the killer, wouldn’t she have remembered by now? The notion he would snuff her out regardless had her wrapping herself in a blanket against the resulting chill.
*****
Afraid the nightmare would return if she fell asleep, Lani dragged herself out of bed at four. Coffee and a mad spurt of housecleaning cleared her head. Then she browsed the Internet for news. A headline leaped out at her like a neon sale ad—Suspects Cleared in Arson Fire.
The fire marshal’s office issued a statement clearing Lani Cameron and Jake Wescott in connection to Frank Tyson’s death. Jake had told her it was only a matter of time. The authorities couldn’t keep the fiction going with the press without pursuing them as actual suspects.
She’d experienced no threats the past few days, either because Jake had hovered or the arsonist actually backed off due to Tuesday’s persons of interest story. She shuddered to think what he’d do now.
At least the press would stop phoning her. So far she’d cut them off with “No comment.” She closed her eyes briefly on a sigh of relief she wouldn’t have to jump through that flaming hoop any longer. Wincing at her analogy, she read on.
No mention of other suspects. Nothing about the similarity to the old fire. Nothing about the C-4. They were keeping that information under wraps so the arsonist didn’t know the connection had been made.
Today she intended to see Ava Warren. Maybe Gail had spilled something during a waitressing shift. Instead of waiting to see Ava at the Wheelhouse—where any number of busybodies could eavesdrop—she’d try to catch her this morning at home, a single-wide in a small development up the peninsula.
Soon Lani was dressed and armed with her notebook and cell, both in her big handbag. She locked and bolted the mudroom door before heading to the back.
The attached barn had been converted into a lawn equipment storage room and one-car garage. After having a local handyman haul away rotten lumber and fire hazards like near-empty paint cans, she began parking the rental VW inside. When she crowed to Jake about her self-protective move, he pointed out the outer garage door couldn’t be locked.
She wanted to call him arrogant, but he was right. Still, the house was secure now. She closed the door with a firm push. A whisper of sound behind her had her turning to look. In the faint light of the small window, only the car and dust motes in the air were visible. Probably mice. Or a squirrel.
Jake’s warnings spooked her. And anyway, she had a weapon—a can of pepper spray. He’d be proud of her.
Take that, squirrels! Grinning, she stepped down onto the crushed-stone floor of the small garage and fumbled for the deadbolt key. Jake was paranoid, but she had to admit he had good reason.
Failing Gail—and you—isn’t the only time I’ve screwed up.
He’d hinted at something happening in that explosion several months ago, something that damaged more than his leg. He carried a heavy load of guilt, heavier than hers for not getting to Gail sooner. Her own actions bore rethinking, the more she learned. She would wheedle his guilt out of him. He was quizzing her every other minute, wasn’t he?
When he wasn’t locking lips with her. Could she keep things light or would she fall for him? Fall for him? She was already hanging on by her fingernails halfway down the precipice. When he left, she’d hit bottom. So what. She’d survived hurt before.
Wagging her head, she clicked the deadbolt home and checked her watch. A night bartender like Ava should be up by ten thirty, so she was good to go. On the way, she’d call Jake.
The crunch of stones and a crackling noise behind her froze her in place. Chills brushed the back of her neck. That was no squirrel.
Before she could get her fingers around her pepper spray, pain exploded. It vibrated inside her like a giant tuning fork. She tried to move, to escape, but her muscles wouldn’t work. She fell, hard, on her side.
“Gotcha.”
The voice seemed to come from a long distance before everything faded away.
Chapter 15
“Thanks, gentlemen.” Jake stood and set his mug on the blue-and-white checked tablecloth.
“Sorry we wasn’t much help,” Sonny said. The oldest of his granddad’s old friends, the octogenarian had the morose expression of a basset hound.
“Worth a try. But I enjoyed your stories about Grampa and my old man. They mean more than I can say. My brother will enjoy them too.”
Otis stood and shook his hand. “If we think of anythin’ else, I’ll call you. Hope you find the answers you need.”
“I appreciate that.” Jake tossed down enough cash to cover everyone’s bill and a tip.
Outside the Cuppa-’n-Suppa, he checked his watch. Ten fifteen. An hour’s chat over two cups of java and a piece of lemon-meringue pie had added zero to what he already knew.
He might as well have finished cleaning up the rest of the plaster and lath debris at Gram’s house. Next came the new walls. Piecing wallboard together in a room with more nooks and crannies than an English muffin would be cutting out and putting together a giant jigsaw puzzle. The more he considered the problem, hiring someone sounded better and better.
He should check in with Lani. She was way too blasé about safety.
No ringing. The call went directly to voice mail.
What the hell.
He could blame spotty service along the rural coast. But the connection worked when he called last night. She wouldn’t turn off her phone. His gut knotted.
He hustled across the parking lot to the Cherokee. A U-turn nearly slammed him into a pickup piled with new lobster traps. Waving an apology to the cursing driver, he whipped out onto the main road. He nudged the speed-limit envelope until the Come-Again sign outside the village blurred past him.
He tried Lani’s number again. Same deal. The knot in his gut bunched tighter. What was going on? Gunning the engine, he sped down the twisting road. When eons later the farmhouse came into view, he didn’t exhale a sigh of relief. No sign of Lani or the Beetle.
Brakes squealed and stones sprayed as he slammed to a stop in the driveway. Shoving the gear shift into first, he flipped off the engine. Ignoring the Cherokee’s protesting shudder, he flew out the door and up the porch steps.
He pounded on the door. “Lani! Are you there?”
Nothing. Silence.
He tried the doorknob. Locked. Through a crack between the door and the frame he could see the deadbolt set. He checked the front door. Buttoned up as well.
He headed around the house. If she’d left in a friend’s car, hers should be in the garage. That didn’t explain why her phone was off. Dammit to hell, she should’ve called him if she went somewhere. She’d agreed to th
e precaution. Or maybe he dreamed that. She went her own way. Too much.
As he approached the attached barn, he heard a vehicle farther down the road. Across the field he caught a glimpse of a tailgate as a truck disappeared around the turn. Must’ve come from the dirt track beyond the field. Too much like the truck that tried to deep-six Lani.
The garage had two old wooden doors that swung outward. He reached for one and stopped. The hum of a motor came from inside the building.
Lani’s face, alive with intelligence and determination filled his mind. Adrenaline surged.
Please, God, not Lani.
He focused on the possibility she needed him and wrenched the heavy door open. A cloud of exhaust fumes engulfed him. Staggered, he coughed as he waved his arms at the attacking aura. His eyes burned but he managed to widen the opening.
“Lani, where...are...you?” he choked out.
He yanked up his T-shirt and covered his mouth and nose. Pushed inside through the noxious fumes. He could barely see for his streaming eyes. Through the car window he spotted a form slumped in the driver’s seat.
His throat tightened but he swallowed. He yanked the door open. Reached in and cut the engine. Grasped her shoulder and shook her. “Lani, it’s Jake. Wake up, honey.”
She didn’t move but her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.
Alive! His heart started again. He scooped her up. Pulled her out of the car. She was slim and fit but with his gimpy leg, could he carry her?
Cold sweat misted his forehead. His breath caught as if giant pliers had clamped onto his chest. He couldn’t fail her now. She could die of asphyxiation. No option. The miasma was clearing but enough remained to make his head ache. He had to escape the fumes too.
He hoisted her up along his right side and slung her left arm around his neck. Her head lolled against his shoulder. Her sneakers scraped across the crushed stone as he trudged to the opening and fresh air.
The weakened muscle in his thigh screamed with the strain. He pushed onward to the field. Safely away from the fumes. Too damn far across the drive. He stumbled twice but caught himself, gritted his teeth, held onto her until he reached his goal. He sank to his knees and deposited her on the grass.
He opened his cell and punched in the emergency number. He inhaled a deep breath. Another. One more cleansing breath and he was able to speak when the dispatcher answered.
Then he smoothed back Lani’s disheveled hair and kissed her forehead. Battery acid burned inside. “Wake up. Talk to me. Please, honey. You have to be all right. I can’t lose you.”
No response. She lay still as a stone statue.
Not breathing.
His heart slammed up into his throat but he swallowed down the panic. She needed oxygen. Bad. CPR might not be enough but he had to try until the paramedics arrived with an oxygen mask. He held her nose with two fingers and bent his mouth to hers.
He hadn’t been to church in years but he prayed with every breath he blew into her oxygen-starved lungs.
*****
Jake downed the dregs of the worst coffee a vending machine had ever produced. The stuff even smelled bad, like road tar. He tossed the paper cup into the recycling basket. Air conditioning cooled but didn’t remove the faint medicinal and lemon cleanser smells of the ICU beyond the open archway.
He’d waited for two hours but no one would tell him zip. Not even Nora. A small facility, Bayport Hospital sent the more complex cases to one of the larger hospitals in Portland or Bangor. The fact that Bayport kept Lani for treatment comforted him. But not much.
The ICU’s hushed quiet, broken only by the hum of electronic monitors, was unnerving. He leaped to attention every time he heard a voice or a clatter. At squeaking footsteps on the tile floor, he turned to see the man he recognized as Lani’s doctor.
“Mr. Wescott, sorry you had to wait so long.” Kind-eyed and tall, Dr. Laurenz had enough gray at the temples to indicate experience. His shoes squeaked on the tile floor as he crossed the room.
Jake strode forward to meet the doctor. “Lani? Is she...?” He couldn’t go on.
Laurenz held up a hand. “She’s out of danger.”
Jake sank onto an armchair. “Thank God.” When he saw his hands were trembling, he gripped his knees. “What can you tell me?”
Laurenz tucked the clipboard he carried beneath one arm and took the adjacent chair. He loosened his tie, a blue one arrayed with Red Sox logos. “When I told Ms. Cameron you were in here wearing out the carpet, she asked me to give you the scoop.” His warm voice and genial demeanor didn’t relax Jake. He needed info.
“So she’ll be all right?”
“She’d breathed the carbon monoxide for only a few minutes. Enough to render her unconscious but not long enough to cause brain damage. I believe she has you to thank for reaching her in time. The paramedics said you performed CPR. Also key to the good condition she’s in now. We administered pure oxygen to cleanse her system. And now a drip with saline and electrolytes to correct the blood imbalances.”
Jake scooted forward on his chair. “When can I see her?”
The doctor’s smile conveyed his indulgence at Jake’s impatience. “As soon as Police Chief Galt is finished interviewing her. We’ve moved her to a room. Twenty-five.”
Jake hit the door. He tossed a thank-you over his shoulder.
He cursed the hospital’s circuitous corridors. The damn building was laid out around a central courtyard so every patient room looked out on landscaping and seasonal blooms. But that consideration for patients forced him to slow down and look for the guide arrows.
When he finally arrived at Lani’s closed door, he heard angry voices from inside the room. Correction—one angry voice.
Lani.
For the first time, he relaxed enough to smile. If she felt well enough to ream the police chief a new one, he wasn’t worried about her recovery. Galt had already questioned him, so he knew what set her off. And the chief must be damned sorry.
A moment later, the door was jerked open and Galt emerged, looking dazed.
“Sliced you off at the knees with her tongue, did she?”
“I’d wait a few minutes before going in there if I was you.” Galt tucked his notebook in his uniform back pocket. Settling his cap, he hustled off.
Braced, Jake knocked and pushed open the door.
Lani sat up, propped with pillows, a fluid drip in her left arm. Her near brush with death showed in the pallor beneath her tan.
“Jake. You’re here.”
The relief and welcome in her voice doused the fire his gut. “Hey.”
“That Clouseau of Dragon Harbor suggested I did this to myself! Like I tried to off myself with the pepper spray first and turned on the engine when that didn’t work.” She jabbed an accusing finger at the doorway. “Get a damn clue!”
Her fury at Galt had her sputtering, but anguish dimmed her eyes. He couldn’t let her wear herself down. Her desperation was worse than tears. Nothing he could say would help. Only something he could do.
He sat on the edge of the bed. Muttering soothing sounds at her continued rant, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. Beneath the hospital smells, he took in the familiar fragrance of her hair. He stroked the dark silk and held her, ignoring her squawks of objection. She made attempts at freeing herself, tough with a needle in one arm.
“Easy, Lani. You’re safe. I have you.” As he said the words, their double meaning stabbed him deep. No, they were just words. Words meant to soothe and calm.
Her right arm went around his waist until she clutched at him, knotting her fingers in the cotton of his polo and pressing her face to his neck. At first a couple of sucked-in breaths made him think she was crying but she just held on.
Lani let Jake’s embrace leach the fear and frustration from her. Venting unwieldy emotions with sarcasm didn’t always make her feel better. Maybe because she’d had no one to hold her. He knew the right prescription when she didn’t.<
br />
She took a deep breath. Okay, now she felt more together. She eased out of his arms and lay back on the pillows. His strong features were lined with concern. She shouldn’t let herself lean on him so much. No matter how wanted and safe he made her feel. She wasn’t Gail. She wasn’t the girl he’d loved then and he didn’t love her now.
“So Galt asked if you tried to commit suicide?” he asked.
She felt her eyebrows shoot upward. “Not you too?”
He held up a hand in defense, his blue eyes alight with humor. “Not for a nanosecond. Galt asked me the same thing. You’re reckless. But suicidal? No way.”
“What then?”
“My take is the killer—the arsonist or his hire—set this up to look like suicide.”
“I told Galt I tried to use pepper spray but he said the cops didn’t find the can.”
“The dirtbag is careful. His attacks could all be considered accidental or self-inflicted by someone who didn’t know the truth.”
“Careful and clever. Direct attacks but none that appears direct.” She shuddered.
“But it means out in the open and in public you should be safe enough.” He hiked up his right leg and made himself comfortable on the edge of the bed. Sunlight through the window flecked gold in his brown hair. “Pepper spray. How long you been carrying that?”
“Not long.” No point in telling him she’d bought it the day before in Bayport. “For all the good my attempt at self-protection did.”
“Doc said nothing about concussion. The guy didn’t knock you out?”
“He knocked me out, all right, but not over the head.” She described the attack, from entering the garage until she passed out.
“A stun gun, a powerful one, to put you out like that. Must’ve hurt like hell. Through your clothes so it didn’t leave a mark. And he collected the barbs. Did you tell all this to Galt?”
“Yes, but he didn’t comment. Close-mouthed lawman, I guess.”
“So then he gathered up your bag and put it in the car with you,” he went on, frowning. “He made one mistake though.”
Once Burned (Task Force Eagle) Page 13