Scorned

by Laura Marie Altom

  “Why? This one cost a small fortune.”

  “It’s also probably bugged.”

  “What? How?” She dropped her fork to her plate.

  “I don’t want to freak you out,” he said in a low tone despite the crowded diner’s high noise level, “but the more I think about your flaming message, the more I think we’re dealing with a disgruntled ex. Maybe even some whack-job who wants to be with you, but isn’t even on your radar? An employee from your bar or the inn.”

  She shook her head. “I can count on one hand the number of guys I’ve been with since college. None of them were serious enough to even warrant a dramatic breakup.”

  “No one takes the time to put a tracker on your car or spell out whore in flames without having feeling behind it. As for your phone, there are a shocking amount of apps available to make your every move trackable without you knowing a thing. All this sicko would need is a few minutes alone with your cell.”

  “But I always have it with me. The only times I wouldn’t might be if I leave my desk for a coffee break or am in the shower—oh.” Eyes wide, she covered her mouth with her hands, but then lowered them. “You think he was in my house at the same time as me?”

  “It’s possible. As a precaution, we should assume so. You wanted me at your council meeting this afternoon, but before then, I think we should get your new phone, then go back to your place and get to work on making it safe. Also—until we have a better handle on what we’re dealing with, I’ll be staying with you.”

  “But—”

  He held up his hand to stop her. “Not up for debate. This creep has already shown what he’s capable of, and I have a bad feeling the worst is yet to come.”

  They finished breakfast in silence. While he ate, she answered emails. The remains of her omelet went uneaten.

  The ten-mile trek to Brutal Bayou was also completed in silence.

  When Jackson pulled into open parking space in front of the hardware store, she asked, “What are we doing here?”

  “Getting a temp fix for your crappy locks. I’ll have to order commercial grade, but in the meantime, they should have a step up from yours, plus a security bar.”

  “What if the arsonist wanted to come through a window?”

  “Honestly? Outside of installing bulletproof glass, there’s nothing you can do to stop him. But I can rig window security alarms that sound if the glass breaks or window opens. Come on…” He waved for her to join him.

  “I’d rather stay in the car.”

  “You’re not leaving my side. Period.”

  “I’ll be sitting in a locked car on a busy street. What could go wrong?”

  Lips pressed tight, he looked to the car’s ceiling as if hoping to find patience. “Did you miss the memo about my rental car being blown up with at least a couple hundred people present?”

  “I look like hell. I’m the mayor. Next year, I’m up for reelection.”

  “Assuming I’m able to keep you alive.”

  “Now you’re being melodramatic. If the arsonist wanted me dead, wouldn’t he have already tried something more serious than burning down my bar or a few family outbuildings when he knew no one was in them?”

  “Miranda…” He gripped the wheel extra tight. “We both have an awful lot to do today, and I could have already finished this particular task. Please, just—”

  A bang against the rear passenger side window had Miranda clutching her chest and Jackson reaching for his gun.

  “Hey, girl! I haven’t seen you in forever!”

  Shoulders sagging in relief, Miranda sighed before lowering her window. “David. How have you been?”

  “Good, lil boss lady.” Miranda left the car to give her family friend a warm hug.

  Without her even being aware of how he got there, Jackson was suddenly beside her, holding out his hand to David. After introducing himself, he brooded.

  “We’re all real proud of you,” David said. He was a slight man, barely taller than Miranda and string bean skinny with a shock of red hair. “Who’d have thought you’d go from helping us wash cars to being mayor?”

  “Never me,” she said with a laugh. It felt good to be normal—if only for a few minutes. “Has Dad been keeping you busy?”

  He whistled. “You know he’s building that fancy new showroom. He’s got us hopping like crickets around that place. You heard Betsy and I have been dating, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, tonight’s our one-year anniversary and if I don’t get home in time to take her for a fancy dinner, she’ll tan my hide.”

  “Aw…” She pulled him into a quick, but heartfelt hug. “Next time I see Daddy, I’ll tell him to take it easy on you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. Which reminds me, if I don’t get back soon with that paint he ordered, I’ll be in a whole crab pot’s worth of hot water. Not sure who I’m more afraid of—him or my date.”

  She laughed. “You’d better get going then.”

  “Will do. Nice meeting you, Jackson. Take good care of my gal.”

  Jackson nodded and waved. Once David entered the hardware store, he said, “Tell me everything. How long have you known him? And who’s Betsy?”

  “You can’t think he’s a suspect? David’s practically family. Betsy, too. She’s my mother’s housemaid.”

  “Until we catch the guy who torched your bar and my rental car and all those other buildings, pretty much every man and woman in sight is a suspect.”

  Clamping her hand to her throbbing forehead, Miranda fought for the right words. As an elected official, she was accustomed to communicating with all sorts of constituents with opposing views, but this fundamental break with Jackson hurt more than any argument she’d yet faced. She barely knew him, yet his opinion deeply mattered. Why?

  Her mind’s-eye conveniently produced a slideshow of him calmly taking the burning tray from her home. Of him finding that tracking device and taking her to a motel where he believed she’d be safe.

  She saw herself waking with her cheek and hand pressed to his chest. His hand warm and secure on her back. The moment in a motel bed had been an accident neither could have predicted. She should have regretted it. Railed against his unprofessionalism in not having insisted on double beds. Instead? She found herself not only missing that chance intimacy but craving more.

  “Miranda? You okay?” She glanced up to find Jackson eyeing her not in the romantic way of her fantasy, but with narrow-eyed suspicion. “Is there something about this David character you didn’t tell me?”

  Mouth dry, pulse curiously racing, she shook her head. “He’s a great guy.”

  Are you? After James, she never dared hope she’d meet another man who attracted her half as much. But now that she had under the most improbable circumstances, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was having the same confusing feelings for her? Probably not. She was the only person crazy enough to confuse an arson investigation with a blind date.

  Jackson was true to his word and finished his shopping in under ten minutes. He’d loaded a basket with heavy duty deadbolts and security cameras and a much better flashlight than hers.

  Finished, they stopped off at AT&T for her new phone, then returned to her place.

  While she showered and dressed for a full afternoon at her City Hall office, Jackson changed her front and back door locks and installed security gadgets he’d grumbled about not being as hi-tech as he would have liked.

  He’d wanted to stop by her father’s car lot to talk to him about the GPS, but considering how much work she’d already missed, she insisted on doing it another time.

  “Ready?” she asked, finding him in her living room, tapping on the back wall.

  “When was this place built?”

  “I already told you—at least a hundred years ago. No telling how many times it’s been refurbished since. I had a central HVAC system installed when the rest of the inn was built.”

  “This wall—” He tapped it again. “—it soun
ds hollow. Like there’s a void behind it.”

  She shook her head. “Surely one of my crew would have noticed and said something? We could have opened it up to add square footage.” Checking her hair in the entry mirror, she asked, “Ready? If you don’t want me going alone, we need to leave. Plus, I want you at my council meeting.”

  “Sure.” Hands on his hips, he surveyed the wall a few seconds longer, then turned to her. He fished something from his pocket. A key. “Take this. For now, I’ve got the spare that came with the lock. I’ve already ordered stronger replacement models, but this is a huge improvement over what you had.”

  “Thank you. For everything.” She tried to smile, but remembering the sole reason for his being here sobered her mood.

  “No problem. Do you need to work at the bar tonight?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I’d prefer you stay here. The more I poked around, the more I think you’re right. Someone’s watching you, but I’m not sure how. It’s a gut feeling that I’d like to get to the bottom of, but I can’t do that if I’m not here.”

  “You could let me be a grown-up and work on my own.”

  He opened the door for her, gesturing her to precede him outside. “Not a—you have got to be kidding me…” Jackson froze, staring past her.

  Miranda followed his stare to her car. Despite the sunny day’s heat, a cold chill fisted in her gut, spreading like tentacles throughout her limbs.

  “This guy’s going down.” He brushed past her, storming toward the horror when fear for him wanted her to urge him away. To call police and let them handle what was escalating into an increasingly frightening and bizarre situation. He called over his shoulder, “Stay here where I can see you.”

  Dropping her purse to the porch floor, she abided by his wishes, hugging herself to ward of a fresh round of chills.

  Tears stung her eyes, but not enough to prevent her from seeing Jackson break a branch from a redbud, then use it to fling the first of five writhing snakes from her adorable VW Bug’s hood. From here, she couldn’t tell if they were poisonous, but judging by the distance Jackson was keeping, they were.

  Written across her windshield in the same sort of white window paint used at her dad’s car lot was: She who lays with serpents shall be bitten! Whore!

  6

  “WHY DID IT have to be snakes? Couldn’t he have stuck with fire?” Jackson flung the last of the writhing, hissing creatures into the tall grass beyond the small blacktop lot. Since the wedding venue was surrounded by marshes and swamp, he assumed they’d slither off from whence they’d been taken. His first instinct had been to shoot them, but he figured Miranda wouldn’t appreciate bullet holes in her car.

  “Are you okay?” she shouted from the porch.

  “Fine.”

  “Were they poisonous?”

  “Pretty sure, but I’m no expert.” He shuddered. “I’ve witnessed a lot of screwed-up things in my line of work, but this one ranks right up there.”

  “I’m so sorry. I never should have involved you in this.”

  “Hey…” He slowly approached her, cupping his hand to the side of her face. “I want to be here. I’m not going anywhere until this sicko is behind bars.” With his thumb, he brushed silent tears from her cheek. When she closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, resolve to keep her safe shot through him. “Everything’s going to be okay. Promise.”

  “How can you say that when ever since you got here, things keep going from bad to worse?”

  “Ever thought of a career in private investigations? You’re a genius.” He kissed her forehead, then released her. “Mind showing me where you keep your glass cleaner?”

  “Wait…” She shook her head. “How am I a genius?”

  “Because you’re reinforcing my initial suspicion. I’ve read your file and activity has definitely ramped up—which can only mean one thing. Our firebug and now poet is in love with you. I’m cramping his style.”

  “What?” Brows furrowed, she shook her head. “That makes no sense. I haven’t been in a committed relationship for years.”

  “Does this seem like a healthy love to you? It’s sick and twisted, which makes it all the more dangerous. It also narrows our suspect list. Let me clean your windshield, then get you to your office. As soon as your meetings are done, I need you to compile a list of any guy who’s shown the slightest bit of interest in you since these fires first started.”

  Miranda didn’t like it, but Jackson sat at a table in her mayoral office through every one of her meetings. While she tackled issues from negotiating a new contract for trash collectors and looking over proposals for a new statue to replace the jagged and charred rubble remaining from the previous WWI tribute, Jackson exchanged emails with Harding, catching him up to speed and arranging for a new car, laptop and other essentials to be delivered to Miranda’s bungalow later that night.

  It was unprofessional as hell but seeing Miranda in this power role was a turn-on. She was not only beautiful, but smart and capable and in no way deserving of the crap this monster was putting her through.

  At six, he followed her into a boardroom located down the hall from her top-floor office. The enormous wood-paneled room featured an at least a sixteen-foot oval conference table that if his woodshop class memory served him correctly was made of cypress. Tall paned windows allowed golden early evening sun to slant through. Burgundy leather chairs were occupied by a council of twelve men and women engaged in a contentious debate.

  “I understand we’re under budget restraints, Mayor, but in light of six major fires in three weeks, don’t you think we should be calling in authorities? Not some friend of a friend of your father who’s only in town to do you a”—she checked her notes—“‘solid’, I believe was the word you used?” When councilwoman Banks finished her speech by pointing at him, Jackson squirmed in his seat at the table’s far end.

  “Mrs. Banks,” Miranda said, “I assure you, Mr. Elliot and his team are uniquely qualified to handle matters of this sort in not only an efficient way, but discreetly. You of all people should recall just how much revenue this town stands to lose should our agreement with Universal Oil go sour.”

  Jackson raised his hand. “Madam Mayor? I don’t mean to butt into your official city business, but for the record, Mrs. Banks should know that not only was my rental car torched last night, but you were indirectly attacked on two separate occasions.” He gave them the abridged version of the disgusting messages the arsonist had delivered. “I can see where you’d be concerned with my lack of formal arson investigation skills, but I promise to bring considerable other talents to the table—not the least of which is tenacity. I won’t quit till I’m nailing this guy to the wall.”

  During his speech, Jackson leaned closer to the fifty-something woman who could pass in any bar for forty. He ended his call to battle with what he hoped came off as a confident smile as opposed to a dumbass leer.

  “Well…” Mrs. Banks picked up the meeting minutes and fanned herself.

  Mission accomplished.

  The three other women on the council nodded in approval.

  A dumpling of a rosy-cheeked man who’d earlier been introduced as the bank president, Mark Wells, cleared his throat. “I, for one, am glad the mayor saw fit to handle this situation with utmost discretion. That Universal contract stands to give every last citizen of this town—even surrounding areas—financial security. I can’t condone launching public panic when a fine young man like Mr. Elliott can get the job done with military pinpoint precision. Back in my day,” he leaned back in his swivel conference chair. “I was a Marine, but you Navy SEAL boys beat all. My hat’s off to you, sir.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Wells. I appreciate your service and vote of confidence.”

  “Then we’re in agreement?” Miranda asked.

  All present nodded.

  “Then let’s adjourn until next week’s regularly scheduled meeting. Y’all have a nice night.” For the first time during the tense m
eeting, she smiled. It had been an endless day and her dirty blond hair had gotten a little disheveled. A little wild. The room’s heat had her complexion flushed. A peek of cleavage at the top of her white blouse had Jackson wondering—nope. He pulled himself from the gutter, reminding himself that he was here in a professional capacity.

  He stood back, silently watching while each member either shook Miranda’s hand or hugged her. Were any of them capable of pulling off that snake stunt? Did any of the men’s gazes linger a little too long? Were their touches a little too personal? Unfortunately, no. His job would have been easier if they had.

  By the time all council members left the room, and he was seated back behind the wheel of Miranda’s car, it was after seven. Aside from protein bars scavenged from her meager pantry, they hadn’t eaten a significant meal since breakfast.

  “Should we break for dinner?” Jackson suggested.

  “No time. I’m due at the bar.”

  “What’s the point in owning a joint if you can’t set your own hours?”

  “Lovely concept,” she said while digging through her enormous purse, “but in theory, it doesn’t work.”

  “So what’s for dinner? In case you haven’t gotten my hints, I’m starving.”

  “How can you even think of food? My mind keeps replaying that snake scene.”

  “I’m over it. Besides, if you don’t have anything better, snake makes a tasty meal.” He winked.

  She blanched before taking her phone from her purse. “Feel free to order something at the bar—on the house.”

  “Who are you calling?”

  “My mother. She needs my new number.”

  “Don’t give it out to too many people. In fact, for the time being, let’s keep that list down to your parents and me.”

  “But—”

  “There’s some crazy spy gadgets out there. Bad guys can do a lot with just your number.”

  “Paranoid much?”

  “Considering what we’ve been through in the past twenty-four hours, you’re not paranoid enough.” He turned off the state highway onto the smaller road that ran along the widest part of the bayou which was where her bar had been built—or rather, rebuilt. “Tell me about when your place burned down.”