An Inner Fire

by Jacki Delecki

  * * *

  Grayce nearly bolted from the cramped corner and the pressure of trying to explain herself to Davis. Once outside, she filled her lungs with the damp autumn air. She had tried to tell him. Instead, they now walked side-by-side, hips and hands brushing in the most tantalizing way.

  “Grayce you’re getting that worried look.” He took her hand, enfolding it in his. The hard edges of his face were softened in the shadows of the street lights and the gray mist.

  She had allowed him to misunderstand. He thought she was concerned about their relationship. He was right—she was attracted to him, but not because he exuded male pheromones that had women buzzing around him like yellow jackets at a barbeque. But because the big macho man wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about worrying and caring for his French poodle. He was more than a gorgeous man.

  He kept her hand tucked into his. Heat radiated up her arm. She listened to his slow breaths, the sound of leaves rustling when they walked, and the sound of water dripping off sodden branches. A water drop landed on her upper lip. She flicked her tongue to catch it.

  She heard Davis’ breath quicken. His eyes brightened and focused on her. “Grayce.” His voice was urgent, breathless as if in pain.

  He pulled at her hand, bringing her closer, closer until they were pressed together. He lowered his head and caressed her lips. His urgency vanished. He outlined her lips with the tip of his tongue, slowly exploring.

  He kissed her eyelids, her forehead, her cheeks. He nibbled on her earlobe. Playing, enticing, tempting. His gentleness overwhelmed all her senses, so hypnotizing and exciting. The tingling in her frazzled nerves rushed to her fingertips and the back of her knees.

  Her need to tell him about the danger and her abilities faded away. Davis returned to her lips. He lingered, rubbing his warm lips against hers. He tasted of wine and wonder. Her body softened around the heat from his body.

  She put her arms around his neck, wanting to pull him closer, to feel him against her. She hadn’t realized he held her hand. The pull of her hand stopped Davis.

  He blew out a breath. His warm breath moved across her face. “I didn’t mean to start.” He rubbed his nose against hers. His voice was rough. “I can’t resist you.”

  This night couldn’t get more confusing, confounding and lovely.

  “God, this is embarrassing. I know that sounds like a pick-up line.”

  She pulled on his hand. “It’s okay, Davis.”

  But now that he had brought it up, she couldn’t help but wonder how many other women had heard him say those exact words. She’d rather not think about all those other women.

  “Grayce, don’t look at me like that. I’ve never been here before.”

  Her pulse beat a little faster. “Everything is getting muddled.”

  She started to walk. Davis followed.

  “Wait.”

  Where was her knowing when she needed it? She knew about out-of-body sensations, but nothing prepared her for the in-body sensations Davis provoked.

  “I just wanted to talk and somehow everything got twisted into…” Her face flushed when she remembered her enthusiastic response to Davis.

  “Grayce, I’m sorry. I really meant what I said in the restaurant. Let’s just take it slow. No pressure.”

  “It’s not that…. It’s just.”

  How could she explain? She really liked Davis, but her job was to warn him about the danger, not start dating him. She started walking again.

  “Is there someone else?”

  She stopped, hearing how vulnerable Davis sounded. She couldn’t imagine this man feeling unsure about any woman. “No, there isn’t anyone.”

  “So we’re both free.” His wide grin was contagious.

  She couldn’t resist. She smiled back. “But you’re my client. I’ve never dated a client.”

  “I would hope not since your clients are four legged. Besides, I’m not your client, Mitzi is. And I know she won’t mind at all.”

  “I’m a witness in your investigation. Isn’t that a problem for you?”

  “The wharf fire is a small job. And it isn’t like you really saw anything. No conflict for me.”

  He made it sound so simple.

  “On Saturday night, I’d like to take you to my favorite Italian restaurant. Are you up for it, Grayce?”

  She hesitated.

  “Come on, Graycie. You’ll like it.”

  No one but her dad had ever called her Graycie.

  “Okay.”

  “It’s in Pioneer Square. The department loves to get their fix of carbs there. You do eat carbs?”

  “I eat everything. I lived in China.”

  “China? You didn’t eat dog did you? On second thought, you’d better not answer that.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Grayce waited for Hollie to plop into the chair. “I’ve decided to speak with the homeless men in Belltown.” Last night she had remembered that Davis’ attacker had smelled like pine and musk. Meth addicts didn’t smell like the men’s department in Nordstrom.

  “You’re going to give a talk at the mission?”

  “What? No. I’m going to try to find out about the man who tried to stab Davis. Davis believes the man was a drug addict with paranoid delusions.”

  Davis would never accept her inner convictions about the man’s malevolent intentions. His clear disbelief in anything existing beyond his logical world was reinforced last night by his jokes about his aunt’s Tarot card readings. In the middle of the night, she had devised a plan to gather enough evidence to convince the hardheaded fire investigator that she was right.

  Hollie snorted, flaring the silver crossbones in her nose, today’s fashion accessory, which complimented the black Goth look. “You wanna prove Davis wrong?”

  “No, I just want to give Davis something more to go on about the guy.” She didn’t mention her forebodings that the guy was a hired killer.

  Hollie snorted again. “Like I said, you want to prove macho Davis is wrong?”

  “I’d like to prove Davis wrong, but only because I think he’s in danger.”

  “But, isn’t the guy in jail?”

  “No, the police took him to Harborview’s ER, and he escaped.”

  Hollie stared, her almond-shaped eyes growing round. “A guy tries to stab Davis, runs from Harborview, and you…you’re gonna go looking for him?”

  “I’m not looking for him.” Grayce shuddered at the memory of him thrusting the knife towards Davis’ chest. Her heart fluctuated in wild rhythm. “I’m going to ask about the man. I need information to prove he’s not a drug addict.”

  Hollie raised one blackened eyebrow, the pierced silver skull lifting.

  “I want to ask a few questions about the guy.”

  “No one will talk. They might pretend they’re talking, but it’ll all be bullshit. They’ll say anything they think you’ll believe.”

  “I was going to offer money.”

  “Are you nuts? You can’t go down there and wave money around.”

  “It’s one idea.”

  “I’ll do it. I’ll go down while you’re in LA.”

  “You’re not going down there.”

  “I know the streets. You don’t.”

  “I’m not as wimpy as you think.”

  Hollie rolled her eyes. Grayce watched the silver skull nod.

  “I don’t want you involved.”

  “I’m involved.”

  Grayce resisted the urge to roll her eyes back at the young woman.

  “What if we prove he’s not a drug addict? Davis is one big dude; he can take care of his business.”

  Grayce stood up. “You’re not going to do anything.”

  “I need to be there to cover your back.” Hollie leapt out of her chair and stood in front of Grayce. “We can go together. I’ll be your front woman.” Hollie’s animated face had lost the toughness she painted around her eyes and lips with the hard black lines. The excitement in her voice and eyes clash
ed with her death statement of cross bones and skulls.

  “I don’t know….”

  “I know the streets. And I can tell who’s lying. They won’t try any shit…they won’t give you a hard time if I’m with you.”

  “Well.” Grayce was wavering. “Why not?”

  “I’m going with you!” Hollie’s low pitched voice went up an octave. “We should go at night. That’s when it goes down. It better not rain. No one will talk.”

  Hollie slowly inspected Grayce. “You’re gonna need to do something about how you look. No offense, but you’ll stand out. You…look so…”

  This from the woman who had multiple piercings, multiple tattoos, and wore thigh high boots year-round.

  “I look like everyone else in this town.”

  “Yeah, everyone who’s got money.”

  “You’re right. Seattle’s rain-gear is expensive.” She could find something to wear in her parent’s closet. “Promise me you won’t go down there while I’m in LA?”

  Hollie raised one of her tattooed arms. “Scout’s honor.” Not the image Scout Masters of America were aiming for. “We could go this week, Thursday. We’ll bring ’em cigarettes.”

  “That’s brilliant. I guess I do need you.” Grayce was joking but the radiant glow in the young woman’s eyes stopped her. “Any giant Rottweilers today? Maybe we should be taking a Rottweiler with us to Belltown?” The vision of Mitzi accompanying them flashed across Grayce’s brain.

  “They’ll think you’re a drug dealer.”

  Both women laughed.

  “You’ve got a lot of phone calls and one twelve-pound dachshund who nips. The owner said she would be bringing Ganesh in a muzzle. She’s hoping acupuncture will help his attitude.”

  Grayce stared at Hollie’s painted black fingernails when she handed Grayce the dachshund’s chart. Her nails matched her black lips. Last night, the idea of approaching the homeless in Belltown seemed rational. In the light of day, maybe not—rather like dating a man who had a hired assassin trying to kill him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Grayce stood with Davis and Mitzi on the front porch of his Aunt Aideen’s house.

  “I can’t believe you’re nervous. Everyone loves you and so will my aunt.” He squeezed her hand.

  “I’m not nervous. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea about us.” Grayce held a bouquet of sunflowers, the last of the season, flowers that magically turned toward the sun each day.

  “You have nothing to worry about. I told her we’ve only gone on one official date. But when she discovered you’re Mitzi’s acupuncturist, she wanted to meet you. You don’t know my aunt. Once she gets an idea, there is no convincing her otherwise.”

  Aunt Aideen opened the door wearing a caftan of jewel tones in bright blues and purples and a necklace with oversized exotic purple stones. A large boned woman, she was almost as big as Davis and looked like she could bench press Grayce. Her big frame spilled over the door jam.

  Davis hugged his aunt, wrapping his thick arms around her. “Welcome home Aunt Aideen. How was your trip? I hope India wasn’t too hot.”

  Aunt Aideen had the same bright blue eyes as Davis, but her black hair was peppered with silver streaks.

  Squeezed to Aunt Aideen’s bosom, Grayce got a whiff of orange and hibiscus, warm and sunny.

  “Come in, come in. Hello Mitzi, how are you?” Mitzi sat primly in front of Aunt Aideen. No jumping on this woman.

  “I’m just finishing the dinner. Come into the kitchen.” The kitchen was a large rectangle with Italian tiled floors and windows looking out on an expansive garden. Plants and herbs overcrowded a bay window and hung over the window sills.

  “It smells heavenly.” Grayce took a deep whiff of tomato and basil.

  “I’ve decided to make my famous Scottish dinner.” Aunt Aideen’s lips were pressed together as if she were suppressing laughter.

  Grayce had been warned to expect the possibility of a Scottish dinner.

  Davis waggled his eyebrows. He had also warned her that Aunt Aideen was a lousy cook, and they would go out to eat once they visited with his aunt.

  Aunt Aideen stopped, tying her apron around her waist. “Grayce, I can’t believe Ewan hasn’t already warned you that I’m an abysmal cook.”

  “You know?” Davis’ voice was incredulous. His mouth hung open, his eyes wide.

  Davis’ question made Aunt Aideen laugh. She bent over at the waist, holding her side. Mitzi, not wanting to miss out on the excitement, pawed Aunt Aideen’s shoe.

  Aunt Aideen rubbed the poodle’s ears. “Mitzi, they think I’ve gone dotty. I’ve always known I was a terrible cook.”

  “But you made Scottish dinners.” Davis drawled out the words as if the memory was torture.

  “Well, not that many. They stuck in your memory…and probably other places too.” Aunt Aideen chuckled at her witticism. “Grayce, you can watch me cook the cod’s head.”

  “Cod’s head?” Davis’ lips paled with the question.

  “Ewan, why don’t you take Mitzi outside and give us ladies some time alone.”

  “But Aunt Aideen…”

  “Go ahead, Laddie. I don’t bite and Grayce looks like she can handle a few questions.”

  “Questions?” The notch between Davis’ brows came together in a deep groove. “Aunt Aideen, you promised no questions, remember?”

  “Run along, Ewan. Mitzi is ready to go outside. Aren’t you lass?”

  With the high pitch of Aunt Aideen’s voice, Mitzi started to yelp.

  Davis paused as if he was ready to say something, but instead shook his head.

  “Why don’t you come back in fifteen minutes? Everything is almost ready and I know how hungry you get.”

  Davis stood at the door, hesitating.

  “Ewan, how will you be back here in fifteen minutes if you don’t leave?”

  “Let’s go Mitzi. We’re being kicked out,” he said.

  Aunt Aideen waited until Davis left and then turned to Grayce. “I thought I’d never get him to leave. Come along to the living room, Grayce, I’ve opened a bottle of champagne to celebrate.”

  “But what about the cod’s head?” Grayce had spent six months in China and had been exposed to the various eating practices of Asia. She had never acquired a taste for fish head or eyeballs, which the Chinese considered a delicacy.

  “We’re not having a Scottish dinner. The food is atrocious. Have you never wondered why there aren’t any Scottish restaurants?”

  The laughter bubbled up and burst out of Grayce.

  “I’ve got a little Italian restaurant down the street. I call Marcello and he prepares what I want. We’re having Marcello’s fabulous lasagna. I didn’t know if you ate meat so I ordered his vegetarian.”

  Aunt Aideen took out two flutes and poured Champagne into each. “Please sit down.”

  Grayce sat on a deep maroon couch in the enormous living room, filled with books, plants and art, a room of scattered, relaxed comfort. Her feet sank into the thick rug which had the same rich reds of the couch.

  An end table was covered in pictures of children. Prominent in a heavy silver frame was a picture of Davis and his sisters with a black lab. Grayce picked up the picture. Davis, a young boy, looked back at her with the serious smile that she was getting to know well. Already tall, he stood with his arms around his sisters.

  “Fine-looking children. They have the Davis family size, dark hair and blue eyes, but it’s their mother’s inner beauty that made them wonderful human beings. My sister-in-law was warm and generous and everything my brother needed to help him get past our repressive Scottish upbringing.”

  Grayce held the picture of the children, feeling their tragic loss, their secure world obliterated. She was fifteen when Cassie died. She couldn’t imagine how young children experienced the loss of their mother. “How old was Davis when his mom died?”

  “Ten. It was hard on him. He was very close to his mother and old enough to understand wha
t was happening.”

  Grayce stared at Davis’ picture. Her chest tightened, deep pain pressing on her chest for the sweet little boy who had suffered. “It must have been terrible for all of them.”

  “My brother tried to do the best he could, but he was grieving, too.”

  Grayce couldn’t imagine Aunt Aideen’s burden of helping the children and her brother adjust to the devastating loss.

  “Davis inherited my brother’s sense of responsibility and the tendency to be a bit controlling, especially when their feelings threaten them. I had years of practice loosening up my two older brothers, so it wasn’t too hard to get the household to lighten up.”

  Grayce could only nod. The ache sat in her throat, not moving.

  “I’ve had this joke going for years about my Scottish cooking. Ewan warned you, didn’t he? I hate to give up my secret, but I’ll swear Ewan to secrecy from his sisters.”

  Aunt Aideen took a big gulp of the champagne. “Just imagine arriving and finding a well-organized but cold household. I’m not criticizing my brother. But he went right back to work, shutting out all his feelings. I had planned to stay for a few months but ended up living with them for twelve years.” She sighed, her eyes gazing at the picture of the children.

  “You did an amazing job.”

  “They carry a few scars, but I tried my best to help them.’

  She leaned toward Grayce. “You’re a lot like Davis’ mother. She had the same gentleness about her. You’re good for him. I already see it. He seems younger, ready to laugh.”

  Grayce felt the heat moving into her cheeks. “We’ve just met…”

  Both women heard the back door open and Mitzi’s clicking toenails on the tiled floor.

  “Where are the chefs? I’m starving,” Davis yelled from the kitchen.

  “Ewan, we’re just having a little champagne.”

  Davis and Mitzi came into the living room. “I left for a few minutes, and you two have already given up the cooking?”

  “There is Auchentoshan on the sideboard, ‘a good Scottish Whiskey; everything else is dish water’—as your dad liked to say.” Aunt Aideen looked out the window lost in a happy memory.