The man I loved.
Her words rang through his head just as the feel of her body against his and the taste of her on his lips thrummed through his body. It would be a long, painful journey, one he might not survive if she couldn’t forgive him, but what if she could?
She was definitely worth the effort.
* * * * *
The fire had surprised him.
Not the size or scope of it. He’d been prepared for how fast it spread, especially after he doused it in kerosene. The internet was full of pictures of wild fires. No, it was the rush of pleasure he’d gotten when the blue fire danced across the top of the field after the timer went off, then the shock of the red flames that shot up into the dark sky.
It was almost orgasmic.
And the heat. God, the heat had licked at his skin, even from his hiding spot in the creek bed.
A chortle escaped him.
Those damn Amish farmers had almost stumbled into him as they’d raced to set up their stupid water bucket brigade. Who knew they’d run so fast when the bell up at the main house started clanging in the night?
At first he’d laughed when he saw their puny efforts to haul buckets of water from the creek. Then he’d seen that odd contraption they’d hauled out. Instead of pouring the water over the quickly growing fire, they were loading that wagon and using four men to pump the water over the flames.
His ire piqued again. They’d mucked up his plan.
It hadn’t stopped the fire, but they’d managed to slow it down enough for the firemen to arrive and really work on it. He’d hoped to have a bigger blaze, maybe even get that farmhouse before the trucks arrived.
The sirens ripping through the night signaled his time to fade into the distance. He’d moved deeper into the trees, watching as the men jumped out of the trucks, milling about like worker ants trying to put out the flames. Then people from the town arrived, acting like they were doing something important.
Didn’t they see? Didn’t they realize that for once he was in charge? He and his fire had them all under his control, jumping to try and contain the monster he’d let loose. Standing back in the dark cover, he’d given in to the urge and stroked his cock through his pants, enjoying the feel of his power.
As the fire slowly died, he controlled the urge to come, saving it for later when he was alone and could fully enjoy it. He walked into the night past his neighbors. Nodding to them, just one of the crowd. Climbing into his car he’d followed the long caravan back to town, then parked down the alley from the café.
For a first attempt, he’d been successful in gaining attention. Like a warning shot. He’d also hoped to get the goddess by herself, but that hadn’t happened. This time. Next time he’d find a way.
Now, seeing her in the car with him, he ground his teeth hard. She was meant for him, not that interloper.
The groundwork for his plan was set in motion. Secrets were all so deliciously fun to uncover. The next fire would be twice as fun, knowing the trap for his adversary would be set. The internet was so easy to manipulate and find out the information he’d needed to expose those secrets. His enemy’s past would come to light then.
How long would it take the fire chief to find that timer? Would it trigger memories?
He giggled with glee. Oh, what he’d give to see his face when he recognized the signature.
* * * * *
Libby locked the front door and set her purse on the coffee table. She dropped onto the old, over-stuffed couch and pulled the soft, well-worn afghan over her, curling up in fetal position. All the emotions of the evening weighed hard on her.
The shivers had hit her on the short drive from the café parking lot to her home. Which, in her mind, was better than tears. At least body-wracking shaking could be blamed on the adrenaline response of the fire. Or the emotional stress of being with Deke again, especially after he wept for—what she suspected was the first time—Bill’s loss. Even that damn searing kiss and Deke’s body pressed against hers caused more of the hormone to surge in her system.
Tears on the other hand meant sadness. They meant grief, pain and loss. Grief for Bill. Pain over the long rift between her and Deke. Loss, oh God, the loss they’d both suffered.
The ache started in her lower stomach and reached up to strangle her heart.
What if Deacon didn’t come to her? What if he couldn’t find that place deep inside him that would only heal once he was honest about why he’d closed her out? Could she stick to her resolve and turn her back on him? Her choice to bury what hopes their future might have this time?
What if he did?
Fear quickly followed the pain, pushing all other thoughts aside.
Could she be as honest with him? And would he ever forgive her for keeping her secret?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Just after dawn the next morning, Kyle wandered onto the football field, still wondering what had possessed him to crawl out of his warm bed at such a stupid hour and haul his butt over here.
Near the fifty-yard-line bleachers the other players stood in a semi-circle. In front of them were all three of the coaches. Four dweebie-looking guys—the water boys and trainers—were off to the side. He’d probably be better off joining their quartet than trying to compete with these guys.
What the hell did he know about football? Or playing on a team for that matter?
Zilch. Zip. Nada.
And he was about to gloriously humiliate himself proving it. He already stood out. Everyone else, even the training crew, wore matching team tee-shirts in the school’s maroon-and-gold colors, while all he had on was a faded, nearly-thread-bare scarlet-and-gray one.
As he neared the group, Coach Reynolds turned his head.
Oh great. He’s going to call my name, point me out. Make me look like a fool.
Only he didn’t. All he did was give him a slight nod. Anyone not paying close attention, which thankfully was all of the team, would miss the acknowledgement.
“How many of you’ve looked at your playbooks?” Head Coach Justice asked—Kyle still thought it funny that the sheriff’s last name was Justice.
A few hands shot up, mostly the offensive players.
“Every one of you guys needs to study that playbook. Every day. You don’t know my system and I don’t know, nor do I care, what the last coach had you doing. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.
“Same thing as yesterday, we’re going to start with warm-ups,” the coach continued. “Then we’ll divide into offense and defense. After, we’re going to do a few plays with offense and defense together. Let’s get to it.”
As the crowd broke to get in lines, they noticed Kyle standing off to one side.
“Hey, what’s he doing here? It’s not food-break time,” the tall receiver he’d knocked on his ass the day before said, loud enough for everyone to hear, which garnered him a bunch of laughter.
Kyle locked his jaw and pressed his lips together. He wouldn’t react. He had as much right to be here as the rest of them. Hell, more. The coach had made him a special invitation.
“Probably here to put you on your ass again, Tanner,” the stocky defensive guy said. The laughter this time was louder.
Kyle relaxed a little.
“Knock it off. Get in your lines or plan to run extra laps after practice,” Coach Justice said, getting everyone’s attention again as Coach Reynolds headed for Kyle.
“Glad you changed your mind,” he said, stopping in front of him and extending a hand.
Kyle shook it, feeling a little odd shaking hands like two men respecting each other. “Not really sure why I’m here. I won’t know any of the plays.”
Deke barked a raspy rumble of a laugh, nodding back at the group of teens sitting on the ground, each with one knee bent behind them, the other leg extended out in front as they stretched over them to touch their toes. “Apparently, no one else has bothered to learn them yet, either.”
Kyle relaxed more and lift
ed the corner of his mouth. “So, what now?”
“First, let’s get you a team practice shirt. Then I’d like to see how fast you sprint.”
“Never did that before,” he said walking one step behind and an arm’s length away from the coach towards the locker room.
“After our conversation last night, I didn’t suspect you had. We’ll measure you running the forty-yard dash a couple of times and average them. That should give us your number.”
“What if it’s not very fast?” He’d probably get cut from the team immediately.
Deke opened the door and stopped to look at him. “Tanner can run the forty yard dash in just under five seconds. Given he wasn’t going full speed, which is part of my problem with the kid, but you took him out without too much effort. I’d say you had to run almost forty yards to do it. I think your speed will surprise you.”
Inside the locker room, the coach opened a box and pulled out a shirt and shorts. He tossed them to Kyle. “Put these on.”
Gripping the material in his hands, Kyle held his breath, judging the distance between him and the door. More than one foster parent had used the guise of new clean clothes to get him naked. Learning quickly how to flee before they could get their hands on him got him the reputation of a runner, one of the reasons he’d been in so many different homes.
Deke walked over to the desk. He pulled out a box of funny looking keys and searched through them. Finally, he tossed one at Kyle, who caught it in mid-air. Grabbing a stopwatch from the desk, he turned and headed for the door, saying over his shoulder. “When you’re done, lock your belonging in that locker, then meet me out on the field.”
Kyle stared in open-mouthed astonishment at the man’s retreating back.
Deke’s jaw clenched tight as he strode out of the locker room. He made sure he cleared the corner of the building before giving in to the rage that surged through him.
The kid had been scared shitless just now. Of him.
Never in his life had anyone been that frightened of him, even with his scars, and certainly not a kid. He slammed his open palm against the concrete wall. The sting took some of the heat out of his anger.
The fear started out on the field when they’d walked away from the others. Alone. The way Kyle kept his distance. Just far enough that he’d see any threatening move made his way. Deke suspected Kyle had learned that lesson one too many times before. Inside the locker room the tension in the kid was almost visible, his eyes darting from him to the door and back, especially after he’d told him to get changed.
Bile rose in his throat and he leaned against the wall as he suddenly understood what Kyle had thought he’d planned. No kid went immediately to something so vile without previous experience.
Someone, somewhere had taken advantage of that kid. Physically. Quite possibly sexually.
The idea that someone in charge of a kid could do something that frightened him from simple acts of kindness appalled him.
Why hadn’t someone done anything about it? Is that why he was moved to Colbert House? Did Libby know? Was that what was in the file she’d been looking at last night?
Libby.
He needed more information about Kyle and Libby was the only one who could help him. Closing his eyes, he rubbed the back of his neck. What the hell was he going to do about her? Hell, what was he going to even say to her after what happened between them last night? She was right, though. She did deserve the truth, no matter how much it killed him to tell her what happened in that fire.
Then there was last night’s fire. Another problem on his plate. At least he’d get some kind of answer today when he met with Mike Feeney, the arson investigator from over in Columbus. He’d called Mike last night and they’d agreed to meet out at the fire scene after the morning’s football practice.
He shook his head as he walked back to the football field. Mike had gotten a good laugh over him and Gage coaching football, especially when he learned Cleetus was one of their assistants. He’d let him have his laugh before telling him why he’d wanted him to come look at a field fire. Something he hadn’t mentioned to anyone else. The smell of fuel had permeated the ground. Not crisp like gasoline, but something.
At the edge of the field, he stopped and watched the kids run through their drills. So many problems already on his plate and now he was worrying about Kyle.
Hell, his life had just gotten complicated.
Well, one problem at a time. First the team drills and whipping these guys into some sort of shape. Then he’d get more information about the fire. Which could be his imagination going wild or turn into a bigger problem. Finally, he’d go talk to Libby in her office about Kyle’s past. He needed to know more about this kid. At least that way he could see her without getting personal, again.
Coward.
Not really. He’d give in to her ultimatum, just not yet.
* * * * *
The small courtroom was packed again that morning as Libby sat next to Melissa, holding her cold hand. What was it like to be so afraid of someone you thought you loved? She willed some of her strength into her friend. Everyone in town seemed to want to hear the verdict and sentencing for Frank Compton. Once again, the seats behind the defendant’s table were filled with family and business associates, while the prosecution’s side held Melissa, Libby and members of the community.
Libby glanced around, half-hoping to see Deke in the room somewhere, then cursed herself for being a fool. She’d told him to leave her alone until he could talk honestly with her about Bill’s death and the reasons he had kept her at arm’s length. How could she then expect him to follow her around like some lovesick fool?
Besides, this hearing wasn’t about her. It was about Melissa’s future, heck, even her life.
She squeezed her friend’s hand. Melissa looked at her with huge, frightened blue eyes and Libby gave her an encouraging smile.
“Madam Foreman,” Judge Rawlins addressed the young brunette woman who had been elected foreman of the jury, “will you please read the verdict?”
“On the charge of felony domestic violence in the first degree, we, the jury find the defendant, Francis Compton guilty,” she said in a clear, confident voice.
“Oh, God,” Melissa’s whisper was almost lost in the shouts and gasps from the other spectators in the court.
“On the charge of felony kidnapping, we find the defendant guilty,” the jury foreman continued with more gasping scattered around the room.
“And on the final count?” Judge Rawlins asked.
“On the charge of felony assault, we find the defendant guilty.”
“You did it, Melissa.” Libby whispered and squeezed her hand tight, as her friend sagged against her.
It took three loud bangs of the judge’s gavel, followed by his commanding, “Order,” before the room once again was quiet.
“Thank you, Madam Foreman and members of the jury,” the white-haired judge said with a formal nod, then turned to look at the papers on his desk.
The rustle of the papers and a few low murmurs were the only sounds in the nearly silent room. Libby gripped Melissa’s hand tighter to help calm the small nervous tremors that shook her body.
Finally, Judge Rawlins looked over the room full of people, his focus coming to rest on Frank. “The defendant will rise.”
No please, no hint of a request. It was an order. Cold and commanding. He wanted to be sure this excuse for a man know he was no longer in charge.
Frank rose, his hands folded in front of him, like a petulant child called before the principal.
“Francis Compton, you’ve been found guilty of domestic violence in the first degree. This is your third such offense. The maximum sentence for this is eighteen months in jail and a fine of five thousand dollars. You’ve also been found guilty of felony kidnapping, for which you will be serving the maximum sentence of eleven years. And finally, for the charge of felony assault, you will serve another eight years, for a total of twenty and a half ye
ars to be served consecutively.”
A wail rose from behind the defendant’s table. His mother collapsed in the arms of Frank’s oldest brother. The defense lawyer reached behind Frank to grasp his elbow and keep him standing as his knees wobbled.
The judge slammed his gavel again, calling for order and waiting for the room to settle once more.
“You will be remanded into custody and wait transfer to the Lucasville State Penitentiary.”
“Thank God,” Melissa whispered beside Libby.
She slid her arm around her relieved friend, hugging her close. They remained that way until Frank had been taken from the court in handcuffs. Even after Frank’s family had left, casting disparaging glares her way. Finally, Kent Howard, the DA, turned in his chair and took Melissa’s hands in his.
“It’s over, Melissa,” he said in a kind voice. “He’ll be in jail for years. You’ll be safe.”
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said with tears in her eyes.
“There’s an old saying. The best revenge is to live a long and happy life.” He squeezed her hand and smiled. “You do that and it will be thanks enough.”
He’s going to make a great governor someday. The idea wasn’t a surprise at all to Libby.
Kent released Melissa’s hands and stood. “Now if I know Lorna, she’s probably expecting you two over there for a celebratory lunch. And I have an appointment back at my office.”
Standing, Melissa grabbed his hand one more time. “Thank you so much.”
“Believe me, it was my pleasure.” Kent squeezed her hand one more time, then picked up his briefcase and looked at Libby. “Elizabeth, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.”
He escorted them out of the courtroom and left. Libby watched him stride up the hall. A man on a mission. And he was right, she was sure she’d see him again. At the women’s shelter there were more women in the same situation as Melissa. Each case would end up in court either to protect the woman or prosecute her murderer. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case for Melissa.
Close To The Fire Page 14