Unforgettable Heroes II Boxed Set

by Elizabeth Bevarly

  He’d already reached out, had already done searches on Ormsby. Soft searches, true. He’d found nothing. But it wouldn’t hurt—it might even help—to reach out once more. This time, no matter Frank’s objections, he’d go directly to the man.

  He put through the call to the Columbus Police Department. The chief wouldn’t be in the office now, not on a Sunday night, but they’d make the connection for him, one cop to another. Whatever was going on, it wouldn’t hurt for her ex to know she’d moved on, and that she had the protection of another cop.

  “He’s not available. He and two admin buddies left this morning for a convention.”

  Jared exhaled. He tugged at his lip as he watched Jack go back into the bar. “How long is the conference?”

  “It runs through Wednesday. He’ll be back on Thursday if you want to leave a message.”

  He wanted to talk to Ormsby, wanted to hear his voice. Everything about the guy showed squeaky clean, a direct contrast to Dee’s impressions. “Do you know where the conference is?”

  There was a hesitation. The officer in charge had already run him; Jared expected that when he gave his ID. He could appreciate the protective attitude. Cops could never be too careful.

  It was a risk, but Jared wanted to hear the man’s voice. “It’s about Dee Quinn.”

  The response was immediate. “Ms. Quinn? Is she okay?”

  “I need to talk to the Chief.”

  “The conference is in Cincinnati, at the Hilton downtown. I can have him contact you.”

  It was probably the best he was going to get. It wasn’t that late, not even ten o’clock, so he should hear back soon. “That will be fine.”

  Cincinnati. As soon as the call disconnected, he pulled the hotel up. Interstate access was less than two miles from the hotel, which put Ormsby less than an hour away. It didn’t mean anything. The guy had a clean record.

  But Jared’s gut wasn’t buying it.

  He started the engine and shifted into gear when his phone rang.

  “Detective Yancey. What’s up with the bitch?”

  Yancey’s pissy attitude was unexpected. “I’m looking for Chief Ormsby.”

  “Chief’s in his room. He doesn’t need her disturbing him. She’s done enough damage.”

  Jared hesitated for only a second. “That’s not what she’s saying.”

  “That bitch walked out on him.” Detective Yancey snarled. “Tore him up good. We had to carry him out of the bar and up to his room tonight.”

  Jared eased off the clutch and rolled onto the highway. “Are you sharing a room with him?”

  “Hell no. Chief likes his privacy.”

  Jared’s gut tightened. It still meant nothing. Ormsby didn’t know Dee had stayed in Maystown.

  Besides, Frank was with her. He’d stay until Jared arrived, no questions.

  “What time did Ormsby shut down?”

  Yancey snorted. “Early. I’d say about eight.”

  “No one’s talked to him since then?”

  “No way. He’s sleeping one off.”

  As the car climbed the curving hill, an odd orange glow disrupted the black night. The back of his neck prickled. He leaned forward, praying his suspicions were wrong. The force of authority punctuated his words. “You need to go check on him. Now.”

  “I told you…”

  In the distance, the haunting, dancing flickers illuminated a stand of pine trees as flames consumed the house that stood before them.

  “I’m telling you, if you don’t go in that room right now and check on him, he’s going to be charged with murder.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  If riding with Frank to the party had been miserable, the ride home was hell. How could she have let her emotions run away with her like that? She’d been doing fine, was all but out the door when Jared approached her, and everything blew up.

  Of course, that blonde—Maureen—hanging all over him hadn’t helped. It didn’t matter that she was engaged to someone else, and that, according to Ray, Jared had played a hand in getting them together.

  And now Dee was stuck in a car with Frank, a man who’d made her uncomfortable from the first. Thank God he was on the phone. It made it easier to ignore him and would let her race, conscience free, into the house the minute the car stopped. She needed privacy to lick her wounds.

  Dee leaned against the car door, her hand on the handle. She sniffed hard once then slowly released her pent up breath. She was not going to cry in front of Frank. She didn’t want his sympathy. And she certainly didn’t want to give him something to report back to Jared.

  The engine was still running when Dee flung open the door and made her dash toward the dark house.

  “Dee,” Frank called, “wait a minute.”

  “I’m fine,” she hollered. “I’ll lock the door as soon as I’m inside.”

  She heard his car door slam. Heard him stumbling in the darkness as she raced up the steps to the back door, her key sliding smoothly in the deadbolt. With three quick flicks of her wrist, she was in the house, the light over the sink switched on, the key in the back side of the lock.

  The house was silent.

  Ominously silent.

  It took a second before it registered. Lucky. Her puppy. Where was….

  She saw the still form of her dog lying on the floor beneath the table. “Lucky?” her voice trembled as she knelt on the floor. Tears, already close to the surface, burned a path down her cheek as she touched the unmoving body.

  “Lucky?” She smoothed her hand over the silky hair. He was warm, still breathing. He lifted heavy eyes, slid a paw an inch over the floor as if reaching for her, then sighed and dropped his head.

  A heavy footstep pounded on the first step outside.

  Frank.

  Frank fed Lucky treats before they left for the party.

  She glanced over her cabinet tops. Her dog treats were across the room, atop the refrigerator. Lucky hadn’t let him that far into the room.

  What had he given her dog?

  Dee lunged for the door. Her fingers closed over the key and turned it as Frank’s face appeared in the window.

  “Open up,” he shouted as he twisted the knob.

  Dee knelt motionless on the floor, Frank’s face looming above her through the glass.

  “Come on, Dee. You know you can’t stay alone.”

  Her eyes cut hard to the left, to her dog lying limp under the table.

  Frank twisted on the knob.

  Her heart pounded in her ears; her skin seemed to shrink.

  “Dee.” The door vibrated beneath his heavy fist.

  Lucky gave no response. Thoughts, questions bounced through Dee’s mind like a hollow drum.

  “Goddammit,” he roared, his face twisting in fury, “unlock the door.” The door thudded as Frank butted the heel of his hand against the glass. “I promised Jared…”

  Dee watched as he pulled his arm back, his eyes blazing with intent.

  Every muscle in Dee’s body clenched; a single thought screamed through her mind. She was in trouble.

  Frank’s fist swung toward the window. Dee fell back and sprawled on the floor.

  Shards of glass showered around her. Frank’s bloody fingers grasped at the lock. The empty lock.

  In unison, they both stared at the key in her right hand.

  “Open the goddamn door!” he bellowed.

  Her feet dug into the floor. Pushed back.

  Pieces of the broken pane crashed to the floor as Frank lowered his shoulder and rammed the door like a maddened bull, but the door held.

  Scrambling into action, Dee scooped up her puppy and raced down the dark hall to her office. As far away from Frank as possible. Ducking inside, she closed the door and locked it. She sagged against the frame and cradled the limp pup against her shuddering chest.

  Frank’s actions made no sense. Jared trusted the man completely. She should be safe with him. But she couldn’t make herself open the door, couldn’t tolerate t
he idea of going back to the kitchen and unlocking the door.

  Frank continued to pound at the door. Each heavy thump caused her body to jerk.

  Why was he doing this?

  A bright white light flashed around the edges of the shades, slid along the walls as a car crept up her drive.

  Jared. A soft whimper sounded in her throat. She felt her way across the dark room, lifted the shade and watched the twin beams of light bounce over the gravel drive then turn, illuminating the house, her face. She released the shade to shield her eyes.

  With her thumb and forefinger, Dee gingerly peeled back the edge. Her stomach knotted. Something wasn’t right. The lights, still glaring along the front of the house, were too wide, too high to be the tiny Spyder. Her gaze swept across the yard. There was no sign of movement. No one got out of the car; no one approached the house. Whoever was in the car waited.

  It wasn’t Jared. And it wasn’t the welcoming committee.

  She rested her forehead against the window frame. Think! She forced her erratic breathing to steady. What the hell was going on?

  Where was Frank? The terrible banging at the back door had stopped. Was he inside? She stared across the deep shadows and held her breath. She could detect no sounds of movement in the house.

  Where was he? If she looked outside, would she be staring into his wild eyes again?

  She fought the fear that tightened her muscles and held her rooted to the spot in front of the window.

  Jared. She had to call Jared. Protect and Serve weren’t just words to him. He would come. He may not believe her, but he wouldn’t desert her.

  Except, she patted her pockets with one hand, her phone was in her purse. And her purse was in the kitchen. The brightly lit kitchen. A vision flashed in her mind—Frank’s bloody, groping hand. His devil-dark eyes glaring through the shattered glass.

  No way was she going into the kitchen.

  Snuggling the pup beneath her chin, Dee angled out of the beam of light. The headlights spread a ghostly white glow over the yard. Into the light stepped a tall, thin man. Frank.

  Weak with relief, Dee sagged into the corner. At least she knew he wasn’t in the house. Wasn’t, at this moment, right outside the office door.

  Frank stood in the light, legs apart and fists planted on his hips. The Law. As if he hadn’t just tried to force his way into her house. As if he hadn’t poisoned her dog.

  Dee smoothed trembling lips over the silky head. Lucky needed to get to the vet.

  Frank stood expectant, as if whoever was in the car should recognize him, his authority. A harsh chuckle rattled in Dee’s throat. But as the car door opened, the chuckle snapped off. Her throat closed.

  The car’s interior light clearly illuminated an image she’d never forget. The rounded face, the military cut of his brown hair. The man appeared as wholesome and All-American as the first time she’d seen him, but her reaction was nowhere near the same.

  Frank stood unmoving as Carl Ormsby slithered from his car.

  They talked, gestured toward the house, heads bobbing in agreement.

  They knew each other. Somehow, they knew each other. And somehow, she’d managed to find the one place in all the country where she was least safe.

  She couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop shaking.

  Abruptly their conversation ceased. In mirrored movements, they turned their attention to the house.

  Dee dropped the shade and pressed hard into the corner.

  She had to get help. She had to call Jared.

  A keen will to live pushed her into action. Stooping low, she cocooned her puppy inside her shirt and hurried down the hall.

  She was on her knees by the time she reached the kitchen door. Each inch closer to the lit room felt like suicide.

  Kneeling at the doorway, she fought against the evil weight of their presence filtering through the walls. They were out there. Watching. Waiting. Plotting.

  Her fingers reached toward the table, the coolness of the vinyl floor seeping into her palm as she crawled forward. If she could just reach her purse….

  The deep tremor of male voices curled through the broken window. They were close. Too close.

  Dee snatched her hand back and scuttled into the hall, back to the office, the safety of the corner.

  Her skin throbbed. Expanding, contracting with each beat of her heart. She was on her own.

  She took a stuttering breath then made herself pull in an extra breath before slowly exhaling. She needed to calm down. To think. Plan.

  What were her options?

  With one shaky finger, Dee nudged aside the shade. The lit yard was empty.

  They were somewhere out there.

  A hint of movement drew her attention to dark shapes sliding against the black silhouette of trees. There they were, together at the back of Carl’s car.

  Her hold tightened on the shade as a cold chill raised her skin.

  Frank and Carl came around the side of the cars and into the light. Both carried large liquid containers. Gas cans.

  Dee took a first trembling step away from the window. She was in trouble. Serious trouble.

  She stumbled toward the back of her house, her bedroom. Time stretched into slow increments.

  Stiff fingers fumbled over the bedroom window. The lock snicked open with an obscene click.

  Dee ran a comforting hand over the small, warm body anchored in her shirt, then pushed at the window frame. It refused to budge. “No,” she panted, butting the heel of her hand against the stubborn frame. This could not be happening.

  She refused to let it happen.

  Dee pushed again. The window didn’t even groan.

  But she nearly did.

  Carl moved along her deck, coming closer, pouring gasoline along the perimeter of her house.

  Dee dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around her waist. With Lucky cradled close, she rocked back and forth while hot tears burned her eyes.

  Time was measured in heartbeats as Dee pressed her ear to the wall. Liquid waves splatted against the wooden siding.

  She fought back a scream as he approached.

  The toxic fumes scalded her nose and stole her breath.

  “Be patient,” she said in a broken whisper as her hand circled over the warm weight suspended in her shirt. “We’ll have a chance.”

  She tracked the sounds around the corner and down the side of the house until they faded away.

  Slowly she eased up and cautiously peeked over the window ledge. Her vision was acute; her body thrumming with life. The pine trees towered to the left behind her house. A stretch of open yard lay between her and them.

  With a silent prayer, Dee leaned forward and spread both palms on the window sash. She summoned every ounce of strength in her body. Her life hung in the balance. It was now or never.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jared couldn’t drive fast enough, couldn’t stop his hands from shaking long enough to make another call.

  He’d known she was in danger; he’d admitted that. But when she needed him most, he’d left her safety to someone else.

  Dammit, he’d never believed it was Carl Ormsby. That first attempt was too random, too exposed, too risky for someone unfamiliar with the area. But Detective Yancey was quick to call back and a whole new kind of pissed to admit his Chief was not in his room.

  He couldn’t drive fast enough.

  As he started down the wide curve, he clung to the knowledge that Frank was with her. Frank would know how to handle this situation. He probably already had Dee outside, the emergency services already on their way.

  Unless he was trapped in the house, too.

  Tires squealed as he raced around the high curve. His phone bounced against the door then hit the floor as he grabbed the steering wheel and wrestled the car into control. Seven miles never seemed so long.

  Finally, the car bumped, ground, clawed over the boulders of her drive. The house was surrounded by a neat ring of flames. Flamboyant, arro
gant arson. With the intent to kill.

  His blood pumped rapid, painful pulses through his veins as he dipped low in his car. He checked the yard as he opened the glove box and pulled out his revolver, thumbing off the safety.

  Two cars sat in the clearing, one as familiar as his own. Frank’s. The other was sleek, black, and sinister. The tags suggested it was a rental. He searched the floor until he found his phone and called dispatch.

  The fire licked greedily at the wooden siding. If Dee was still inside, her time was running out. He couldn’t wait for back up.

  Jared switched off the interior light before opening his door. Waves of heat snapped across his face, his arms, sucked the breath from his lungs as he slipped from the car. Keeping low to the ground, Jared searched the undulating shadows for any sign of Dee as he moved closer.

  Frank’s car provided concealment as Jared rose and surveyed the scene. The front yard was wide-open, empty. Only part of the back yard and a corner of the deck were visible, both empty.

  The second car was a harrowing ten feet away. After checking his back, Jared crept around the back of that car. Gas fumes gagged him. Four five-gallon cans sat alongside it.

  The lack of caution astounded him. What was Ormsby thinking? He obviously had a plan, one that included his alibi and a convenient fall guy. He didn’t know his alibi was already useless. What he did know was that another person had arrived. Whatever his plan, he had to contend with a new player. An unexpected element.

  Ormsby had no idea he was dealing with a trained professional, a cop.

  That was Jared’s only advantage.

  The heat-expanding wood gave a loud pop. Time worked against him, against Dee. She couldn’t afford for him to make a mistake.

  Jared held his breath, squeezed dry lids over sandpaper eyes. He opened them to narrow slits and focused. There. Movement, a ghost of a shadow, appeared near the far side of the woods.

  A whispered curse ripped from his lips as orange light flickered over the man’s face. His official ID photo provided instant recognition. As if Jared had any doubt. Carl Ormsby’s gaze swept the back of the house, the yard, and slowly connected with Jared’s.