by Alice Sharpe
“But you left your gloves and took Alex’s.”
Ron laughed. “No one is perfect. Unfortunately, neither of you died. Emily knew I didn’t go home with her the night of your uncle’s party and I think she always suspected I’d swiped the green scarf from her after she swiped it from you. She knew about me taking my bike out at late hours and about my absences. As they say, she might have been crazy, but she wasn’t stupid.”
“You used her.”
“You bet I did. She was so doped up on medication, she didn’t know who did what to who. Now, I admit giving her that gun wasn’t my best idea—I mean, she was supposed to eliminate Alex, but instead came close to gunning you down. That would have wreaked havoc with the inheritance angle. Thankfully, she killed herself. Now, let’s see, are we through here because that fire is getting serious.”
Liz struggled against the ropes, seeing in her mind’s eye the drawings from her childhood, seeing the tiny figures caught in crayon flames. He wrapped the carriage clock and Fabergé egg carefully in separate cloths, then working quickly, scooped up a few of the enamels and the ivory. Zipping the satchel closed, he looked around the room.
“Listen to me, Ron,” she begged. “No one will ever believe Alex killed me. He’s fighting a fire, everyone knows exactly where he is.”
“You mean that big fire in Old Town, the one he just now is figuring out doesn’t exist? The call he’ll puzzle over as his former colleagues tell him to get lost? The false call it will appear he tried to use as an alibi?” He put on his overcoat and took a book of matches out of his pocket.
“They’ll trace the call—”
“Made from a pay phone,” he said as he came back into the den, “just like the call Kapp received the night your uncle died. Who’s to say Alex didn’t call himself to cement his alibi? After all, he’s an opportunist. Everyone knows you can’t expect much from a Chase.”
“Then someone saw you come through the front door—”
“Who says I came through the front door? Did you see me? Actually, I came in the back way. Give it up, Liz.”
The actual flames were beginning to catch up with those of her imagination. “Don’t leave me and my baby here to burn to death,” she cried. “Please, Ron—”
He took out his gun and smiled at her. “Would you rather be shot?”
She stared at the gun.
“See, that’s the thing about people. Any chance is better than no chance, right? Besides, I know about your history with fire. Don’t they say the best way to conquer your fear is to face it?”
He turned then, so anxious to flee that he didn’t take into account the location of the now heavy satchel and it tripped him. Down he went, bracing himself with his hands. As he hit, the gun spiraled toward Liz. Ron screamed curses. He’d fallen right into the shattered glass from the broken bowl. Jagged shards pierced his palms, sending bright red blood streaming under the cuffs of his overcoat.
The gun skittered to a stop by Liz’s bound feet. She quickly nudged it out of sight with her toes and then rested her feet on it.
She watched Ron stand, search the floor for the gun, tug at the glass in his hands, swear as the deep cuts bled profusely. Liz’s gaze followed his to the living room where the blaze he’d started precious minutes earlier now raged, sending smoke and waves of heat across the foyer.
Ron seemed to weigh the problem of his gun turning up in the fire investigation against the possibility of ending up caught in his own trap. Finally, bloody hands trembling, he managed to light a new match and throw it at the gasoline soaked drapes. As they burst into flames, Liz turned her face away.
And in that moment, her body decided it was time for her baby to abandon ship. A sharp, painful cramp rolled across her abdomen. The heat and pain joined forces, one threatening to destroy her from the outside, the other threatening to tear her apart from the inside, her mind darting between the two, trying to regain control.
As Ron gingerly picked up the satchel again, Liz took shallow breaths, trying to hide her baby’s struggle to live from the man determined to make sure it died. She thought about Alex being blamed for their murder, spending the rest of his life in prison, blaming himself even if the courts somehow let him go. She thought about all she had and all she stood to lose. And she thought of dying without her wedding band, without telling Alex how much she loved him, how much she needed him, how sorry she was that it had taken her so long to realize that she’d always been able to trust him when it came to the truly important things, when it came to his love and devotion.
With strength born of anger and desperation, she kicked the gun toward the fire.
Ron dived to intercept it.
Another pain shot through Liz’s body as the gun powder exploded.
Chapter Fourteen
“Whose idea of a joke is this?” Alex demanded of the nine men who sat staring at him in the day room of the fire station.
Dave tried to pull Alex away, but Alex stood his ground. “I want to know which one of you thought it funny to call me to a fake fire!”
Dave said, “You know none of us would do something like that. Think, Alex.”
And just like that, Alex understood that this was still another ruse to get Liz alone and he’d fallen for it. Kapp!
He turned on his heels just as Battalion Chief Montgomery came hurrying into the room. “Fire at the old Hiller place,” he shouted, running down the stairs as the alarm sounded. All nine men jumped to their feet and using the pole or the stairs, descended to the engines below.
Liz was still at that house. He had no proof, but deep in his gut, deep in his heart, Alex knew it was so. He caught up with the chief as he started his truck. Jumping in the passenger seat, he yelled, “I’m going with you.”
The chief paused for half a second, then tore out of the station. Before long, the sounds of sirens ripped through the air.
BATTALION CHIEF Montgomery talked on the radio as they raced through the city, communicating with both the arriving units and dispatch. All Alex could think of was Liz caught in flames, her worst childhood fear come to life. Would she have the strength to hold on until he found her? Was she already dead? His heart screamed.
He heard the chief say, “Well, at least it’s empty.”
“Listen to me,” Alex demanded. “Liz and I were both in this house less than an hour ago. She’s still there, I can feel it in my bones. When we get there—”
“You listen to me,” Montgomery said, eyes blazing. “This is my fire. You don’t know for sure where Liz is. Stay in this truck and out of the way. If Liz is there, we’ll find her.”
Alex clamped his jaw shut, but even before the truck came to a halt, he jumped out. The living room side of the house was ablaze and flames showed through the windows on the den side. Around him he heard the fire engines rolling to a stop, he saw pedestrians standing, pointing, insisting they’d heard an explosion, he heard the chief shouting orders, firemen unwinding hoses, but he paid little attention.
The fire was going to be fought as though the building was abandoned. He tried yet again to catch the chief’s attention, but Montgomery shrugged him off. Alex knew the chief wouldn’t risk his men when there was no evidence of occupation. Well, he wasn’t one of Montgomery’s men, was he?
Montgomery had assigned designations to the house, and now moved around to the back, preoccupied in his attempt to save property. The reflective lettering on his incident commander’s vest made tracking him easy. Alex knew where on the truck to find equipment and he knew the house layout. He would bet his life Liz was in the den, right at the place where this whole nightmare had started.
He heard a new siren, and turned in time to see the sheriff’s car squeal to a stop. Kapp! What was he doing here? In one instant, Alex answered his own question. The sheriff had started the fire and come back to watch it.
Alex longed to tear through the crowd and force Kapp to reveal what he’d done to Liz but he realized the sheriff still held the power to rest
rain him, and if Alex planned on getting in that house and saving his wife, he’d better do it before Kapp made a move to stop him.
He grabbed an ax and a spare set of turnouts, pulling on the gear and boots as fast as he could, rushing the front door while yells and shouts followed him.
The door was hot and locked and Alex started in with the ax. He sensed someone approaching and tensed, ready to fight if need be, but it was Dave who stood there, ax in hand, Dave who joined him in destroying the door.
“I’m going in,” Alex shouted. “Liz—”
Mike Sinclair pressed a gas mask attached to a rescue bottle into Alex’s hands and a helmet down on his head. As Alex dashed inside, he knew Dave and Mike were behind him.
They crouched low, moving quickly. The living room was engulfed in flames. The foyer with its slate floor was smoky, the den was also ablaze, flames licking the heavy drapes. Through the fire and smoke, he saw Liz, tied to a chair, eyes squeezed shut. As if sensing his presence, her eyes flew open and their gazes met.
“Alex!” she screamed, and then she kind of folded over on herself and cried out. “The baby,” she sobbed, tears making tracks down her sooty face. He rushed toward her, tearing off the oxygen mask as he ran, pressing it over her face as he struggled with the ropes.
Dave arrived and produced a knife which Alex used to slice through Liz’s restraints. Dave forced his mask on Alex’s face for a moment, and Alex took a few deep breaths. Mike had moved closer to the flames and Dave joined him. There was a prone body over there, but Alex had his arms filled with Liz.
Darting through fire made more intense by the influx of air from the broken door, Alex jumped the last hurdle. Coughing, gasping, he finally made it outside and across the grass. Dave followed a few moments later with a man draped over his shoulder, Mike right behind him. They set the man on the ground as paramedic crews swarmed.
Alex caught sight of the man’s bloodstained, blistered face. Ron? Liz’s gaze followed his and she tensed. “It’s okay,” he said, cradling her.
She pushed the mask from her face. “It was Ron,” she cried, “all along, Ron. Not Emily, Ron. Ron started the fire, Ron killed my uncle, Ron tried to blame you.”
He stared at her with wide eyes.
“I love you,” she sobbed. “I don’t want to ever be without you, not for a moment, not ever.”
He kissed her brow. “I know, honey—”
“I don’t want my uncle’s things, I don’t want anything but you and our—”
Another contraction stilled her and she cried, grabbing her stomach, gripping his hand, groaning as a labor pain she had neither the opportunity to anticipate or the time to prepare for wracked her body. She was in labor, close to giving birth. Glancing once more at Ron, he made the effort to compartmentalize the cold knot of fury that burned like black ice in his gut. Later…
Paramedics with a stretcher showed up, and he lifted Liz to the clean white sheets and followed her to the van, refusing to be pushed aside, refusing to relinquish her hand even as he heard Kapp’s raised voice demanding he stop, issuing threats, promising all sorts of mayhem. He heard Chief Montgomery tell Kapp to stay back and shut up.
There wasn’t time to get to a hospital, barely time to wash, and then Liz was pushing and he was encouraging, and at the last moment, it was Alex who caught his baby girl in his big hands, Alex who cut the cord and held the delicate pink infant as the paramedic checked her over, Alex who swathed her in a soft blanket.
He handed her to Liz and gazed into eyes that seemed as deep as the sea and yet as internally illuminated as the inside curl of a wave. “Your daughter,” he said, crying and laughing at the same time.
“Our daughter,” she whispered.
He smiled at her. He didn’t know what lay ahead, he really didn’t care. At that moment, none of it mattered. His daughter was here, Liz was safe and he felt his own heart swell as he held them both in his arms.
Epilogue
Two Months Later
Alex was almost positive the warehouse fire was arson. First of all, the burn patterns were all wrong, then there was the fact the building had been abandoned for years and yet rumors flew that it was heavily insured. He was certain lab tests would uncover traces of an accelerant.
Fraud. He knew it. And it intrigued him.
Eventually, that’s what he wanted to do. Not right now, but someday soon, someday when he could stand being cooped up in school, someday when he didn’t relish every single second of being outside and free, of having time to spend with Liz and with little Grace, he wanted to switch from fighting fires to finding the people who intentionally started them.
People like Ron Boxer who lived through the explosion Liz had instigated when she had the presence of mind to kick that gun into the flames and bring Ron down. Though badly burned, Alex had heard that Ron was talking up a blue streak, looking for a deal.
Alex felt no compassion for the man. Ron had killed once, tried to kill several times, willfully driven his own sister to suicide. He’d come close to destroying so many lives; he was beyond compassion.
As was Roger Kapp. Kapp had made his choices, and now thanks to those cassette tapes that made it through the fire safe in the depths of Liz’s purse, he would face the consequences and decent men like Chief Montgomery wouldn’t suffer.
Alex pulled up to the house on the bluff, the house neither of them could bare the thought of leaving, not just yet, anyway, and smiled at the sight of Liz’s little SUV with the baby seat in the back. He felt a jolt of anticipation knowing he would soon see his girls.
As he grabbed the tiny jewelry box, giant stuffed panda and can of hideously expensive cat food he planned on distributing on this joyful Valentine’s Day, he thought of his other family, his mother, brothers, his sister, and wondered what they were up to.
Maybe soon he would follow Liz’s advice and attempt to contact them. Until then, he crossed his fingers that they were as happy and filled with hope as he. Then he opened his front door and called, “I’m home.”
ISBN: 978-1-4592-3744-5
FOR THE SAKE OF THEIR BABY
Copyright © 2003 by Alice Sharpe
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