It took him a moment or two to discover a man's shadowed figure near the entrance. An object he took to be a gasoline can stood near the man's feet. Near the center of the room, chairs and tables had been piled together into a makeshift pyre.
Before Tyler could react, the intruder lit a match and threw it. The gasoline exploded, sending flames roaring high enough to scorch the ceiling. In a split second the room was bathed in brilliant yellow light.
The arsonist, on his way to the door, paused to admire his handiwork. Even as Tyler recognized Big Mike Bronsky, he was running.
Alerted, Mike whirled, his hand going to the knife in a sheath on his hip. At the same instant Tyler launched himself in a flying tackle toward the man's gut. His forearm caught Mike full in the face, snapping his head back. Both men crashed to the floor.
Tyler landed heavily with his body sprawled across Mike's. In the light from the blaze, he saw that Mike was unconscious, down for the count.
Uttering a blistering obscenity, he levered himself to his feet. Already flames were spreading in a jagged circle, wherever the gasoline provided fuel. Floor tiles curled and melted, releasing a noxious stench. Heat scorched his face and bare chest.
Using his forearm to shield his eyes, Tyler sprinted through the edges of the inferno and headed for the extinguisher behind the bar.
He jerked it free, released the seal and directed the spray toward the worst of the blaze. Sparks flew. Flames sputtered. Tears streamed down his face, carving tracks in the soot. Working furiously, he gasped for air in the thick smoke.
Ten minutes later, the fire was out. Tyler was still high on adrenaline, but not so high that he didn't feel the pain from an angry burn on the back of his right wrist, the one he'd used to coldcock Mike. The man himself was still unconscious, lying in a heap near the entrance.
Coughing uncontrollably, Tyler made his way past the biker to the door and flung it open to admit cool fresh air. Arms braced, he lifted his face to the night and drew in large gasps until the heat searing his lungs eased. Gradually the stinging tears ceased and his breathing returned to normal.
He took stock then. The shabby street was deserted. The few businesses that still remained were shut up tight. Nothing stirred. If anyone had seen the fire and reported it, the siren for the Volunteer Fire Department would be howling.
Tyler turned slowly, pondering his options. Behind him, he heard the sound of foamy fire retardant dripping from the remnants of the tables. There wasn't a peep from Mike.
He left the door open and switched on the light. Mike didn't stir. A quick but skilled glance told Tyler that the man was still breathing and nothing seemed broken. He walked closer and prodded the big man with his bare foot.
"Hey, Bronsky," he ordered without bothering to disguise the anger that still pulsed through him. "Wake up."
The big man groaned, but his eyes remained closed. Tyler heaved a sigh and bent to check the biker's vital signs. His breathing seemed regular enough and his pulse was strong. But one pupil was dilated.
Possible concussion, Tyler registered before the impact hit him. No matter what Mike's intentions had been, he'd ended up injured, perhaps seriously.
Tyler had no choice but to call an ambulance. As he picked his way through the blackened and smoldering debris en route to the telephone behind the bar, he realized that the town marshal was certain to become involved. Which meant that Shuffler was sure to be contacted.
He ground his teeth at the thought of the hassle that would mean. And the publicity. He would be lucky if he didn't lose his job. Hell, he would be lucky if he didn't end up back in prison again.
He was reaching for the phone when he realized that he had more trouble than he knew. His wrist wasn't only burned. It was broken.
* * *
"Whadya do, McClane, bribe that hick marshal not to bring charges against you for assault?" Harvey Shuffler pinned Tyler with eyes that were little more than slits.
Tyler kept his gaze steady and his temper under tight control. Shuffler had been primed and ready for him when he'd arrived for his regular appointment. For the past hour the squat parole officer had been trying to shake his story.
"I told him the truth," Tyler repeated one more time. "He believed me."
"You're just damn lucky that guy Bronsky had more gas cans in his van. Otherwise, you'd be behind bars right now, waitin' for a revocation hearing."
Shuffler leaned back and began cracking his knuckles one at a time. His cubicle had no ceiling, and the noise from the other offices droned all around. Tyler waited. Under the plaster cast applied by the emergency room doctor, his wrist was hot and throbbing.
Across town, Cait and Kelsey were expecting him to take them out for pizza and a movie, after which Kelsey was to sleep over at Sarah's.
Knowing that they were waiting, perhaps worrying, had his gut in a knot and his frustration level boiling. He could barely stomach Shuffler, but the rules said he had to be polite. They didn't say he had to like it.
He glanced at the clock on the cubicle wall before saying in an even tone, "If that's all, sir, I'm late for an appointment to see my daughter."
"No, that is not all," Shuffler spat out. "You sit there and wait till I'm done with you." Shuffler finished with one hand and started cracking the knuckles on the other.
Suddenly he leaned forward to hiss into Tyler's face, "You're hiding something, buster. I can smell a lie, and the smell is on you."
"I'm not lying."
Shuffler's lips curled. "But you're hiding something, aren't you?" he said slowly, narrowing his gaze even more. "Something you don't want me to know. Now what do you suppose that could be?"
Tyler schooled his features into blankness. Shuffler was like an old coon dog he'd had once. Tenacious, but thickheaded.
"You hate me, don't you, McClane? And you hate haying to answer my questions."
Tyler summoned an image of the look of happiness in Cait's eyes when he walked through her front door. If he made a mistake now, he might never see that look again.
"The rules say I have to answer them, so I do."
"Rules, hah."
Shuffler leaned back and studied Tyler's closed expression. His own expression was one of calculated cruelty. "You always follow the rules, don't you, McClane?"
"As much as you do," Tyler said evenly. The rules forbade this kind of harassment. Shuffler knew that as well as he did. Shuffler also knew that Tyler didn't dare report him. Shuffler's eyes turned mean. "I hear you're going to get a new trial in six, seven months. That right?"
"Yes."
"Word is, the lady shrink who has custody of your kid is all of a sudden on your side. That right?"
"Yes."
"The same lady shrink who went with her sister to turn you in, right?"
"Yes."
"Makes a man wonder why, doesn't it?" Shuffler's mouth twisted into a smirk. "Course, it wouldn't look too good to the jurors in the new trial if your parole were to be revoked, would it? I mean, it would say a lot about the kind of man you were, right? If you were caught breaking the rules, I mean?"
"Depends on the rule."
"Bull! Man who breaks one rule usually breaks others. The jury would have to know about that, have to take that into consideration when they deliberated."
Pain shot up Tyler's arm, and he realized he was clenching his fingers around the rough edge of the cast. Slowly he eased open his swollen fingers. The pain lessened. Beneath the plaster, his skin still felt clammy.
Shuffler stood, signaling that, at last, Tyler was free to go. But as he got to his feet, Tyler realized that the man wasn't quite through with him.
"Take my advice, McClane. Call off the new trial."
Tyler's stony gaze angled down into Shuffler's. "Why should I do that?"
A muscle spasmed at the corner of the parole officer's fleshy mouth. "Because there's not a guy living who can keep from breaking one of the rules of his parole, not even you, Mr. Big Shot Surgeon. All I have to do is l
ook long and hard enough and I'll find a violation. It's up to you whether or not I start looking."
"Is that a threat?"
"You might say that, yeah."
It didn't add up, Tyler thought. The man reeked of hatred, the kind that had nothing to do with his job. Hatred he could handle. Not knowing why it was directed so violently at him was something else.
"Why, Mr. Shuffler?" he demanded softly. "How come you're so intent on putting me back in prison?"
Shuffler's face suffused with color until it was beet red. "Because I've met your kind before."
"My kind?"
"Yeah, your kind. Successful, a paragon of virtue in public, a sadistic son of a bitch in private."
"Wrong. You don't know me."
"Hell, I don't! I was raised by a guy like you. He happened to be a dentist, not a doctor, but he had the same arrogant opinion of his own importance."
Tyler frowned. "You hated him, I take it."
"Yeah, I hated him, and so did my baby sister."
Now it made sense, Tyler thought with a sinking feeling. Too much sense.
"He molested her?" he guessed tonelessly.
"He sure as hell did! Didn't even wait till she was out of the crib." A terrible pain flashed for an instant in Shuffler's eyes, giving Tyler a glimpse of a man he'd never seen before. In spite of his disdain for the man, he couldn't help sympathizing.
"And you feel responsible?"
"For years I told myself it couldn't be true, what my sister claimed. Not my father, the man I idolized."
Shuffler was breathing hard, and his lips were white. Tyler wanted to tell him to sit down before he risked a stroke. He didn't dare.
"I'm not your father," he said instead. "And I did not molest my daughter or anyone else. I swear it."
Shuffler's face twisted. "Yeah, so did my old man. Right up to the day my sister slashed her wrists on her sixteenth birthday."
* * *
Kelsey opened the door before the doorbell had even stopped pealing. "Daddy!" she exclaimed. "Me and Mama Cait were worried about you!"
"Sorry, baby. I got tied up."
He bent to gather her into a hug. She planted a big kiss on his cheek before snuggling against his shoulder. "That's what Mama Cait said probably happened, but I was afraid you'd had an accident or something."
"I'm always careful," he said into the baby-fine silk of her hair.
"Promise?"
"Promise."
He released his daughter and straightened. Cait stood with one hand on the newel post. As soon as he saw her smile, he relaxed. It was always that way. Some old-timers swore that prison paranoia never left a con, even when he'd been out for years.
He wanted to touch her so badly that he ached with it. At her insistence, however, they were careful not to show overt signs of affection in front of Kelsey. He understood her reasoning, even agreed with it, but it was damn hard on him at times.
He found himself smiling and realized that just the sight of her took some of the edge off his black mood. She was dressed casually in jeans and a sweater, the way he liked her best. Neither was provocative or deliberately sexy, which was why they seemed to be exactly that.
"What happened?" She allowed her gaze to settle for an instant on the cast half-hidden by his shirt cuff.
"There was a fire at the Horseshoe."
"A fire!" She grabbed his unhurt arm. "How? Was anyone hurt? Are you all right?"
He rested his hand against her cheek. "It was nothing serious. We lost some furniture and a lot of floor tiles, that's all. I just got a little too close when I was putting it out."
Her fingers touched the cast. "That looks broken."
"It is. A simple fracture. Be in a cast a month, that's all."
Her gaze searched his face. Her lips trembled. Her mouth was dark with worry. "But—"
"Stop worrying, Mama Cait. I'm not about to let a little trouble keep me away from my two favorite ladies."
Kelsey beamed. "How come there was a fire, Daddy?"
"Somebody wanted to cause trouble, that's all."
"Who?"
Tyler's glance angled for an instant to Cait's face. "You don't know him."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
"What's his name?"
"Mike."
Cait gasped. "Oh, no," she breathed. "Not him again."
Kelsey's head swiveled toward the soft sound of her mother's distress. "Do you know that man, Mama Cait?"
Cait recovered quickly and made her voice carefully casual. "I've met him once or twice, yes."
Kelsey's gaze Ping-Ponged back to her father. "Are you sure you're okay?"
Her eyes were round with worry. Her lips trembled. The simple expression of her caring nearly ripped him apart.
"Yes, baby. I'm fine."
Kelsey's eyes cleared. "Then can I be the first one to write my name on your cast?"
* * *
Cait's lashes fluttered open. The clock said two-fifteen, still the middle of the night, but the lamp by her bed was still burning. It took her a moment to realize why. When she did, heat flooded her face and a drowsy smile curved her lips.
Slowly she turned her head. Tyler was sprawled on his back with his face turned toward her. His hair was a haphazard tumble of wheat-and-silver strands that she knew would be soft to the touch.
His arm, the one with the cast now sporting Kelsey's name spelled out in red felt-tipped pen, was flung over his head. Even relaxed and unmoving, the sculpted muscles and corded sinew looked capable of impressive power. Or, she knew now, incredible gentleness.
Emotion blurred her gaze as she followed the line of his arm to his wide shoulder and from there to his face.
Sleep had eased some of the lines bracketing his mouth, but not all. She had a feeling nothing ever would. Suffering such as he had endured usually left behind telltale signs. In time, the harshness might fade and his smile might flash far more readily. Or so she fervently prayed.
She herself was deliciously sated, like a cat basking in the sun on a spring day. Her nipples were still slightly swollen from Tyler's kisses, and her body ached in special, intimate ways.
It was the first time he had been in her bed. Since Kelsey wouldn't be returning from Sarah's slumber party until midmorning, it was also the first time they'd had the freedom to make love without worrying about being interrupted.
Still, it wouldn't be long before he had to leave. The workers were coming at seven to begin repairs on the Lucky Horseshoe, and he had to be there to let them in.
Slowly, so as not to wake him, she inched closer until she felt the warmth of his breath on her face. His mouth was slightly open and far more relaxed than it had been since he'd arrived hours earlier.
The covers were bunched below his waist, as though, in his sleep, he had gotten too warm. His bare chest seemed very dark against the pale yellow sheet. Tiny male nipples nestled in swirls of silky hair invited the exploration of her tongue one more time.
Cait slid her hand along the mattress until it was close enough to his chest to feel the heat that emanated from him. Smiling, she reached out to touch him—not to arouse, she told herself, but simply to reassure herself that he was really there. Before her fingers brushed his skin, however, he suddenly groaned and turned onto his side.
Cait froze. Was he in pain? Maybe he was hurt more seriously than he knew. Even a simple fracture was vulnerable to infection.
As though he'd sensed her worry, his eyes opened and looked into hers. Instantly he seemed wide-awake and alert. There was no sleepy fluttering of his thick lashes, no yawning, no easing into consciousness the way she had to do before she could function.
Cait was astonished, but perhaps she shouldn't have been. As an intern and then as a resident he had spent years on call. And when the call had come, more often than not, as a surgeon, he would have had to act quickly and decisively. Some habits were hard to break, even though they were no longer necessary, she told herself as she fought a pang of
sadness.
"Hi," she said softly.
"Hi, yourself." His good arm hooked around her bare back, trapping her. She used her shoulder to caress the flare of his biceps, which hardened instantly, thrilling her with the tremendous strength of him, strength that he always held in check when he was holding her.
"Mmm, I like having you in my bed."
"Oh, you do, do you?" He began stroking her spine.
Cait smiled at the quick, urgent desire that invaded her breasts and weakened her thighs.
"Mmm." Her voice instantly kindled smoldering heat in his smoky eyes.
"Mmm what?" His fingers made sensuous forays over the curve of her buttocks.
"Mmm, I think I like that even better." She leaned close enough to brush a kiss over his mouth. "And I like the way you smile at me right before you make love to me. You should do that more often."
His mouth took on a vulnerable softness. "Smile at you or make love to you?"
"Both." She pressed closer until she could feel the erotically rough rubbing of his chest hair against her nipples through the silk teddy.
His hand cupped the back of her head while his mouth took hers repeatedly. At the same time he pulled her lower on the pillows until she was lying prone and quivering in the middle of her own bed.
His chest loomed over her, a magnificent living sculpture of muscle and bone and sinew. But it was the hunger in his eyes that enthralled her. It was the hunger raging in her own body that had her reaching for him. He came to her instantly.
His breath was warm on her neck as he pressed arousing kisses into the hollow of her throat. She gasped as his tongue dipped into her ear. Leisurely he explored the small folds before retreating, leaving her trembling and wanting.
"More?" he whispered in a voice so husky it enchanted her. At the same time, he moved and she felt the pressure of his hot arousal against her thigh.
She shifted until she could rub against the hot hard flesh. The skin stretching so taut there was as soft as velvet, one of nature's contradictions. His body shuddered as though he had just been lashed hard. His arm tightened around her until her face was pressed to his chest and his thigh trapped hers.
PAROLED! Page 19