Melting Point

by Debra Cowan

  He nodded, stepping toward her and easing down on the corner of his desk. The tang of his aftershave drifted on the air. “I’d sure like to be able to bust his alibi.”

  He folded his arms, drawing her attention to the subtle flex of muscle. His slacks pulled taut over lean, powerful thighs.

  She dragged her gaze away, wishing she weren’t so fascinated with his body. “Yes, we definitely need to get a lead somewhere.”

  “Embry’s so jealous and possessive I have no problem imagining him murdering Lisa or those three guys who warned him to back off when he was hassling her.”

  Kiley nodded. She felt bad about what she’d said concerning Collier’s kissing every woman he met. She had thought back more than once to the way he’d been with Terra’s baby and that little girl on the hospital elevator. Seeing such a tender side of the man sure didn’t match the playboy image she had of him.

  His green gaze rested on her face. “I haven’t had any luck getting Vail’s personnel file. Darla tracked it down to the city attorney’s office, but he took it with him on some out-of-town deposition. He’s supposed to be back on Monday.”

  “Well, since we can’t get to the fake fireman yet, maybe we should think about going to St. Louis tomorrow.” The way he seemed to see into the deepest part of her was unnerving. Such perception didn’t match her image of him, either. “At least we can try to confirm Embry’s alibi that he was with his parents the night Lazano was killed.”

  “That’s a good idea. I can make the flight arrangements if you want.”

  “I can do it.” And she would request seats in separate rows. The man was a whole lotta scrumptious. Just being within feet of him was making her palms—and other places—damp. She couldn’t sit beside him on a plane.

  She’d wondered what his kiss would be like, and now she knew. Man, did she know. It was the best kiss she’d had in…well, ever. La-de-freakin-da. That didn’t mean she had to turn into a throbbing mass of hormones. Just because he knew how to kiss didn’t mean he was any less selfish than other guys she’d dated. Or any more inclined to be faithful.

  She didn’t understand. She’d never even been attracted to his type before, but she couldn’t deny she was now. At least to him, anyway. But she wouldn’t let him get to her. Just like she apparently wasn’t getting to him.

  She needed him to help solve these cases, but she couldn’t let it be more than that. There was enough to juggle with this one investigation to keep her mind occupied, not to mention the other three related cases. She had to focus so they could wrap up their investigation. The quicker they did, the sooner she could get Collier McClain off her radar.

  A loud ringing jerked him awake. Collier struggled up out of the thick fog of sleep, his hand closing over the cordless phone. He answered as he tried to drag his eyes open. It was dispatch. Station Three had received a fire call. Witnesses reported seeing an eighteen-wheeler hit a propane truck then crash it into a small storage building. Clearly an accident and not arson, Collier didn’t need to investigate, but the resulting fire could be something that would tempt Monty Franklin. A perfect opportunity for Collier and Kiley to try to find the guy.

  His head cleared and he rolled out of bed, pulling on his jeans as he glanced at the clock. A little after two. He punched in Kiley’s number as he pulled on a T-shirt, then a thick black sweater.

  Since his house was closer to the scene, she agreed to drive here. They would ride there together and work out their plan for surveillance on the way. He went out and started his truck. While he waited, he checked the hands-free audio equipment he’d gotten from the police department. Less than ten minutes later she arrived. She hurried to his truck, shrugging into a heavy coat, and he caught a glimpse of a tight white sweater, the full curve of her breasts. Her wild hair was pulled through the back of a dark ball cap.

  As she climbed in and closed the door, her sassy scent drifted to him. He laid the microphones on the console and backed out of the garage. “I want to make sure those are working.”

  “Okay.” She picked them up, fitted one behind her ear so that the mouthpiece came to the corner of her mouth. She handed him the other one to put on. “Testing,” she said.

  “Mine’s working.”

  “Mine, too.” She kept hers in place, flipping off the switch. “Do you think we’ll spot this guy tonight?”

  “Hard to say. If he hears about the fire, I’m hoping he won’t be able to resist it.”

  She nodded, rubbing a hand over her eyes.

  “Sorry I had to wake you up.”

  “No problem. It’ll be worth it if we can get Monty Franklin.” She glanced over and smiled.

  That same friendly, you-don’t-make-me-hot smile she’d given him in his office earlier. And just like earlier, it irritated him. “I figure you can mingle with the people who show up, and I’ll stay on the perimeter. Whoever spots him first can point the other one in the right direction.”

  She nodded, her expression polite, distant. It drove him nuts. Despite telling himself not to, his gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered.

  “Where’s our scene?”

  He named a street on the north side of town. “There’s a fast-food joint and a mattress store on the same side of the road.”

  “Oh, I know where you mean. What caused the accident?”

  “The driver of the semi fell asleep at the wheel. I’ve been thinking one of us should get out on the south side and walk up to the scene like an observer.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  He thought she answered eagerly, as if she wanted to get away from him, but he could read nothing on her vibrant features. “I’ll park in the lot of that gas station across the intersection and come in from the west.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Okay.” He forced his gaze away from her and to the dark road, finally clear of ice and sleet. The other night in his truck, she’d said she had lived with his type. He took that to mean she didn’t live with that person now, and she’d told him she wasn’t dating anyone. It must’ve been an old boyfriend who had broken her heart. He forced his mind to remain on the task at hand. He had a job to do and it wasn’t figuring out what made her tick.

  As they approached the accident scene from the north, he saw gray-brown smoke spiraling into the air. Red and blue lights flashed from police cruisers parked at either end of the scene. The officers had blocked off the road both east and west as well as the nearby side streets that ran north and south. Yellow crime-scene tape cordoned off the whole block.

  If he and Kiley had been working this scene, they would have shown their badges to the officer stationed at the entrance, then spoken with the cop who held the log book to check people in and out of the scene. But not tonight.

  He drove through the intersection and stopped about half a block away to let Kiley out, then made a U-turn and drove back toward the light, turning left into the gas station lot before he reached the intersection.

  As he walked toward the scene, he could see the propane truck on its side, half in and half out of the building that stored raw materials for making mattresses. The semi sat jackknifed in the middle of the main road.

  People always gathered at a fire scene, and chances were good Collier and Kiley might spot their suspect in that group of people.

  He showed his badge discreetly to the officer stationed at this end, then started toward the people who were congregating on this side of the yellow tape. The crowd ran the gamut of firefighters, cops, news crews and civilian onlookers. The street was lined with fire engines and police cruisers. Some of the officers who drove those black-and-whites were there specifically to keep an eye out for the sniper. Two news crews from stations in nearby Oklahoma City were already filming.

  Stations Two and Three were there with their engines and one ladder truck. Oklahoma City had lent an engine, and Presley’s Station Four brought the rescue unit.

  Some of the equipment was housed in different locations, but the rescue unit went on maj
or medical calls with other engines to other locations. Both victims of this accident had required immediate attention and were now on their way to the hospital.

  As far as Collier and Kiley knew, their arsonist-sniper hadn’t yet shown up at the scene of an accident or killed anyone at such a scene. Even though this fire wasn’t an arson, the Presley PD and FD were taking no chances.

  Engine fumes hung heavy in the air along with the acrid stench of burning rubber and cotton batting. As he neared the scene, Collier felt the heat rolling in waves from the burning truck and building. His gaze swept the crowd. He stopped at the back end of Three’s ladder truck and spotted Kiley coming in from the south. She was several yards away, her hair a warm glow of color in the frozen night.

  He switched on his combination earpiece and microphone. “You there, Russell?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I can hear you loud and clear.”

  “Same here. I’ll do a sweep of the bystanders.”

  “Ten-four. I’m next to Station Three’s ladder truck.”

  The streetlights cast a hazy glow over the scene. Collier noticed several people in the crowd were high school kids. He moved to the side of Station Two’s fire engine and into the shadows.

  Collier saw Kiley then, talking to a young woman in the cluster of those who watched the fire. After a few seconds she drifted among the growing throng of people and spoke to someone else. He stepped up to the nose of Station Two’s fire engine, his gaze probing the faces around him.

  Sooty water ran into the street, gurgled in the grates. Illumination from the streetlights was overpowered by the orange glow and black-gray smoke. The flames snapped as they shot out of the building’s roof and the driver’s-side window of the propane truck, the fire swallowing whatever got in its path. Collier knew the fire inside that building roared like a small plane engine.

  He studied the crowd, standing so that his hands-free device wasn’t immediately visible to anyone who saw him.

  “McClain?”

  There was nothing suggestive in Russell’s tone, but her whisper shot adrenaline through his body. Annoyed, he whispered back, “Yeah?”

  “I see him.”

  Collier straightened, his gaze slicing through the crowd to find her, then looking for the face they’d seen in the mug shot.

  “He’s at my two o’clock.”

  His gaze moved to her right shoulder, then out. There was Franklin in a turnout coat on the back edge of the crowd as if he were providing control. The look of dreamy infatuation on his face would’ve raised Collier’s suspicions even if the guy hadn’t been Monty Franklin. Oh, yeah, he was a torch all right. And he was the fake fireman on the videotape from the scene of Lazano’s fire murder.

  Collier eased away from the fire engine, throwing a look at the empty parking lot of the strip mall across the street. The wooded land behind the line of businesses was still undeveloped. “Russell, I’m going in from this side to try and keep him from going across the street. If he gets over there, we could lose him.”

  “Okay, I’ll make my way toward him, too. We’ll box him in.”

  Collier moved slowly, not wanting the guy to take his attention from the flames shooting out of the propane truck. Franklin stepped between two onlookers, getting closer to the fire. Collier adjusted his position and angled toward the guy. Four more steps and he could grab the suspect’s arm.

  The man glanced around nervously. Collier stayed in place, hoping the guy didn’t realize he was a target. Franklin eased his way to the back of the crowd as if he were trying to get a better view between people, then he spun and sprinted for the street.

  Hell! Collier took off at a dead run, yelling into his microphone. “Russell, he’s heading for that mall!”

  “Ten-four!”

  He raced across the street and onto the empty parking lot. Floodlights illuminated the fleeing man, and Collier identified himself, “Fire Investigator!”

  A cop caught up to him. “Need any help?”

  “Yes! Stay back there in case he tries to come this way again.”

  “Ten-four.”

  Collier pushed himself harder. Franklin sped toward the open side of the corner building, running parallel to the street. Collier was prepared for the guy to dart into the street, but he turned left and went behind the building.

  There was a retaining wall back there, eight feet tall, shoring up the dirt and concrete foundation of the strip mall. If Franklin jumped and ran for the woods, they’d lose him for sure. The possibility sent a surge of adrenaline through Collier, and he rounded the corner, closing the distance between him and the suspect.

  The other man dodged a stack of empty pallets, then darted behind a steel dumpster on wheels. Collier sprinted in front of it, thinking he could cut the guy off. Suddenly the dumpster flew at him, ramming a sharp corner into his knee. Cursing, he shoved his way around it, heard it crash against the brick wall. “Franklin, stop! I just want to ask you some questions!”

  The man was only feet from the retaining wall. As he glanced back, Collier tackled him, managing to grab the hem of the turnout coat Franklin had probably stolen.

  Both men went down hard. Collier lost his grip on the suspect. Grunting as his shoulder slammed into the rough, unforgiving surface, he bounced like a rubber ball. His head slammed into the curb. Ears ringing, pain streaking through his head, he scrambled to his knees and dove for Franklin. His hands closed over the SOB’s shoulders.

  The suspect jumped, pulling his arms free of the protective gear and leaving the coat dangling in Collier’s hold. Breathing hard, sweat running down the side of his face, Collier threw his legs over the wall and dropped. His vision hazed; the dark ground swirled up to meet him. Head spinning, he stumbled back against the edge of the wall.

  “Did he jump?” Kiley landed beside him, muttering something. “Are you—”

  “I’m fine.” He took off, biting back a moan and clenching his teeth against a jarring pain in his knee.

  Kiley stayed with him. Collier’s body screamed in agony, but he was too mad to stop. The two of them headed across the flat pastureland for the trees where Franklin had disappeared.

  He and Kiley stopped at the line of trees, seeing nothing, hearing nothing except their own harsh breathing. There was no way they’d be able to find the loser in the dark. He bit off a curse, thumbing sweat from his temple.

  She came around on his left and they started back toward the building. She held her side, breathing hard. “You okay?”

  “Just banged up. You?”

  “I’m…fine. You got the coat,” she said. “That’s good.”

  He looked down, only now realizing he still held the turnout coat. “It isn’t going to tell us anything we don’t already know, except maybe confirm that it’s stolen.”

  “I guess so,” she panted.

  Collier dipped his head toward the end of the retaining wall that ran the length of the building. “There’s a flight of stairs.”

  Kiley changed direction with him, sending a dark glare toward the wall. “I wish I’d seen those steps before I jumped. I hate jumping.”

  He grinned, wincing at the stab of pain in his temple. Now that his heart rate was slowing, he became aware of a throbbing in his shoulder, a bone-squeezing pain in his knee. His head felt as if it had been cracked open. He grabbed the rusted iron stair rail and made his way up the steps with her, going back the way they’d come. “I am too old for this.”

  The high-wattage floodlamps situated in the parking lot threw enough light over the roof and back of the building for them to see where they were going.

  “You sure you’re okay, McClain?”

  “Yeah.” He glanced at her. “That’s the second time you’ve asked me.”

  She stopped, her face half in shadow. “You’re really pale.”

  He gave a short laugh. “There’s not a lot of light out here, Russell. How can you tell?”

  She moved to stand in front of him, eyeing him critically
. Her gaze skipped over him from head to toe, then jerked back to his face. “McClain!”

  “What!” he growled, startled by the alarm in her voice.

  “You’re bleeding! A lot.” She feathered a finger across his temple.

  Even in the shadows he could see the concern in her eyes. He reached up to touch his head, his hand brushing hers as she withdrew. His fingers came away sticky with blood. It hadn’t been sweat rolling down his face.

  “Maybe you should sit down. I’ll go get the paramedics.”

  “I can walk.” His whole right side ached. He’d been going full speed when that dumpster hit him, but he’d already determined that his right kneecap wasn’t broken.

  “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  “Just banged up my shoulder and my knee.”

  “Your head looks bad.”

  The worry in her eyes seemed real. As real as the desire he’d seen the other night. “I’ll get it checked before we leave.”

  “Okay.”

  It took only a few minutes for one of the paramedics to clean and bandage the cut on his head. Since he didn’t need stitches, a trip to the hospital was unnecessary. He told them not to bother with the other injuries.

  Kiley insisted on driving him home, saying she should be the one behind the wheel so she could get back to her car in one piece.

  By the time they reached his house, the pain in his head had subsided somewhat, but his knee ached more sharply than it had before. She parked in his garage and held open the door leading into the house. He limped through the kitchen and into the living room where she helped him off with his coat.

  Her warm, spicy scent settled in his lungs. She stepped back into the kitchen, asking if he wanted some water to take his acetaminophen. He directed her to the cabinet where she could find the glasses.

  “At least this wasn’t an arson, and we had no shots fired tonight.” She was once again all business, her earlier concern gone so completely he wondered if he’d imagined it.

  “Yeah. I wish we could find the connection between these dead firemen. I can’t believe we lost Franklin.”